RANDOM REMINISCENCES OF A TRAVELLER
A Friday night in September, the boat is on its borrowed trailer, we hitch up and are off to Sligo. My companions are David Gibson-Brabazon, (henceforth David or DGB), and his cousin Billy Gibson.
It is pitch dark when we arrive on the Northern shore of Lough Gill, I (we) miss the entrance to the sailing club site. A three point turn on a narrow road the first time you have ever towed a trailer. Left hand down forward, right hand down back thus it went on, finally we did the obvious unhitched and moved on finding the entrance, and parking the boat.
Friday nights in Sligo were always great craic, Gerry Sweeny could tell a stream of jokes non-stop for hours, some were even clean. The Sligo members were always most hospitable and they and Mullingar have always had an excellent relationship.
Saturday morning prepare for racing, no changing facilities they were not expected. Propriety was observed in the toilet facilities ladies bushes to the left, mens to the right.
There was a good entry and good racing, David was helming, and we followed the fleet at a respectful distance. This gave me a chance to observe the beauty of Lough Gill, it has to be seen from the water to see it at its best. I have since sailed at many locations, but have yet to find one to compare with Lough Gill.
Sunday morning was a repeat of Saturday, we followed the fleet. On Lough Gill there is a triangular spit of land where spectators can park and watch the proceedings. It was just offshore that the gybe mark was placed, yes you have guessed, not only did we capsize we managed to turn turtle. Somehow we managed to right the boat and so were not in complete disgrace. In those days a capsize literally rendered you hors de combat with just a bucket and sponge to get rid of the water. (The introduction of transom flaps and self balers meant it was just a slight inconvenience). All-in-all a fine introduction to being a TRAVELLER.
If one hoped to improve one’s sailing travelling did give a chance to see and meet the top helmsmen. Names such as Dr. Mike Hill, Paul Rowen, Peter Duffy, Bill Whisker, from Nl, Gus Henry and Pat Murphy from ROI. Without exception they would all answer any questions and offer practical advice if asked. I sailed a number of times on Lough Gill without any undue mishap, before the club moved out to their present site at Rosses Point where they eventually built their fine clubhouse.
A few memories from Rosses Point, Keith Pinder misjudging the tide, stalling in the tack at the windward mark, and sailing backwards at a rate of knots. Myself capsizing at the gybe mark in the bay, the tide had receded and the half centreboard had stuck in the sand, I stepped out of the boat the water was only knee deep. Another incident involving a member of Mullingar, that member shall remain anonymous, seconds before the start sailing along the line on port tack shouting starboard. This elicited some very unparliamentry language!!
Sligo was always a very innovative group of individuals, they had the idea of using the front torsion bar suspension from a Volkswagen Beetle to make the base of a boat trailer, and I copied this and built my own trailer. This suspension was so good that you could tow at 70 mph, the wheels bouncing like mad, the boat as steady as a rock.
It was in Sligo that I first heard the word microwave. The standard form of refreshment had been hot soup and sandwiches. Sligo decided to offer cooked food, they produced large trays of food, probably prepared in the kitchens of The Great Southern Hotel. The manager was Tim Corcoran a member. I opted for cottage pie, it arrived scalding hot on the outside, frozen in the middle. I wonder why it is only in the last five years that I acquired a microwave oven.
Dundalk; I sailed at four different venues, Bellurgen Point, Giles Quay, Shercock Lake, and Carlingford Lough. I have no particular memories from the first three, but vivid recollections of Carlingford. Launching the boat down the slipway the wind changed 180 degrees, that should have been sufficient warning. I was in the first couple of dozen boats to launch, and in a group of a dozen sailing in close proximity. The wind came over the top of Carlingford Mountain, it was as if a giant hand had slapped the water, we all capsized. I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and headed back to the shore. There were Carlingford Kettles ahead as I did so (for more information on these, consult Pat McArdle). An attempt was made to start a race in which the intrepid Robert Heath took part, it was abandoned. When Robert came ashore he said he had capsized eight times; scary stuff! One of the first things I did on arriving at an open meeting was to check the entry list. I was looking for one name “FRAM”. There were a few boats I could sometimes beat, “FRAM” from Dundalk I could always beat, ensuring I would not be last.
