THRASH (from Thank Heaven Racing And Sailing are Here) is Nepean Sailing Club’s own long standing annual sailing and boating season-opening celebration!
Members, old and new, gather for the traditional burning of the winter socks, a reading of the adapted Ode to the Sock Burners poem (see below), and an evening of music and celebration. As it happens, there are many of such sock-burning celebrations around the globe.
A ritual burning of the socks? Why, you ask?
In this whimsical rite, boaters bid farewell to winter and welcome warmer days. A gathering of folks, perhaps near a beach or a cozy bonfire (in our case NSC’s dock), roll up their pant legs, slip off their shoes, and ceremoniously (or unceremoniously) set their old, hard worn, winter socks ablaze.
Why socks? Socks symbolize the long, cold, winter season. By burning them, we shed the weight of winter and embrace the lightness of spring. It’s a joyful rebellion against cold feet and a celebration of sun-kissed toes to come.
As winter wanes and the days get warmer, you may get the itch to join in with your fellow members for NSC’s sailing and boating season kick off. If so, keep an eye out for the THRASH event date and activities, bring a friend and a pair of socks (or two), and a copy of the poem below.
“Ode to the Sock Burners”
(adapted from Jefferson Holland, Poet Laureate of Eastport, 1995)
Them NSC Sailors got an odd tradition
When the sun sinks to its Equinox position.
They build a little fire down along the docks,
They doff their shoes, and they burn their winter socks.
Yes, they burn their socks after the Equinox.
You might think that’s peculiar, but in fact it’s not.
See, they’re the same socks they put on last fall,
And never took ’em off to wash ’em not at all…
So, they burn their socks after the Equinox.
In a little ol’ fire burning nice and hot.
Some think incineration is the only solution,
’Cause washin ’em contributes to lac Deschenes pollution.
Through the Spring and Summer and into the fall,
They go around not wearin’ any socks at all,
Just stinky feet stuck in old deck shoes,
Whether out on the water or sippin’ brews.
So, if you sail into the harbour after the long month of March,
And you smell like Limburger sautéed with laundry starch,
You’ll know you’re downwind of the NSC docks,
Where they’re burning their socks in honour of Equinox.