JULIAN AND CATHYS BIG DAY OUT - RED WHARF BAY SC MONOHULL REGATTA

With Cathy One about to depart for an important conference, Julian hired another one, a renowned Lark sailor, Hornet crew and Oppy trainer, for a local trip out in mid June, to one of the premier venues of the yotting mecca of the Costa Occidental of Angelsey.

Red Wharf Bay is the site of one of the many caravan parks here, and the populace consisted of Mancunians and Scousers, a selection of some of the lesser evolved lifeforms of the area sailing the GP 14 North West championships and of course, innumerable amoeba on jetskis and skiboats.

After the huge luxury of knocking the boat down on Saturday morning and driving for under half an hour we arrived at the venue and put the boat together before a light workout and going out to track the windshifts for an hour - no thats a blatant lie, we had bacon butties, coffees, a fag and a chat before we even looked at the boat. The GP sailors looked on in awe as we tied all the bits on, but they had to set off to sea while we addressed the next round of coffees. We launched as they reached the start area. It was warm, sunny and force 2-3, and we were both up for:- uphill for a while, on clew one, halyard eased a couple of inches, ease the outhaul, keep a bit of leech, ease the trav, punch that chop, hold it flat, so good, and then roll off through the start on port on a shy spinny reach, not that either of us would ever want to show off, but it just needed doing.

We were racing against a menagerie of other weirdo boats of which the only problems came from the RS400s who took the first and seconds on Saturday leaving us with two thirds and a suntan. A proper Olympic course was set, marginally larger than one you could lay out on the dining room table, and then in a masterstroke of race management we had to start after the GPs - important area championship - so we could interfere with them better as we overtook them.

Mark Hogan just looked embarrassed and made us promise not to tell any of the girls he knows from the 470s that he sailing a GP, but he and his helm did well in a keen fleet of vessels which appeared to be constructed from hollowed out boulders, or in the more racy versions hollowed out logs. Cath kept calling the starboard boats as if they were going at our speed as us until she got the idea that they could be treated as stationary objects. It was such a lovely day I actually fell asleep between races waiting for the GPs to come back down the course.

Sunday morning saw a mad dash back to the club with slightly more urgency in the bacon butty relishing session before we went out to play. It was cool, grey and manky, rather than the Mediterranean climate of Saturday, with an enormous and very wet shower just before the start, shifting the wind to the right so we could lay the first mark in one from the startline comfortably. We liked it though and gave the 400s a good kicking but came second to John Jones and June Riley who were Hornetting about in preparation for their nationals.

After lunch, and much dithering about the correct clew to use, we saw John and June finish far too close for comfort twice, said thanks to the RO for a good weekends sailing - he immediately said thanks to us for bringing such a beautiful boat to race, really satisfying to hear that - and surfed back to the club to await the computer enhanced results.

We ended up fourth overall, despite being able to sail directly towards most of the marks. The RS400s kept appearing out of nowhere, obviously ‘mowing the grass’ very satisfyingly on the lighter runs, but also coming back in to the bottom mark on starboard, unable to get down from the wing in one. That was rather a shock as we were hanging about back there with them due to a bit of a laugh involving the kite downhaul and the previous close reach. Be warned, as you are thinking about unfurling, board, getting the kite off, and finishing the isotonic strongbow cider, the last thing you need is a hurtling spikey thing with right of way coming out of somewhere you never thought a boat could, the general effect being a bit like being offered a raw sausage to hold when youve been blindfolded at a particularly good party.

So John and June won, with us behind two 400s, the only Lazy E still in captivity was eighth, the GPs had a good protest meeting - seemed to be an important part of it for them, suppose they have to do something pleasurable and interesting to make up for their slow pain on the water, Murph turned up briefly to make excuses but left as soon as he realised the club was unlicensed, and Mark was third, so someone else from the club got some glory even if we didn't.