Fish don't care

Fish don’t care

Some things work out very well, some others are less well favoured.
A week ago my little Junk Rigged Corribee was launched. She slipped daintily off her trailer and I’m sure there was a shimmy of delight at being in her proper environment, or relief at hiding the imperfect antifouling? Any-how, the fish don’t care.

Today we went sailing.
I have had some problems with the outboard (Note to self: Will not start when the fuel tap is in the OFF position) and it can it randomly stall when the throttle is opened up. (only in an emergency!)
There was a shy, teasing, force two when we cast off so no need to worry about the problematic motor, which of course behaved with smug perfection.

I was determined to push myself a little and discover what I forgot since  we last sailed together. (30th October 2015) Picking up a mooring under sail? No problem! Which deserved a cup of Red-bush tea while pondering the mast windage making it easier to moor by the stern, unless a fifteen stone man can get to the bow before she blows off.
Tea drunk, problems put aside, off we go again to enjoy the day. Ashore the temperature is thirteen degrees, at sea it feels about two. So, wrapped from head to foot in full sailing kit (including thermals and gloves) we enjoy the day.

Several hours go by and the shy F2 is beginning to annoy when at last, a sea breeze asserts its self. We go from just making steerage to belting to windward in a rising F3, er now F4. Time to reef!
With a junk rig reefing takes about as long as it takes to write. (I’m a slow typist, but) You whip a rope out of a jammer and the sail rattles down propelled by the weight of the many battens. Trivial Pursuit settled into her I’m getting there stride. Another five minuets of this, belting along to windward in jolly style and I reverted to ‘Gentleman’ mode, that is, turned down wind and headed for home and thirteen degrees of warmth. (and more Red-bush tea)