Dewey Beach - spring 09

[ibex]

A good 40 minutes behind schedule, Suan and I roll into Mary's place this morning, sardined into his Honda Civic, and pile out like some circus show onto her driveway before we proceed to stuff 5 boards, 11 sails, 4 booms and 3 people into her minivan. My original plan was to drive myself down to Dewey Beach for the weekend, but due to my car's fuel pump dying yesterday, I was glad that Mary and Suan could accomodate me at the last minute.

Most of the drive from Ithaca NY to Dewey Beach DE is spent in Pennsylvania, which I heard best described once as "two big modern cities with Alabama filling the space between" and there is no doubt that we are going through Dixie... The Jesus-billboards bring me out of my comfortable "downtown Ithaca" frame of reference and I feel, in my own country, like I am traveling in someone else's. Taking full advantage of the opportunity to be a passenger, I go catatonic, to recoup a few of the hours of missed sleep, in eager anticipation of this trip.

By 4 we roll into Dewey, get our permit for a campfire on the beach, and head to our condo. Its a strange sense of deja-vu that washes over me as I walk into the same house we stayed in 6 months ago. Its funny little things like this, that remind me how different my life is now, than when I was here such a short time ago. We quickly unload our stuff, and eager to take advantage of the 20 SW wind, we rig up, and Suan is the first out on the water and by this time Glen joins us. To the south, we can see about 6 kiters racing in the strong breeze, giving promise to a great session on the water.

Yesterday, schlepping my board to her place, Mary mentions that she was interested in swapping some time on her 148L Bic Techno for some time on my longboard, and eager for another day of gentle introduction to shortboarding - before the gloves come off and I get the nerve to try my newly acquired 120L JP XCR - I happily agree.

As we unload our gear I can feel the sand whipping about my ankles, and I recall an article in Windsurfing magazine about a guy in Honduras that uses that as his indication to rig 5.0. It feels a little gusty as we unload our gear, and we all rig for the more conservative lulls between the gusts. Suan on a 6.0, me with 5.6 and Mary with a 4.7. In my eager haste to get on the water, I slather sunscreen all over my pasty white legs and arms... only to realize that I am going to pull a full wetsuit over the greasy layer. I joke to myself that its a great example of what I like to call "PhD-level thinking" as i (literally) slither into my wetsuit.

Suan gets a few good runs in before the wind dies, but by the time the rest of us get out there, we are seriously underpowered. Feeling as though I brought a knife to a gunfight, I haul my sail back to the condo, quickly rig my 6.5 and the instant I put it in the water, I wished I had rigged 7.5. Despite lots of shlogging, there were still some moments of blissful planning in the gusts. The Bic was a really nice board to sail, eager to surf down the faces of the brown waves, making me regret not taking the time to widen the footstraps to accomodate my size 12 dogs.

I run aground a few times in the soft sand, and conjure images of my nemesis Tino (recall my Cocoa Beach TR a week ago) and his clearly conveyed - but never explicitly phrased threat of - "you run my gear into the ground and I send you *packing* gringo..." Fortuneately, I realize that my fears of Tino taking this gear away are unfounded and I simply walk Mary's board out to deeper water upon feeling the gentle tug of the sand pulling at the fin of her board.

Always eager to push back my own boundaries, I try a few helitacks late in our session (without success) and on my final attempt I missed catching the rig flip and the tail of the boom crashed into the right side of my forehead, knocking me into the waist-deep water. Having clearly lost the upper hand in this contest of wills, I decide to shelve that project for another day, but force myself to keep sailing. With temple throbbing from the impact of cold aluminum, I turn my board back to the west for another run, determined to shake this off. Its funny how just a little bit of pain recasts the experience on such a different light, it reminds me of the subtle difference between what is real and what is just the benign little story we all play out in our minds. The story that we somehow pretend is "us" and this image of ourselves that we portray to the world.

After another hour of sailing in light-ish winds Suan, Mary and Glen all head in and I took the last few runs by myself. The sun slowly sinking in the western sky, made for serene beam reaches into the pink and orange sunset, bathing the sky and water with soft amber light. The windows of the buildings on shore reflect the golden glow, contrasting sharply with their white decks and trim. Even after hauling my gear back to shore, I stop to watch the sunset for a good 10 minutes, standing alone in the ankle-deep water - salty rivulets still running down my face - I am awed by the incredible pallete of colors before me. Its a great "pondering life" moment, the details of which I'll save for a different audience.

