Have you ever read a job specification for bowman? No. Neither have I. As Pure Attitude was fetching the finishing line on the opening race of the 2009 JOG series, time on the rail gave me the opportunity to ponder the question. The unitiated might think that an understanding of spinnakers, spinnaker poles, guys, sheets and any number of other bits of string would be the first requisites. Those of a wee bit more insight will point out that calling distance to the start line and judging an overlap are also useful qualities but in truth, the role is far more involved.

The most oft repeated complaint to the modern bowman (should that be bowperson in this day and age?) is that sat in the most forward end of the rail, they do not block as much water as they could or should as goffers make their way back over the boat. It has never been a skill that my relatively slight frame has afforded but it does seem to be a problem in the eyes of many crewmates who, it seems, would happily forego what one might anticipate to be the necessary minimum level of agility at the pointy end in order to have a bigger dodger between them and the briny.

In my years at the wetter end of boats ranging from 18’ to 55’ I’ve also concluded that telekinesis would be a basic requirement of pit-bosses as otherwise they will have to go to the monumental effort of squeezing recognizable syllabus and even whole words into their incessant barking. So clearly no self respecting bowman should step aboard without being psychic. He or she must know by instinct that the pit want to simultaneously drop the genoa and raise the kite as otherwise those ‘driving’ the boat would have to plan manoeuvres and drills whole seconds in advance.

This brings me on to my third requirement. The modern bowman should at the very least be the possessor of at least four arms and if possible, these arms should be appended by two hands each allowing everything to be done all at once. This is most important as at any one time there may only be as few as seven people aft to look up and keep each other informed as to what is going on and as every body knows, a bowman under a large heavy genoa who is holding on to the boat in a pitching sea and desperately trying to make sure that neither he nor the whisker pole end up leaving the ship is far better placed.

Most important of all however, is a thick skin. Never take the time to count how many of the after-guard have ever served their time before the mast. You will almost certainly conclude that the answer is none of the ones shouting at you. You may, on a rare occasion, come across a skipper or owner who has popped the kite up whilst cruising short handed with the wife. Odd as it may seem however, all those in the cockpit are far better bowman than the chap on the bow, which given their inability to drive the boat, navigate or make her point properly, does rather suggest that one of them perhaps ought to swap places? But of course they are all now to old/stiff/heavy/important to go forward.

As races go though, the Nab Tower JOG race was not really the busiest or the worst for a bowman. With the wind in the north west and blowing old boots over a dog legged east/west/east course from Cowes to the tower and back again, there was not likely to be much gibing and with our new kite a light and untested one it was initially decided to go with no big specialist downwind sail at all. ‘Shall we take the kite below’ asked Andy, the mastman (a bowman’s only friend between the 10 minute gun and the finish). ‘They’ll change their mind as soon as we do’ I replied, ‘so let’s leave it where it is for now’. The fore hatch of the X37 is on the small side. The lack of an opening allows for greater structural strength, keeping these boats light, but it does mean that packed sails have to come all the way aft before they can be stowed away in the forepeak. Even more of a faff through a busy cockpit in the pre-start to a race of 21 boats.

As the previous fleet got underway, only one kite went up and that seemed unmanageable for the crew trying to get it under control, however control it they did and by the time our start sequence was over the one kite in the fleet was moving steadily toward the front. Often on days like this, the winner is the owner who can afford to replace his kite and thus risks flying it on the edge of it’s pressure range.

We got a decent start, about two thirds of the way up the class and headed in the general direction of Browndown under all plain sail. This plan was, I presume, based on a better downwind angle through the forts and out to the Nab itself but of course this would depend on the pressure abating. The first few kites went up, and caused trouble but gradually every boat on this course got the colourful scene started whilst away to the south, a small splinter group, including Lutine, took the more direct route inside Ryde Sands.

Gradually we became the last boat on this part of the course with white sails only and I settled in for a long, wet, cold sleep on the rail.

I was woken some little time later however by garbled rumours that we were to replace the large kite on the foredeck with the rather smaller and heavier gennaker. It would not allow us, from where we were, to take the downwind course that we now required to lay the mark but without it the fleet was disappearing from view. Happily, re-rigging this from a kite rig at sea is not nearly so complicated as going the other direction and a relatively incident free launch was achieved, punctuated only by the afterguard not telling us they intended to drop the genoa on us straight away and then whining on about there not being enough hands forward to stow the genoa, sweat the kite and see halyard to the top of the mast.

