With the gorge forecast being dead with gusts to light, the majority of the gorge windsurfing crowd trekked down to Florence in hopes of truth in the 25-35 knot wind forecast.
The Central Oregon coast promised steady winds, consistent swell, and fewer crowds.

Trudy and I arrived at the jetty around 2pm on Saturday, and the winds were
already blowing a solid 23 knots, meant I could rig my 4.2. I have not been to the coast for three years, so the knot set into my stomach. Sure, 4.2 winds are great at the
Hatch, or Doug's beach, but the coast magnifies the whole
experience at least one notch. Not only is the air colder, but the ocean is bone
chilling cold, and the sharks are hungry. After 3 hours of driving through triple digit temperature heat, the 60 degree blast chilled me to the bone. There was no thought of packing up my parka when I was up in Portland, so I slipped into my wetsuit and put a sweatshirt on over to rig. Since I am most comfortable on my 4.2, I started the day off on that, and did warm up runs near the jetty. The beauty of the Florence Jetty is that jetty protects less experienced sailers from getting giftwrapped by the incoming breaking waves. The further from the jetty, the higher the chances of getting the giftwrap treatment. Although I was hesitant on my first few reaches, I was soon working on carving through the waves and even jibing on the inside.

After a couple of hours of acquainting myself to the waves, the cold and my inexperience took its toll. Other sailors were calling it a day as we discussed our plans for camping that night. John and Trudy suggested camping on the jetty, since it was free and convenient. Both spend the majority of their summers at the coast, and they knew the cheapest spots to take a hot shower, the best local happy hours, and which convenience store had the cheapest gas and beer. All of us were carcamping, which eliminated the hassle of pitching a tent. After showering at the city park, I hung my wetsuit on the vinyl of my front seat in hopes it would be dry by morning.

Car camping at the coast is quite an experience. Lucky for us,
Florence does have a nightlife. Especially if you like to hear "You
shook me all night long!" for the entire night. The beer and food
is cheap, and the atmosphere is diverse and friendly. It was Labor Day weekend, and the Oregon Ducks were playing their season opener. Since the Ducks were winning, the patrons of the bar were in good spirits. Few minded the crowd of windsurfers invading the tavern. Several thought we were all in town for a competition. No, just the wind; the same wind the locals were complaining about. The downside of carcamping in Florence is that
campers have a choice of driving on some winding back road for 25
minutes, or sleeping out on the jetty, where a 30 knot winds
blasting your vehicle like a tent on Mt. Everest. Saturday night, I
parked my truck on a flat part of the jetty, and laid down, hoping to collapse from exhaustion. If I was lucky, I got about two hours of sleep. Every time I was about to drift to dreamland, a blast of wind would bolt me into reality. The next night, I was either going to drive back to Portland, or find another place to camp. .

Sunday, the winds blew 30 with gusts to 43. I rigged my 3.2, only to
have it ripped out of my hands. I tried two survival reaches, but
decided to pack it in. Survival sailing is one thing at the Hatch or
Doug's, it's another when the Great White is out there chapping his
lips. Trudy spent the entire day on her 2.8, men were rigging
3.2's. Others were also not sailing, so we discussed camping plans for the night. At dinner, I wrote the directions to the horse camp on a napkin, and began looking for the sight. The directions I got were good, but they were for the WRONG CAMPGROUND! The parking lot was empty, and there was no sign of life. Several minutes later, a Diesel truck parked next to me, with no windsurfing gear in sight. My stomach knotted up as man
drawls..."don't worry honey, I aint stalking you" Immediately, I reversed my truck and spun down hill as fast as physics allowed. I backtracked through 25 miles of Deliverance, where some kind Hood River souls let me follow them to the real campsite. Several of us opened a bottle of wine, and drank under the stars. Without the wind, we felt warmer than we had in two days.

Monday morning greeted us with light winds. After a group breakfast at a local diner, we pulled into the jetty around noon. Surprisingly, the wind built to a solid 4.2. My happy sail! Within a half hour I was on the water, taking out Sunday's frustrations in the head-mast high
swells on the outside. On my first reach back, I started riding down
a swell when I heard a thunderous crash over my right shoulder. I
look over, to see the logo high swell breaking over my shoulder.
HOLY SHIT! as I zoomed down the wave towards shore. Most days at the
coast, I just sail back and forth, attempt some wave riding, but
usually am just relieved to be out beyond the breakers. Several
people I met through the weekend said "follow me!" as we started
bottom turning, jibing, and riding through the swell. Instead of hesitating, I found myself agressivly pursuing the 4 foot waves, allowing them to carry me towards shore. For most of the afternoon, Steve, Trudy, Karl, Sue, and I rode wave after wave, bottom turning on the swell, and attempting transitional moves on the inside. For me, it was an accomplishment to not sail to shore, walk off, turn around, then reenter the water.