Twenty three crews of two jostle for position on the line between the committee boat and the pin marker buoy, eyes straining to see the little flags that signal the start. One by one they appear, flutter and disappear at five, four and one minute to go until at last they are all gone and the race is on.  Up, up, up the cry from boats to leeward.  Helms heave main sheets and crews suspend from trapeze wires as the Fireballs leap up over wave after wave before crashing down on the next, moving against the wind, moving against nature. "Starboard"!  A cry in unison is heard as a brave soul navigates across the fleet on port tack, perpendicular to the rest, ducking transoms and pinching over bows.  Which way to go?  Inshore, avoid the tide, offshore, straight and steady breeze, each must choose and does until at last the windward mark comes near, the boats converge and it's now clear who leads and who follows in the pack.

 Around the mark, heel the boat to windward, ease the sails, ease the kicker and outhaul, lift the centreboard and pull hard on the spinnaker halyard.  The crew frantically attaches one end of the pole to the guy and connects the other to the mast before the helm hands over the spinnaker sheet and they ready themselves for the fairground ride that is a Shoreham tight reach.  Hook up, out on the wire, sheet in and head fast up the wave back, ease sails and bear away faster down the face - this is a moment that few will experience and fewer will be able to convey to others and so we talk conspiratorially  amongst ourselves, politely ignoring the uninitiated and profane to our marine games.  Too soon the gybe mark, set the new twinner, bear away, heel to windward, bear away more, haul on the guy and pull the boom over, weight up and breathe again. Bring the pole through and set sail, sailing broader now each wave a chance to lose or gain, gain a precious overlap at the leeward mark. A chance to glance behind to see the upturned hull of a rival with feelings mixed; hope they're alright - one less to beat. 

Slightly to leeward and just astern of the boat ahead the helm gives a silent nod to the crew and the die is cast.  Away goes the tiller, in come the sails and out go the helm and crew to balance as the boat accelerates hard with the bow crossing right to left just inches off the transom of the enemy. One big pump on the mainsheet and bear away on the wave as both scream "water at the mark". Not now to throw it all away; trip the halyard, douse the spinnaker, drop the centreboard and heel her over to leeward tight around the mark.  Now in front and beating hard for the line, three times more to decide the race and one more race to decide the day. Today is a good day.  Tomorrow we will not sail because the wind will be too strong even for these brave little boats.

The sun sets and tired bodies sit down to a feast of spicy curry with rice and breads and the beer is drunk until the barrels themselves run dry. Only then does the crowd drift away to tents and sleep where the curry sets fire to wild dreams. Some dream of a world champion dancing with a chicken the size of a man - or is it a dream?...   

Stewart Scarff