The Peconic Puffin Windsurfing Blog

Warm December Winds...

Warm December winds that's right.  Huh?   “It’s 60 degrees now, and in two days it’s going to be snowing” Scott said.   Fine with me as long as it’s windy when it’s 60. A South Jamesport southerly in December? Yes indeed.  Don't believe in climate change?  It's snowing in Hawaii.

4.7 was the call. Scott, the Wolf, me, and Jonathan Ford on a wing responded to said call.   Particularly nice ramps on both tacks with SSW winds…not having the Art of Windsurfing Artie’s jumping skills (por ejemplo) I like when the ramp pre-angles my board for me! (“Hey what about me” Scott asks? Scott is an excellent jumper too!)

The wind was indeed warm and friendly…the water is now cold, though. I was wearing my “B” gloves…gloves with holes that still mostly do the job. I save my A gloves for when it’s extra cold. Speaking of holes, there were some large ones in the wind, and by and by we all shlogged back to shore (add a walk for the Wolf).

4.7 also called one of our brethren who is down with Covid. Maintaining major distance and fully masked, he’d walked down to watch the action. “Good to see you on your feet” I said. “I passed out an hour ago” he replied.  

More recuperation is indicated.

Was yesterday the last sesh of the year? I doubt it, but you can’t count on conditions and calendars lining up in holiday season.

CORRECTED DATE! New Film on Windsurfing's Origins (by an OG Puffin!)

Jace Panebianco (a Peconic Puffin since 1993) has a new film out on the origins of windsurfing, Broken Molds.  The film:

"is the complicated origin story of windsurfing; from its humble beginnings to becoming the fastest growing sport in the World.  This is the story of a family drama challenged by cancer, lawsuits and broken friendships. Broken Molds shows how windsurfing gave birth to many of the sports on the water today. 

Featuring; Gerry Lopez, Laird Hamilton, Matt Schweitzer, Kai Lenny, Robby Naish, Jamie O’Brien, Zane Schweitzer and the world's best water athletes."

It will be screened this Friday, November 26th at the Parrish Art Museum in Southampton.   Tickets must be purchased in advance...no ticket sales at the museum are taking place.

New light is promised to be shed on windsurfing's history.   The geeks among us generally know the 101...that Newman Darby invented a windsurfer around 1966, which failed commercially, then about five years later Jim Drake and Hoyle Schweitzer independently came up with a much better version that was a commercial success (Drake later said he thought of himself not as the inventor but the re-inventor).

We shall see!  In any event the trailer promises some heavy water action filmed recently, and interviews with some amazing waterpeople.   So check it out!

Fifteen Minutes of Joy

The forecast for Friday looked great...big time southerlies but catch them while you can!  Christian and I both drove out from the city.  "I'm at exit 57....where are you?"  "50!"    Beam reaching on the LIE to get to our vans, our gear, and the promised Excellent Sesh.

The destination was Hart's Cove, where Scott and the Wolf were already tearing it up.   Two minutes before I got there a torrential downpour annhilated the wind.   Christian arrived first to find out, while I arrived a few minutes later.  All we could do was laugh.  These things happen to windsurfers.

Christian proposed lunch in Hampton Bays.  We headed east until we crossed a small inlet and saw whitecaps.   The new plan was to go to Christian's Secret Spot on Tiana Bay.  We arrived to honking winds, and parked where he said was best.  "Just be careful opening your front door...the wind can really yank it."   Okay I thought.

I parked.

I opened my door.

The door was ripped out of my hand and partially off its hinges.  I managed to push it shut, but the bits that had made it a working door were tweaked.  The door would not reopen.   It was time for more laughter, and to avoid thoughts of the body shop that would be needed later.    

Christian estimated the wind as 4.2.   I didn't want to have to rerig up, and the forecast was for the wind to die, so up went my 4.7.   Got several enjoyable runs in, taking advantage of some very Meschutt like ramps (on SSE!)

Soon Christian joined me.

