Well it did not take long, once Dad had purchased a sail boat for David, for the younger brothers to want a piece of this wet water experience. So, Dad got a boat for us in what he called the legendary Sabot class. Now being a French name, the T is silent – much like the sudden movement of the beam holding the sail when Tom went about unexpectedly. I tell you now, there is nothing silent in the English name Boom given to this lethal piece of sailing apparatus. It is one word in our native language where the pronunciation perfectly matches the reverberating sound one hears as it connects dead centre with your daydreaming forehead. Well, it was a petite craft with a flat nose and obviously designed for teaching one very diminutive French child, sitting down inside the boat not a couple of Aussie teenagers hanging out on it’s side. Now, that flat blunt timber panel located at the supposed pointy end of our hoped for sleek sailing craft, certainly gave the initial impression of an unhurried adventure. Also, the high timber sides and small single sail also typified the safe European lake sailing aspects of this legendary craft. What was Dad thinking? Slow safe for us? Didn’t he realize our right to adventure as well, in spite of our tender ages of 14, 11 and 8. As it turned out there was enough adventure in this tiny craft for us to return home bruised but content. Like David before us, we were taken by Dad to the sheltered waters off Scarborough bay for our sailing initiation. The limited design aspects of the Sabot sailing box, did make cross wind and down wind manoeuvres our only really successful sailing tacks that day. The only problem with this limited ability arises when one wants to return to home base and find that its direction is not located on either of these two axis. So, getting out and pushing it across the mud flats in the direction of the intended destination, became our only reasoned solution. Now early in the day the winds were quite strong and Tom and I got up on those high timber sides and lent out like those professionals did in those sailing magazines. The wind at one point however, kept the Sabot tipping over one way while we went the other over the side and into the water. Then the fun really begins as you try and right a sailing boat in a strong breeze from the difficult position, floating in the water with your oversized bright yellow life vest trying to push your arms, nose and ears up towards the top of your head. One time our struggle took so long the Sabot actually went right over and was finally righted with a masthead complete with fine Scarborough Bay mud. (There was some explanation about that one back at base). Now one of the most difficult and terrifying aspects of sailing we learnt that day was the going about manoeuvre. See if the boat speed was not sufficient and your timing was poor then going about turned into a going nowhere manoeuvre. Quite often Tom and I would just find ourselves sitting in the boat watching the sail flap rigorously above us as the Sabot stalled into the wind and refused to move. Much like the horses we hired once that refused to move once they had decided that our charge time was up. Still with a few rows of the rudder, we did manage to coax the reluctant box back into a movement more in keeping with the concept of sailing rather than just sitting. Now it was terrifying because there was no warning, from our limited experience, when that BOOM was going to whip across the boat in an effort to maim, eject or frighten anyone in it’s path – nightmare! Now, once the sailing experience was complete for the day, we loaded our sail boat back onto it’s transport apparatus much like those other kid’s fathers that were there that day, put their boats onto the specialized sailing trailers. Sadly for our macho sailing physique, our petite little French number just had to be strapped neatly on the EJs roof rack hardly the stuff of legends!
