The Mudskipper Cup

by Christopher Cummings

  He reset the spanker and positioned it well over to port. Next he fastened the sheets of both jibs to port and gently pulled all the yard arms as far round to port as he could. Then he hooked the small loops in the sheets and tacks over the small nails driven in for that purpose. Finally he pondered the rudder. Should she have a bit of starboard rudder? Or go straight?

  ‘Straight I think. If I give her any starboard rudder she may keep turning up into the wind. She could end up ‘in irons’, all flat-aback. In any case, there will be a swirl around the rudder and that will slow her down,’ he reasoned.

  After setting everything he glanced to see what Peter had done. Peter had the clipper’s yards braced hard round, the spanker centred and his tiller slightly to starboard. ‘Should I change it?’ Graham wondered. ‘No,’ he decided. He indicated he was ready.

  Lt Cdr Jervis held up his arm. “Get ready. Get set. Go!”

  The models began to gurgle and surge across the pond. Graham saw his model lean over as the wind strengthened and his heart went into his mouth. ‘Oh no! She’s going to capsize!’

  The leech of the frigate’s mainsail actually dipped in the water before she righted herself. She heeled far over but appeared to fairly scud along. So did the clipper. She was upwind of the frigate. Another gust of wind struck the models. The clipper heeled so sharply that for a moment Graham thought she would topple onto his model.

  As the clipper recovered from her extreme list he saw that she was once again drawing ahead of his model.

  “Foul!” he called. “Peter’s ship is blanketing the wind from mine!”

  “That’s fine,” Peter replied. “It won’t be for long. I’ll be ahead of you soon.”

  “Next race you are to swap over,” Lt Cdr Jervis said. “Graham can be upwind.”

  Graham began to worry. Not only was his ship not as fast, she was making more leeway than Peter’s. ‘She will miss the downwind marker by a metre,’ he decided. He started running around the pond.

  By the time he reached Andrew, Graham saw that both models would miss; Peter’s upwind and his downwind. ‘I’ll lose,’ he thought. ‘I will have to tack against the wind.’

  At that moment another gust struck the models. The frigate heeled again so that the lower edge of the mainsail dragged in the water. ‘I shouldn’t have set the driver so far over,’ he thought.

  “The clipper’s in trouble!” Andrew cried. Graham looked. The gust had forced the clipper even further upwind and suddenly all her square sails began to shiver. She slowed down, came to a standstill, then her head slowly ‘paid off’ and she began to move again.

  Graham looked back at his frigate. She was still going and only five-metres to go. He waded in to meet her. ‘Too fast idiot!’ he berated himself, as the waves he caused made the frigate pitch and slow down. It did the trick though. Her head came slightly round and she sailed on, brushing by Graham to just pass her bowsprit on the upwind side of the marker.

  Graham couldn’t believe it. He had won a second time!

  The markers were taken across and repositioned for another race ‘off the wind, sailing free, wind this time on the port beam.’

  Graham reset everything the other way. This time he still kept the rudder amidships but did not hook the spanker so far over. He noted that Peter set his spanker slightly to starboard. They eyed each other’s models.

  “I’ll win this time,” Peter said. “Without my ship to shelter it that little toy will blow right over.”

  Graham jeered but the dart struck home. It was just what he feared.

  But it did not happen.

  This time both ships ran almost straight but the wind died right away so that it barely ruffled the water. This seemed to suit Graham’s model which inched slowly ahead. As the two models crept slowly across the pond almost side by side the spectators mostly ran around to meet them, except for the mothers who sat in the shade preparing afternoon tea.

  “Jolly good exercise all this running about,” Lt Cdr Jervis said with a laugh as they arrived puffing on the far side. Graham was now gripped with excitement. He was going to win a third time! Better still he had noted the excitement in Jennifer’s eyes and that when she barracked it was his model she was urging on.

  The frigate ghosted over the line half a length in front of the clipper.

  “Three o’clock,” Lt Cdr Jervis noted. “I declare it is time for tea. Let’s have a break and with a bit of luck the wind will have improved again by then.”

