Post by ibex on Apr 30, 2009 21:40:17 GMT -5
Like the daytime version of "I can't sleep", so was my day sitting in front of the computer, trying my best to write code. The problem is that my job is (litterally) to creatively-think and problem-solve, and when you mind is stuck elsewhere, it becomes just about impossible to get work done. Knowing that the forecast was for steady wind, after lunch and some errands I decide it was time for a change - it was time to head for Seneca.
The drive up was promising, with every flag along the way jutting horizontally from their flagpoles, and when I pulled into the park I could see a few whitecaps out in the middle of the lake. The forecast was 17 S and usually there is a pretty strong funnel effect (amplifying a S wind) on Seneca but it didn't feel that strong (despite every nearby flags sticking straight out). Since I have to pick up my mom from the airport tonight, and I figured the wind was going got be hauling, I took my 7.5 out of the car and my ripped 6.5 sat at home as well. I rig 5.6, noting with a warm smile, that there is white sand on the luff sleeve and I taste salt as I hold my fin screw with my lips as I place the fin in my board. It reminds me of my last sailing adventure - just 4 days ago in Dewey Beach. Optimistic that the wind will only get stronger; I head out in the south wind.
What proceeded was essentially 1.5 hours of completely harmless and un-exciting shlooging. There was enough wind to move around, but *barely* enough to waterstart in a gust. By far the high point of which was one particularly long gust at the far N end of the lake, and achieving my first sustained planing experience on my 120L board. I have written at length about the sensation of acceleration of coming on plane, and likened it to being tied to the nose of an out of control missile. Without any exaggeration - the acceleration can only be described as breathtaking - the difference this time was that in this 30 seconds, I saw that it was possible to steer the missile.
In an instant I had traversed 1/4 of the lake's width, and when I felt my fin hit bottom, I quickly unhooked, sheeted out and somersaulted backwards - curled up in a ball - to roll with the impact of hitting the water. I stood up (checked my fin) and with the biggest grin on my face, I let out this massive giddy laugh. In an instant, everything had changed... It was no longer a cr*ppy day. There just aren't words to describe the sensation of being on the smoothest and fastest magic carpet ride of your life. The entire endeavor was really just a lone footnote, on a single page, of a single chapter, of a book that is my life. But in that moment it felt huge.
Yesterday I had chatted online with Bill from ROC about going to Seneca today and he said he would be there sometime in the late afternoon, and shortly after my moment of planing, I see another sail and Bill comes over to say hello. In addition to his charm, youthful looks, and ninja-like sailing skills - Bill was also the kind soul who gave yours truly a really nice wetsuit and mast extension - which was a key enabler to most of my sailing last fall and this spring. After a brief cavetching about the lack of wind, he asks me what size sail I am on "5.6" I respond "what are you on?' "7.5 and I am way underpowered - don't you think a 5.6 is a little small" "yeah, but I left my 7.5 at home"
(insert shocked look from Bill - the kind of look that says you didn't just bring a knife to a gunfight... you brought a whistle).
We chat a bit more, before he takes off and shortly afterwards I follow him - surprised at getting another 15 seconds on plane in another gust - but quickly settling back into shlogging mode. Tired, I make my way back to shore and haul out for a snack as a third sail (Ken) and a kiter join us on the water. Ken helps me with some sail tuning and after we all take a break - Bill says "is it just me or did it pick up?". Like 3 pelicans craning our necks to the south, there is a noticeable increase in the density of whitecaps and the sky is darker. Conversation stops as we three quickly get our gear together and get back in the water. Truth be told - I felt like I had already had a great session at this point - and could have lived with heading home, had the wind not picked up. I am so glad I didn't, because what lie in store though was nothing short of remarkable.
Minutes before I was barely powered and shlogging - and now the waves were bigger - the surfaces of each face was no longer smooth, but rather wind-scoured each one as if by some invisible helicopter's downwash. My 5.6 is now brimming with power and any sheeting in leads to instantly coming on plane. Waterstarts just moments before were nearly impossible, but now I was literally getting pulled up out of the water and was on plane before my second foot was even on the board.
The really dicey part about handling that much power in a waterstart is that if your rear foot is *just* a little too far to leeward, the downforce from stepping up on the board, rolled my board to leeward and left the razor-sharp (non-TSA approved) fin dangerously pointing at my future progeny. I never thought about the potential need to wear a cup out windsurfing... but I'll have to add this to the list of "what ifs" to prepare myself for next time.
The strangest sensory part of the experience was when the gray skies opened up and we had 15 min of rain. The sound of rain falling around me, in high-pitched droplets impacting the sail's monofilm, the duller thuds of it hitting my neoprene hood, and the miniature "kersplashes" of each drop hitting the waver around me was really cool. It was strange to feel like i was getting wet from above and below at the same time, but the wind never faultered, it was rock-solid 20-25 mph with (dare I say) what felt like the occasional gust to 30-something.
A number of blasting runs later - everyone hauls out (the two more experienced sailors seem to find a way to omit the 5 minute walk back upwind and they somehow sail directly back to where we started... strange) and its time to pack up. The wind was still howling, solid 4.7 conditions, and if all of us didn't need to get going/weren't already tired, it would have been worth doing more.
On the warm car ride home, its time to think about what a rollercoaster the day has been. Sometimes it feels like the reason life is changing so fast, is that I need to put down the soda straw I have been viewing it though. I need to back up, and trying to see things with a wider perspective. That's all for tonight, Mom lands in 15 min.
