The sport of sailing is enjoying fair winds and following seas, helped by a fresh puff of enthusiasm in Dunedin. Otago Daily Times reporter Chris Morris is among those casting off.
For the beginner, a small sailboat can feel like a wild and uncontrollable ride.
On land, the twin sails of the two-man Sunburst dinghy flap and crack madly in a stiff, cold Dunedin southerly.
Small clusters of novices grapple with a confusing tangle of ropes, tying and retying the right knots until they get them right, in the right place, in the right order.
Then the dinghy is guided gingerly down the slippery, weed-covered boat ramp on its trailer, and eased into the bracing water of Otago Harbour.
It bucks in the wind, trying to get away from the two novices clutching its side as they stand, thigh deep in water and trepidation, receiving last-minute instructions.
Then, with a push off and a scramble on board, the boat glides away from the ramp, gathering speed as it goes.
Once clear of the shore, and moving into a healthier breeze, the mainsail is pulled in, stiffening as it fills with wind.
With that, the boat comes to life - the powered-up sail like an accelerator being stomped; the sudden surge of power sending the boat heeling over.
And, as the little boat heads into deeper water, an approaching gust of wind shows itself, spreading a dark, shadowy pattern in an arc across the water.
When it hits, the dinghy tips dramatically, one side rearing up while the other drops, threatening to lie the sail flat and send sheets of cold water tumbling into the boat.
It is a moment of truth - a fork in the road where one of two things can happen.
Fail to react and the water floods in, causing the boat to slow, tip over and eventually stop dead, lying on its side or even upside down.
A capsize, like a car crash, only takes a moment, but can seem to unfold in slow motion.
It is an ignominious end that leaves the beginner floundering in the water, fighting to pull their dinghy upright, drain it of water and haul themselves back on board.
But, if the beginner gets everything right, there is another outcome - and it is magical.
As the gust hits, the beginner perches on the higher side of their dinghy, feet firmly wedged under straps, and leans out, using their body's weight to counteract the boat's tilt.
And, clutching the tiller in one hand and the mainsheet in the other, they make two more subtle, but crucial, moves.
Pushing the tiller away a fraction points the boat's bow closer to where the wind is coming from, and easing the mainsheet out, just enough, spills excess wind from the mainsail.
The combined effect is to de-power the boat as the blast of extra wind hits, and the trick is to do it just enough to ride out the gust while maintaining a healthy speed.
Getting it right, with everything in balance, is where the magic happens - the boat heeling, but not too much, its hull hissing through the water, spray flying from the bow as it punches through waves, guided by a beginner in full flight and full control.
Get it right and it really does feel like flying.
It is a feeling that has hooked generations of young New Zealanders into sailing, and produced the likes of Sir Peter Blake, Dean Barker and former Dunedin sailor Sir Russell Coutts.
And, in recent months, sailing has again been riding a wave of enthusiasm, helped in part by Emirates Team New Zealand's failed, but gripping, bid to win back the Auld Mug.
Dunedin's clubs are reporting numbers are up, and waiting lists are starting to form, as kids as young as 8 years old queue to learn the ropes.
But it is not just the youngsters that are discovering sailing - more adults are lining up to try their hand as well. I am one of them.
Three years ago, I became a member first of the Vauxhall Yacht Club's adult learn-to-sail class, and later the Port Chalmers Yacht Club's course, gathering once a week to set sail on Otago Harbour.
What began as a confusing world of ropes, knots and metal bits has become a still-complex, but comprehensible, rig of stays, sheets, halyards, kickers, bowlines, masts and booms.
Left and right have become port and starboard, wind speed is now measured in knots, and ropes are no longer ropes, but instead adopt names that reflect their individual purposes.
There have been plenty of twisted lines and poorly trimmed sails along the way, and more than a few capsizes - an experience that is not as cold, or terrifying, as the imagination suggests.
There have been other mistakes, too, like the one that led to a sinking sensation in the middle of the harbour's deep and choppy shipping channel, after a bung - usually used to plug a drainage hole at the back of the boat - was forgotten.
But there has also been a sense of discovery - of new skills and a new perspective on the city, its harbour and wildlife, including curious seals, dashing dolphins and penguins that pop up for a cheeky peek, then disappear.
There has also been one offshore journey as a crew member on a sturdy keeler, sailing away from Taiaroa Head until land was little more than a green smudge on the horizon, followed by a night sleeping on board, being rocked to sleep by a gentle swell inside Oamaru Harbour.
