This story was inspired by the Jhon Mansfeild poem of the same name alongside my own experiences as a sailor and hearing the stories surrounding the sailing community where I live.

all comments and criticism greatly appreciated so please feel free.

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This was quite possibly the idiotic thing he had ever done. Going beyond mere stupidity, which was often merely a matter of an ideas execution or development, but into the frosty plains of almost Zen senselessness. No psychologically sound person would find himself driven to such activity but here he was, alongside dozens of other similarly crazy creatures standing on the frozen beach. He gazed across the shore, the bitter wind clearly audible even with his ears covered completely by a thick woollen hat and the hood of his coat, he saw the thin crowd of thickly wrapped furs begin to pull a succession of small dinghies from a weathered looking shed. Winter sailing, why oh why was he driven to this?

Of course he knew damn well that no matter how he waxed philosophical about his predicament there were some certainties of his position. He was going to race across this vindictive stretch of water, he was going to love every second and he would, all going well, spend the evening in the bar sharing the grossly exaggerated tall tales with his laughing fellow sailors until they all fell to exhaustion. Unfortunately, just as he must go to the sea today and just as he would surely have the time of his life, it would seem that no matter how well he dressed he must freeze his tail off every time.

“Hey Gus!” he jumped as he heard the sudden greeting behind his back, “How's my favourite mutt doing?”

He turned to address the diminutive otter staring up at him from behind a gargantuan hoard of equipment balanced in his arms.

“Hey Steve, I'm good thanks, how's life?”

“Not so bad. Got some time off due, gonna spend some time setting up the boat for the summer.”

He took an armful for gear from the trembling pile.

“The summer? Since when have you been able to wait till the racing season to take her out? Last time you worked on her after the winter series you spent so much time on the water “Testing her out” that by the time anyone mentioned summer races she needed repaired again. Anyway, is this all the gear we're needing today? ”

“Sure is. We're already rigged so we just need to get changed and set sail.”

He followed Steve into through the low doorway of the shed and laid sight on their vessel. The Crazy Vera was a shallow 4000 series skiff designed to have as large sails as possible attached to as little actual boat as possible. This energetic approach to boat design was in no way softened by the dozens of modifications which the pair had applied to their joint owned dinghy to tailor it to their own approach to sailing, which was often described as suicidal but they were proud to be proving that theory wrong so far.

He ducked behind the canvas screen which passed for a changing room and suited up. He started with a set of full length thermal underwear. Two pairs of tracksuit pants, a t-shirt and hoodie before moving on to the main event. He unfolded a large, watertight, drysuit and wriggled into it slowly before throwing on boots, a life-jacket and a harness with a large hook secured across his stomach.

“Pansy!” Steve declared, now wearing only a life-jacket and board shorts. “There is no way you could need all that gear.”

He sighed before delivering his usual over the top reply to his helmsman's reassuringly predictable tirade. “Steve, unlike your amphibious self we mere canines do not enjoy such natural benefits as waterproof fur or a metabolism that would outperform a household radiator. I have no plans for this afternoon which allow for freezing solid so excuse my desire to come suitably attired.”

This exchange was a regular occurrence with the otter and joking aside he knew that if he didn't wear cold water gear Steve would likely refuse to let him aboard, they both knew what hypothermia could do to a person and it wasn't pretty.

As they wheeled the boat towards the shore he began to get a little excited. The cold was one thing but there was no way to deny that he had been looking forward to getting Vera on the water all week and it would take more than a little wind-chill to overturn the immense attraction pulling him, and the rest of the sailors here, towards the waves.

As they launched they went through the practised routine of setting sail towards the start line and checking that their stopwatch was set on the approach. They heard an air-horn on the shore blow just as they got away from the shore. Five minutes to the start. They were cutting it close for time but sometimes that could be turned to their advantage.

“Want to get the kite up?” asked Steve.

“I'm on it.”

The spinnaker, or kite as he called it was an extra sail that they kept stowed in a compartment in the hull. The huge expanse of material was more like a parachute than a sail which threatened to tip the boat over at the slightest mistake. As he raised it up the mast they suddenly surged forwards, their supercharged sail filling up nicely as they leaned out on the opposite side to balance the boat. They heard another horn over the wind, two minutes to go, this would still be close.

“Hold on tight!” he yelled.

He hauled the kite in even tighter, coaxing the wind into breathing every possible inch of sail into life. As he eased more power from the sail he felt the boat tip over. He reached over and found a steel cable dangling from the mast before clipping it to his harness and holding on as he took a breath and leapt from the boat. He gracefully swung over the surf before landing on the edge of the hull and balancing steadily on his toes, leaning into his harness as he countered the pull of the sails and felt the boat balance out perfectly.

