A day in the life of a wind n wave addict
Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:36 pm
A day in the life of a wind n wave addict
At work and the forecast has me hummin’ on this sunny mid August day. I crank out the work in anticipation of swelly and scenic Gordon’s Beach when central and east entrance Juan de Fuca Straight is finally advertised to get a decent stiff breeze. Mid-day, still only 18-20 knots and it becomes fairly obvious the model’s again a bit off and it is only a moderate one up Strait. Cook Street at 23 gusting 27 is starting to gain the upper hand in the Eco and family-points-minded struggle for beach choice supremacy.
Wind readings are great around 1-2 pm but faith in the ever increasing wind speed forecast toward evening favours the employer…. I crank more electronic paper, building my weekly widget count. Heading via home I do the tally of wind implement goodies in the back of the truck while sitting in the front yard. As already forewarned I won’t be home in time for supper…. The transfer of all that is active wind toys from the Oregon Coast trip was completed long ago….yes…. I tick everything off mentally and blast out Clover Point bound. I still cannot bend my left leg much past 90 degrees from my altercation with a rogue, sinister wave flipping the board nose into my quad on the last day of Florence bliss but this hardly seems to register, including that I got 2 hrs sleep last night again because of the ongoing throbbing. The almost 3 week bone & muscle damage with its introduction of rainbow discoloration and inflation down to my knee and ankle is almost gone save for that egg in the tender middle. I can weight bear, it is sunny and windy, session starvation has set in days ago, I grab a plastic and foam football thigh pad from another lifetime and I am READY….add another dose of Vitamin I and Tylenol later for spice.
Painful, that gusty drive behind endless commuters in this small part of town, it seems unlikely but I am gripped by a sense of highway gridlock for the 10 minute trip. So close yet so far… Trees are bending under the strains, leaves flying, rolling empty plastic bags rip across the street, flags flapping madly.....Why must we all delay a little individually when the light turns green? Why not all hit the accelerator at the same time? Surely these things are possible. Is a full and complete stop at the 4-way stop sign, checking in all directions when there is absolutely no traffic from 3 of them….still since the last car proceeded and you checked …really necessary? Funny how I had mucho time to spare earlier and now, well, time is of the essence! Fuelled by tailgating stress, trying not to make too many road rage enemies, I slog on. It must be faster to walk there! The pulse is up some. The 10 minutes crawl by.
Finally my wheels grind to a halt on sand and gravel at the geriatric beach ramp and things start filling in, good swells off the point and a couple kites already on it. Wind readings are peaking now at 25 gusting 31, Race Rocks just hit 40 knots!! Woohoo! Waves building, I park, grab my stuff, slip into the suit and rig. Board on beach ready, I roll out the sail and grab the downhaul and… realize the void where the masts should have been and instantly realize I must get on, avoid the self-slanderous thoughts and drive home again. There is no value in wasting time spewing expletives, we must sail .… and it’s only 10 minutes…. well. 20 return I guess. The trip is further delayed by shopping for a loaner at Cook launch, a good plan initially albeit unsuccessful and I endure yet another trip behind granny going for a mellow drive or mom chiding her toddler while weaving at a mind-numbing 28km/h through Oak Bay. The valuable sticks are, of course,…. in the motorhome by the door where they were easily by-passed by a sleep deprived, gear unloading zombie about 20 days ago. The smelly wetsuit sticks to my sunbathed body now…how come after all that time hanging has it not dried out giving off an adopted flowery shower gel aroma? Pondering this and having resisted the urge to pass or try various secret not-so-short shortcuts or bypasses, I eventually grab my set of carbon and check the wind readings again…NW3 Gusting 7??? Impossible…. on a thermal? Can’t be, must be some shit on the wind gauge. Keep driving, get there, just drive…..drive!!! Sure enough things are calm with kiters still drifting and swimming in the Strait. This is new! We gather at Cook street on Johnny’s bench, pretend it doesn’t bother us, almost give up, most of us indeed have packed up….the hope almost dwindled….the suit is really sticky now despite having peeled it off to mid station exposing my blinding, white, typically wetsuit clad middle. Tanned feet and hands contest? I’d be competitive!
Hey, it’s coming back, yup sure as hell, I venture back to the ramp as the local beachbound forecasting continues. Sit there a bit waiting for it to be just right for the gear I plan to wash in the fresh not-so-clean waters of Clover Point. I grab the board again, ready on the beach, get the masts out on the rolled out sail and get things arranged. Yesssss! Dried sandy booties are a bitch to get on. The downhaul in place I’m ready to….holy #$@*ing OMG! Can’t be…….This hasn’t happened …..EVER! And neither have I had many 3 week windsurfing activity breaks in the last decade. I pack up.
