Cabaret Tales Part 2

From: TWavo@aol.com-DeleteThis
Date: Wed Feb 25 1998 - 18:52:53 PST

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From: TWavo@aol.com-DeleteThis
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
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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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