Received: from opus.hpl.hp.com (opus-fddi.hpl.hp.com) by jr.hpl.hp.com with ESMTP (1.37.109.24/15.5+ECS 3.3+HPL1.1) id AA291999085; Wed, 25 Feb 1998 20:58:05 -0800 Return-Path: <TWavo@aol.com-DeleteThis> Received: from hplms26.hpl.hp.com by opus.hpl.hp.com with ESMTP (1.37.109.24/15.5+ECS 3.3+HPL1.1) id AA166289083; Wed, 25 Feb 1998 20:58:03 -0800 Received: from imo27.mx.aol.com (imo27.mx.aol.com [198.81.19.155]) by hplms26.hpl.hp.com (8.8.6/8.8.6 HPLabs Relay) with ESMTP id UAA23999 for <wind_talk@opus.hpl.hp.com-DeleteThis>; Wed, 25 Feb 1998 20:58:49 -0800 (PST) From: TWavo@aol.com-DeleteThis Received: from TWavo@aol.com-DeleteThis by imo27.mx.aol.com (IMOv12/Dec1997) id FAQVa00624 for <wind_talk@opus.hpl.hp.com-DeleteThis>; Wed, 25 Feb 1998 21:52:53 -0500 (EST) Message-Id: <ccd9d9f7.34f4f528@aol.com-DeleteThis> Date: Wed, 25 Feb 1998 21:52:53 EST To: wind_talk@opus.hpl.hp.com-DeleteThis Subject: Cabaret Tales Part 2 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable X-Mailer: AOL 3.0 for Mac sub 78
In a recent episode, TD, AKA Twavo was swept away in the sullen aborted
currents of a far off Carribean isle,,,,, we last saw him just about to be
engulfed by....
Swooosh!! Something big unexpectedly brushed my board and spooked the hell out
of me. Losing my balance I fell and immediately got tangled into the missing
sailor's sail/rig. As I tried to un-nest the estranged rig from my sail I
noticed that me and my adapted jetsam were caught in the rip floating right
into the impact zone. The wind was light and things were reasonably calm
until I looked, OUTSIDE !!! Huge houses were heading my way and I was all
thumbs stuck in this big mess of gear. ///
2 B cont.
When the first one hit I tried to hold on to everything and after getting
mixmastered I heard a loud Snap. Three more waves came and I managed to hold
on to my mess of parts. I was pushed to the edge of the rip and things were
momentarily calm.
My mast was broken, but the other rig was in good shape with what looked like
a compatible extension. I made the call to attempt a switch knowing the
difficulty factor in choppy waters. Moments later as I had it positioned and
about to slip it in,,,, WRONG it didn't fit - too small. OK, I knew that I
could switch extensions and get my butt out of there, but Uh Oh, looking over
my shoulder was not a house but a whole frigging apartment complex heading my
way. As I got sucked back into the web I braced for impact. Holding my
breath for a long time in a topsy turvy upended maelstrom of freefall I popped
out gasping for air without a sight of any gear. After two or three more wave
events I was swimmin in sea-foam with no sight of my gear. Land looked
really small on the horizon. People on the beach were the size of ants and
nobody else was in sight. Slapped back into reality I spotted my board free-
floating just outside the impact zone. I swam hard through another couple of
waves and finally reached my preserver. That board felt really good.
After catching my breath I saw the two rigs still together floating back
inside near the zone. I then made the mistake of paddling towards them with
the intent to implement my new switcheroo plan #2.
BAD idea!
When I felt the rip swinging me back into the action I felt like the fly stuck
in the ointment. Trying to abandon the plan I feebly paddled down the reef
into the heart of the matter and down the drain. This time a skyscraper was
slithering my way. As I started to climb up the face of the wave I spotted
the stranded swimmer from the original abandoned board just reaching another
sailor. They were positioned about 100 yards downwind safely inside the bay
from the impact zone. We made eye contact briefly, before I started slipping
down the cliff and pearling over the falls into the abyss. Gasping for air I
surfaced to embrace my loneliness. Without my board swirling around in
uncertain waters I suddenly felt I was a long way from home. Stroke stroke
stroke until my arms were broke I finally made it to my board, but this time I
was stuck in a mighty rip that was working me overtime. Rolling and tumbling
through more sets I interlocked my hand in the strap so I didn't lose my ride.
It seemed like about a half an hour trying to paddle out of the rip, but I
kept going around the merry go round of wave, impact, and wash cycle. I
started to think about what my wife might be doing and how long it would take
to drift to Cuba or the next point or somewhere to land. I remembered I had
flares in my pocket, but that they were kind of soggy looking and probably
didn't work. Panic wasn't on the horizon and hypothermia was a ways off, but
I knew fatigue was definitely setting in. Can't beat adrenalin, though, for
the super power bar.
An Apparition in the distance, a savior from the Vela crew was hanging just
inside the thrash zone waving to me. As my beacon, Carlos guided and prodded
me to make it out of the rip. After tieing off to the stern of his equipe he
told me to sit in front of the mast. He then skillfully and powerfully sailed
us back through the swells to shore.
I lost my rig and ironically the next day someone found the stranded sailors
rig floating in the bay. Humbled and pissed I was infused with relief and joy
that no one was hurt. I was indebted to Carlos for saving my butt and
indebted to Vela for cost of the rig. As I walked off the beach and into our
room, Ahna asked, Hi honey, have a good sail? ,,,,,
Oh Yeah!
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