Now a lesser addicted man may have succumbed to a quiet dinner and restful evening in the yard. If anything, I pride myself on my stubbornness. Instead I drive home to get the booms, nestled quietly under a pile of boogie boards under my motorhome double bunk. Is the traffic any better? If so, I don’t notice. Sand is coating the floor of the truck so it's tough to not slip off the gas and brake, Buddy Baker style. It's just 10 minutes…well. 20 return I guess. The front yard upon my departure is filled with various boogie board remnants and chunks, lawn chairs, running shoes, anything that happened to get within kicking-out-the-door or lunging-at-to-destroy-senselessly range. Several inches of rubber have been deposited, freshly burned, on the driveway tarmac. My children again witness “Dad in one of his moods”. Surely setting the positive example for being organized, calm, patient, happy and collected in your adult, mature years…may be of great value in life. I serve once again as the starkly contrasting, scary example, most certainly moulding my offspring for their future successes.
I gobble a ½ liter of sweating cold extra strength Maibock enroute to return the pulse below 160 and push on the bulging veins in neck and forehead to restore them reasonably below the skin surface. This may also perhaps keep the obviously ever advancing Alzheimer's devil at bay by preserving some of the remaining cells with my favorite antiseptic. I succeed with a quick 10 minute jaunt to the beach and have a satisfactory sail in the returning 24-28 knot winds, only for 35 minutes though as my leg and hip scream in some sort of heinous chorus but I am in decent waves, until the dwindling wind shuts me down again. My day is complete when I retrieve a lost kiteboard, after I almost ran over it earlier, from the weed and other unmentionable floaties-infested break zone. The owner arrives a little later to claim it with a smile and inquires how my day went. I acknowledge some mixed feelings, one of which is a certain sense of accomplishment…. like that guy who chewed his arm off escaping a bear trap from deep in some backcountry.
Getting home, the hot tub is a saving grace and I actually regain feeling in my left foot. The internet doesn’t fire on the new computer to check sailing logs and to enter my own, resulting in another blown fuse after some heated, prolonged “computerotomy” of router cables and power cords, accusing the family members of surely sabotaging the new box….A re-boot instantly fixes this of course…apologies are in order and grudgingly given….groan. Dinner’s cold but hey, I like it that way, okay? And….oh, guess what: I sailed today ……What a great day!
At work and the forecast has me hummin’ on this sunny mid August day. I crank out the work in anticipation of swelly and scenic Gordon’s Beach when central and east entrance Juan de Fuca Straight is finally advertised to get a decent stiff breeze. Mid-day, still only 18-20 knots and it becomes fairly obvious the model’s again a bit off and it is only a moderate one up Strait. Cook Street at 23 gusting 27 is starting to gain the upper hand in the Eco and family-points-minded struggle for beach choice supremacy.
Wind readings are great around 1-2 pm but faith in the ever increasing wind speed forecast toward evening favours the employer…. I crank more electronic paper, building my weekly widget count. Heading via home I do the tally of wind implement goodies in the back of the truck while sitting in the front yard. As already forewarned I won’t be home in time for supper…. The transfer of all that is active wind toys from the Oregon Coast trip was completed long ago….yes…. I tick everything off mentally and blast out Clover Point bound. I still cannot bend my left leg much past 90 degrees from my altercation with a rogue, sinister wave flipping the board nose into my quad on the last day of Florence bliss but this hardly seems to register, including that I got 2 hrs sleep last night again because of the ongoing throbbing. The almost 3 week bone & muscle damage with its introduction of rainbow discoloration and inflation down to my knee and ankle is almost gone save for that egg in the tender middle. I can weight bear, it is sunny and windy, session starvation has set in days ago, I grab a plastic and foam football thigh pad from another lifetime and I am READY….add another dose of Vitamin I and Tylenol later for spice.
Painful, that gusty drive behind endless commuters in this small part of town, it seems unlikely but I am gripped by a sense of highway gridlock for the 10 minute trip. So close yet so far… Trees are bending under the strains, leaves flying, rolling empty plastic bags rip across the street, flags flapping madly.....Why must we all delay a little individually when the light turns green? Why not all hit the accelerator at the same time? Surely these things are possible. Is a full and complete stop at the 4-way stop sign, checking in all directions when there is absolutely no traffic from 3 of them….still since the last car proceeded and you checked …really necessary? Funny how I had mucho time to spare earlier and now, well, time is of the essence! Fuelled by tailgating stress, trying not to make too many road rage enemies, I slog on. It must be faster to walk there! The pulse is up some. The 10 minutes crawl by.
