Telltales from Snitchy

Hi folks, it’s Snitchy the RS Aero back again after a week off due to the Wilson Trophy. It was a tropical affair and the Club was home to many visitors who basked in the spring sunshine on the Lake slip. Owner was in her element as a member of the beach crew, where she snarled at boats who put their noses too close to the pontoon and yelled at others who tried to bump booms. Bit of a killjoy really. By Sunday afternoon, Bojangles stepped in to give those poor Fireflies a bit of a break and whisked Owner off to sea for some fresh air and salty surfing in the seabreeze. Unfortunately, they stayed out too long and had a bit of a mud drama coming home, but they looked happy and very dirty.

I was back on the water for the final two races of the Wednesday evening handicap race. As you may recall, it has been a very drafty series and more wind was prevailing as we set off to the far end of the lake for our start. It was all between me and my Solo friend “Quality Time Too” to battle it out for the honours. I gave him a good run for his money in the first race, but the lead wasn’t quite enough on handicap, which left me with work to do in the last race. Mr. Solo got heavily involved with a gaggle of Optimi at the windward end of the start line, so I did the decent thing and left him to sort himself out whilst I scuttled off further down the line. Here, I also encountered a posse of Optimi, effectively parked on port tack with very little momentum. The little boats quivered in fright at the sight of my foamy starboard tack bow wave and Owner, in a moment of motherly weakness bore off around their transoms and gybed off to get back to the start line. It was a truly awful start, from which we never recovered. Nevertheless, Owner gave me a happy 2nd place pat as she put my cover on. Well Readers, you will be pleased to hear that Sailing Karma was working its magic, assisted by the Guardian Angel of Oppy sailors, as the final results showed that Mr. Quality was over the line on his second start, handing me the series. Life is so fair.

By the weekend, it was Bojangles’ turn for the Round the Cans sea race. The wind started off light but built up enough to have Owner dangling on her wire. The club had wisely sent a RIB with a ginormous flag to lead the way. This was a blessing for the fleet and prevented Mr. Bo & Co. with their combined half a navigational brain cell from leading the fleet to Ireland.

Mr Bojangles romped away early on a smoking fetch towards Hilbre. Owner hung on like a barnacle ballast accessory whilst Bo ironed waves, at the same time whistling a tuneless chord through his foils. He was finished by the race officer as a Finn but would like him to know that he is not offended in any way. At all. This time.

Toodles my friends,