But more than anything, there has been the simple joy of helming a small boat on a breezy, sunny day, feeling like you could set sail for anywhere.
It is a feeling that Dunedin clubs are increasingly tapping into as they recruit inexperienced but eager adults in search of a sail and the instructors and rescue boats the clubs had to offer.
Adult classes included those found at Port Chalmers and Vauxhall clubs, as well as at the Otago Yacht Club, which was running at capacity and had an ''extensive'' waiting list, OYC sailing school co-ordinator Ann Jones said.
Vauxhall's course has catered for a small but steady stream of adults in recent years, while Port Chalmers' course was launched just two years ago by club member Graeme Wall.
The course - advertised initially by word-of-mouth and a flyer on a supermarket noticeboard - attracted 11 beginners last summer and 12 this season.
Mr Wall, who is also Yachting New Zealand's regional support officer for Otago and Southland, said the sport appeared to be on an ''upward climb'' after hitting a low ebb about five years ago.
Better organisation at a regional level, and more proactive work by clubs searching for new members, had helped, he believed.
Increasingly, clubs' courses were appealing to adults who wanted to try their hand at a sport that was challenging, but not too physically demanding, nor too expensive, despite stereotypes, he believed.
''They want to be their own person, but, by the same token, they're not quite [ready] ... to go round the world by themselves. They still need some other people around them.''
The ETNZ America's Cup bid had ''captivated a lot of people'', and would translate into more ''bums on seats'' at clubs, he believed.
''That will slowly spin off into the sport ... but what it's done, more so, is it gives the sport a profile and a credence in the community.''
The sport also offered a legitimate career path, particularly for New Zealanders, given the country's nautical reputation, while age was no barrier to entering the sport for fun, he believed.
''If you want to do well, it's really good if you start when you're 8 years old, but you can start when you're 18, or 28, or 38, or older,'' Mr Wall said.
Vauxhall's club commodore, Peter Sutherland (51), left it even later, discovering the sport only three years ago.
He opted for the deep end, buying a small single-handed Laser dinghy and learning on the water through trial and error.
''I'm pretty good at getting back into it now,'' he joked.
Earlier this summer, Mr Sutherland was spotted powering along in a stiff breeze and choppy conditions, soaked and smiling, while racing a fleet of larger trailer yachts and keelers to Taiaroa Head.
He said he enjoyed the attraction of ''you against the elements''.
His club's adult course had also attracted five keen students, but it was not just adults wanting to dip their toes in the water.
Children's courses were also proving popular, including at Vauxhall, which had been forced to draw up a waiting list for tuition, Mr Sutherland said.
The club offered two courses: one for beginners before Christmas and a slightly more advanced course after the holiday break.
This summer's course for beginners had attracted 14 children aged 8-12, which was ''definitely an improvement'', he said.
''We've got some that have been keen to come on board and we haven't been able to fit them.''
The Otago Yacht Club also offered a variety of courses for beginners and more advanced children, while Mr Wall organised a Break-Away summer holiday sailing programme and the Macandrew Bay Boating Club a more advanced Learn to Race course.
Numbers attending the Macandrew Bay course had almost doubled, from five to nine, in only its second summer, coach Mark Edwards said.
The Otago Optimist Summer Series, organised by Ravensbourne sailor Peter Graham, also offered young sailors the chance to race, and was proving popular.
So, too, did the Macandrew Bay club's recent opening day races, held in November, which attracted 42 dinghy sailors - the biggest turnout in recent memory - including 15 children sailing the small, single-handed Optimists.
Across the water, the Ravensbourne Youth Yachting Trust, based at the Ravensbourne Boating Club, was also experiencing growth, trust chairwoman Sophie Luther said.
The trust - established 14 years ago by the club's most famous son, Sir Russell Coutts, and a group of parents - offered sailing opportunities to young people across Otago who could not afford their own boats, she said.
Such was the interest, sailors came from as far away as Alexandra for regular weekend sailing practice, coaching and races at club events held around the harbour, she said.
Numbers had fluctuated over the years, but were increasing again, with more than 40 youngsters signed up for the summer, she said.
The trust had recently purchased six more Optimists to cater for demand, bringing its fleet to 14, but also offered a fleet of six 29ers - the youth Olympic class of racing skiff - for more advanced young sailors, she said.
The benefits of the sport, she believed, were obvious: ''They've got fresh air, out in the elements, and they're just getting active.''
