The quarterly Channel Sprint, contested every three moons down the east channel from the Old Willow to the Sluice, was run on Thursday under conditions our correspondent can only describe as “splashy.” A field of eleven started at the agreed whistle, which was, by general consensus, sounded slightly late.
The race itself — an institution of some antiquity, the precise origins of which the Clerk of the Race professes not to recall — traces the full length of the east channel, a course of no fixed distance, as the channel has been known to relocate between races without notice. On Thursday the course was judged to be, in the Clerk’s words, “shorter than usual and more to the left,” though this judgement was not universally shared. The start was taken at the base of the Old Willow, and the finish at the first bend past the Sluice, marked, as tradition requires, by the Clerk’s own beak, held out at waist height.
Eleven competitors were entered — ten recognised, and one, the coot, entered under a category the Clerk had not previously been aware existed. The recognised field included two veterans of previous Sprints, four rising geese from the north bank, three mallards in varying states of readiness, and a gosling entered by its elder sibling “for the experience,” over objections filed by the gosling’s mother.
The official running order at the finish, as recorded by the Clerk before the first protest was lodged, stood as follows:
- A rising young goose from the north bank (name withheld pending paperwork) — seven splashes and a bit
- A veteran mallard, formerly of the south shore — seven splashes and a bit, but longer
- The coot (category disputed) — eight splashes exactly
- A mallard of the middle shallows — eight splashes and a half
- A goose of the east bank — nine splashes
- A gosling — did not finish, observed to be examining a reed 7–11. Remaining field, times unrecorded, variously present
The eventual winner, whose name this paper has been asked to withhold until paperwork is complete, recorded a time of seven splashes and a bit, narrowly edging out a veteran mallard whose effort was said by onlookers to be “courageous, if underwatered.” Third place was claimed by the coot, whose paperwork, in addition to being of a category the Clerk had not known existed, contained a misspelling the coot refuses to recognise.
Protests were lodged before the winners had fully dried off. The first, filed by the veteran mallard’s second, concerned an alleged false start, and alleged that the whistle had in fact been sounded twice, once for each of the two foremost competitors, with the first whistle deniably audible only to the eventual winner. The second protest, filed by a different party, concerned an alleged late start, and was rejected on the grounds that the two protests could not both be correct at once. A third protest, filed by the coot, requested clarification on the category under which it had been entered; this was referred to the Subcommittee, which will not convene until the tides have changed.
Bystander accounts of the race itself vary. One, recorded at the finish, describes the winner’s closing stretch as “a thing of beauty, if you like splashing.” Another, recorded at the start, describes the opening two seconds as “confusing, and not in the usual way.” A third account, from a party who watched from a distance and is known to this paper for the reliability of his observations in ordinary matters, maintains that “at no point during the race was any competitor, by any reasonable definition, ahead,” a statement we reproduce without further comment.
HONK, said the winner, once able. Onlookers applauded briefly and returned to the business of lunch. A rematch is rumoured for the feast of next moon, conditions permitting and provided the Clerk of the Race can be persuaded to stand at the finish a second time.
Our correspondent has retired for a brief nap.