Finally my wheels grind to a halt on sand and gravel at the geriatric beach ramp and things start filling in, good swells off the point and a couple kites already on it. Wind readings are peaking now at 25 gusting 31, Race Rocks just hit 40 knots!! Woohoo! Waves building, I park, grab my stuff, slip into the suit and rig. Board on beach ready, I roll out the sail and grab the downhaul and… realize the void where the masts should have been and instantly realize I must get on, avoid the self-slanderous thoughts and drive home again. There is no value in wasting time spewing expletives, we must sail .… and it’s only 10 minutes…. well. 20 return I guess. The trip is further delayed by shopping for a loaner at Cook launch, a good plan initially albeit unsuccessful and I endure yet another trip behind granny going for a mellow drive or mom chiding her toddler while weaving at a mind-numbing 28km/h through Oak Bay. The valuable sticks are, of course,…. in the motorhome by the door where they were easily by-passed by a sleep deprived, gear unloading zombie about 20 days ago. The smelly wetsuit sticks to my sunbathed body now…how come after all that time hanging has it not dried out giving off an adopted flowery shower gel aroma? Pondering this and having resisted the urge to pass or try various secret not-so-short shortcuts or bypasses, I eventually grab my set of carbon and check the wind readings again…NW3 Gusting 7??? Impossible…. on a thermal? Can’t be, must be some shit on the wind gauge. Keep driving, get there, just drive…..drive!!! Sure enough things are calm with kiters still drifting and swimming in the Strait. This is new! We gather at Cook street on Johnny’s bench, pretend it doesn’t bother us, almost give up, most of us indeed have packed up….the hope almost dwindled….the suit is really sticky now despite having peeled it off to mid station exposing my blinding, white, typically wetsuit clad middle. Tanned feet and hands contest? I’d be competitive!
Hey, it’s coming back, yup sure as hell, I venture back to the ramp as the local beachbound forecasting continues. Sit there a bit waiting for it to be just right for the gear I plan to wash in the fresh not-so-clean waters of Clover Point. I grab the board again, ready on the beach, get the masts out on the rolled out sail and get things arranged. Yesssss! Dried sandy booties are a bitch to get on. The downhaul in place I’m ready to….holy #$@*ing OMG! Can’t be…….This hasn’t happened …..EVER! And neither have I had many 3 week windsurfing activity breaks in the last decade. I pack up.
Now a lesser addicted man may have succumbed to a quiet dinner and restful evening in the yard. If anything, I pride myself on my stubbornness. Instead I drive home to get the booms, nestled quietly under a pile of boogie boards under my motorhome double bunk. Is the traffic any better? If so, I don’t notice. Sand is coating the floor of the truck so it's tough to not slip off the gas and brake, Buddy Baker style. It's just 10 minutes…well. 20 return I guess. The front yard upon my departure is filled with various boogie board remnants and chunks, lawn chairs, running shoes, anything that happened to get within kicking-out-the-door or lunging-at-to-destroy-senselessly range. Several inches of rubber have been deposited, freshly burned, on the driveway tarmac. My children again witness “Dad in one of his moods”. Surely setting the positive example for being organized, calm, patient, happy and collected in your adult, mature years…may be of great value in life. I serve once again as the starkly contrasting, scary example, most certainly moulding my offspring for their future successes.
I gobble a ½ liter of sweating cold extra strength Maibock enroute to return the pulse below 160 and push on the bulging veins in neck and forehead to restore them reasonably below the skin surface. This may also perhaps keep the obviously ever advancing Alzheimer's devil at bay by preserving some of the remaining cells with my favorite antiseptic. I succeed with a quick 10 minute jaunt to the beach and have a satisfactory sail in the returning 24-28 knot winds, only for 35 minutes though as my leg and hip scream in some sort of heinous chorus but I am in decent waves, until the dwindling wind shuts me down again. My day is complete when I retrieve a lost kiteboard, after I almost ran over it earlier, from the weed and other unmentionable floaties-infested break zone. The owner arrives a little later to claim it with a smile and inquires how my day went. I acknowledge some mixed feelings, one of which is a certain sense of accomplishment…. like that guy who chewed his arm off escaping a bear trap from deep in some backcountry.
Getting home, the hot tub is a saving grace and I actually regain feeling in my left foot. The internet doesn’t fire on the new computer to check sailing logs and to enter my own, resulting in another blown fuse after some heated, prolonged “computerotomy” of router cables and power cords, accusing the family members of surely sabotaging the new box….A re-boot instantly fixes this of course…apologies are in order and grudgingly given….groan. Dinner’s cold but hey, I like it that way, okay? And….oh, guess what: I sailed today ……What a great day!
Self-deprecating humour I find so amuzing!. And this from the guy who heaps scorn on others (e.g., me) forgetting gear! Too bad you didn't connect with me at Cook, Kus, I could have supplied the missing items 
That was one of the funniest (if not THE funniest) session logs I have ever read. The frightening part is I can totally relate. 
Like MF4, I also had several belly laughs (to the point where I almost had to wipe tears from my eyes - several times). 
