I had missed that! I saw the photos and read about it in the Friese Koerier: The ‘Gerben van Manen’*, our Heerenveen skûtsje, had won! Would this finally spell the end of Grouw’s supremacy, which had been by far the fastest every year?

A few days before the first race of the following year (traditionally on the first Saturday of the construction industry holiday at the Pikmeer near Grouw), I cycled to Aengwirderweg 53

in Terband and bought tickets for all the races. From the ‘Salonboot de Fryslân’, nothing would escape me this year. “Only in Stavoren and on both days in Lemmer you have to disembark and find a spot yourself, because our ship is not allowed at Sea!”** explained Captain H.S.

Actually, impatient as I am, the boat trips to and from the competition waters on the various Frisian lakes took far too long, but every day we anchored in an ideal spot to follow the races from the first to the last minute. And that’s what it was all about! Sometimes the skûtsje fleet came right past ‘De Fryslân’, so we could cheer on our heroes with the “H” in their sail!

Fortunately, that Saturday, I met a classmate who didn’t need persuading to join me on as many race days as possible: he was already a skûtsje fanatic and knew a lot about it too. With thirteen races in fourteen days (in Grouw, Eernewoude, and Lemmer, there were two races on one day that year, but never on a Sunday), as practical examples, and always with a retired skipper on board, my knowledge grew rapidly. Not only did I follow our skûtsje passionately, but the excitement of the competition and nervousness also began to sink in.

The trips were long, but I was allowed to stay in the wheelhouse to keep R. (wearing his skipper’s cap) company. He even let me take the wheel for a moment so that he could light a thick cigar at his leisure and with care. Sailing such a ship wasn’t that easy. “Take a look behind you!” he said. I saw a very shaky trail of foam as we meandered through the wide river. He said, in his usual good humor: “I’ll take over again; people will come up to ask what’s going on!”

The Gerben van Manen brilliantly defended the title: out of the thirteen races, ‘we’ crossed the finish line as winners no less than six times. And twice as runners-up. This time I was at the award ceremony, euphoric!

1965

This was my second season. Now there were twelve skûtsjes. On the upper deck, we (my classmate came along again) thought we were experts and told (mainly non-Frisian vacationers) about the ‘open start’ (a ten-minute shot, then again, but five minutes later, and finally the starting shot). Yes, with a hunting rifle. Oh dear, if a skûtsje (or sometimes skûtsjes) sailed over the starting line too early, it caused a restart after a penalty lap. About ’the tow start’ in Grouw***, “the numbered start” at Eernewoude *** and the ‘open start’ on the wider lakes and the Sea. There were also questions: “Doesn’t a centerboard just slow the ship down?” “No, it helps to keep the ship balanced, and the man you see there with that stick is a ‘peiler’; he has to make sure that the centerboards, and with them the entire ship, don’t run aground!”

“Why do they hang that small sail so strangely? And with a stick?” “That stick is a jib boom. It spreads the jib as much as possible so that it forms a whole with the large sail.” “And why do they do that?” “To get as much speed as possible down wind!” “The ‘G’ is clearly ahead of the ‘H’ now!” they teased us. “Well, no, it only seems that way! That skûtsje from Grouw has to go through the wind again, while the ‘H’ from Gerben van Manen can sail that buoy there -can you see it?- in one go. They ‘ll be ahead!”

With its forty-five tons, over nineteen meters long, and very generous sails, the Gerben van Manen was virtually unbeatable when the wind was blowing properly. It was a magnificent sight, and how proud we were when our ship, with foam at the bow, spray sparkling over the gangway, and dangerously “leaning” ( ‘on one ear’) on the open water, far, and sometimes even very far, ahead of the fleet, was the first to cross the finish line!

It was more difficult in the narrow waters of Eernewoude, where the spacious, long ship could only maneuver with difficulty. And because we also had an almost windless race that day -a drifting race- the Gerben van Manen, with its sails hanging limply, moved more backward than forward and even bobbed toward the shore. We couldn’t stand by and watch that happen from ‘De Fryslân’! We looked at each other, took off our T-shirts, socks, and shoes, and with a “Let’s help them!” we dove overboard into the water of the Folkertssleat and swam straight to the Gerben van Manen.

A crew member had to keep the ship away from the shore with a long pole. We were now close to that shore, just behind the Gerben van Manen, so we could put some muscle into it: “We’ll give you a hand!” The man waved the slender pole menacingly in our direction: “No, you two! You can’t do that! They’ll disqualify us!” “Blow!” shouted another from the Gerben van Manen, “why don’t you guys blów? That’s definitely allowed!”

***

*The ‘Gerben van Manen‘ ‘is named after the first chairman of the SKS (Sintrale Kommisje Skûtsjesilen);

** The IJsselmeer (a lake since 1932) was often  still referred to as (the former Zuider) Sea;

***The skûtsjes are pulled in a long line to the starting point by a tugboat. There, the towline is released, and the ships hoist their sails.

****The starting number is linked to that starting position on shore. This means that number 1 initially has the best (pole) position, but ends up in the place with the highest starting number.

Scoring: The winner receives 0.9 points, then increasing to 2, 3, etc. The worst race points may be deducted once.

In 1965, Gerben van Manen was once again able to hoist the championship pennant at the top of the mast, partly because the points from the worst day (9 th in Eernewoude!) could be deducted.