Prizes at this time were of small value, a burgee, a few shackles or, as in Rush and Dungarvan local produce, vegetables in Rush, cheese from the factory in Dungarvan. This leads to my greatest achievement, winning a race at an open meeting. Races in Rush start in the narrow channel connecting a small bay to the sea. We started, sailed into the bay, a couple of hundred yards, rounded a mark and headed out to sea to sail the full course. It was a run and the boats bunched together with spinnakers up. That was when the miracle happened. I got a gust of wind, the boat picked up speed, we went straight through the fleet and out to sea. We had sailed more than half of the course before the next boat emerged from the channel, and were declared the winners. On arriving back at the club and nobody else in sight my wife greeted me with the words “What happened this time"?
My prize for a lifetime achievement was a bag of spuds!
Dungarvan I remember for two things not related to sailing. Up on the bank a large industrial plant, it could have been extracting ore, anyway it was pouring out a constant stream of thick sludge. The other was the pub on Saturday night, the craic was mighty, the singing was loud and long, lasting until after 2am. Nothing unusual about that you might think, except it was next door to the Garda Station: happy days!!
The clubs on Dublin Bay, The National, and The Motor Yacht Club Dun Laoghaire, Clontarf, Kilbarrack, Sutton, Skerries and Mallahide all hosted events for GP14'S which I supported. Skerries hosted the World Championships in 1986 for which I qualified but could not attend.
Lough Swilly was a long way to go, but a glorious place to sail. So far I have only mentioned clubs in the ROI, I also travelled widely in Northern Ireland most of which was during "The Troubles "in fact at one Ulster Championship held at East Down on Strangford Lough there were only two boats from the south to attend, myself, and Norman Lee. I remember another occasion at East Down when on the Saturday night we had a meal at the La Mon Restaurant, a few months later it was fire bombed, this was one of the worst of many atrocities carried out. (Google La Mon bombing).
In July 1972 the GP14 National Championships were held in Wexford, great sailing, great weather, organization, and entertainment. On the Friday, now known as "Bloody Friday" the IRA detonated 26 bombs in the space of 80 minutes in Belfast. When this news came through on the radio the many competitors from the North were obviously very worried, this in the age before mobile phones.
Like anybody going to Northern Ireland in this period contact with the British Army was inevitable, I can only speak for myself personally, but I found them professional and polite.
One Saturday morning about 7-30 AM David and I with our two boats travelling to Ballyronan (on the northwest corner of Lough Neagh) took a shortcut on an unapproved road. We had not gone far when a helicopter appeared overhead, we were later checked by a patrol, they asked where we were going, and waved us on our way.
Returning from a meeting at Lough Erne I was stopped at a checkpoint at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. I wound down my window presented my Driving Licence, the soldier had his automatic weapon crooked on his arm with the end of the barrel about two inches from my right ear while he checked me out, a bit disconcerting. Lough Erne Yacht Club have tremendous facilities, relics from WW2. Lough Erne was used by the RAF as a base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats. These flew anti-submarine patrols over the Atlantic. Large hangars to accommodate them and slipways to allow them to enter and leave the water are now part of Lough Erne Yacht Club. The scenery is also spectacular. To end this section I must describe the checkpoint at Aughnacloy, you are going downhill, you stop about five yards from a small brick built blockhouse, while you are being checked you face a soldier sitting pointing a machine gun straight at you all the time, it is difficult not to feel intimidated.
Antrim S.C. is on the South Eastern point of Lough Neagh; I only sailed there on one occasion, but remember it well. Robert Heath had agreed to crew for me, Saturday and Sunday morning sailing passed without incident. However on Sunday afternoon Robert mutinied, he said he was " Bushed" (these young ones haven't got the stamina you know) as it happened a friend of mine from White Island, Tadgh O’Driscoll found himself in the same position so we decided to team up. We were on a run in the main body of the fleet, nobody was looking to the rear. From nowhere a storm had built up, when it hit us, the whole fleet without exception capsized. Within minutes an Army helicopter appeared overhead. We righted and sailed in. David had turned turtle and his wife Catherine was trapped underneath the boat, not the most pleasant experience I imagine! Billy Gibson had taken delivery of a new "Stewart" boat he became separated from it, and it was washed up on to the rocky shore. Billy was lucky that his boat ended up where there were helping hands waiting to prevent damage, not so Tim Corcoran (Sligo) his washed up at a different point and was damaged. Did Robert know something?