  “I hope not,” Graham said. The conditions seemed just right for his ship. But he did agree with afternoon tea. The models were placed at the downwind end of the pool and everyone trooped over to where cakes, biscuits and cordial were set out for them.

  “Would you like one of these Graham? I cooked them myself,” Margaret said, holding up a plate of cupcakes covered with pink icing and ‘hundreds and thousands.’ She gave such a worried little smile that he couldn’t help smiling back and taking one. Privately he wished she would go away. ‘Silly little girl!’ he thought. ‘Pink icing!’

  He looked around for Jennifer but saw that Kylie was talking to her. His sister caught his glance and flashed back what he took to be a warning glare - just the merest shifting of the eyelashes, but more than enough. ‘I’ll wait till Jennifer is alone,’ he thought. Instead he began talking to Andrew.

  Fifteen minutes later Lt Cdr Jervis clapped his hands. “Right-O! On with the show! The next race will be the hardest. This will be, if you will excuse my use of the nautical jargon, on the wind, close-hauled on the larboard tack. That is, sailing up against the wind with the wind coming in over the port side.”

  CHAPTER 7

  ANOTHER CHALLENGE

  While the markers were being positioned Graham placed his model in the water and pondered the set of the sails. He was more worried about this race. Peter’s model, with its deeper draught and finer lines would point better and make less leeway. Peter had the weather position this time.

  “You keep that garbage barge well clear of my ship,” Graham said, noting with dismay that Peter was furling all his square sails. Graham considered asking for a ruling on this but held his tongue, even when Peter took four triangular ‘stay sails’ from his pocket and fastened them between the masts. ‘After all, I furled my spanker earlier, and everyone will say that seamanship is what counts.’ He was secretly embarrassed not to have thought of it. ‘I’ve read so many books about sailing ships - what a fool I am!’

  When the race began his fears dropped away. The frigate, with all sail set and yards hauled hard round, and her rudder set to port, seemed to gurgle away from the clipper, leaning over and butting up tiny showers of droplets as she encountered a head sea.

  Within a minute Graham’s confidence evaporated. Yes, the frigate was sailing much faster than the clipper, but she was not pointing nearly as close to the wind. From behind, the divergence of the two vessels courses was plain. Graham bit his lip and quietly swore. Peter’s clipper was aiming straight between the markers. The frigate was sagging ever more to leeward. Worse still, she was showing a tendency to come up into the wind.

  Thinking to put the model over on the other tack he ran around the pond and waded in but quickly realised that perseverance would be a poor substitute for intelligence as he worked out what he must do.

  ‘I’ve got to put her about on the starboard tack. But that will mean she will have to go all the way back across the pond, unless I wade in and tack her again in the middle.’

  The water looked deep and murky and his eye calculated there wasn’t time anyway. The clipper would win. So he stood with what patience he could muster and waited till the clipper reached the line. Peter was understandably delighted.

  The markers were moved back to the other side of the pond. The fifth race was to be another upwind slog, this time on the starboard tack. Graham was to have the weather position. He had no staysails to ‘bend on’ so he opted for an experiment, knowing in his heart it was unwise but hoping for
the best. He furled the forecourse, hoping the extra leverage aft would point the model higher into the wind.

  It was a disaster. Within seconds of the order ‘Go!’ the frigate turned into the wind, was taken ‘aback’, and began to make sternway. Graham sloshed in to try to retrieve the situation but he was both too slow and too fast. Before he could get to the model it had collided stern first with the side of the clipper.

  In his haste Graham’s foot slipped on a mossy rock and he pitched headlong. Just before his head went under Graham saw the rigging of the two ships interlock. When he surfaced, burning with humiliation, the models were rocking and grinding violently together.

  Fearing extensive damage Peter waded in and tried to hold the ships apart. To Graham’s surprise he didn’t crow.

  “You OK?” he asked as Graham wiped water and slimy weed from his eyes.

  “Yes thanks,” Graham replied. “Only my dignity that’s hurt.” ‘And my pride,’ he thought. ‘And in front of Jennifer!’