Soon the wind died AGAIN.  Well, we did get about fifteen minutes.

To quote the great Mark Skelton of Cape Hatteras:  "Windsuffering".

All we could do is laugh.

(Photo, typography and editorial by Christian.)

Riders On The Storm

The forecast was for funky wind from the south.  South Jamesport was the call…Scott, the Wolf, George, Artie, Dan, Christian and your editor were on the scene.  Artie and I arrived last, and given the flukeyness (“been here four hours sailed 40 minutes” Scott said) some held off while I threw up a 5.4.  “I’ve got four different boards to put it on!” I said.   Yeah kinda.

I launched on the 100 liter Skate.   Scott said “get it now, look!” and pointed to dark clouds on the horizon.  At this point I’m thinking “loss of sun means loss of wind.”  So I jumped on it, planed a bit, but then got tired of gagging and came in.  Just as Artie decided to launch on a borrowed 6 meter.   Someone mentioned lightinging but The Art of Windsurfng was unimpressed.  He launched, he was ripping, and as the dark clouds were getting closer I thought “go join him!”   

It was a good time for about ten minutes.   Then the view of the sky above was absolutely Steven Spielberg.   I sailed in, and Artie was about 30 seconds behind me.  

Everyone derigs and starts heading home. All of our phones go off as a TORNADO WARNING comes out.   Driving becomes crazy…depending on where you were you got crazy rain, flying crap ripped off the road, hail.   Further south in Shirley a small tornado touched down.

Damn.

Nobody got hurt.  Artie and I got to be appropriately (for windsurfers) fun and stupid.

Always sail with a friend.   Or six.  Guys like these.

(Photos:  The sky while we derigged, about 15 minutes before all hell broke loose.  Me happy to be off the water, courtesy Artie.  The tornado touching down in Shirley, via "Only in Mastic" on Instagram.)

A Man After My Own Heart. Steve Marks R.I.P.

Steve died last week. 

I met Steve on the day I first attempted windsurfing.   I was uphauling an old Original Windsurfer, pulling the uni out of the board and jabbing it into my shins again and again, but I had a great time anyway.    When I was finished, walking out of the water with bleeding legs and a big grin, this guy walked up to me and said “A man after my own heart.  I’m Steve.”

We started sailing together in 1992 as members of a share house on the Little Peconic.   By the end of that year we declared the house to the “The Puffin House”, and The Peconic Puffin newsletter began as a weekly in 1993 for eleven years.   Steve is the only person, including me, to have a copy of every issue.

He became my windsurfing mentor…in a group of well meaning waterstart-blast-crash speed crazies he was interested in jibing (the story is told in The Legend of Frank and Lauralee…Frank who we lost earlier this year.)  By 1994 he was my best friend, and things stayed that way for three decades.   We sailed from sharehouses together, then when he bought his own place on the water for his young family he rented a room to me and my girlfriend (now wife of 24 years), and after a dozen years of that my wife and I bought a place close to them.

By and by I learned to jibe (thank you Dasher) and Steve and I began pursuing any and all manner of freestyle and refined technique with Andy Brandt and ABK.   We were disciples for whom nothing was too crazy, particularly in light wind.  We weren’t particularly good at it, but we had the best times.

Over the years the personal geography changed, and we went from seeing each other weekly to a couple times per year, with covid really throwing a damper on things.   But we got to sail together for the first time in ages about six weeks ago…the blog post I did doesn’t really capture its importance, but of course I thought we had many more sessions in our future.  We’re past due for a trip to Hatteras, what would have been our 15^th Pamlico Pilgrimage.    That will never happen now.  Nor will we catch another Mets game.   Nor will I watch him give away his darling daughters should the days come when they get married.

There will be no more days together.  We had a lot of good ones.

(The top photo is circa 1996.  We are in the middle of nowhere on the Delmarva Peninsula, getting gasoline on the way to the Outer Banks.  Note Steve's puffin t shirt.   The bottom pic is from 1994.)