On one recent Wednesday race evening when the sky was still clear and blue, the wind blew so lightly that Charlie Obersheimer was using his thinnest, biggest sail to catch as much breeze as he could.

With sunglasses, a cap and a tan, he looked like the stereotype of a yachtsman as he leaned, the stainless steering wheel gleaming in the sun as he turned.

His Aires was one of about 80 white-sailed boats that filled the horizon, circling a bobbing orange buoy. It marked the start of the five-mile Lake Erie course for this weekly Buffalo Harbor Sailing Club race, just beyond the breakwater near the Buffalo Yacht Club on Porter Avenue.

Behind Obersheimer, two longtime sailing friends, who were pretty good at getting the front sail close to where it belongs, pulled and adjusted the sails.

Obersheimer gave a line a casual tug. Someone asked why. He shrugged. He has sailed every one of the 67 years of his life, since being taken out as an infant, and he can’t always explain his instincts.

For the last decade that he’s raced his 40-foot Aires, he wins a lot. But it’s not the most important part. These Wednesday sails—attracting sailors from four city marinas and two yacht clubs—let him share the water’s windy secrets with the friends he has made here.

The captains who race each week so often need help with knots and sails that they post crew openings at the club’s Web site, sailbhsc.org. Almost anyone who wants to learn can find a place.

Networking skill will clinch it. Hours before the race, the phone rang at Obersheimer’s Niagara Street boating supply store. A friend wanted to bring someone.

“Don’t know if there’s room for him,” he said, “but he can always mix drinks or something.”

By about 5:30 that evening, Aires, its white body trimmed in teak, left the yacht club with a dozen assorted friends and strangers who were friends of friends. That was four more than normal, and it was extra weight that could slow Obersheimer’s narrow boat.

So far this summer, Obersheimer and his crew have won the first competition in a series the harbor club runs from May to September.

On this Wednesday, the second “Midsummer” series was under way. Three of five races were done. Aires was in third place, competing against about 12 others in his boat’s mid-range speed class. They had this night and one more to catch up and win.

As Obersheimer found his way through the wind, everyone eyed their rival, shifting behind them. Bear, like Aires, was one of five copies friends built in the 1960s of a boat Obersheimer’s father commissioned.

When Bear and its big white sail veered away, someone wondered: Were they outwitted?

People who chatted nonchalantly with cups of spiked ginger beer before the race started were quieter.

Crew, busy with boat work, pulled lines, adjusted sails and followed directions. Obersheimer is known for not yelling. “Let’s pull the jib, please,” he said, evenly. And then, “Pull the main sheet in about four feet.”

On the deck before him, young skilled sailors managed the collection of sails: An English-as-a-second-language teacher with the boyfriend persuaded to join her. A pediatrician, who between breaks in the action, liked to stretch her arms out on the boom, a tubular spar that holds the bottom of the main sail. A software consultant who knew nothing about sailing until her ex introduced her just as their marriage was breaking up. She feels lucky to be part of Obersheimer’s little family.

Another group sat, crowded together, for the easiest job. Four were on the edge, as “rail meat,” to level the boat for speed with their weight.

“Get heavy,” Obersheimer said, reminding them to drop farther down. When the main sail moved from one side to the other, in a tack, they scrambled to the other side, crouching crablike to avoid a boom smack.

Ellen Myers let her feet dangle over the side. She never sailed before and was hoping they’d win. Or else. “I will no longer be that rail meat, or whatever that thing is,” she laughed. Initially alarmed when the boat tipped into the wind, she had relaxed.

After about 40 minutes, Aires arrived at the red and white marker buoy. Almost halfway. Bear was distant.

They opened the billowing spinnaker sail, caught the wind behind and aimed back to the yacht club. Set and puffed with a red center and blue edges, it gave the Aires a grand look as the boat glided to first place and the calm water beyond the breakwater.

The regulars grinned with pride. Obersheimer praised his crew. They praised him. They won without much maneuvering. The main sail had gone from one side to another only three times. The spinnaker was set just once.

“Plus,” Obersheimer said, “we had fun, and we played with our friends.”

As the sun set in a rosy yellow, Aires slid toward the yacht club dock. More cups were filled with “dark and stormy” rum and ginger beer. Sliced spicy sausage was passed. Sailing perspectives expanded.

The pediatrician, Tessa Flores, said the sport takes her outside herself. She listens carefully for Obersheimer’s soft-spoken instructions. When people want to start sailing with him, he tells them to learn to feel the wind on their skin. Flores says she has a beautiful sense now. She can feel it on her face, changing direction, second by second.

People lingered around Obersheimer on the boat. Then he explained how he used the wind in the race that night.

The other boats sailed high, close to it. He didn’t because he knows it’s better not to pinch the wind. It helps him more when he moves away a little bit. That’s when the boat goes a little bit faster. And he wins.

mkearns@buffnews.comnull