Spring Ding Solo Start

There is a joke that Norwegians share about their summer: they say that it falls on a Tuesday. The day doesn't really matter of course. Here in Japan (west coast Honshu), winter has been reluctant to release its grip, and within an eye-blink it will be summer. That doesn't leave long for cherry blossom. Hopefully, when spring does arrive it will stick around a while - a full weekend would be nice.

A month ago, mini snow mountains occupied corners of parking lots, and snow on the real mountains was almost down to sea level. The trees were as dark as the dregs of my coffee. The only colour - aside from our garish presence - was the burnt yellow of the short-cropped grass where we pitched our tent.

The temperature has struggled to reach double digits since then. A few timid daffodils have provided encouragement that better times lay ahead. I consulted the cherry trees. Maybe 1 in 100 was waking up. That was two days ago.

Yesterday started harsh but bright, with about a metre of wave. it was a lumpy exit from the river mouth where I had pulled in the previous evening. The wind - however - was ideal: a helpful direction, sufficiently strong to plane down the waves, and sufficiently gentle that the waves never became too boisterous.

After rounding the first mini-headland the angle of the waves came more from behind. I settled, and realised that for the first time it felt like spring. The water colour was glorious. My hands weren't cold. Then I sailed beyond this moment and the shoreline became more vertiginous. A grey sky returned. The mountains darkened. I strayed too far inshore to where a swirl of wind hit the sail from the wrong side and threw me in. The dunking triggered a soggy onigiri lunch. The water hadn't been that cold. I finished the day 36 nm to the good. Another headland was rounded and beyond that the sea was flat and an easy landing awaited.

Looking around while writing these lines, there isn't an explosion of green that I associate with Europe at this time of year. That said, every time I look up at the tree covered hills I see a new colour. The canopy no longer appears uniformly drab. If I look more carefully I see cherry blossom pink amongst the browns and muted greens. That is enough for me to declare that spring is here.

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That was yesterday. After announcing spring, I sailed upwind for 10 miles to a pretty beach (Shiraki) on a remote headland. Slow miles. I noticed a ding on the board - probably from that fall yesterday. Yumiko drove here, arriving via a 4 km tunnel that passes straight through the 600-metre-high outcrop. We slept in the tent. This morning, Yumiko left for Hyogo prefecture where she has some work arranged at a small hotel. I would have sailed, but the board took on a lot of water and needs to drain before being patched up. I was feeling a bit apprehensive about going properly solo again, so perhaps a rest/recovery/repairs day is a good idea. Assuming fair winds, Yumiko is only about a week ahead of me, so it was an easy goodbye; but not without a hint of sadness, as happens at the end of every chapter.