After my third serving of lasagna, deliciously laced with fennel, thyme, and sage (thanks Mary!!), and 3 glasses of tempranillo - life is looking pretty good. Tomorrow is supposed to be 10-20 WSW and I am already contemplating de-rigging my 6.5 in favor of a 7.5. Its funny though, at the tender young age of 31, I am slowly learning that things like this really don't matter. I don't need to have the perfect sail already rigged for tomorrow, the optimal lineup of things to do in the morning (current plan: 4 mile run, make breakfast for the group, and go sail) or really be/do *anything*. Its a great life lesson in just being present, in "being okay". Paying attention to what "works" and what doesn't.

To the several good friends who could not join us this weekend, I wish you all the best on this night. As much as I am enjoying every delicious second of vacation, I can't help but wish this great experiece could be shared with more of you. The little twinge of pain on the side of my face everytime I smile makes me aware how great it is to be here. Without it, i would never have noticed how much I was smiling and having fun.

Have a great night everyone!

Shawn

[ibex]

At 6:30 this morning my internal 'alarm' goes off, as the rays of morning sun leak through the window blinds of the 3rd floor glass doors leading to the balcony outside my room. I step outside to feel the soft 5 mph wind blowing off the bay, and knowing that an early surf session is out of the question, I decide to take advantage of the cool quiet to go for a run while the house is still asleep.

Like medicine for melancholy, running on the beach in the early morning is pretty magical. I had forgotten how nice it is to spend the morning with just the hiss of the surf and sand scattering down the backs of my calves, trickling its way down to my socks. I lose track of the time and inadverntently run 5 miles before I find my way back to the condo, shower and get the coffee going. The bodies strewn on the couch come to life at the sound of onions, potatoes, and eggs frying and the scent of coffee fills the air.

Since the wind is still only 5 SW we take a post-breakfast expedition to poach a rusty foosball table that Mary found in the trash on an adjacent street. 4 of us carry the prize back to the condo like a bunch of cavemen returning to camp with a leg of wholly mamouth. Still without wind (to speak of) everyone finds their own diversion, for some its the beach, for others its bird watching, and for me its taking a walk to the coffee shop a block away to scam some wireless and scope the wind forecast.

The forecast looks pretty uninspiring (S to W from 8 - 12 depending on who you wanted to beleive, but on the way back to the condo I notice the flag on the marina is nearly horizontal and I quicken my steps back. By the time I get back, the wind slackened a bit, but looked like 7.5 on a longboard would still be worth doing. I slather SPF30 on my head, arms and legs - deciding that I'll just wear a shorty given the 85 degree air and the minimal amount of time I am likely to spend in the water.

When I go to rig my 7.5, its nowhere to be found - nor is my gear bag that has my shorty in it.... Someone loaded them back in the van for me (most likely to keep it more secure in our open carport), but Mary took Alex to the grocery store in her van, so Pete loans me his 7.5 and a rig and I feel a little disgusting as I slither back into my 5/3 'steamer' wetsuit, hoping the copious layers of sunscreen don't disolve the neoprene.

Out on the bay, the wind is... well, "squirrely". It starts at SW then swings NW, then finishes an hour later out of the east (so I end up getting blown offshore) but at least provides a few planing gusts before settling down to 5-8 out of the E. The two hardest parts of which were: a) holding up a heavy *ss sail at the points where there was no wind, and b) trying not to overheat in my thick suit and bright sunshine. Several times I have to stop, throw the rig in the water and jump in - each time filling the neck of my wetsuit with 60 degree water - only to feel it get pumped out the wrists of my suit at nearly 100 degrees when I stood back up.

After 2 hours of perfectly harmless light wind sailing, I thank goodness that I bought a longboard at the start of this windsurfing journey (a pretty styling one I might add, but I have already beaten that dead horse), as some serious upwind sailing is needed to get back on shore. Pete and I take a stroll over to the ocean side to see if there is better wind to be found (there isn't), and the water is a frigid 45-50 degrees and after taking a second to refill my suit with icy cold water, we walk back to the condo. The looks from the beach-goers were pretty funny, they were all sunbathing wearing virtually nothing, and if you looked up and down the shore, the only souls that dare to fully-immerse themselves in the water were me in my rubber batman costume and a nearby labrador retriever fetching a stick.

At this point in the day, everyone has officially gone on "beach time" and the beer, frisbee and soccer ball have all found their way down to the shore. Alex proudly offers to pour margeritas, made with tequila purchased in (no joke) a generous half-gallon size jug. I decline, hoping to stave off stage-4 dehydration at least until sunset, just on the off chance the wind comes back up.

Everyone is taking the chance to pre-rig their largest gear, and I (sadly...) put a tear in the luff sleeve of my 6.5 while derigging it and setting up my 7.5. I do a bit of farfing with my 5.6 that was still rigged from yesterday, and basically stand around feeling a bit skunked at the lack of wind. Then the obvious question hits me... "why the h*ll am I just standing here and not out there trying to learn something in this light wind?" Flicking my 5.6 on top of my head, I tromp down to the beach and pull my longboard onto the flattest patch of sand I can find and practice helitacks and duck tacks.