“Dinghy Week”, this was an idea that if all the dinghy classes combined at one club for a week it would make a great event. Baltimore hosted it for a number of years very successfully. Because of the popularity of the event it was realised that the event put too great strain on the host club. The answer was "The Last Dinghy Week" this was hosted by Ballyholme who did a magnificent job of organisation. They were running three different races simultaneously on three different courses. Food was served at Bangor Grammar School and very good it was too. Evening entertainment was first rate, "Is this the way to Amarillo” will always take me back to Ballyholme. The Royal Ulster Yacht Club generously opened its facilities to all competitors. I can only remember the first and last races. The way Belfast Lough is situated means there is a clear line of water to the Arctic Circle, consequently conditions can be influenced by events many miles away. There was a large entry for the first GP14 race, and a strong wind. What I had never experienced before was the height of the waves. I kid you not all that could be seen of a GP in a trough was the mast above the stays. As would be expected I capsized, I took down the mainsail and had no difficulty planing in on the genoa.
The final race was a "Menagerie Race" there were 340 boats of all the competitors who had taken part. The fastest classes started first i.e. the other classes according to their ratings. Things were fine until the wind died at the gybe mark, everyone calling for water, the boats were so packed that you could have walked across the decks. The lull was just temporary as the wind changed direction and picked up I ended the race flying in under the spinnaker.
Although my participation in The British National Championships took place at Helensburgh in Scotland in 19741 have saved it till last. The British Nuclear Submarine Base was further up the lough at Faslane. Like the ferries entering harbour at Dun Laoghaire the submarines just ploughed through the races. With their size and jet black hulls they gave out an air of menace. There were 144 boats taking part, and it was here that I first experienced the "Gate Start." I duly brought it back to Mullingar where it replaced the line start previously used for club racing. It was at Helensburgh that I only ever thought that my life was in danger. Sitting back-winded waiting for the race to start I knew there was a lot of wind. The race was abandoned, I released the genoa; I wondered what had hit me. We flew for a few exciting seconds before capsizing, I lost contact with the boat and was flying past, Gerald, my son, stuck out his leg which I grabbed, he pulled me in. After a very long rest we righted the boat, lowered the mainsail and sailed in. My wife was on the shore, this was one incident she was never made aware of.
THE W1NDSPEED AS MEASURED ON THE COMMITTEE BOAT WAS FOURTY FIVE MILES AN HOUR.
David and I often travelled together, I am sure he could add many more anecdotes to these few recollections of mine.
Ivor J.Fogg.
It is pitch dark when we arrive on the Northern shore of Lough Gill, I (we) miss the entrance to the sailing club site. A three point turn on a narrow road the first time you have ever towed a trailer. Left hand down forward, right hand down back thus it went on, finally we did the obvious unhitched and moved on finding the entrance, and parking the boat.
Friday nights in Sligo were always great craic, Gerry Sweeny could tell a stream of jokes non-stop for hours, some were even clean. The Sligo members were always most hospitable and they and Mullingar have always had an excellent relationship.
Saturday morning prepare for racing, no changing facilities they were not expected. Propriety was observed in the toilet facilities ladies bushes to the left, mens to the right.
There was a good entry and good racing, David was helming, and we followed the fleet at a respectful distance. This gave me a chance to observe the beauty of Lough Gill, it has to be seen from the water to see it at its best. I have since sailed at many locations, but have yet to find one to compare with Lough Gill.
Sunday morning was a repeat of Saturday, we followed the fleet. On Lough Gill there is a triangular spit of land where spectators can park and watch the proceedings. It was just offshore that the gybe mark was placed, yes you have guessed, not only did we capsize we managed to turn turtle. Somehow we managed to right the boat and so were not in complete disgrace. In those days a capsize literally rendered you hors de combat with just a bucket and sponge to get rid of the water. (The introduction of transom flaps and self balers meant it was just a slight inconvenience). All-in-all a fine introduction to being a TRAVELLER.
If one hoped to improve one’s sailing travelling did give a chance to see and meet the top helmsmen. Names such as Dr. Mike Hill, Paul Rowen, Peter Duffy, Bill Whisker, from Nl, Gus Henry and Pat Murphy from ROI. Without exception they would all answer any questions and offer practical advice if asked. I sailed a number of times on Lough Gill without any undue mishap, before the club moved out to their present site at Rosses Point where they eventually built their fine clubhouse.