This was it, this was the moment he waited for. The wind singing through the sails and ruffling his fur as they picked up speed, the spray flung from the bow as they crested the waves showering him, the boat gently trembling in harmony with the water beneath his paws. The feeling was both exciting and tranquil; equally reassuring and terrifying. Terror and tranquillity were common enough while sailing but this perfect emotional balance between them was a rare and strangely addictive thing.

They were nearing the line now, joining their competitors. Some were employing tactics similar to theirs, starting far behind the line to gather speed before the starting gun fired. Others were crawling towards the line, hoping to make up speed by crossing within a split second of the gun in a favourable position.

“Ten seconds!” Steve yelled. They soared across the surf they neared the start line, leaving their companions in their wake.

“Five,” He whispered to himself. “four, three, two....”
The hollow boom of the starting gun echoed across the water a second before they powered over the line. The shoal of boats stampeded towards the first marker and Vera was sitting comfortably within the leading third of the pack. They said winning wasn't important and this was true, although it was a particularly nice bonus and he had a competitive streak a mile wide.

As they continued he saw another boat bearing a pair of labradors pull up alongside them. The duo, or more accurately the twins, were a usual sight at races and despite their spirited efforts to the contrary continued to be known only as “The Twins”. This was partially as they were hilarious when they got irritated but more importantly no single sailor in their club could tell them apart. He gave them his usual friendly wave but before it could be returned their bow ploughed deep into a decidedly unfriendly wave, pitching their boat onto it's nose and capsizing spectacularly. He looked backwards as they passed and was relived to see them both all right, floating by the side of the boat and from the look of it bickering furiously.

“ENJOY THE SWIM FELLAS!” he bellowed over his shoulder. He looked down at the laughing otter holding the helm with a grin. “Those two crack me up,” he sniggered, “ Every time they tip that thing over at least once, I mean how hard can it be to keep upright?”

As if suffering the wrath of some ancient marine deity, no sooner had the words escaped from his smirking maw when suddenly the boat lurched away from him until he was balanced precariously on his toes directly above the vessel.

“oh hell...” he whimpered.

His paws slipped and as he felt himself fall he suddenly blacked out. As he suddenly awoke he choked on a mouthful of murky water as he realised he was under the boat. He fumbled for the buckle on his harness and shook it loose. Trying to ignore the burning in his lungs he began to wriggle away from his bonds. Each second seeming tortuously long, drawing out more and more with each pull away from the rigging. After what seemed like hours he was pulled up by the scruff of his neck to blessed oxygen and Steve's worried face.

“Jesus Gus are you alright?” Steve asked, “you were down there a while.”

“I think I cracked my head but that's about it, nothing serious.”

Steve gave him concerned look but said nothing. He clambered on top of the hull and began slowly pulling the boat upright. They quickly righted the vessel and resumed their sailing.

“Do you want to keep sailing?” Steve asked. “That capsize blew our chances in the race.”

“Cant stop now, who cares about the race? Can't go ashore when it's this much fun!”

“Let's stay out. The water's too good to head ashore right now.” he said.

They regained some speed and confidence until they were making brisk progress once more and even gaining a few places back in the race. He took a second to admire his surroundings, the expansive bay giving way to picturesque, mist shrouded hills neatly framing the winding river upstream; the gnarled and dense yet entrancingly verdant forest stretching up the coast. A shiver brought him back to reality and looking down he noticed a large tear in his suit was letting in the icy brine.

“Nothing to worry about.” he thought as they soared past another fellow competitor. A little cold could wait and his sea legs were just getting warmed up for the day so there was no sense in stopping now.

They continued around the course for several laps, each high speed overtake leaving him giddy as the excitement went to his head, Steve asked how he felt periodically although he couldn't much understand why, he guessed it was just an overreaction from the capsize and maintained that he was feeling fine. As they steadily clawed back their position in the towards the leading end of the pack they each sat perfectly focused. The tension too much for ether of them to say a word.

A few overtakes later they were nearing the final stretch and more or less guaranteed a respectable finish but regardless they pushed Vera to the very limits of the equipment. He realised that he felt strangely calm, normally sailing this close to the edge would leave his heart galloping but his pulse was slow. There were no other boats now, at this moment it was just themselves, the wind and the water in harmony around them, so enthralling that he barely noticed as they crossed the finish line. As they slowed down following the finish he suddenly felt a little dizzy. He paused for a second while his head cleared and he could vaguely hear someone talking.

“Gus.. are you sure your okay?”

“I'm fine, I'm fine!” he snapped, coming to his senses. “Just spaced out there a second.”

“Lets head ashore then, there isn't a second race today and you're looking a little pale”

“If you insist.”

As the flock of dingies returned to shore the pitched competitive atmosphere quickly dissolved into a melodious chorus of bad jokes and as much boasting, complaining and discussion of the race which was possible to yell between boats.

“Congratulations on the capsize fellas!” yelled a weather beaten great dane from behind them. “It wouldn't be a race without some entertainment.”

