At one moment during the up and down madness of Elsa's winds, it kicked in a solid 40+. Note the garbage can in front of the car in the photo...that can had been 50 feet upwind a moment before. We watched as the whitecaps were ripped apart by the gust, and then when things settled down decided to rig (rerig for Scott, who already had a 3-something on a mast.) 4.2 for the Earl of Kielt and me, 4.1 for Christian, whilst the Wolf opted for 3.7. Good calls all.
Things didn't start out this way. Pouring rain with no wind in the morning...would Elsa be a washout? Then the meters to the west started jumping and Scott headed to Sebonac. He texted "3.7! It will last for an hour!"
I jumped in my van as the trees overhead went from calm to buffeted by 30 mph gusts. Arrived at Sebonac to find...wait for it...no wind. But a wall of clouds was coming so we were patient, then rewarded by flying garbage cans and then 4.2 gusting to 3.7 (I probably should have been on the 3.7).
After 90 minutes of good times I smashed my hand in a blown jibe (boom/hand/board/blood) and so got to rip downwind overpowered in big chop with one hand. Good times. In the parking area some of the guys were taking a break, and we watched some boating fool launch out of Bullhead Bay ("alone" Christian observed) head out about three hundred yards directly into the wind, then tried to turn around ("this isn't going to be good" several of us said"). He then proceeded to turn 360 degrees twice (freestyling?) before heading back, now wearing his life vest. Good decision.
Artie arrived as I bandaged up and the wind dropped some. "5.4" he guestimated, and I concurred. "Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to rig and fly." Artie rigged and flew, while I grabbed neosporin and large band aids.
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