A few memories from Rosses Point, Keith Pinder misjudging the tide, stalling in the tack at the windward mark, and sailing backwards at a rate of knots. Myself capsizing at the gybe mark in the bay, the tide had receded and the half centreboard had stuck in the sand, I stepped out of the boat the water was only knee deep. Another incident involving a member of Mullingar, that member shall remain anonymous, seconds before the start sailing along the line on port tack shouting starboard. This elicited some very unparliamentry language!!
Sligo was always a very innovative group of individuals, they had the idea of using the front torsion bar suspension from a Volkswagen Beetle to make the base of a boat trailer, and I copied this and built my own trailer. This suspension was so good that you could tow at 70 mph, the wheels bouncing like mad, the boat as steady as a rock.
It was in Sligo that I first heard the word microwave. The standard form of refreshment had been hot soup and sandwiches. Sligo decided to offer cooked food, they produced large trays of food, probably prepared in the kitchens of The Great Southern Hotel. The manager was Tim Corcoran a member. I opted for cottage pie, it arrived scalding hot on the outside, frozen in the middle. I wonder why it is only in the last five years that I acquired a microwave oven.
Dundalk; I sailed at four different venues, Bellurgen Point, Giles Quay, Shercock Lake, and Carlingford Lough. I have no particular memories from the first three, but vivid recollections of Carlingford. Launching the boat down the slipway the wind changed 180 degrees, that should have been sufficient warning. I was in the first couple of dozen boats to launch, and in a group of a dozen sailing in close proximity. The wind came over the top of Carlingford Mountain, it was as if a giant hand had slapped the water, we all capsized. I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and headed back to the shore. There were Carlingford Kettles ahead as I did so (for more information on these, consult Pat McArdle). An attempt was made to start a race in which the intrepid Robert Heath took part, it was abandoned. When Robert came ashore he said he had capsized eight times; scary stuff! One of the first things I did on arriving at an open meeting was to check the entry list. I was looking for one name “FRAM”. There were a few boats I could sometimes beat, “FRAM” from Dundalk I could always beat, ensuring I would not be last.
Prizes at this time were of small value, a burgee, a few shackles or, as in Rush and Dungarvan local produce, vegetables in Rush, cheese from the factory in Dungarvan. This leads to my greatest achievement, winning a race at an open meeting. Races in Rush start in the narrow channel connecting a small bay to the sea. We started, sailed into the bay, a couple of hundred yards, rounded a mark and headed out to sea to sail the full course. It was a run and the boats bunched together with spinnakers up. That was when the miracle happened. I got a gust of wind, the boat picked up speed, we went straight through the fleet and out to sea. We had sailed more than half of the course before the next boat emerged from the channel, and were declared the winners. On arriving back at the club and nobody else in sight my wife greeted me with the words “What happened this time"?
My prize for a lifetime achievement was a bag of spuds!
Dungarvan I remember for two things not related to sailing. Up on the bank a large industrial plant, it could have been extracting ore, anyway it was pouring out a constant stream of thick sludge. The other was the pub on Saturday night, the craic was mighty, the singing was loud and long, lasting until after 2am. Nothing unusual about that you might think, except it was next door to the Garda Station: happy days!!
The clubs on Dublin Bay, The National, and The Motor Yacht Club Dun Laoghaire, Clontarf, Kilbarrack, Sutton, Skerries and Mallahide all hosted events for GP14'S which I supported. Skerries hosted the World Championships in 1986 for which I qualified but could not attend.
Lough Swilly was a long way to go, but a glorious place to sail. So far I have only mentioned clubs in the ROI, I also travelled widely in Northern Ireland most of which was during "The Troubles "in fact at one Ulster Championship held at East Down on Strangford Lough there were only two boats from the south to attend, myself, and Norman Lee. I remember another occasion at East Down when on the Saturday night we had a meal at the La Mon Restaurant, a few months later it was fire bombed, this was one of the worst of many atrocities carried out. (Google La Mon bombing).
In July 1972 the GP14 National Championships were held in Wexford, great sailing, great weather, organization, and entertainment. On the Friday, now known as "Bloody Friday" the IRA detonated 26 bombs in the space of 80 minutes in Belfast. When this news came through on the radio the many competitors from the North were obviously very worried, this in the age before mobile phones.
Like anybody going to Northern Ireland in this period contact with the British Army was inevitable, I can only speak for myself personally, but I found them professional and polite.
One Saturday morning about 7-30 AM David and I with our two boats travelling to Ballyronan (on the northwest corner of Lough Neagh) took a shortcut on an unapproved road. We had not gone far when a helicopter appeared overhead, we were later checked by a patrol, they asked where we were going, and waved us on our way.