Then it hits me again... "why the h*ll am I standing here on dry land, when there is like 1/2 mile of thigh-deep, bathtub-warm water, when I have my rashguard on and more sunscreen than a tour bus full of Brits at a nudist colony in the Bahamas?" So I pick up my board and drag my rig through the shallow water, realizing that the very first time I ever tried helitacking was on this very beach exactly 6 months ago - and lets just say tacking was a stretch for me at that point, and thanks to the best efforts of Amanda I actually learned to tack that day - and with high hopes I slosh out until the water is knee-deep.

The first handful of helitack attempts go badly. Then the next hour's worth of attempts go very badly... the short version of which entails me flailing madly trying to control the rig flip (recall yesterday's TR where that didn't go so well), the low point of which was me getting flung in an arc, feet above waist, faceplanting into the sail. After a moment to collect my thoughts and ponder "why does this seem so effortless on youtube?" (yes, I am a child of web2.0) and then it strikes me that what I am doing is trying to do is force/control the sail to swing in an arc, and what I need to do is just stay balanced, bring the mast to a neutral position and let the sail rotate itself. 20 minutes later, I proudly land my very first (liquid) helitack and over the course of the next 40 minutes I manage to get 8 in all.

Tired, hungry, and thirsty I walk back to the house to pound down a sandwhich and as I contemplate smearing on more sunscreen on my pale head and heading back out - I realize that it feels really good to just sit there. Moments later, that thought turns into... "why am I not sitting in the hot tub right now....?" and I amble downstairs for a 40 minute soak. Still contemplating going back out (everyone else has or is in the process of heading back out at this point) and I decide that just being dry is what I really wanted at that moment and change into my clothes.

With hands still wrinkly from my day in the water, its funny to take a moment to consider 'how far we've come' since I first picked up a sail at a beginners clinic on Seneca Lake last August. The best part of which, is that every time I ponder that thought - the list of how far I want to go - gets even longer. For good measure, I have downloaded a handful of Youtube videos while I have web access looking for things to try tomorrow - and truth be told - I am the most excited I have ever been about a 10mph wind forecast. This isn't the time to be sour about not having 20 mph of wind, this is the time to go shorten that list of things that look out of reach.

Have a great night everyone!

Shawn

PS I am going to throw this out there, and I know its pretty ambitious.... there is a six-pack of the beer of your choice and a lifetime of eternal gratitude if there is anyone willing to spend 15 minutes on the phone talking me through the finer points of a Vulcan. I know its a bit of a stretch, but if the bar is never set high, you are never going to learn to jump.

PSS to the DC-BABA folks, sorry I didn't get a chance to meet up with you today, I look forward to meeting you guys.

[ibex]

So yesterday's report ended pre-dinner, which consisted of crabs down at Ed's Crabshack, and on our walk back to the condo, we realize that we only had an hour to have (and conclude) our campfire before the 11pm curfew imposed by the good citizens of the Dewey Beach city council. This opened the door to foosball and drinks (plural) at a bar, in lieu of a fire, on our way back to the condo. Because the embarrassing details don't add much to the story (and because I don't remember them all) lets just say that I should have considered an earlier conclusion to my indulgence last night...

I am awake at 6:40am thanks to the rays of sun that are filtering through my window. After several blinks to clear my (still in) contacts, I think I can see the top of the willow tree outside my window swaying in the wind. I sit up and feel like my head is in a vice, but confirm that my eyes were not lying to me... it really *is* windy out there.

At this point I consider a corollary to "Rule number one", which is even when you are feeling lousy, if its blowing, you need to get your butt in the water. I throw on my swimtrunks, rashguard and sunscreen as I quietly head downstairs (stop for 2 big glasses of water) past the slumber party that is our living room. We are now "n + 2" with two friends of Dan's joining us for our last night in the condo.

Last night I remember thinking it was funny that our carport was filled with about 10-12 rigged sails, like some kind of sail library. I joked that at least with mine on the bottom, someone else's was going to get stolen first. Now in the cool morning light, wrestling my 7.5 out from the very bottom of the stack as I feel every throbbing pulse in my forehead, it doesn't seem quite as funny.

The wind on the 3rd floor balcony felt like W 15 and I knew that if there was going to be any time on this trip to take out my 120L board, this was it. As I take it out of the case, I stick my booted foot in the straps to make sure they are sized appropriately, but then laugh at myself, because I know that I am in no danger of getting my feet anywhere near the straps today, but i suppose it doesn't hurt to be ready. After putting the fin in for the first time, I carry my board and rig to the bay, and am stoked to see a few whitecaps getting pushed up in the onshore wind. With a sense of opportunity for what unknown fate lies before me, I set up my shortboard for its first-ever beachstart, and to my great surprise I manage to climb aboard without a problem.

