“November’s Drift and Dream: The Transom Series, Two Races Run”
To begin at the beginning: it is the third of November, the sky thick as slate and the air salted with the damp breath of late autumn. Out on the water, the sailing club folk shake off their landside weariness, readying their boats as the gloomy gray gathers over the bay. It’s mild but melancholy, a November day soft as a sailor’s lullaby, with a light easterly wind tugging at the sails and the buoys bobbing in anticipation.
Today was to be Steve’s turn as Officer of the Day, the steady hand guiding the race. But from shore came a timely step-in: Bob, captain of the clipboard, taking his place so that Steve could sail and chase his standing in the series. And so, with a fleet of seven gathered under Bob’s watchful eye, and a handful of marks nudged here and there to appease the mutterings from the shop floor, the first race stirred to life.
Danny took the lead at the gun, cutting a clean path on Starboard as Steve and Andrew pressed in close, a trio of bright sails straining towards the first mark. On they swept, each tack keen and quick, with Danny ahead, his hull slicing through the slate-gray ripples. But as they rounded the leeward mark, Danny’s mainsheet tangled in a snarl, and in that breath of bad luck, Steve and Andrew slipped through, quick as shadows. The Lasers held their line for three laps, each boat dancing to the wind’s whisper, while Danny trailed back, his early promise stilled by a capsize at the gybe mark. Andy T made his rare crossing from the far shore to take fourth in the Laser fleet, followed by the Topazes, with Teilo and Mike, steady and close, keeping pace.
Meanwhile, capsizing in his Vago, one-man wild on the wire, Trev fought a losing battle with the gusts, a sailor’s waltz of rise and fall, a one-man tide rolling to and fro.
After another round of course tweaks, the second race surged to life, and this time Steve flew to the front, Andrew and Danny trailing in his wake. By the second leg, Andrew had found his way ahead, his upwind tactics clever and sharp, but soon Steve closed the gap on the reach, overtaking with the tide at his back. As Andrew tacked out to clear his wind, Steve hugged the shore, sailing with a sailor’s cunning, skimming the water where the current lay low. When they met again, Steve’s lead had stretched like a long, thin thread, strong and sure, marking his hold on the series.
Amid the swift pursuit, Teilo’s Topaz flew its spinnaker, a defiant flag unfurled to the sullen sky, catching the air in a bright, brave sweep, trailing his path like a single stroke of color against the gray. And there was Danny, brimming with frustration, taking his final fall near the windward mark. Only on shore did he uncover the cause of his struggle—a missing bung, and a hull heavy with water.
At last, as the tide edged further out and the day’s dim light began to falter, each boat drifted past the yellow mark, bearing the quiet pride of a race run well. Steve, sailing strong, had widened his lead in the Transom Series, with Bob watching from the shore, his tally of finishes etched in ink and salt.
And so, as November’s dusk settled over the sea, the fleet drifted back to harbour, the water growing still and dark, while the wind whispered of races yet to come.