Jackie Lambert 2023-2 (M)

Ladies Who Launch – My First Ever Windsurfing Race by Jackie Lambert

I met my demons at the National Watersports Festival (NWF) in 2013 – and I’m not just talking about the gruesome visions walking around at the horror-themed fancy dress party on Saturday night.

Although it expanded to incorporate dinghies, kayaks and stand up paddleboards (SUPs), the NWF’s roots were in windsurfing (also known as board sailing).

The festival’s ethos remained constant: to encourage people to enjoy the water, regardless of age, level of expertise, or gender. The professionals already had their own competition circuit, but the NWF was the UK’s only event for kids, weekend warriors, and the rarest breed of all, Board Housewives like myself.

It’s a sad fact that most women associated with the sport are windsurfing widows. At weekends, you’ll see these shadowy figures, standing alone on grey windswept beaches. Waiting. While their boyfriends, husbands, and kids are having a whale of a time on the water, oblivious to the hours that pass. This is because once you’ve felt the swiftness of the wind and the ocean in your heels, there is no going back. Windsurfing is not a hobby. It’s an obsession.

I was determined to help these poor wraiths.

If I had a pound for every time one of them had stared at me incredulously prancing around in my rubber gear and asked, “Do you do it too?” I would have at least £2.73.

I’m kidding.

It happened a lot.

Enough to raise at least £7.20.

Allan, the festival’s organiser, had also noticed this, and selected me to be an NWF Ambassador and Team Rider.

The term ‘Team Rider’ brings to mind a bronzed beach bum whose elastic ligaments are barely two decades old. Their brief is to climb the rankings in international race, wave, and freestyle competitions, while promoting their sponsors by getting photographed for magazines. Rippling in the peak of physical fitness, their ragged sun-bleached manes of salt encrusted hair are not the only thing they have in common. Almost invariably, they are male.

I was not your archetypal Team Rider for reasons that went way beyond having ovaries and a slight paunch.

I am a poor swimmer, who is terrified of being under the water, and didn’t start windsurfing until my late thirties. By the time of my NWF ambassadorial appointment, hubby Mark and I had passed our joint centenary. That catch-all phrase ‘intermediate’ covered my talent for windsurfing, even though I spent most of my free time on clinics or wobbling around on England’s South Coast, trying to improve.

However, what I lacked in ability, I made up for with determination, commitment, and enthusiasm. I truly embodied Winston Churchill’s alleged definition of success. “The ability to move from one failure to the next with no loss of enthusiasm.”

Allan clearly figured that if people saw that a slightly plump middle-aged lady could master windsurfing, perhaps they might feel inspired to give it a try.

Yet, despite my decade-and-a-half windsurfing career culminating in the lofty heights of NWF Team Rider, I had a huge admission to make.

I had never actually entered a windsurf race…

Although I claim I am not competitive, those who know me beg to differ. When I announced, “I am proud to be the only person to lose all her matches in the Hurn Court tennis tournament!” friends accused me of getting competitive about being uncompetitive.

Sure, I would instinctively sink down into a ‘super 7’ power stance to stop mates from overtaking me, especially if they were blokes. I always took pleasure in burning off kite surfers and, when the wind was honking down at Portland harbour, which hosted London 2012’s Olympic sailing events, I gave cars on the parallel A354 a run for their money. But entering an actual race…

“I think I’ll just watch the first race and see how it pans out…” blurted a sudden attack of nerves.

“Oh, come on, Jackie, you’ll enjoy it and you can work your way up the rankings just by taking part. Not everyone does all the races,” said David, a sea veteran well into his 70s, not that you would believe it to look at his rippling bronzed beach bum torso.

Then, NWF race regulars, Laura, Felicity, and Emma, drafted me in as Fourth Man in their team. Technically, teams were only supposed to have three members, but the NWF was all about having fun, and, as with a Wonderbra, I appreciated the support.

“What shall we call ourselves?” Laura asked.

To me, it was obvious.

“The Ladies Who Launch!”

And that is how I found myself on the start line of my first ever windsurfing race.

My twin objectives were to finish at a number lower than my age, and avoid getting my hair wet. This was due to the limited bathroom facilities in my surf bus, Big Blue.

As with my exalted ‘Team Rider’ title, ‘Surf Bus’ was rather an overstatement of Big Blue’s credentials. In reality, Mark and I were sleeping on the beach in the back of a van, into which we’d stuffed a mattress and bedding, along with all our sails, wetsuits, booms, boards, and masts. ‘A View Without A Room’ was the best you could say about Big Blue’s provision of luxury beachfront accommodation.

