Jeri day 4

(Most of this screed written y'day, just posting now...)

Right-o, I was going to blog about the locality and the people and what all today, for the benefit of non windsurfing readers. But it's windsurfing that's on my mind, so it's windsurfing that I'm going to blog, and I'll do the other stuff some other time soon...check back please, there will be colourful Brazilian stuff, I promise.

Windsurfing. As you will have seen, the story so far has been one of lots of inept kit choices, lots of rusty performance, and lots of walks of shame back upwind...

So what of today? A nice windy day – they all seem to be nice windy days, Jeri is pretty cool that way. So I take the 4.7 sail, but this time confident I will be well powered up from the off. And I point out to the kit man that, in the “small” board pool where I have put myself, there are 30 boards of varying sorts, but there is only one type of board that everyone takes, vis the 85l freestyle wave, which I also want, and it's already gone 30mins after they open, so I've never had one. And all the pure wave and smaller freestyles languish in the racks. So I ask his permission to move up a pool, and he recommends 98l freestyle wave, which is too big, but never mind.

Off I go, and for the first time, I do three runs, and end up back at the beach exactly where I started. Yeay! And I'm planing, and everything. Only problem is, that now I've got my speed back, I'm smacking the frequent ramps a bit fast and hard. And since I don't know what I'm doing, apart from fervently trying to stay on the water – which is impossible – I'm crashing and burning, rather hard, rather frequently. I rip a thumbnail. I bruise my chest... So I conclude the board is too large. I give up after 30mins.

For the PM session, I have it all taped. All the 85l freestyle waves have gone out again – obviously. That's ok because I have decided that I can drop a cheeky size and go for 78l. Why not? I have never sailed a board that small before, that I can remember, but it's certainly windy enough to get it going, and it's not going to drop, and there's a rescue boat. What can go wrong?

Well, after a bit of faffing on the beach because I can't keep it in a straight line or stay on over the white water, I'm off.

Hooked in, straps, sashaying round that swell with elegance and control. easily landing any little air that might come my way. Life is peachy. This is the board for me, I think. I'm set for the holiday. Sure, it probably lacks the volume to achieve the target this blog is named after, and I may have one or two issues keeping it upwind, but nothing I won't sort out in a day or two...

Filled with hubristic confidence, I head straight out into the big swell, about ¾ mile out, and go to turn round. One or two fluffed water starts, sail capriciously wrenching itself out of my hands and flinging itself just where I don't want it so I have to swim it around and start again, lining it up, waiting for a wave, flying the rig, waiting for the next one, trying to get back on the board without it swinging upwind or the sail getting wrenched out of my hands again. Several bouts of that. No big problem, I'm learning as I go. But I'm just conscious of that longshore current, and that windshadow on the inside, which I'll never cross on 78l, and how I don't want to end up any further downwind than I have to be.

..and after a bit I realise I'm about 150m downwind from the general fleet, and I had best turn round, sail upwind and try again... and I turn back to the beach, get it going, but I'm still way downwind from everyone else....I can't make ground upwind.

So you know how this story goes. After about an hour, back and forth, I'm still no nearer where I started and I'm getting pretty tired. I've tried heading downwind to get planing before heading up. I've tried just hacking upwind off the plane, into the swell for about 15mins straight. As soon as I turn around I'm losing way again. It's not happening.

I'm now at least 200m downwind of the next Club Ventos sailor. But I think, the wind's basically cross-shore here, I can always get in, and there's a rescue boat, right? I turn back to shore and blat in as far as I can, as upwind as I dare, determined to make the beach, wherever.... and 300m out the wind turns offshore and dies. Damn.

Too far to swim, and in the current that wouldn't work well anyway. So... I wave. I have very rarely summoned assistance during all my time as a windsurfer. I try to use my own resources to get in. I've sailed many places when I didn't have the choice. But I was younger then with more stamina. Now I tire easily and fight-or-flight adrenalin is in short supply. I deserve a lift.

I wave one arm, slowly, left to right. I am in the sun. but it's not yet low, and I can't imagine I can't be seen. I climb as best I can on to the low volume board. I wave both arms overhead, slowly, out, in, out, in. I give it at least a couple of minutes. I can see the lookout guy on the point, under his umbrella. It's difficult to see if he's looking my way, but if I had to guess, I'd say he's looking at the bulk of the fleet, up wind.

I will him to wave back. He does not.

A slight panic flutters in my stomach. I think; there's another guy at the centre with bins. Maybe he's watching me. Maybe one of the dozens of people on the beach will see me, and tell somebody. Sure, I'm a way out, but I've been the furthest downwind for maybe half an hour, clearly struggling. Someone must have been interested enough to check in on me, from time to time. Now I've given up they will see me.

I slip off the board, I can't stay on it any longer. I listen for a boat. You can hear the props of a boat over a much longer distance when you are on the water. I don't hear anything. When I pull myself up on the board I don't see any activity on the beach that looks like anyone launched one.