  Peter separated the two ships. “I don’t think anything of consequence is broken. Nope, nothing we can’t fix in a jiffy.” He turned to Lt Cdr Jervis. “Do we continue sir, or restart?”

  “Restart. And this time we will not have a re-enactment of the Krakatoa Tsunami.”

  That raised a laugh. Graham saw Jennifer grin. Kylie and Margaret both gave him sympathetic looks.

  Graham had to retie some broken cotton. He had brought a small ‘Repair Kit’ so the work was soon done. What bothered him, apart from some minor damage to the balsa details, was the algae filled water droplets in many of the nooks and crannies, and the fact that most of the lower sails were soaked.

  ‘If we get another strong gust of wind she could roll over,’ he thought, conjuring up a vision of that ultimate humiliation.

  He reset the forecourse, and was moved a metre further upwind at Peter’s insistence. Graham didn’t mind that as he hoped it would give him a better chance of getting between the marks. Lt Cdr Jervis quashed this hope by pointing out that, of course, his finishing posts were now imaginary ones one metre upwind of the actual markers.

  The race went as Graham feared. Peter’s fore-and-aft rig just seemed to eat slowly to windward. By the time the clipper had reached the middle of the pond the frigate had already crossed ahead of it, sagging to leeward at a rate which destroyed any hope of victory.

  ‘I’m still one-up,’ Graham thought as he carried his model to the designated point at the upwind end of the pool. ‘I might just win this one. It should be her best point of sailing.’ But he was now very worried about the final race.

  The sixth race was ‘off the wind and running free’, with the wind on the starboard quarter. It turned out to be a good one. The two models ploughed downwind neck and neck as fast as the increasingly excited audience could walk.

  “Oh come on Artemis!” Margaret cried.

  Graham pursed his lips. ‘I wish she wouldn’t so obviously side with me. She will give Jennifer the wrong idea.’

  As the race progressed Graham became intensely excited. ‘She’s fairly flying along! If I get this race I win!’

  But he didn’t. Peter’s clipper shaved across the line a clear winner by half a metre. Graham pretended he wasn’t down or worried but privately he now conceded the competition to Peter. ‘I’ll never beat him on the tacking.’

  Even so he tried. He opted for fast runs just on the wind. Peter went for slow runs which gained as much distance to weather as possible. Graham also opted to go on the starboard tack first. ‘That should give me a good long run on the second leg.’ Peter, he noted, planned to go the other way.

  Thus, as soon as the start was called, the two ships headed away from each other and it became very difficult to judge which one was winning. It was agreed that the ship must ground at the end of its run before the owner could wade in and turn it onto the other tack.

  Graham raced to the spot and waited in a fever of impatience. As soon as the frigate shuddered and started to slew around he waded quickly in, turned it and began re-setting the sails. This required him to unhook all the tacks and sheets, haul the yardarms around and shift the tie points of the jibs from port to starboard. Then he adjusted the steering.

  As the frigate set sail on its next leg Graham straightened up and looked to see how the clipper was going. It was immediately obvious he would lose. The clipper was aground almost as far upwind at the end of its first run as the frigate would be at the end of her second. Worse still, Peter did not have to reset the staysails or driver, just two jibs and adjust the steering.

  The clipper was launched on her second leg. The two models passed each other in mid-pond, going so close it seemed the frigate’s bowsprit would spear into the clipper’s rigging. But she missed. Worse still, the clipper was upwind and for a few moments stole the wind from the frigate.

  “Oh! I wish my cannons worked!” Graham cried. “I’d give him a broadside. That would slow him down.”

  “Her,” Andrew corrected. “Ships are ‘hers’.”

  “Why?” Margaret asked.

  “Because they have nice curves,” Andrew replied with a wink. Margaret visibly blushed.

  “Oh it is not!”

  Graham had no time to listen. He set off at the run around the pool. ‘Four tacks it will take,’ he estimated.

  He was right in that, but by the time the frigate had completed the fourth leg to the upwind markers the clipper was on the downwind run. Graham started walking, resigning himself to defeat. Then stubborn pride took over. ‘No. I’m not sunk yet! I’ll go down fighting.’ So he ran to meet his model, reset it and sent it on its way.

