It cannot be claimed that we always knew what we were up to on board “Whisper of Sunart”. In fact some of our early attempts to navigate our Drascombe Coaster successfully under sail would have caused no surprise had they occurred on the dodgem cars during the “Kermis” fair. Part of the reason for this had to be this skipper’s natural determination to be seen to be “in command” under sail. Call it a stubborn streak if you will, but given a fair wind it seems rather churlish for any sailing boat skipper to tempt providence by casually (and ungratefully ) employing any other means of propulsion.
So it was when all new and shiny, barely 3 months from her moulds, “Whisper” first ventured to open waters. Our holiday base was in the Netherlands at Izgetshuizen in Friesland. The week was an eye-opener for it was soon apparent that our Drascombe Coaster was not quite what she appeared to be. Clearly she was not a yacht. We knew we could not afford one of those: the wherewithal to nurture, maintain, and cosset such a craft does not lie within the grasp of many families with small children. No, this was not a yacht. But obviously we were not merely the impoverished owners of some mass produced sailing dinghy either. It was with some pride, therefore, that we leisurely began to criss-cross the district along canals and through small meers, venturing further each day.
Soon we decided an overnight trip was in order to one of the larger meers. With confidence boosted by a week in gentle backwaters, route charts studied, and following a thorough revision of Dutch sailing rules, collision avoidance and rights of way markers, we ventured forth. It was magical. Even the fact that it was now weekend in high summer, and in places one could possibly have walked dryshod across the canals, stepping from deck to deck of voyaging craft, did not spoil our fun. We found we enjoyed respect from fellow voyagers in our new vessel. And so it was that at that instant that “Whisper” contrived to demonstrate that we should be clear that she was no dinghy…not even a yacht… but a every bit a Drascombe.
It was quite clearly all our own fault. Perhaps we should not have attempted to copy the lead of a fleet of performance dinghies tacking back up to the clubhouse along a narrow channel from the Meer. All went well till the lock ahead disgorged a covey of large Pleasure Palaces… all fumes and roaring power. The fleet of dinghies evaded suddenly, and successfully, into the reed-beds bordering the narrow canal. That left Whisper in “irons” mesmerized like a moth before a lamp, broadside on to the approaching Armageddon.
Normal procedure would have the backed jib casually thrusting the bow off the wind, the hull making graceful sternway, helm reversed, the boat swinging across the wind in line with the approaching armada…..ah ! faint hope…. this was the moment “Whisper” chose to reveal the ‘Drascombe’ way.
A rabbit caught in headlights would have had more sense. Stubbornly she refused to budge. Confronted by this Drascombe broadside the first Pleasure Palace opened the throttle still further and belching mightily went for the only gap. Among those chasing behind like little ducklings, from whom the sightlines to the obstruction ahead were till this moment concealed, there was a ripple of panic. Helms were thrown left and right, bow thrusters screamed, motors shuddered, cream coloured froth, like buttermilk, streaked the water… “Whisper” casually did the Drascombe thing. Hard in irons she drifted gently astern while her crew struggled to release the sheets. With sudden shock her rudder grounded on the margins of the channel. Then with a casual twist she pirouetted and now bows-on to the scene of impending carnage, quietly, almost innocently, began to gather way once more. A moment later as the mainsail became tangled in an overhanging tree all progress ceased. With a slight impact she berthed neatly alongside a staging on the canal bank.
The passing Cruisers, without the least idea of the cause of the hiatus, roared by….”Whisper” is by nature far too dignified to engage in any “who me ?” finger wagging… she had made her point admirably.
The sequel might well, had it not been a public holiday, have resulted in a major incident of international significance, requiring the services of distinguished diplomats to assuage hurt pride and national insult, to say nothing of a Smit Tak salvage squad.
Some months later, winter over, we headed north for our first excursion with fellow Drascombe owners, onto the Waddenzee. With a full season sailing a Drascombe behind us, what could go wrong. ? We had sailed the Fries meers, we had crossed the open water of the Ijssel Meer not once but twice. We felt sure we were up for it….. “Whisper” however, loves such pious overconfidence. She had another trick to play.
The marina had a narrow entrance…..and….well…we should have known better. There was a fresh wind blowing across the breakwater, but sheltered from the gusts the staging in the marina seemed peaceful enough. In full view of the assembled ‘knowledgeable” Drascombe crowd, several owners, lightly crewed, had tacked effortlessly away, out through the entrance to the Lauwersmeer beyond.
There were five of us on “Whisper”: three teenage sons , two parents , full stores, kit and equipment for several days afloat.. Put simply “Whisper” was groaning under the load of it all. In view of the able example set by the others, negotiating with ease the tricky entrance, it never entered this skipper’s mind that “Whisper” would be unable to perform just as well. There was no sense of foreboding as sails were hoisted and lines cast off. In the lee of the staging “Whisper” slowly gathered way. Hardening up on rounding the end of the mole the first big gust filled the sails with a sudden jolt. The deck tilted rather alarmingly while small items not stowed securely started to rattle down to lee. It was clear that the unreefed main was too much. We retreated to the lee of the staging, and well sheltered, furled the main.
Some minutes later off we went again. Confident in the rig of staysail and mizzen we shot away out round the mole, hardening up in the gusts. It was easy….. Oh, innocent aboard. !
Seconds later with the opposite side of the narrow channel looming, or to tell the truth the side of one of Her Netherlands Majesty’s Coastal Patrol ships, a solemn grey wall towering above us, it was time to tack….it was now that this Red ensign bearing Drascombe played her hand….she stalled. Yup! Just 5 meters from the slick grey paint she showed her stern, then quietly and with a sense of purposeful deliberation calmly moved downwind determined to have a prod at the leviathan with her papagaai stok. (Translation literally - Parrot stick.)
Urgently now, oars were deployed to fend off. Thanks to sheer muscle power the insult (and injury) was averted – a blessing - for the assembled crowd of Dutch Drascombe hosts stood in ‘judgment’. Seconds dragged by before, hard under stern of the giant vessel, steerage was finally restored and, through the wind now we shot off on the other tack out across the marina entrance.
Wiser - or so we thought - we tacked once more…Oh what folly…we should have known better. It soon became clear “Whisper” was still enjoying the game. Hard on the wind we passed just ahead of the fine grey patrol ship. With all hands ready to tack, the helm was shoved alee. Deprived the first time and with her playful native spirit cruelly thwarted, “Whisper” again stalled in irons. This time she was sure to get her prod. Nothing we could do would change her course, the gap narrowed till inevitably and with a resounding clang the papagaai stok ‘scored’.
By now, understandably, our sense of pride was at a low ebb. Hurriedly the outboard motor was deployed, fuel bulb pumped up, and the “iron horse” spurred to the rescue. With faces to match the Red British Ensign fluttering defiantly from the masthead, we sped away. Our refuge lay in a reed-bed nearby where we sheltered for a while to steady our nerves, and reflect on the possible repercussions had our “international incident” provoked some martial response….
“Whisper’ in her unique Drascombe manner had reminded us all, once again, of a vital Drascombe truth. She repeated with great precision this vital message: if we expect her to carry a full crew she will cooperate only if we allow her a loose mizzen sheet when tacking…. particularly if the mainsail is not set. We respect this now …and have never forgotten….
© Tom Colville 2005