The Reality

I posted a video last week  where the board was racing downwind over a flat sea. Everything was in balance, it was effortlessly fast, and it felt glorious! The real deal about windsurfing round Japan, right? Erm, not exactly...

Occasionally - OK, frequently - I find myself wanting to tell those following my journey how it really is. What percentage of the (on water) time is as depicted in that video? My guesstimate is 1 percent. Without any doubt, an estimate of 10% would be massively overselling the good times. In fact, 1% of on-water time is likely also a rose-tinted estimate. Let's say 1% of days I get at least one hour of such conditions. On the day in question there were maybe 10 minutes. In those ten minutes I sailed to beyond the long sandy beach where the wind had enjoyed a clean run, to where once again I was alongside a shoreline of hard and high cliff, with much lighter wind and a much lumpier sea.

For clean wind you need low ground. Think Denmark, not Japan. To simulate flatness you can head out to sea. But that often means a long way out to sea. The issue with that plan is that you must also get back to land.

When stuck with high ground, what wind directions are helpful? That is a simple one: only a tailwind is good. Offshore winds are gusty and swirly in three dimensions (think "violent downdrafts" rather than "shifty"), and irregular as you traverse from one gully to the next. Onshore winds lift long before they hit vertical terrain, and the rebounding waves produce a sea state that is particularly uncomfortable. Headwinds are just slow: whatever speed you can manage, then divide by two to get an estimate of progress in zigzags, and remember to subtract a knot from your result to account for the current. The current, by the way flows south to north and is an ever present companion. It's pull is strongest when rounding outcrops or when heading offshore, as you are obliged to do when there is no wind available inshore. If you are sailing against the swell, then subtract again to account for being carried downwind by the waves. 

The fact is that the best sailing of the day is usually on sheltered water where the terrain makes a convenient wind funnel. If that happen at all, it is usually during the first ten minutes of the day. Round the corner and out of sight is where reality bites.

Take yesterday, or the day before, or today. In fact, take almost any day except that day of the video. How many days do I need to paddle? 50% would be a ballpark figure. And half of those days are so choppy that I am paddling on my knees. Paddling in truly pleasant conditions when balance is not taxing is maybe 5-10% of paddling time.

I have devised a good system for paddling, which is fortunate, because paddling round Japan is a much better idea than sailing. But a loaded windsurfer with a rig balanced on the back is not the ideal vessel for paddling. The sea kayak is designed for that job. My board slaps and slams, and the top-loading exaggerates its instability. That said, when the wind does pick up, a windsurfer is a far more seaworthy craft than a sea kayak.

Over the last three days I have clawed myself 26 nm westward. Given the conditions, that is good progress. The pain factor has been quite high. The pain factor referred to is psychological. Occasionally (not that infrequently, if I am being honest) I eff and blind as a release for the pain of the situation. Alone on the open sea no-one can hear you howl. In the calm that follows a vocal outburst, I get back to the job in hand. Contemplating this behaviour, I found myself feeling sympathy for the tennis player Andreu Rublev who sometimes attacks himself with his racket to vent his frustration. If he were at sea he could howl expletives like a pained animal to achieve a comparable release. But I imagine - and Rublev probably knows - that such a response would be sanctioned more heavily than his actual strategy of flagellation by tennis racket.

Back to the task of yesterday (to pick a day). There is no option but to continue: with 4 nm to paddle, against 1 knot of current and a few knots of headwind, in a choppy sea (1.3 metre swell rebounding), and next to an inhospitable volcanic-cliff shoreline... the remainder of the day will be no fun. As I prone-paddle, the nose of the board makes jarring slaps into or through the slop. That vee-bow thing, by the way, works well to ameliorate the impact of the blows. Regardless, these final miles are going to be unpleasant. On occasion, in response to a minor upset, I do - if not a Rublev - then certainly a McEnroe. I lose my cool when going through a particularly choppy cut-through; or in response to a malfunction of the sail balancing system.

After one such malfunction I uphaul the sail in order to reposition it, and am surprised to notice a whisper of breeze coming from behind. It is very faint, and lasts only a short while, but has the legs to break the back of the remaining distance. It is during that easier mile that I decided to write this post. There seemed to be a moral in the story: To Keep Buggering On, because - no matter how bad it seems - it won't stay that bad forever. Something changes. It always does. And there's another lesson, too: Don't expect it to be blissful more than 1% of the time.

No major outbursts today despite ongoing difficult conditions (and only 6 nm). I also met a yacht on the sea. They were going north and we crossed close to say hello, and for a while we all had big grins on our faces.

Onwards!