Have a great night everyone!
Shawn
PS special thanks go out to Ken and Bill - great to spend an afternoon on the water with you both.
The drive up was promising, with every flag along the way jutting horizontally from their flagpoles, and when I pulled into the park I could see a few whitecaps out in the middle of the lake. The forecast was 17 S and usually there is a pretty strong funnel effect (amplifying a S wind) on Seneca but it didn't feel that strong (despite every nearby flags sticking straight out). Since I have to pick up my mom from the airport tonight, and I figured the wind was going got be hauling, I took my 7.5 out of the car and my ripped 6.5 sat at home as well. I rig 5.6, noting with a warm smile, that there is white sand on the luff sleeve and I taste salt as I hold my fin screw with my lips as I place the fin in my board. It reminds me of my last sailing adventure - just 4 days ago in Dewey Beach. Optimistic that the wind will only get stronger; I head out in the south wind.
What proceeded was essentially 1.5 hours of completely harmless and un-exciting shlooging. There was enough wind to move around, but *barely* enough to waterstart in a gust. By far the high point of which was one particularly long gust at the far N end of the lake, and achieving my first sustained planing experience on my 120L board. I have written at length about the sensation of acceleration of coming on plane, and likened it to being tied to the nose of an out of control missile. Without any exaggeration - the acceleration can only be described as breathtaking - the difference this time was that in this 30 seconds, I saw that it was possible to steer the missile.
In an instant I had traversed 1/4 of the lake's width, and when I felt my fin hit bottom, I quickly unhooked, sheeted out and somersaulted backwards - curled up in a ball - to roll with the impact of hitting the water. I stood up (checked my fin) and with the biggest grin on my face, I let out this massive giddy laugh. In an instant, everything had changed... It was no longer a cr*ppy day. There just aren't words to describe the sensation of being on the smoothest and fastest magic carpet ride of your life. The entire endeavor was really just a lone footnote, on a single page, of a single chapter, of a book that is my life. But in that moment it felt huge.
Yesterday I had chatted online with Bill from ROC about going to Seneca today and he said he would be there sometime in the late afternoon, and shortly after my moment of planing, I see another sail and Bill comes over to say hello. In addition to his charm, youthful looks, and ninja-like sailing skills - Bill was also the kind soul who gave yours truly a really nice wetsuit and mast extension - which was a key enabler to most of my sailing last fall and this spring. After a brief cavetching about the lack of wind, he asks me what size sail I am on "5.6" I respond "what are you on?' "7.5 and I am way underpowered - don't you think a 5.6 is a little small" "yeah, but I left my 7.5 at home"
(insert shocked look from Bill - the kind of look that says you didn't just bring a knife to a gunfight... you brought a whistle).
We chat a bit more, before he takes off and shortly afterwards I follow him - surprised at getting another 15 seconds on plane in another gust - but quickly settling back into shlogging mode. Tired, I make my way back to shore and haul out for a snack as a third sail (Ken) and a kiter join us on the water. Ken helps me with some sail tuning and after we all take a break - Bill says "is it just me or did it pick up?". Like 3 pelicans craning our necks to the south, there is a noticeable increase in the density of whitecaps and the sky is darker. Conversation stops as we three quickly get our gear together and get back in the water. Truth be told - I felt like I had already had a great session at this point - and could have lived with heading home, had the wind not picked up. I am so glad I didn't, because what lie in store though was nothing short of remarkable.
Minutes before I was barely powered and shlogging - and now the waves were bigger - the surfaces of each face was no longer smooth, but rather wind-scoured each one as if by some invisible helicopter's downwash. My 5.6 is now brimming with power and any sheeting in leads to instantly coming on plane. Waterstarts just moments before were nearly impossible, but now I was literally getting pulled up out of the water and was on plane before my second foot was even on the board.
The really dicey part about handling that much power in a waterstart is that if your rear foot is *just* a little too far to leeward, the downforce from stepping up on the board, rolled my board to leeward and left the razor-sharp (non-TSA approved) fin dangerously pointing at my future progeny. I never thought about the potential need to wear a cup out windsurfing... but I'll have to add this to the list of "what ifs" to prepare myself for next time.
The strangest sensory part of the experience was when the gray skies opened up and we had 15 min of rain. The sound of rain falling around me, in high-pitched droplets impacting the sail's monofilm, the duller thuds of it hitting my neoprene hood, and the miniature "kersplashes" of each drop hitting the waver around me was really cool. It was strange to feel like i was getting wet from above and below at the same time, but the wind never faultered, it was rock-solid 20-25 mph with (dare I say) what felt like the occasional gust to 30-something.
A number of blasting runs later - everyone hauls out (the two more experienced sailors seem to find a way to omit the 5 minute walk back upwind and they somehow sail directly back to where we started... strange) and its time to pack up. The wind was still howling, solid 4.7 conditions, and if all of us didn't need to get going/weren't already tired, it would have been worth doing more.
On the warm car ride home, its time to think about what a rollercoaster the day has been. Sometimes it feels like the reason life is changing so fast, is that I need to put down the soda straw I have been viewing it though. I need to back up, and trying to see things with a wider perspective. That's all for tonight, Mom lands in 15 min.
Have a great night everyone!
Shawn
PS special thanks go out to Ken and Bill - great to spend an afternoon on the water with you both.
