It was the point at which two of our five-man crew slid down the vertical deck straight into the waves that the phrase ‘dropped in at the deep end’ really started to ring true. The deep end in this case was the Solent, for possibly the most prestigious sailing regatta known to man – Skandia Cowes Week. As for those being dropped, that would be me – a total novice sailor – and the rest of our landlubber crew. So,no pressure.But then, I guess we did ask for it. We were a group of Yorkshire women who had found ourselves racing a sail boat against the best of the world’s ocean-racing sea dogs after we decided to try out for a competition one sunny and, crucially, dry Saturday afternoon.Three months later we were battling 1,000 other boats, 8,500 other competitors, lively winds, and one active shipping lane, to get across the finish line before we drowned. We bruised and bled, we got sunburn, we went overboard, we swallowed far too much seawater, and we had the time of our lives.

This is an extreme sport and no mistake (especially in strong winds). In fact, Skandia Cowes Week is all about extremes, from the hospitality – Europe’s longest bar – to the number of competitors and the multi-million-pound yachts lined up in the marinas.It all started out deceptively calmly. It was a particularly smooth crossing on the ferry to the Isle of Wight in bright sunshine, with a few rather well-spoken City types. But just a few hours later, it felt that we were re-enacting a couple of the more action-packed scenes from the movie ‘Titanic’.By the morning of Day One, after thoroughly researching the hospitality tent the night before, we were rigging up a 26ft fibreglass keelboat ‘Sonar’. There was no question that, with one intense training session on land under our belts, it was a case of ‘all the gear, no idea’.The race plan loosely follows a four or five-hour-long route in a ‘w’-shaped before beating it back to the finish line sharpish. It sounds straightforward until you factor in all the other boats. Skandia Cowes week is fast becoming a victim of its own success; in fact, the powers that be have even started to consider lengthening the regatta to two weeks or restricting the entries.

And you can see why. At the height of activity there is little difference between the Solent and the M25 on a Bank Holiday. Races start every ten minutes, so not only do you have to be on the start line with your route planned, but you also have to dodge the previous and upcoming starters – not easy when they could be anything from one-man dinghies to huge yachts with 15 crew. Each race may have as many as 70 boats or more, and you have to dodge them all the way around the course. No wonder there are very clear right-of-way rules.So our first day was quite literally about learning the ropes. The wind was up at a reassuring 10 – 12 knots, (around 12-14mph) which moves you along but isn’t out of control. We didn’t lose anyone overboard, no-one suffered any major injuries, and we finished around 16th in the fleet.By Day Three, however, it was a different story. The boat we were racing was built for maximum winds of 28 knots. That morning there were gusts hitting 35 knots (40mph), and that was before Mother Nature really let rip.The wind continued to gather strength, but concentrating on all the massive vessels hurtling around us, we simply hadn’t notice how far things had deteriorated, until we keeled. In a matter of seconds, our boat flew through 90 degrees until the sails were lying on the water, the deck was vertical and we were scrambling on the hull. And then the thing righted itself, and the same thing happens backwards. The result was two of us falling down the deck into the Solent, one of whom hung on, and the other was swept away from us, causing us to turn back for her and put into practise our man-over-board training.It was the only day we resigned from the race. We later found out that dozens of competitors retired from various races, a number of individuals went overboard, and three yachts sank that day.

Day Four was equally hardcore. By now we were used to the near-vertical incline of our vessel, but the waves were not to be underestimated. I spent the final two hours of the race in the bottom of the boat, bailing until my muscles screamed, trying to keep us afloat, while the waves worked equally hard to carry me over the side as they pounded on the deck. We only just made it – having to be towed from the finish line to our moorings, with all hands pumping out seawater as fast as possible. We had crossed the line in sixth position, our personal best.It sounds like some people’s idea of hell, but it quickly becomes clear that this is one of the most exhilarating and challenging of sports. And what is for sure, is that along with the cobwebs, the sport blows all preconceptions literally out of the water – from the snooty, exclusive crowd to sailing’s ‘soft sport’ status and the difficulty in getting into it in the first place.

David Ritchie, a national dinghy sailing coach with the Royal Yachting Association, believes images of huge, expensive boats create a false impression: ‘Like all sports we operate on a number of levels, and although there is extensive media coverage of huge, glamorous and expensive yachts, the reality of a lot of sailing is actually nothing to do with your accent or how much you earn. Sailing actually has strong working-class roots and the vast majority of clubs have no interest in whether you are part of the upper echelons.’But he did concede that the sport had other battles: ‘The problem that the sport does face is accessibility. Lots of people simply do not live by the water and local sports centres are far more likely to be able to offer football and tennis than sailing. You have to go and find it, but success in world championships and Olympics are providing great role models and ambassadors for the real sport. We are steadily chipping away at these challenges.’So, the enduring image many wrongly have is one of the pampered wealthy playing with overgrown toys, but racing seems in fact to be about inclusive privilege – speaking as a beginner among an army of those who could sail before they could walk. It will challenge your skills, attitudes, strengths, weaknesses, and even relationships if you take it on. But like everything really worth doing, if you give it everything, it seems from this mere glimpse, that the rewards can be huge – from a heightened sense of respect for the elements, yourself, and your friends to the astonishment that you can drink that much rum and get up four hours later to do it all over again without ever getting tired of it.