Post by ibex on Apr 11, 2009 20:05:42 GMT -5
All,
So a bit before noon, I call Pete and ask the (sleepy!) voice on the other end of the line if I can stop by to drop off a sail for his roomate Daniel on my way down to ES. He says he'll join me down at the lake, but needs a bit more time to get ready before heading down to the lake and encourages me to go ahead.
Loading my car I felt the general windiness in town, but driving down Lakeshore Dr I wasn't prepared for my first view of the water. It was covered shore to shore in a uniform blanket of whitecaps, the brown-ish water almost looking like some giant sheet-cookie with little rows of white icing. At the ES, the wind was blowing straight down the length of the lake. NOAA called it 14 NNW, and iWindsurf was guessing 16-20. Whatever the number, it was clear that it was going to be a session to remember.
Minutes before I had talked to some experienced windsurfing friends in ROC that were rigging to sail on Canadaigua Lake (on 6.5 for shortboards, with basically the same forecast) I figured I would try starting with a 5.6 on my longboard. After rigging up, I worm my way into two wetsuits, a fleece hat, a neoprene hood, gloves and booties. Then pouring my traditional liter of hot water down the neck of my suit, I clumsily carried my gear down to the water.
I ponder for a second what I am about to do, go sailing alone in 40 degree water with some healthy wind... on my first day back on the water in 6 months. The real solace of the situation was that I knew I'd stay warm enough with my straight-jacket-like layers of neoprene, and (most importantly) it was an onshore wind. The worst that could happen is that I climb on my board and drift down to Stewart Park and walk back. I see 3 kites racing around at the S end of the lake, some of them catching *serious* air. Looking to the north, the coal-colored water to the north is empty, save for the blanket of whitecaps. Taking a deep breath, put my left foot between the rear straps and let the massive low-end power of my sail pull me aboard.
And then immediately launch over the otherside of the board into the waist-deep water. Three times in a row...
Stunned at how hard such a basic maneuver could be after the long winter, I dig deep for a zen moment and finally keep my balance on my 4th attempt as the board quickly powers away from the shore. At that moment I hear the joyous whoop from Pete who had just pulled up in time to see me take off for my first (liquid) sailing of the season.
My first tack, went about as well as my first beachstart, but I quickly uphauled and headed back to shore. Taking a second to catch my breath and chat with Pete, this little voice in my head tells me that I sound think about rigging a smaller sail as the wind seems to be subtly gaining strength. Always a believer in beginner's luck, I decide to head back out as I am rigged and quickly regret it.
The next 30-40 minutes were spent getting blown down, uphauling, getting blown down (repeat) and finally I thought to myself "why don't I just try my waterstart instead of all this uphauling?" Which the answer seemed pretty self-evident at the time, given the proud success of my first few beachstarts. So after a bit of careful positioning, I nail my first waterstart of the season only to get catapaulted seconds later. Three successful waterstarts in a row, I manage to get back on my board, just to get knocked off again and again - overpowered each time. Getting tired at this point, I hop on my board to rest, out of the 40 degree water. Ultimately I manage to uphaul, but having given up a lot of distance downwind of my launch point, I make the decision to haul out by the Cornell Sailing docks and make my first ever "walk of shame" back to my launch point, with some help getting my gear out of the pounding surf from Pete and another unknown sailor (the kind that stays dry when they "sail", interesting concept really(?)).
Daniel and then Elena arrive for moral support as Pete is taking a turn with a smaller sail. After several good runs, he has a similar outcome, and ends up ditching his rig tied to one of the Cornell Sailing mooring buoys (to retrieve later) and swimming his board in. I hem and haw if I want to rig my 4.7 and go out again, the sailor-guy said he thought it was blowing 30-35 and 40 in the gusts. I would have called it 20-25 and 30 gusts, and after a bit of rest decide to re-rig and go again. I decide that its worth a few extra seconds to super-downhaul/outhaul my smallest sail to reduce the depth of the airfoil as much as I could, and soften the leech for the gusts.
This time, with considerably more pause, I beachstart on the first try and while I feel still a bit overpowered, its a much better match to the massive brown waves rolling under my board. A couple of good runs later, I am fried and decide to hop out before testing my luck any further. Pete runs to grab us some hot tea, while I derig, and then we go fetch his abandoned sail in a lull in the wind. In the end both Pete and I made good decisions to get out of the water when we each did (of course we welcome the lively discussion around the question of going out in the first place
). Today was a great example of the lesson that no amount of pride or gear is worth risking your life over.
All told, it was a stiff first day. Definitely not "soft touch" on any account: wind, waves, you name it - it was humbling. I honestly regretted not buying a 4.0 or a 3.8... it would have been *perfect* out there today. I was completely spent, but happy to have gotten several waterstarts, discovered how much neoprene it takes to stay warm in 40 degree water, and most importantly got back out on the water after what feels like an eternal hiatus. More than anything it was good to have some quiet time out on the water; just me, the wind, and my thoughts. I needed that today.
On the way home I hear the song "The world's not falling apart" by Dar Williams, and smiling I turn up the volume. I decide that I need to listen to that voice.