I have to say that I am SO glad i rented a 145L board for a day in Cocoa Beach, and spent a day on Mary's 148L, because it made the transition from a longboard infinitely easier. At 120L my new board feels minuscule, like volumetrically on par with a bar of soap, and is uber-sensitive to the tiniest little weight shift. Surprisingly my biggest problem is not getting blown downwind, but rather keeping the board from rounding upwind. I try a couple different placements for the mast base, and all the way forward, the problem becomes fairly benign.

Enjoying the onshore wind and quiet solitude on the water, I head south on a long beam reach and sail all the way to the state park beach. Tacking proves to be just a *tad* bit harder on this board, as there is precisely 4 square inches you can stand on without tipping the thing over. Heading northbound, in the tiniest of gusts, I serendipitously catch this little wave, and surfing down the face of the wave, my board climbs on plane for the first time. Seconds later I sink back into the water, but I am awestruck at my first planning experience. I can clearly see the magic of it all.

I notice another sailor out on the water, and when I get closer, I realize that its Suan who is also out enjoying the early-morning wind. Finally as my headache changes from a "had too much fun last night" headache, into a "haven't had coffee yet" headache (and yes... there is a difference) I decide its time to head in. On the way I succeed with my first tack and very nearly land a pivot gybe on my tiny little board.

Back at the house everyone is slowly coming out of their slumber and trading stories of their adventures the previous night as Suan starts making breakfast. With some coffee now in my veins, life is starting to look a little bit better. As the wind has died off, most people are back on 'beach time' and generally relaxing.

So last night's youtubing brought me to the conclusion that the duck tack was going to be my next objective. Really as I sit here and contemplate the bigger picture of learning ever more complicated ways of turning from left to right on a windsurfing board, I am willing to acknowledge there exists a certain level of... well - absurdity here. But I am resolute that this little detail isn't going to stop me. For those not familiar with a duck tack, the internet provides this 6 seconds of viewing pleasure:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1bUtQaX7Yo

So by the time breakfast is wrapped up and we go through the logistics of how much time we are going to need before we leave, it leaves just over one hour for me to go chase a duck tack. With my 5.6 still rigged from yesterday, I hook it onto my longboard and drag everything to the water. Taking advantage of the blissfully warm weather and water I wade back out in the bay just wearing swimtrunks and a rashguard, although it strikes me how just a few degrees increase in air temperature makes the water feel really cold at first.

The first 15 minutes of attempts go no further than getting proficient at sailing switch footed, with me repeatedly pounding my boom into my longboard's nose hard enough to make me wish i had taken the time to install the nose protector that i have planned for my boards. It makes it clear that I need to head back to shore, and try this a few more times on dry land before any more wet attempts. The next 20 minutes prove pretty frustrating, and I don't know, but I am sure anyone watching had to be thinking "why does this guy keep standing on is board - on dry land - and repeatedly throwing his sail into the ground?"

The boom, my sail, my board and me are all "sugar coated" in the white sand that sticks to anything that is wet, and I can feel clumps of wet sand falling all around me on each attempt and the funny "thawump" sound they make as they hit the deck of my board. I remember thinking that I *really* hope I figure this trick out, and more importantly, that I am able to get all 30 lbs of sand that are currently in my mast track, out. The ahah-moment strikes when I realize that the swish rig toss in the video is the varsity version of the maneuver, and I need to stick with a slightly more pedestrian "one hand on the boom at all times" version, if I am to have any prayer of favorably reuniting with the sail after ducking under the clew.

With less than half an hour until its time for vacation to end, I head back on the water to try again. With a scant 5 minutes remaining a "moment of grace" befalls me as I manage to duck under the sail without losing control, snag the boom on the opposite side and with providence... I manage to stay balanced, and sail my board off in the new direction. With a whoop of joy, I turn my board back for the beach, now ready to pack up.

As I type this, we are still in the state of Delaware, driving north on the interstate and leaving the soft white sands of Dewey behind us. It was a fantastic trip, everyone had a great time, nobody ended up getting blown downwind/hurt/breaking anything, and even though there was less wind than we hoped for, most people were out sailing today without wetsuits in the sunny 90 degree air, which by the northern calendar is nothing short of amazing for April.

The best part though, was just getting to spend time with good friends in this beautiful place. I want to send out a special thanks to Alex, Daniel, Pete, Glen, Mary and Suan for helping to make this trip a great one.

Cheers!

Shawn