“Much obliged jake!” Steve quipped, “Just taking our turn after your big spill last week!”

Usually he would be happily trash talking with the others at this point but he wasn't in the mood for some reason. The return trip was uneventful and once they had navigated through the usual flock of yachts perched on their moorings in the water around the beach they were lined up for a perfect landing.

“Coming up to the bar after this?” he asked. Neatly winding away the jib as they approached the beach.

“Just try and stop me, They're gonna have to drag me out of there!”

They neatly beached Vera and he jumped over the bow wincing as he landed in the water and holding on while Steve grabbed the trolley and they lashed her down. As they began to haul the boat up the embankment to the sheds he suddenly felt another dizzy spell coming on.

“Gimmie a second here,” he mumbled as he waited for it to pass.

He he tried to clear his head again but his head continued to cartwheel as he struggled to keep standing.

“To he honest Steve,” he murmured, darkness rapidly encroaching on his vision. “I don't think I'm ok.”

He tried to cling to Vera but succumbed to the icy tendrils engulfing him in blackness. He tried to breathe in the darkness but his chest felt as if it had bricks stacked on it. He tried to move but his limbs were pinned to his sides and even as he tried to wriggle his paws they felt numb and clammy.
He tried to speak but the words failed to form and he spouted only slurred gibberish.

He saw only twisted shadows morphing from one barely recognisable form to another, one moment they were black waves lazily washing across his vision, then churning clouds of mist and smoke, great figures dancing ahead of him, stripes and spirals. He heard odd sounds, muffled shouting echoed around his ears backed by the wailing roar of the wind. The smell of wet clothes and seaweed faded into the reek of burning dust and kerosene fumes.

After an age of darkness the shapes began to solidify as he the light gradually returned until he was staring at the ceiling of a strange room with a pile of blankets pinning him down. Twisting his head he saw Steve half asleep in the corner. He considered asking the ever ubiquitous “Where am I?” question but a brief survey of his surroundings confirmed his suspicions.

“So I guess I'm in the hospital.”

“Whassit..” Steve mumbled as he awoke. “Gus! You're awake! You were half dead when we got you here!”

“What happened?”

“Well genius, it turns out that sailing all afternoon with soaking wet clothes and a head injury wasn't the brightest idea you ever had and you went down with a concussion and acute hypothermia.”

“Sounds about right. How long was I out?”

“About five hours if you count how long it took to get here. They weren't expecting you to as much as twitch until tomorrow morning at best.

“Sound like a plan actually. Whatever that was it wasn't sleep and I'm dead tired; not that you look any better, now that I'm recognisably alive why don't you go home?

“would you leave If I were lying there?”

“Good point I guess. Although if your sense of camaraderie doesn't waver enough to leave your crew behind at least get a coffee and some fresh air or something. Apart from you looking like a zombie, I'll never get to sleep if you sit there like you're on a vigil.

“It's a deal.”

Following his discharge the next morning and a couple of days on the couch he began to feel himself again and by the weekend he was back to normal; or at least normal enough for a few drinks so he called to suggest celebrating his good health.

“Hi Steve, I'm back to normal and bored out of my skull. Wanna go for a drink?”
“Yeah sure, where do you want to meet?”

“The ship, see you in twenty.”

The Ship was their usual watering hole and that of many of their sailing buddies. This would be all the motivation he needed to go but particularly tonight he wanted to get the word around that he was back on his feet. He got there a little early and found the place a little on the quiet side. He made the usual polite passing small-talk with some familiar faces until Steve showed up.

“Hi Gus!” He heard over his shoulder, “Nice to see you upright once more.”

“Hi Steve, what're you drinking?”

They talked as usual for a while; work, boats, car trouble, the meaning of life and who knew what else but he eventually felt compelled to point out the increasingly obvious elephant in the room.

“You know Steve, I wanted to apologise for the accident last weekend. It was my own damn fault and it caused a big enough scare for everyone but I'm sure it was hard on you more than anybody.”

“Don't apologise, It all turned out fine and so long as you're okay nobody will hold it against you. I have to ask though. Why did you stay out sailing? If you were getting that cold surely you could have went ashore early and you know I'd have understood.

“I didn't feel it, I guess I was too caught up in the moment, I just had to sail. I never even felt that cold until I passed out.”

“Sounds obsessive if you ask me.”

“Says the guy who got a new mainsail with his Christmas bonus.” he said dryly, “We're all obsessed, why else would we be happy to sail in sub zero weather in the first place, why get up before dawn just so we can get our boats set up early? I'd happily admit my addiction and you know as well as I do that so long as I can drag myself into a boat I'll keep sailing until doomsday.”

“We're crazy aren't we?” Steve laughed.

“Nuts,” he agreed, “But I wouldn't take sanity now if you paid me.”