Shawn
So a bit before noon, I call Pete and ask the (sleepy!) voice on the other end of the line if I can stop by to drop off a sail for his roomate Daniel on my way down to ES. He says he'll join me down at the lake, but needs a bit more time to get ready before heading down to the lake and encourages me to go ahead.
Loading my car I felt the general windiness in town, but driving down Lakeshore Dr I wasn't prepared for my first view of the water. It was covered shore to shore in a uniform blanket of whitecaps, the brown-ish water almost looking like some giant sheet-cookie with little rows of white icing. At the ES, the wind was blowing straight down the length of the lake. NOAA called it 14 NNW, and iWindsurf was guessing 16-20. Whatever the number, it was clear that it was going to be a session to remember.
Minutes before I had talked to some experienced windsurfing friends in ROC that were rigging to sail on Canadaigua Lake (on 6.5 for shortboards, with basically the same forecast) I figured I would try starting with a 5.6 on my longboard. After rigging up, I worm my way into two wetsuits, a fleece hat, a neoprene hood, gloves and booties. Then pouring my traditional liter of hot water down the neck of my suit, I clumsily carried my gear down to the water.
I ponder for a second what I am about to do, go sailing alone in 40 degree water with some healthy wind... on my first day back on the water in 6 months. The real solace of the situation was that I knew I'd stay warm enough with my straight-jacket-like layers of neoprene, and (most importantly) it was an onshore wind. The worst that could happen is that I climb on my board and drift down to Stewart Park and walk back. I see 3 kites racing around at the S end of the lake, some of them catching *serious* air. Looking to the north, the coal-colored water to the north is empty, save for the blanket of whitecaps. Taking a deep breath, put my left foot between the rear straps and let the massive low-end power of my sail pull me aboard.
And then immediately launch over the otherside of the board into the waist-deep water. Three times in a row...
Stunned at how hard such a basic maneuver could be after the long winter, I dig deep for a zen moment and finally keep my balance on my 4th attempt as the board quickly powers away from the shore. At that moment I hear the joyous whoop from Pete who had just pulled up in time to see me take off for my first (liquid) sailing of the season.
My first tack, went about as well as my first beachstart, but I quickly uphauled and headed back to shore. Taking a second to catch my breath and chat with Pete, this little voice in my head tells me that I sound think about rigging a smaller sail as the wind seems to be subtly gaining strength. Always a believer in beginner's luck, I decide to head back out as I am rigged and quickly regret it.
The next 30-40 minutes were spent getting blown down, uphauling, getting blown down (repeat) and finally I thought to myself "why don't I just try my waterstart instead of all this uphauling?" Which the answer seemed pretty self-evident at the time, given the proud success of my first few beachstarts. So after a bit of careful positioning, I nail my first waterstart of the season only to get catapaulted seconds later. Three successful waterstarts in a row, I manage to get back on my board, just to get knocked off again and again - overpowered each time. Getting tired at this point, I hop on my board to rest, out of the 40 degree water. Ultimately I manage to uphaul, but having given up a lot of distance downwind of my launch point, I make the decision to haul out by the Cornell Sailing docks and make my first ever "walk of shame" back to my launch point, with some help getting my gear out of the pounding surf from Pete and another unknown sailor (the kind that stays dry when they "sail", interesting concept really(?)).
Daniel and then Elena arrive for moral support as Pete is taking a turn with a smaller sail. After several good runs, he has a similar outcome, and ends up ditching his rig tied to one of the Cornell Sailing mooring buoys (to retrieve later) and swimming his board in. I hem and haw if I want to rig my 4.7 and go out again, the sailor-guy said he thought it was blowing 30-35 and 40 in the gusts. I would have called it 20-25 and 30 gusts, and after a bit of rest decide to re-rig and go again. I decide that its worth a few extra seconds to super-downhaul/outhaul my smallest sail to reduce the depth of the airfoil as much as I could, and soften the leech for the gusts.
This time, with considerably more pause, I beachstart on the first try and while I feel still a bit overpowered, its a much better match to the massive brown waves rolling under my board. A couple of good runs later, I am fried and decide to hop out before testing my luck any further. Pete runs to grab us some hot tea, while I derig, and then we go fetch his abandoned sail in a lull in the wind. In the end both Pete and I made good decisions to get out of the water when we each did (of course we welcome the lively discussion around the question of going out in the first place
). Today was a great example of the lesson that no amount of pride or gear is worth risking your life over.All told, it was a stiff first day. Definitely not "soft touch" on any account: wind, waves, you name it - it was humbling. I honestly regretted not buying a 4.0 or a 3.8... it would have been *perfect* out there today. I was completely spent, but happy to have gotten several waterstarts, discovered how much neoprene it takes to stay warm in 40 degree water, and most importantly got back out on the water after what feels like an eternal hiatus. More than anything it was good to have some quiet time out on the water; just me, the wind, and my thoughts. I needed that today.
On the way home I hear the song "The world's not falling apart" by Dar Williams, and smiling I turn up the volume. I decide that I need to listen to that voice.
Shawn
