Saturday became wild and windy on Lyttleton Harbor. Peter Drake led the sailboat fleet in The Jupiter — his small sailboat. A win now would put him right amongst the leaders. Today would be his day. He’d show them.

He grinned wide and rocked his body back as his single person sailboat rode up a wave, he laughed as the water roared white all about him. Body, machine, and nature, now worked together to create speed.

The skittish sailboat was not a lot bigger than a bathtub, and had a single triangular sail. Peter had already sailed The Jupiter for one season, and had now reached his prime, even if he had not quite reached fifteen. His tall and slim frame, with wiry muscles made him light enough so he could sail fast in gentle breezes, but with his height he could lever his weight further away from the sail to counteract stronger winds.

‘I’ll show them. I’ll win this race. Take out The Corsair Bay Club Starling Class trophy. Then get to the Nationals… somehow.’

Not making it into the SailGP Waszp program only made him more determined to win now.

‘I’ll prove it.’

His favorite sailboats on the water today were the super fast two-man R-Class sailboats. Even more overpowered and skittish than the Starling — they flew. Literally rising from the water on foiling fins to leave almost no wake. No other club in the world had them.

‘It’s as if only Corsairs can sail them. Awesome machines!’

And Tyler Orr was his hero. The best R-Class skipper, and if not for Tyler, The Jupiter would still just be a shiny painted hull with no sails. He wanted to be a winner, just like Tyler Orr.

Peter steered the tiller away, and tucked his rear leg across to the other side of the cockpit. The boat headed into the wind, then crossed. The sail swung over, and in one smooth practiced move, Peter ducked his head low, and slipped across. With his hands literally behind his back he switched mainsheet rope and tiller between hands, brought both up to his chest, then tucked his feet under the hiking straps. As the wind caught the sail he pushed his body out to counter the tilt of the hull.

Ahead, in the distance, the R-Class foiling fleet flew over the water in a broad reach across the wind. The crews stood on the edge of the hull supported by a wire from the masthead in a dare-devil balancing act.

‘Wow! They’re really moving!’ Peter exclaimed in excitement. ‘I wish The Jupiter could fly like that.’

Peter grinned and pulled the sail in tighter. A twitch of the rudder turned The Jupiter’s nose away from the wind a little. The increase in his boat speed made him feel as if he could catch up to the flying R-Class. He studied the water ahead, the wind direction turned favorable as it curled off Quail Island. He adjusted the heading a little more, sure now he would make the mark.

‘Woo hoo!’ Peter whooped as he arced his back to get more leverage when The Jupiter heeled over in the breeze.

‘Go Tyler!’

The R-Class skipper couldn’t hear him, but how could Peter not yell? Amazing to watch the R-Class boats pile on so much speed.

‘Probably faster than a Waszp even.’

Peter pressed his body out-board to further level the boat in the water then looked at the wind indicator on the masthead. Almost without thought he pointed The Jupiter a touch higher, the Starling had become an extension of his body. With a glance, he gauged that he lay well ahead of the fleet.

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Peter felt a wave of satisfaction — in this stiff breeze he sailed in his element.

A horn blew. A race official boat lay ahead flying a flag. The race had been shortened for some reason. To finish he just needed to round the committee boat and head for the finish line to take the win.

Peter turned The Jupiter and changed tack. He saw he still sailed ahead of the other sailboats — but they had gained advantage.

He nodded to the committee boat crew as he rounded with a gybe to head home. But they paid him no attention. Instead they stared off to the south, then pointed. Peter heard their raised voices, but the words were dashed away by the wind. A gust whipped at the sea, spray flew from the tops of the waves. Peter’s new course veered into a broad reach. The wind direction had swung. The Jupiter raced forward.

Suddenly he saw the upturned hull of an Optimist sailboat capsized in a gust. One of the junior sailors, Sarah, had not been able to manage the sudden change in the wind. He saw other sailors had also flipped over, so no one had noticed this boat yet. The finish line still lay a hundred meters away, but Peter gave no thought to that now as he scanned for the skipper of the upturned Optimist.

He rounded the smaller sailboat, and brought The Jupiter into the wind just past the hull of Sarah’s sailboat, Tango. But where was she? Underneath, in an air pocket, but unable to get out?

Then he heard Sarah’s frightened calls. The younger girl, not even ten, swam some twenty meters upwind. The Optimist had floated away from her.

Just as he neared Sarah, she reached out. Peter luffed up into the wind to slow and come alongside her. His sail whipped back and forth with furious intent. Sarah kicked and Peter pulled until she slid into his sailboat.

Sarah huddled in the centre of the cockpit and Peter needed all his weight aft, over the stern, to keep everything balanced. But he kept calm — he knew what to do even in the face of the raging wind.

A scan about showed no one else in view, except the flash of orange. Sarah’s Optimist sailboat. Peter turned towards the upturned hull.

The Jupiter was small, big enough for him and the young girl, but it was a squeeze, so Peter’s head lay next to Sarah’s when she screamed.

He twisted to look over his shoulder — a looming mass of wind and water bore down on them. The squall had become like a monster from the deep, with jaws of raging foam, its roar the pounding of falling water.

‘Unreal.’ Peter shouted. ‘That squall is something else!’

Sarah’s Optimist lay nearby. The knot of wind and cloud had moved away.

‘I have to save my boat.’ Sarah said in a high voice.

‘No. It’s too dangerous,’ Peter said but the girl slipped to the side of the Starling and out of his grasp.

The Jupiter lurched. Sarah slid into the water and stroked for the orange upturned hull.

Peter turned up into the wind and tried to stay alongside the girl. Sarah reached up and pulled on the centerboard to lever her Optimist upright again.

Even as he saw Sarah haul herself onboard he had to turn away as a wave hit The Jupiter. The wind strengthened, and Peter turned downwind, his eyes flicked back to Sarah. But she had her hands full managing Tango, her sailboat.

The wind filled his sail and Peter leaned out. His muscles screamed. His every twitch altered The Jupiter’s heading as much as the tiller. Sailboat and boy had fused into one being.

Peter gybed the sail over, swung his body onto The Jupiter’s rear quarter and angled away from the squall. Sarah in Tango lay not far away, but a mist, whipped into a fury, rose to hide her.

He saw then what came in the squall’s wake. A waterspout! It rose high — all raging water and cloud, its wind whipped the sea to a fury. The beast reached out for him.

In the thick of the raging mass, the wind tore at his sail, then plucked and pinched at him as if to drag him from the boat. The roar of it filled his ears. Peter hiked further out and searched for a route to safety.

‘Sarah!’ he shouted.

The Jupiter heeled over, he flung his weight out to stop a capsize.

‘Sarah!’

Peter steered away. He had to escape the waterspout.

A great gust rushed him from astern — the Starling twisted — waves piled high — vision blinded by the very air — water everywhere — below — above.

And then…

The pressure of wind eased

Peter slipped

Into the middle

A muddle

Tangled amongst ropes

The sail flapped

Stretched

Lightning burned bright

Count for the crash of thunder

The flash seared

He closed his eyes

Pressed his head held tight to knees

To hide

To hope

A bright brightness

But thunder never came

Sideways

He fell

Somelsewhere