The morning featured 4.7 sailing through eye-high swell at Cupsogue.
The afternoon saw a second session (4.7 again!) in tightly spaced chop, windsurfing South Jamesport.
But the memorable portion of the day was next to the board, not on it.
Heading out from the beach behind John V, the wind suddenly dropped considerably. John stepped off his board while I kept shlogging, and when I heard him say "that's not good", I wondered if I shouldn't reconsider sailing out into the waves. But I looked out and saw Bill still forging ahead, and so thought: "nah!"
I shoulda listened.
I continued to follow Bill for about two minutes, but when semi-shlogging turned to pure shlogging, I went for a pivot jibe on an 84 liter board, and failed. Then spent five minutes in futile attempts at waterstarts. Tried uphauling, but when I got the sail up there was no wind at all, and fell again. Looking out to sea, I saw that Bill had started swimming his gear in. So I started swimming with mine as well.
This was going to take awhile (it took about thirty minutes). Stuff to think about on the way:
-Sharks (of course.)
-A conversation I'd had with my friend Steve, in which I'd explained "there's ALWAYS enough wind to shlog."
-How far would we drift downwind (about three hundred yards.)
-How I would pay strict attention to John's warnings in the future.
-What would happen when we got to the impact zone, now in an area I'd been advised to avoid because of the brutal break.
I got lucky with the impact zone, only got hit by one heavy breaker, and finally made it to shore. Bill took a few more waves but was soon out as well. After the long walk with gear back to the launch site (and requisite ribbing from all those smarter than us when the wind had dropped) we found out that another sailor was carried further down the beach than us. "Kaiser" Andre, who drove a few hundred miles from the Hudson Valley to catch the SW ocean blow this morning, was out on a 70-something liter board when the wind died. We could see him as a speck way down the beach, carrying his gear with what looked like a mile yet to walk.
Someone said he'd be smiling when he finally made it back, and he was.
(Smarter windsurfers look out at those less fortunate.)
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