Returning from a meeting at Lough Erne I was stopped at a checkpoint at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. I wound down my window presented my Driving Licence, the soldier had his automatic weapon crooked on his arm with the end of the barrel about two inches from my right ear while he checked me out, a bit disconcerting. Lough Erne Yacht Club have tremendous facilities, relics from WW2. Lough Erne was used by the RAF as a base for Sunderland and Catalina flying boats. These flew anti-submarine patrols over the Atlantic. Large hangars to accommodate them and slipways to allow them to enter and leave the water are now part of Lough Erne Yacht Club. The scenery is also spectacular. To end this section I must describe the checkpoint at Aughnacloy, you are going downhill, you stop about five yards from a small brick built blockhouse, while you are being checked you face a soldier sitting pointing a machine gun straight at you all the time, it is difficult not to feel intimidated.
Antrim S.C. is on the South Eastern point of Lough Neagh; I only sailed there on one occasion, but remember it well. Robert Heath had agreed to crew for me, Saturday and Sunday morning sailing passed without incident. However on Sunday afternoon Robert mutinied, he said he was " Bushed" (these young ones haven't got the stamina you know) as it happened a friend of mine from White Island, Tadgh O’Driscoll found himself in the same position so we decided to team up. We were on a run in the main body of the fleet, nobody was looking to the rear. From nowhere a storm had built up, when it hit us, the whole fleet without exception capsized. Within minutes an Army helicopter appeared overhead. We righted and sailed in. David had turned turtle and his wife Catherine was trapped underneath the boat, not the most pleasant experience I imagine! Billy Gibson had taken delivery of a new "Stewart" boat he became separated from it, and it was washed up on to the rocky shore. Billy was lucky that his boat ended up where there were helping hands waiting to prevent damage, not so Tim Corcoran (Sligo) his washed up at a different point and was damaged. Did Robert know something?
“Dinghy Week”, this was an idea that if all the dinghy classes combined at one club for a week it would make a great event. Baltimore hosted it for a number of years very successfully. Because of the popularity of the event it was realised that the event put too great strain on the host club. The answer was "The Last Dinghy Week" this was hosted by Ballyholme who did a magnificent job of organisation. They were running three different races simultaneously on three different courses. Food was served at Bangor Grammar School and very good it was too. Evening entertainment was first rate, "Is this the way to Amarillo” will always take me back to Ballyholme. The Royal Ulster Yacht Club generously opened its facilities to all competitors. I can only remember the first and last races. The way Belfast Lough is situated means there is a clear line of water to the Arctic Circle, consequently conditions can be influenced by events many miles away. There was a large entry for the first GP14 race, and a strong wind. What I had never experienced before was the height of the waves. I kid you not all that could be seen of a GP in a trough was the mast above the stays. As would be expected I capsized, I took down the mainsail and had no difficulty planing in on the genoa.
The final race was a "Menagerie Race" there were 340 boats of all the competitors who had taken part. The fastest classes started first i.e. the other classes according to their ratings. Things were fine until the wind died at the gybe mark, everyone calling for water, the boats were so packed that you could have walked across the decks. The lull was just temporary as the wind changed direction and picked up I ended the race flying in under the spinnaker.
Although my participation in The British National Championships took place at Helensburgh in Scotland in 19741 have saved it till last. The British Nuclear Submarine Base was further up the lough at Faslane. Like the ferries entering harbour at Dun Laoghaire the submarines just ploughed through the races. With their size and jet black hulls they gave out an air of menace. There were 144 boats taking part, and it was here that I first experienced the "Gate Start." I duly brought it back to Mullingar where it replaced the line start previously used for club racing. It was at Helensburgh that I only ever thought that my life was in danger. Sitting back-winded waiting for the race to start I knew there was a lot of wind. The race was abandoned, I released the genoa; I wondered what had hit me. We flew for a few exciting seconds before capsizing, I lost contact with the boat and was flying past, Gerald, my son, stuck out his leg which I grabbed, he pulled me in. After a very long rest we righted the boat, lowered the mainsail and sailed in. My wife was on the shore, this was one incident she was never made aware of.
THE W1NDSPEED AS MEASURED ON THE COMMITTEE BOAT WAS FOURTY FIVE MILES AN HOUR.
David and I often travelled together, I am sure he could add many more anecdotes to these few recollections of mine.
Ivor J.Fogg.
