Perhaps you are familiar with the phenomenon: there are moments when a supposedly small thing completely changes the direction of your life. It could be a story in a book, a piece of music, a view of a landscape or the eyes of another person. More than 50 years ago, my wife Karla and I had a conversation with my mother, who quietly mused to herself: "Maybe we should buy a sailing ship." The words "yacht" or "sea" were not mentioned. Nevertheless, this seemingly trivial remark stuck in our heads and was to completely change the course of our lives.
My parents lived in Burghausen, a small town right on the Austrian border, 50 kilometres from Salzburg. That's where I grew up. A lovely region. However, the Wöhrsee lake there, at the foot of the longest castle in the world, would have been too small for even the tiniest sailing boat and also boring, as there was only wind during a thunderstorm. Even at Leitgeringer See, less than 20 kilometres away, it rarely blows properly. Then maybe even Lake Waginger, 30 kilometres away. Back then, it was only known to us boys as the warmest lake in Bavaria. It was quite a large body of water, and we struggled to swim across it after a cycling trip.
Dinghy cruiser instead of migratory bird
What happened next was pure coincidence: in 1965, we were looking for camping equipment in a sports shop in Munich and asked where we could get a sailing boat. "If you're from Burghausen, then you have to go to the Mader boatyard in Fisching on Lake Waginger See," said the salesman. Then everything happened very quickly. Just a few days later, my parents ordered a "Zugvogel" from Mader, an enlarged carpentry business - a small travelling dinghy with a keel, ideal for Lake Waginger See, which was just a short walk from the boatyard. Karla and I were thrilled until I had second thoughts: "What will we do if it rains? The Zugvogel doesn't have a cabin." So instead, Mader Hartl carpentered a dinghy cruiser out of plywood, which at 10,200 marks was twice as expensive as the Kielzugvogel, capsizeable and without a self-draining cockpit, but with a white roof.
Word soon got around Burghausen: "The Schenks are having a sailing boat built!" And our neighbour kept pestering me with the same question: had the "yacht" already been "launched"? We then asked Mader Hartl the same question in his hall, on a Sunday, mind you. It was the day after the German national football team's defeat at Wembley. The Mader was still furious, pointed to a pile of boards and grumbled: "Look at that, it's a boat!"
That was exactly one week before the delivery date. In the time that followed, I pestered the master with questions about the "on-board toilet" and a gas cooker - special requests that Hartl always dismissed with the terse remark that they were "forbidden". A week later, just in time, the "Gammler" was ready.
Start of a new lifestyle
We went on board and immediately realised that we had found a new lifestyle. At least that's what I had in mind. A wonderful, mahogany-veneered example of the 16 square metre dinghy cruiser class had been created and was launched by the Mader himself. We didn't know what our own berth, which was free of charge, was worth. We couldn't even sail yet!
As we all know, young people claim the right to question just about everything. So: we didn't need sailing skills for such a simple activity as sailing around on a windless lake. And so, on a hot summer's day, we got on the dinghy cruiser and unabashedly asked one of the countless sailors who were rigging their dinghy how to "pull up" the sails. Looking back, I am grateful to this friend, because he neither reprimanded us nor intimidated us, neither referred us to a sailing school nor practised knots with us so as not to sink the piece of jewellery.
One day, a 13-year-old boy stood on the jetty and announced that he wanted to sail with us. It was the son of Mader Hartl"
It was probably also due to our respect for this cabin cruiser, which seemed huge at the time, that we were patiently explained how to propel ourselves by wind, avoiding confusing technical terms. Soon we were "at sea". We were lucky that there was no storm during our first few hours on the water.
We quickly clicked. Whenever we could, we drifted across the water, preferably with the classic textbook "Seemannschaft" (Seamanship) in hand. That's how we learned an anchoring manoeuvre when the breeze picked up. Sometimes we were given sailing lessons by shouts from dinghy sailors. "You have to steer so that the wind doesn't come from the front, but not from the very back either, because a jibe is still too dangerous for you!" Every day we became more familiar with the 700-kilo boat. And the crowning glory after a long day of sailing was a medium rare steak from the pan. When it rained under the tarpaulin, water always ran down our cheeks, not out of emotion, but because the spirit cooker brought tears to our eyes.
