"It's up and down" I replied.
It was honking, with big swings in wind strength. The consensus was that even though the holes in the wind meant shlogging with three meter sails, nobody could hold on to a 4.2 in the gusts. At least not amongst the mortals.
I arrived late in the morning...around 11...to be greeted by the Wolf. "Do you know you have blood coming down your face" I asked? He knew. And he was going back out sailing. So much more impressive than me with my dinky scar on the side of the head a few weeks ago. So I rigged the 3.4 and joined the crew that at various points included Scott, Frank, Christian, Jan and Bruce, Kurt, Fisherman, Jon, the Natalies, and Ye Bloody Wolf (who was fine, by the way. Just colorful as always.)
Word was that the best conditions occurred before I arrived...steadier wind, I'm told, but the ramp angle was the best I'd seen at Sebonac all year. Pure 45 degrees. Pop and pop and pop! Had my best jump of the year (3.4 under the board will do that to you) but gagging in the lulls was doing in my arms. The wind died around 2 (died, as in went to 4.7 conditions) and many of us left, but those who stayed or arrived later got a second helping of nuke.
("That's our Commodore" Jan said of the Wolf. Photo by Scott.)