At the race brief, I found the explanation of the five-minute countdown to the start horrifically confusing. Hooters hooted, and different coloured flags went up and down at various times.

“I thought the NWF race format was supposed to make things simple for novices!” I squeaked as my throat constricted with a renewed attack of nerves.

Laura, a fellow northerner, reassured me.

“That’s all for the benefit of the start boat, love. When you’re lined up on the shore, all you need to know is that when the jet ski goes past – you start.”

Even I could cope with that.

With races aimed at all skill levels, there were no timed starts or triangular courses to contend with. Competitors simply launched from the shore, sailed or swam around a buoy, landed, then sprinted up the beach to secure their place by slapping their numbered wristband into the hands of a race official.

Ever the gentleman, Mark rigged, carried my kit to the shore, and acted as photographer. With around two hundred competitors, there was quite a buzz as we lined up on the water’s edge. Unless the conditions are truly kicking, I don’t wear a watersports helmet, since a windsurfing wipeout usually throws you clear of your kit. However, on the start line, I appreciated Laura’s sage advice to pop one on. As long boards, short boards, big sails, and little sails jostled for position, more than once, a carbon fibre mast bounced off my cranium with a satisfying ‘ponk’.

When the jet ski shot past, I struggled to get off the line in the light wind, right under the nose of Simon Bornhoft.

Simon is one of the UK’s top windsurf coaches, technique editor for ‘Boards’ magazine, and developed the RYA’s (Royal Yachting Association’s) official windsurf training course. Simon changed my windsurfing life. He taught me skills I never thought I’d master, such as using the harness and footstraps for control in strong winds, and waterstarts, where instead of hauling up the sail, the wind lifts you effortlessly on to the board.

Oooh. Embarrassing!

Once I was under way, I found floating along on the sparkling, sun-kissed waters to the buoy quite serene. The entire fleet was going so slowly, there was time to chat with fellow competitors on the way. I met a chap dressed as Santa, Dennis the Menace, a nun, and a windsurfing Heineken bottle. They had worked out a secondary strategy to achieve a podium finish. Effectively, they had entered the race twice by registering in the fancy dress category.

Why hadn’t I thought of that?

Aged 14, I achieved my life’s only competitive triumph at a gymkhana. The only rosette to grace my entire equestrian career was for coming equal third out of four in a fancy dress competition.

I took a nice tight line around the buoy.

It would not be my last mistake.

Several sailors had fallen off, and I had to navigate through a thrashing Day-Glo minestrone of boards, bodies, and brightly coloured monofilm sails. It slowed me down – but I didn’t get my hair wet.

Becalmed in light winds on the return leg, I drifted downwind, away from the finish. I soon realised the futility of trying to make ground by tacking back upwind and sought my moment of windsurfing glory on foot. I landed my kit miles down the beach and, with my lungs bursting and Laura cheering me on, I sprinted for the finish.

A man whose dog, Luna, had ridden along on the front of his board took first place. Luna was by far the quickest at legging it up the beach.

But here’s the thing about racing. Even after this first race, I was already thinking about how to improve my performance…

I entered all four races on the Saturday. By the end, my palms were burning from gripping the boom, and my shoulders ached from pumping the sail to propel myself around the course in the barely discernible breeze. I was so exhausted I could have fallen asleep standing up.

To remove the worst of the stinging salt, I treated myself to a kind of bed bath by the side of the van. All I had was a Thermos flask of warm water I had brought to make tea. Mark handed me a cold beer and said,

“Your hair’s still dry!”

We toasted my success and watched the sun go down over Hayling Island. Bathed in the red-gold light, I felt quietly pleased with myself. I was absolutely clueless, never having raced before, and my modern, low-volume short board was more suited to stronger wind conditions. Yet, I had finished mid-table.

I present to you the case for the defence of the old school long windsurf boards and wind-SUPs, whose high buoyancy and long rails are perfect for light winds. They finished in the Top 40 every time.

Earlier, with his trademark grin, my friend Tim, Team Rider for Fanatic/North, had warned me,

“Racing is addictive.”

In one day, I had gone from I don’t want to do this… to formulating a cunning plan to improve my rankings.

I had brought ear plugs, so I didn’t hear the end of Saturday’s night’s beach party. Quietly cocooned inside Big Blue, surrounded by the delicious sour smell of damp neoprene and soggy sails, I sensed carnage in the early hours.

I was right. The start line for Sunday’s 10 a.m. race was distinctly sparse.

On the waterline, there was zero wind, and the tide was pushing the nose of my board around to face the shore. Thus, I managed a proper crowd-pleaser of a start by sailing backwards off the start line, right under the nose of Peter Hart.