We were now well clear of the forts and back in the race, the yacht straining at the leash and hurtling on a course that would overstand the mark. Were the afterguard going to notice that we had not attached the lazy sheet? And if they did, how on earth would we gybe if their lordships so required? Bizarrely, nobody said anything and the only conversation was the helm inviting the trimmer to trim and the trimmer vice versa. It seemed that the course was more and more erratic and the sail less and less manageable; and then it happened.

We had probably suffered moments of little control but this time she was right over, a foot of boom in the water and the weather guardrail at full stretch as most of the crew hung on. At moments like this a second can seem like a minute and we were probably back up and on our way in two or three. Back came the sheet but as she did so, over we went again and this time there was more like four foot of boom in the briny. I have no idea how long we were there, sat more on the hull than the deck. It seemed like a lifetime and having read another blog of the race from a nearby boat, I know it was certainly significant. However long it was, I had had time enough to plan what direction to swim in if it came to it but eventually we back on something of an even keel and the gennaker was coming down and the genoa was back up. The gybe was easy and we made for the Tower in the company of Lutine, who had reached more or less the same point at the same time under a close reefed main and her big masthead genoa.

From the rail it was clear enough that far less canvas was going to be required once around the corner and the first reef duly went in. Once again I found myself grateful to the afterguard as really a modern fractionally rigged speed machine such as this could probably have done with a sail change which, by now cold, wet and tired, I didn’t much fancy (not that there is ever a time that I do much fancy a sail change). The truth was that whilst we had a heavier genoa to go to, I don’t think there was a smaller one and soon enough the second reef went in.

By this time, PA was in her element, beating back toward the forts. It was now that one appreciated X-yachts going for the bigger rigs and heavier keels than their rivals at J, as the short, ‘consistently chaotic’ chop threw bucket after bucket over the deck and buffeted us all the way to a finish of 15^th out of the 21 in class. Okay as debut’s go, this was somewhat overshadowed by Brawn GP some hours later but it was a solid enough start, something to build on and unlike many of the other boats in the fleet, we had no major damage to take care of.

All this was a far cry from the opening weekend of March when Feeling Rough and I set off for a weekend cruise with friends. I often take the first or second week in March off to go sailing in the Solent as we are so often blessed with wonderful weather. Sadly that was not possible this year but the weekend made up for it with a light northerly breeze and plenty of sun, we made for the Medina with the intention of introducing Ed, a friend who is more or less new to sailing, to the fleshpots of Cowes, however as we approached Cowes green, we were having such a good time that we decided to stay out. Dropping the kite and hardening up we headed west and before we really knew much about it, there was Yarmouth under our lee, so we put in there for the night.

The return trip was blighted by too little wind and a desire to get back in time to see England take on France in the six nations. Motorsailing back was clearly worth it as England ran out winners.

The following weekend it was race training with Pure Attitude on the Saturday with a well earned day anchoring in the sunshine off East Head on the Sunday on a fellow PA crew’s own Hunter TK27, Wytch Hunter, just the relaxing preparation for the following weeks exertions, or so you’d think.

After a late start from the picturesque Wilson’s Boatyard on the Sunday morning, the most leisurely of beats up towards Pilsey Island, and then the run back down to the East Head anchorage were perfect for building up to a hefty brunch on the hook. A sleep in the sun, and a play around in Alan’s Walker Bay sailing tender, really seemed a million miles from the race tuning and training of the previous day.

As evening set in, another very gentle beat up to Emsworth passed the couple of hours until we expected the tide to come in to allow us back up Mengeham Rythe and onto the trott. Alas somebody’s maths had gone wrong and as darkness was falling, we ran aground a good mile short of the boatyard. Having been, in some ways fortunate to spend most of my sailing life in large boats sailing between modern marinas, I find the romance of quiet moorings up muddy creeks holds a special place in my heart, but waiting for the tide on Sunday evening was not quite what I had in mind.

It did though give me the opportunity for an entirely new experience. It was back in the Walker Bay with a lead line and agreed hand signals to find the deepest route through the channel and back to the berth. A far cry from the myriad of modern electric gizmos, but one really felt part of the living harbour and of course I now know that channel far better than ever I did in the summer that I kept my Foxcub 18 Merit on a berth up there.

With Easter coming up and much more racing in the offing for this summer, cruising in such quiet spots might have to wait. In the meantime, if you ever do see a scrap of paper on the sailing club notice board written as “Physic octopus required for role on racing boat, understanding of racing rules essential, own harness and lifejacket an advantage” you’ll know that the skipper is really on top of his recruitment, or a retired bowman.

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