Those Three Beautiful Words

Throughout the summer, I sat with anticipation yearning to hear the three most beautiful words in the English language. By the end of every weekend, disappointment filled the air from not hearing those words. Labor Day weekend had come and gone, and by that point I had all but given up hope.

It was a warm clear September morning when the three cherished words reached my ears. I was listening to the radio, when the host declared, "Small Craft Advisory, for winds on all of the Oregon Coast." My heart raced in anticipation of punching through the wave break, carving swells the size of SUV's, and riding down the surf towards shore. The only thing stopping me from leaving the office early on Friday afternoon would be a downgrade in the wind forecast.

Friday morning, I arrived at the office with board in tow. My co-workers had become accustomed to my board taking residence in my cubicle, since the firm is en route to my "board meetings". Law firms have a reputation for pressuring their paralegals to work long hours; however the firm I work at encourages us to take time off if we complete our hours. I logged onto NOAA and was giddy with excitement as I read the words, "Small Craft Advisory." I just could not get enough of it! Two of my experienced wave sailing friends, Tom and Trudy, were also taking Friday afternoon off to wave sail. Trudy and I traded e-mails throughout the morning, flip-flopping among Oceanside, Lincoln City, and Newport as the wind speeds changed at each place. Our respective bosses sprung us loose at 1:30, still, at that point we were still debating between sailing Lincoln City or Newport.

Shortly into my drive the three of us had agreed to meet up at South Beach State Park in Newport. I-windsurf text paged wind-alerts to my cell phone on an hourly basis; to my delight, the wind speeds only increased. By the time I arrived at Newport at 4:30, the wind was averaging 26 knots with six foot swells. Trudy, Tom and I quickly rigged our gear before jogging out onto South Beach to launch. South Beach is an ideal place to wave sail. The park is nested between the dunes which protects us from the winds. There is a grassy rigging area, a hose for washing sand off gear, and full service bathrooms. We were not subjected rigging our gear while our faces got sandpapered by the blowing wind. Upon reaching the beach, we only need to walk a few hundred feet before we are at the ocean's edge. I had not wave sailed since August of 2006 and I nervously hoped that I would not spend my entire afternoon wrestling the wave break in frustration. I walked a few feet upwind towards the jetty, where I followed my own rule of thumb for getting myself through the wave break. If I could see the far horizon over the waves, it was safe enough for me to sail out. Despite being off the water for nearly 13 months, I was able to charge through the breaker with relatively little trouble. In the past, I had learned to put pressure on my mast base to punch my board through. By the time I got in the swell, I was breathing heavily but panting in excitement over the exhilaration of ocean sailing. I sailed a few reaches before attempting to wave ride into shore. Tom made carving down wind and spraying water off the wave face look easy. I could carve upwind down a wave easily, but in my first try downwind, speed overtook control and I had keeled over right into a wave face. After losing my purchase it took several minutes trying to reunite with my gear. Having been a whitewater kayaker, my instinct for reading the power of the water prevailed as I allowed the wave break to carry me into shore. I noticed Tom was taking some time in getting out of the wave break. It did not occur to me that as the tide changed, the format of the waves would change. I charged my board out into the break, thinking "I'll be on the outside in no time" while a steep wave face crested in front of me. I looked up to see the froth and prepared myself for what was to come next. A thundering crash resonated through my ears as the wave tackled me for a loss of yardage. I bobbed my head up reset my gear, only to do imitations of the mythical figure Sisyphus while getting slammed back to the beach. After several tries, barrage of waves left me cold, limp, and fatigued. I gamely made a last ditch effort to get out, when I saw another wall of surf rushing towards me. "Here we go again", I sighed, as I crouched my body, waiting for the body slam which was soon to come. As the whitewash surrounded my board, I pushed my weight forward and then felt nothing but flotation. I had gotten through. Despite my body being as limp as a noodle and having no feeling below my knees, I knew I had to keep on sailing. I did not see the ramp forming in front of me and I unknowingly launched a large, uncontrolled jump. I was already past midair when I landed the nose of the board onto the water and catapulted me flat on the ocean's surface. These are the days when I am glad I wear a helmet, as I just spit water out of my mouth and shook it out of my ears before waterstarting back on my board. Just making it through that pound gave me my second wind. Trudy, Tom, and I sailed to near dusk, stopping because we had to, not because we wanted to. By the time I was shivering with cold and feeling nothing below my knees, I forced myself to carve down one last wave into shore. Despite collapsing in the sand after getting my sea legs off the board, I carried a huge Cheshire cat grin.

Saturday morning greeted us with sunshine and calm winds, which is typical for the coast. Still sore from the Friday night session, we took advantage of the slow pace of the day and enjoyed coffee and company. After breakfast, Trudy and I occupied ourselves by watching a longboard surf competition at the jetty. The two to three foot waves looked dismal as we began to have doubts about actually being able to sail that afternoon.

By mid-afternoon, the wind had picked up to nearly the speed it was the day before. I started the session on my 4.7, following my "horizon" rule so I would not repeat Friday's tackling drills. The break was friendlier closer to the jetty and I took advantage of that to work on sailing down the line and carving through the waves. The wind built gradually, and after a couple of hours, we were forced to re-rig. 4.0 is my ideal sail size, large enough to give me plenty of wind range, but small enough for me to maneuver easily. The Oregon coast takes windsurfing at least one level above gorge sailing. The gorge reminds me of mogul skiing, which is both strenuous and challenging. Coast sailing is the deep powder skiing of windsurfing. The exhilaration of jibing down large swell, racing out to pass the breakers, and carving down the line is unmatched. For several hours, I felt nothing but pure soul riding. By 6:30, my body was telling me it was time to get off the water. Again, I had little feeling below my knees, I was missing easy moves such as a jibe, and the cold had penetrated to my core. My last reach was a magic carpet ride onto a logo high wave. Looking right and left, I saw no other windsurfers or kiters, as I exuberantly shouted "YOUR'E MINE!' Slowly, I s-turned down the wave, trying to avoid gathering so much speed that I would end up outrunning the wave. I heard the thunder of the wave breaking to my right as I carved left, then right, then down the face, back left, and right. Then, it happened. A mini-wave began to form beneath my board, and there was no stopping me from flying over it and sticking the nose of my board directly into the water. The curler behind me upended me into the water as I somersaulted through the break. Fortunately, I was close to shore, and after the break calmed down, I was able to stand up, grab my gear, and head to the beach. After looking at my watch, I learned I had sailed nearly 4 hours in those conditions. No wonder my legs had the consistency of noodles.

Those three beautiful words were not mentioned on Sunday's forecast. I slowly hosed off my gear, packed up my truck, and trekked on home home. After a weekend like that, it is my hope to hear those three beautiful words more often each and every summer.