Peter is the former British speed and slalom champion, coach, guru, and all-round windsurfing legend. He devised the RYA’s original advanced teaching system, and I doubt there are many windsurfers in the world who have not have seen one of Harty’s coaching videos or read his articles in ‘Windsurf’ magazine. In my efforts to improve, I had attended several of his windsurfing masterclasses.

Oooh. Embarrassing!

Peter was commentating on the race. His analysis went something like this:

“Those upwind have got away to a fine start. They have launched into nice, clean wind and have an excellent line downwind to the buoy. In seconds, they have opened up, what? A two hundred metre advantage over those downwind, who are fighting through their wind shadow and all that messed up wind.”

Yep – that was me!

When I eventually battled my way away from the shore, I thought…

Life doesn’t get much better than this.

The Sunday morning sunshine glistened on the ocean, turning it to quicksilver. I was out there in nature, having fun with a whole bunch of like-minded individuals.

My artful tactical coup (simply turning up for the race) worked a treat, and I moved right up the rankings to number 41. Never mind finishing at a number lower than my age, I’d shaved off nearly a decade!

My light wind sailing technique improved markedly and tuning my kit by adding a larger fin to help stop my board being pushed downwind paid off. I was fully alert, feeling for any sudden gust I could use to my advantage, and wary of getting into anyone’s wind shadow. My ‘straight 7’ stance, with my body stiff, front leg and arms straight, and hands close together, pushed every ounce of power into my board. In the lulls, I pumped the sail in a figure of eight to waft myself forward, all the while scanning upwind for any ruffles on the water: evidence of an approaching puff of wind.

Racing really makes you think how to squeeze every little bit of performance out of your kit. Something I wouldn’t do if I was just out for recreation – unless Mark tried to overtake me, of course. To be honest, as my windsurfing improved, I had become a ‘Force 4 snob’. As a beginner, I would go out in anything, happy just to be on the water. Now, I craved the thrill of planing – where the board skims across the water like a speedboat. Planing requires wind strengths of Force 4 or above. Had I not been racing, I wouldn’t have even bothered to rig up for such light winds – but how much fun was I having?

Staying out of trouble at the buoy also helped immensely and despite a few more nightmare starts and several finishes where I drifted so far downwind I was nearly in the next county, I ranked 46th out of 250.

Allan congratulated me.

“A first-page finish!” he said, as he clapped me on the back.

My team, Ladies Who Launch, came 4th out of 9.

In windsurfing terminology, I was ‘stoked’ by my success.

After all, this was my first date with a buoy.

My hair was still dry, and I had earned bragging rights over more than a couple of Likely Lads who would have to admit – they got chicked.

When Dave White, UK Production Board Speed Champion, professional windsurf photographer, and son of Olympic Gold Medallist yachtsman, Reg White, posted a photo of me on the NWF website, Ant Baker commented,

“Nice helmet!”

Ant and his older brother Nik are Britain’s most successful windsurfers. Between them, The Fabulous Baker Boys won a string of British and World titles. For many years, they trained and competed on Maui’s north shore, windsurfing’s spiritual home.

Oooh. Embarrassing!

All the more so because our next windsurfing adventure was with Ant.

When I saw an advert on his Facebook page, I said to Mark,

“Ant Baker is running an ‘Introduction to Wavesailing’ course on Maui.”

“Book it!” Mark replied.

“Don’t you want to know the details and how much it costs?”

“Book it!”

I am a dedicated Board Housewife, so of course, I did exactly as I was told.

We probably should have got a few more details, since that’s how we found ourselves in a taxi at midnight, half way up East Maui Volcano, with no idea where we were going.

But that’s a whole other story!

Postscripts:

Sadly, the NWF, a weekend of fun, followed by fun, then some more fun to top it off, has now ceased to be. It is a sad loss to watersports, since it was such a wonderful, inclusive event, supported by so many professionals, particularly within the windsurfing industry. However, kudos to Allan Cross for its creation, and for keeping it alive for so many years, despite the many setbacks I know he had to overcome.

As NWF Ambassador and Team Rider, Allan granted me the privilege of meeting and interviewing many of my sporting heroes for the NWF blog. This included a few notable Ladies Who Launch. I met Switzerland’s Karin Jaggi, who had 29 world titles and counting, and the UK’s Zara Davis. Zara is the only woman in history to hold two sailing world records at the same time: the women’s windsurfing 500m speed record and the outright nautical mile windsurfing speed record.

On another note, I have to mention that Mark and I were heartbroken to hear about the destruction caused by the recent wildfires on Maui. The island and its people captured our hearts in a way no other place on earth ever has, and we send our love and heartfelt sympathy to the residents of The Green Isle.