The shipyard owner's son turns the Schenks into sailors
But the decisive factor in our later sailing life was a young lad, perhaps 13 years old, nicknamed "Bürschi". One day he stood on the jetty with a fishing rod and announced quite firmly that he wanted to sail with us. We were aware that we could learn something from anyone, even if it was from an angler. But Bürschi really knew something about sailing, as he was the son of Mader Hartl.
Thanks to his guidance, we autodidacts with textbook knowledge actually became something like decent sailors. From a slight ramming with paint damage, we learnt that such a bulbous ship with a raised centreboard can only sail round bends with difficulty, and we were soon really good at tacking. For the time being, however, we left the mooring to the jetty to the Bürschi. We didn't have enough grit for that at first.
FD sailor Max Schneider soon enthused about regatta sailing. "Even if you don't come first, it's still fun because you'll still overtake someone," he said. He taught us how to jibe when called upon. We thought: "So, now we've really got it!" What happened next is probably well known. Instead of sailing around the tonnes, we sailed around the world.
Return to Lake Waginger See after 50 years
Half a century later - you get sentimental as you get older - I'm drawn back to the lake where it all began. It's late summer, one of those incredibly hot days when the swimming pools in the cities often have to be closed due to overcrowding. Next to the fully booked campsite is the WSC, the Waginger Segelclub, the cradle of our circumnavigation life.
The dinghy meadow and the jetties, the water and the smell of the damp wood of the dolphins are like a time machine. They instantly transport me back to the beginnings here. However, the boat park has changed enormously, the FDs have almost all disappeared, and the jetty with the keel-pulling birds is no longer as full as it once was. Instead, there are lots of Finn dinghies on land and optis under colourful tarpaulins.
Only a few bathers have made themselves comfortable on the lush green lawn with towels. A veritable clubhouse in the middle of 10,000 square metres of lawn impresses me, especially as club boss Elmar Schwarz proudly assures me that this unusually beautiful and valuable beach property is fully owned by the debt-free club with its more than 400 members. It's great to see what has developed here, far away from the centres of sailing.
Ultimately, I owe all my wonderful experiences on the world's oceans to Waginger See and its sailing club"
America's Cup on Lake Waginger See
However, in one respect, Lake Waginger See has certainly become a Mecca for grandees. "Bürschi", the man with the fishing rod, rose to become the boss of the Mader shipyard a long time ago. And he can look back on unprecedented successes. Even if many people don't believe it, the once small carpentry business in deepest Upper Bavaria is probably one of the most successful shipyards in the world in terms of sport.
Not only were all the Finns at the Olympic Sailing Games in Kiel built by "Mader", not only did the boats from Waging win several dozen Olympic medals (we'll leave out the countless world championship titles here): Gold in the Star boat class, in the Tempests anyway. The best sailors in the world entrusted Mader with the construction of their dinghies, including the FD aces Jörg and Eckart Diesch and the Ukrainian Valentin Mankin. The guest book, which Bürschi proudly hands to me, includes the big names in regatta sport. Even Dennis Conner, Mr America's Cup, winner of the most valuable sailing trophy in the world, once came to Mader on Lake Waginger See.
Bürschi then also told me a little secret: As a boy, he was a non-swimmer, which is why his father had forbidden him to spend any time at all on the lake. But when the Schenks bought the dinghy cruiser, he told him to take good care of the beginners. And so Junior became our first sailing instructor.
Happy homecoming
Yes, I also sailed again on Lake Waginger See. As befits my status, I sailed on a Tempest with WSC President Elmar Schwarz at the helm along with the treasurer and Tempest World Champion Max Reichert as the Scotsman, the son of Max the tailor.
As expected, there was hardly any wind and Elmar tried to flick the main to the other side with the help of the boom. The aluminium profile hit me on the head with a loud, tinny bang. "Well, what the hell!" I exclaimed, while stars rained down before my eyes: "Once again, the boom wasn't secured with the bull!" Only long-distance sailors think like that. We laughed heartily about it. Regatta sailing is definitely too sporty for me.
Nevertheless, it was an exhilarating "coming home". During my visit this summer, I realised more than ever that I ultimately owe all my wonderful experiences on the world's oceans to the small Waginger See and its sailing club, where it all began on our plywood dinghy "Gammler": sailing as well as dreaming of faraway places.
