KUS
Log Started:
Sunday October 17, 2004
Total Records: 1824
This Year: 62
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Sunday January 7, 2007
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Jordan River, Windsurfing
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Sunday January 7, 2007
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Conditions
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TOW
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Toys Used:
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Jordan River, Windsurfing
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WNW 20 - 32
large, chop, much larger
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4.30 hours
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Angulo Jesus Loves You, Chango 95L
Starboard Evo 80 80L
Sailworks Revo 5.8
Sailworks Revo 4.8
hot tub bubbly with brown pops 6x6
wave fin 9-11"
megawave 28
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Sail 10 Wave 9-10 Jump 6 :twisted: :twisted: :twisted:
Surviving the Front Lines
The weather was foreshadowing what would be a grand battle. Rain poured down, blasted against glass and fiberglass like buckshot bouncing off steel. As I maneuvered the roaring Windkuschine down a path of flooding pavement along WestCoastTire, utter destruction of fallen debris and uprooted vegetation in the metropolis of Sooke and past small landslides in the hamlet of Shirley this became clear: I was alone with only my weapons to assist the frontside….line. Jesus was still resting in bag from an exhausting session at the last encounter at Island View beaches where shorebreak and swell had shown its prowess in the ongoing conflict. Evo, fin already in position, was surveying the countryside from it’s windbuffeted vantage point in the roof turret, eagerly awaiting its turn in what would be undoubtedly an onslaught of epic proportions.
When the battlefield came into view my stomach turned at the sight. Very few of the comrades’ fighting spirits had survived their languishing in a dry camp. I could only stare in awe at DownWindDave throwing hate at the incoming waves of the enemy in a what surely must be a suicidal solo effort to keep the sail flying. There were no supporting troops to be seen. In a vain attempt to outflank, two kites were under fire, surveying the carnage below, unable to support, to comfort in any way the lone warrior apart from directing very little attention of the roaring fury toward themselves. I fell in beside him once the Kuschine was pointed strategically maintaining the least vulnerable position. It was clear a 4.2 was in order but I had been there before. Bigger guns make more noise. Dave’s remaining strength was fading a bit but his delight in having support in his struggle was evident, holding the line on his own since dawn. We charged into the fray, frontside, backside, leaping, carving. Dave wasted a nasty curler and hucked a forward straight down its throat. I responded in kind with Evo slashes I did not know I was capable of. Together the battle raged around us, the waves slowly diminishing two hours into our joint effort to suppress the foe. Dave’s energies were spent and he retreated finally into his humming silver to report back at base and perform his marital duties however weakened from action. I gave Evo a break and brought Jesus on line. He bucked and continued the battering until even larger guns were brought into play but the adversary seemed defeated. Shortly thereafter Penguin and kites also took to the highway of hell home. Hot shower and intravenous budwiser rations came to my aid to recharge drained batteries. For a while I observed the clean-up crew of surfers chewing up the last of the remaining stragglers from my frontrow fishtank seating…but….could it be' The kusschine was suddenly rocked by forces I hadn’t felt since early in the mêlée. Huge frothing waves of fury built in the outer bank, much much larger than any previous encounters, presenting insurmountable crashing walls. Having no reserves to re-tool, I forced Jesus into another round after reluctantly suffering the cold and damp discomfort of used Depends undergarments. The 5.8 and rigging distorted in its confusion to be forced to endure such torture. I was joined by another warrior from the surfer faction, his 4.5 bent like a pretzel and he and I were repeatedly humbled by what was likely the opponent’s final and most gutsy effort of the clash. Sewers chewed me up and spat me out repeatedly, living up to its name. Momentarily losing Jesus in what amounted to a masthigh set on the outer bank that tumbled me into a rinse cycle only experienced once previously the Oregon conflict though not end over end like this one was cause for grave concern, soiling undergarments in a big way. Churning after it, lest I surrender my only weapon which would undoubtedly make things rather nasty, hearing the voice of Mr. Hart “a (not so rare) strategic error” ‘by Mr. Kus letting the wave close out as he decided to get half a dozen too many turns’in my head. I recovered it only to be trounced 6 or 7 more times, holding down the mast and boom with claws that clung on for life itself. I struggled to the beach and after reassessment of gear and mind threw myself once more into what amounted to declining opponent efforts. Another thirty minutes and my 4 ½ hour rage was over, darkness was upon us as was another hot shower. Budwiser rations flowed like a sweet river of victory! I was going home!!
8) :twisted:
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