I reconsider my options.

All the time I've been waving, not sailing, the current and wind has been carrying me further downwind. I was level with the middle of the village. I'm now at the end. If I stay in the water, waving, or wait patiently and trustingly for the boat, I will continue in the same direction. There is land downwind of me, as the bay curves, which is good. It's at least 4-6 miles away, maybe more, and as far as I can tell, completely unpopulated. That's the bad news. I calculate I might not get there till after dark. Even in 25deg allegedly shark-free water, this is an unpleasant prospect. And what if the wind and current curve with the coastline? I'm still way out. I might never make landfall at all.

So - I give up on the getting-rescued idea. It probably isn't happening.

At least the wind's back, a bit, and in fits and starts. I summon my not-very-convincing strength and flounder a waterstart. Pointing far further downwind than I would wish, I close distance on the beach. 600yds, 400yds, 200yds, don't fall off don't fall off. I do fall off, several times, and each waterstart is a tired, ill-timed scramble. But I'm committed now. The last 50 yards are a particularly unconvincing thrash, tumble, re-start, stumble, up the steep beach under the fairly uncurious eye of the kite station look-out.

Yes – Club Ventos has a cart-cum-kite station and look out at the bottom end of the dune. I had never walked that far so I didn't know. At least someone would have seen me floating past and summoned help, maybe.

The fellow sees me struggling weakly in the shorebreak and helps me drag the kit out. I am a bit irritated at this point but mainly thankful to be on land. He doesn't speak English, but we make each other understand that I'm not carrying the kit back, more than a mile. On that we are agreed. A boat is summoned, finally, to collect it. I walk.

As I go, I rehearse how I will share my experience. I will berate the centre organisers, gently, evenly, but with total justification, for their poor look-out service. Yes, I was eventually able to sail back in, but if I had been injured, if the kit had been broken, I would not have been. And they still wouldn't have seen me.

Yet as I approach the centre, things look odd. A lot of people are lined up on the front wall, looking out to sea, focussed on one spot. Some are videoing. What's going on? There's a rib out there and lots of people in the water, in the break. Is it some sort of exhibition? I try to read faces. “Solemn” would cover it. Not a star name windsurfer showing off skills, then. Is there a serious rescue, are they struggling to get someone unconscious out of the water? Whatever, they're not interested in me. To check the temperature, I find a guest I know speaks English.

“They are having a ceremony for the guy who died here yesterday.” Somebody died here yesterday? Good grief, one of the guests? How old? “He had a heart attack. One of the guys from Jeri, maybe in his 30s, I don't know.” I look back at the water. The people in the waves have formed a circle, on their surfboards, they are holding hands. I ask again – this might seem a bit odd, but how long has this been happening? Because I called a rescue boat and it didn't come. My informant looks confused, maybe affronted. “About half an hour” he says, but he doesn't look like he's giving it much thought. My question is out of keeping, disrespectful.

I feel very much not part of this scene. It's too late for me to understand, join in. Did he die on the water, in the bar? Should I have known the guy? Other people are also apparently oblivious, still sailing, or preparing kit, or posing for photographs. The classic covers soundtrack is still blaring from the bar. It's odd.

I find the guy who checks people in. I'm back, number 76. I have no kit because it's in the boat. He nods, unsurprised. I say: “I called the boat, it didn't come.” We had to rescue someone far out, he says, nodding upwind. But I was out the back, I think, and further downwind than everyone else. I try the girl at the counter. “Ah, sorry,” she says “we didn't see. Very difficult to see in the afternoon, the sun. Very sorry.” Well, which was it? It has to be one or the other. You saw me, I wasn't a priority, fair do's, I got in in the end – or you didn't. In which case I think you have a lookout problem. You can't do that at an offshore location. Their explanations were a bit pat, well-worn, so I'm not even sure either of them knew what the circumstances were.

Out on the water, the stationary surfers beat the water, raising a circle of spray. The beach crowd clap. The ceremony is coming to an end. It doesn't seem like the moment to make a fuss. I pick up my bag and leave.

Anyway, I'll come out of breathless present tense now, because even I am getting bored. But it has knocked my confidence. I don't think I will sail today (really today, not yesterday), and I'm not sure when I will go out properly again, unless I can find a buddy. I will try to find the centre manager today and have a word about the lookout situation. They did advise buddying, to be fair. It's tricky when you're a woman on your own, to ask someone else to look out for you. And I can't imagine it's the last time I will end up downwind. Maybe I am, really, just too old and tired for this mullarky. 

PS, if anyone girly has stuck this this far, you might like to know that the spray tan is virtually no more. They do say don't exfoliate, and I can't imagine more thorough exfoliation than getting sandblasted at 20kts most of the day, followed by a surf rinsing, and a night in a bed that's full of sand no matter how carefully I brush my feet. I'm trying to get a proper tan instead.

ttfn mfl