  By then the clipper was half way down the pond. Only a miracle could stop her and give the race to Graham. None happened. He walked along the bank, Margaret beside him, preparing himself mentally. ‘Oh well. I tried. She does sail well. But I’m not as smart as Pete. Why is it that everything I do seems to be a failure? I wish Margaret would stop following me like a bloody dog. Compared to Jennifer she is a bloody dog!’

  He felt guilty at that and looked at Margaret. She met his eyes hopefully.

  Margaret smiled shyly. “You nearly won. You gave it a good try,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled stiffly. He didn’t want her sympathy.

  As he got closer to the finish line Peter stood up from retrieving his model. His eyes were shining and his triumph was clear on his voice. He faced Graham and began to clap. Lt Cdr Jervis stepped forward and began to clap as well. The whole group applauded and made him even more embarrassed. ‘They don’t have to rub salt in the wounds,’ he thought bitterly.

  Then Peter waded ashore to meet him.

  “That was great Graham! You really gave me a run for money. I enjoyed that. Thanks.”

  Peter was so obviously sincere that Graham felt churlish and he could only mumble in embarrassment. Peter then went on. “Would you like a re-match one day, maybe with new models?”

  Graham nodded. He saw Andrew standing beside him and gestured to him. “Why not challenge the navy cadets. Have an army cadets versus navy cadets race.”

  Andrew laughed. “Fair go. I don’t know whether I could make a model as good as these.”

  “I could,” Blake interjected.

  Carmen stepped forward. “Come on Andrew, accept,” she said.

  “Maybe but I’d rather challenge them to a real sailing race. In ‘Corsairs’, out on the sea,” Andrew replied.

  “That wouldn’t be fair,” Carmen replied. “We do lots of sailing. Peter and Graham wouldn’t have a chance.”

  Peter bristled. “I’ll bet we would!” he replied indignantly. “We will do both, a race with models, and a proper race in sailing boats.”

  “Alright,” Andrew replied. “You’re on!”

  “How many do we need for a boat crew?” Peter asked.

  “Three will do,” Andrew replied. “Two to hand the sails and a skipper at the tiller.”

  Peter looked around at Graham. “Do you w
ant to be in this Graham?”

  Graham said “yes”. He wasn’t keen but would support Peter. Peter looked at Roger. “What about you Roger?”

  Roger shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask my mum.”

  “OK. That’s three. Who’s your team Andrew?” Peter asked.

  Andrew turned to his friends. All three were nodding.

  “Blake?”

  “You bet.”

  “Luke?”

  “Yeah man.”

  “Simmo?”

  “I’d like to.”

  Anthony Simmonds, Graham remembered. He went to another school. And the black-haired girl was his sister Tania.

  “That’s four,” Andrew said. “We might have to draw straws to decide.”

  “We would have four in a crew,” Blake said. “One can be chief assistant bailer, bottle-washer and ballast.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Andrew agreed. He obviously didn’t want to choose between his friends. “Can you blokes rope in a fourth?”

  “There’s Stephen?” Graham suggested.

  “Hmm,” Peter replied. He and Stephen weren’t seeing eye to eye at present. Nor for that matter was Graham.

  “What about me?” Kylie asked.

  “No!” Graham retorted. “This is for boys.”

  “Oh you sexist, chauvinistic pig!” Kylie cried.

  Graham glared at his sister. Then he met Margaret’s pleading eyes and that hardened his resolve. “No! No girls.” Then he saw Jennifer and regretted it.

  Carmen now waded in. “That’s not fair! What about equality? We can sail as well as you can. No - better!”

  “It’s our race Car,” Andrew replied, trying to placate his angry sister.

  “Why can’t there be three boats?” Carmen cried.

  “Because..”

  At that moment Lt Cdr Jervis interrupted. He had been talking to the mothers. “Don’t fight kids. Give the girls a fair go. Now, it’s heading towards four o’clock and we have a dinner engagement tonight so we’d best be off. Come on Jen.”