CLAUDIA MYATT98 CLASSIC BOAT OCTOBER 2016Sternpost
A
s magnificent as the entrants in Antigua Classic
Regatta’s Concours d’Elégance are, for some
people the heart of the regatta lies in the final
day of racing when the big boats take a rest and the
little ones come out to play.
The Afternoon Gig Racing and Cream Tea Party
doesn’t necessitate ratings or rehearsals. Just boats, on
the small side, a few loose rules and a sense of humour.
For me, it’s a day I shift from crew to admiral, a day I’m
Master and Commander of my very own boat.
She’s not much to look at, my Ruby, but we’ve been
together for nearly 40 years with the vow: “Till rot do us
part.” Her El Toro design, eight feet in length, resembles
a box with a dish bottom, making her remarkably fast. It
has a sail, oars for rowing and a stubby one used to scull.
I learned the dying art of sculling decades ago out of
necessity when our two-oared rowing boat occasionally
went on walkabout, borrowed by an adventure-seeking
youth. A boat with one oar, though, always stayed put. It
didn’t take long to work out that sculling has advantages
beyond moving a vessel to and fro. It’s a secret weapon
in tight marinas, an unprecedented manoeuvring tool.
But best of all, it turns heads with every push and pull.
Dockside at English Harbour, I analyzed the diverse
competition. Wherries, dories, gold-platers galore – all
would be hard to beat. Near the registration desk,
staffed by ladies in flowered hats and flowing skirts I
was handed a pen and pointed toward the sign-up
board. I scratched Ruby’s name under ‘Women’s Sail’
and ‘Women’s Row’ but when I got to the list for the
‘Sculling’ event, it just said: ‘Men’.
I inquired with one blooming lady, “Will there be a
Women’s Sculling race?” The answer, which followed a
five minute discussion, was a compromise. All genders
would start together, but women would round the first
mark while men carried on to the second.
In the rowing race, I easily was beat when I
followed the leader the wrong way around the buoy,
then had to double back to correct the mistake. Thesailing race wasn’t much better when I got stuck in a
hole while the fleet swept past. Then the announcer
called: “Time for the sculling race!”
This was where size mattered less than skill. This
was my chance to shine. I shot the boat to the far side
of the starting line, hovering there as the men and only
one woman followed suit. “The race will begin in 10,
9, 8....” and off we pumped, oars flapping like wings
on a hummingbird.
I could see my mistake before I reached the mark: the
men would all pass between me and it. The chap who
pushed me furthest away was my very own husband
who got an earful as I worked around him.
With my heart pounding in my ears, I rounded the
mark behind my one female adversary, eyeing the
distance to the line. Onshore, friends chanted my name
and friends afloat in the mighty Columbia crew joined
them. Oh, the pressure – I couldn’t let them down! I
shifted that stubby oar into high gear with one arm,
holding on for dear life with the other and steadily
closed the gap. I caught her 20ft from the line,
overtook her at 10ft and when I crossed the line first,
the crowd roared.
Onshore, I paraded through the throng like an
Olympic athlete as the prize-giving got underway.
Before me, winners accepted trophies, bottles of rum,
hand made jewellery, prized hats and shirts. Finally, the
voice announced, “And the winner of the Ladies
sculling race – RUBY!” As I approached the table,
several ladies rummaged through boxes of prizes but
came up empty handed. One apologized: “I am afraid
we will have to give you a consolation prize.”
I reached out to accept a 4ft rubber shark that
squeaked in my grasp. “The story of my life,” I quipped.
Half way down the steps I heard: “Oh, we found it!
Here’s your prize.” She reached out with a lovely piece of
scrimshaw. “You will have to give the shark back,” she
said with a smile.
But I didn’t.Sculling for glory
Jan Hein
enters the
sculling race
at Antigua
Classic Yacht
Regatta