Learning the Ropes: My Morning with the QUB Sailing Society
by Ellen Lundy
I am not a sporty person. My athletic peak came in 2014 at the Newry, Mourne and Down cross-country, where I placed an unthreatening 27th in the 800m race. Since then, my sporting career has been in a steady and dignified retirement. So naturally, joining a sporting society at Queen’s had never crossed my mind. In my head, those societies were reserved for people with visible calf muscles. The Usain Bolts and Michael Phelps of the world. And while I am many things, ‘elite athlete’ is not one of them.
Which is why, when I found myself heading to a Saturday morning training session with the Sailing Society, I was surprised to discover that someone with such limited coordination might actually have a place in a sporting environment, albeit a slightly soggy one.
I arrived at Strangford Lough Yacht Club at 9am dressed in slim-line jeans, a green OI fleece and a pair of ancient white Nike trainers that had not known comfort since 2023. To any sailors reading this, I apologise. Please know that I, too, came to regret my choice of attire.
Eoghan, the Sailing Society captain, kindly offered me a spot on the RHIB – the rigid-hulled inflatable boat that accompanies the sailors during training for support and rescue. This suited me perfectly. I would not be sailing. I would be sitting. Observing. Staying dry.
Or so I thought.
Without a single comment on my wildly inappropriate outfit or my clear lack of maritime experience, Sophie a member of the QUB sailing team, appeared with waterproof trou- sers and a jacket, gently insisting I put them on. I was confused. After all, I would simply be seated on the RHIB, watching the Queen’s sailing team skillfully manoeuvre their dinghies across the lough. Why would I need waterproofs?
As it turns out, this was only the first of many practical lessons the sea had planned for me.
Aboard the RHIB we motored out towards the race course, stopping to drop last minute markers into the water while the dinghies made their way out using nothing but manpower and determination. It was immediately clear who the real athletes were. The RHIB quickly became my floating classroom. With five sailing society members on board I asked question after question, all of which were met with detailed and patient answers that felt suspiciously like expert tuition I had not paid for.
We watched as six Queen’s boats lined up to race, three against three, with two sailors in each dinghy. The boats themselves were newly sourced last year and named after characters from The Magic Roundabout, which only added to the sense that this was a serious sport that did not take itself too seriously. The goal was simple. Finish the course in the highest position possible. How they went about achieving that was anything but.
One thing I learned quickly is that sailing teams can be mixed gender, with com- petitions such as ‘Women at the Helm’ encouraging more women into the sport. I also discovered that sailing involves an alarming number of rules, including the fact that sabotaging other boats is entirely acceptable, provided it is done somewhat politely and within regulation, which inevitably conjured images of The Traitors in my mind, though the comparison is probably not technically accurate. Perhaps my favourite discovery was that teams use coded language during races so rival boats cannot understand their strategy, and while one particular code word had me laughing out loud, I have sadly been sworn to secrecy.
The first hour passed without incident, but the weather soon turned and the heavens opened. Any lingering sense of professional journalist composure vanished as I became soaked and static-haired. Another fun fact? Static hair indicates the potential of lightning. The sailing society not only trains future Olympians but also a first-class education in sea survival.
What struck me more than the potential of lightning was that while sailing is undeniably technical and highly skilled, it is also rooted in camaraderie. The friendships I witnessed were the heartbeat of the club. At a time when we are often glued to our phones and consumed by how we are perceived online, spending a Saturday morning watching people rely on one another for collective success felt genuinely refreshing. I left the lough soaked but rejuvenated and with a changed perspective. You do not need to be a decorated Olympian to belong in the Sailing Society. Sometimes showing up, trying your best and building friendships along the way matters far more than any gold medal ever could.
