Clearing winds came a day earlier than expected and caught me by surprise. Luckly, I had nothing scheduled for the afternoon that couldn't be put off until later. Jeff Broffman called early. His day off today so he was raring to go.
About 2pm I pulled into Doran. Broffman was suited up and debating sail sizes. I opted for a 4.7. Slightly optimistic, but I hate being overpowered in the waves. The rock was in full rage. Nothing but mounds of white water on the horizon. The shore break looked inviting too. The recent storm swells have been dragging out sand from the upper parts of the beach and forming a nice shelf. I commented to Broffman about the shore break and the water height. He said "yeah, but its going out fast to really low low." I was satisfied with that and didn't check my tide book. It turn out that "really low" was, well, really low. -1.7ft. I'd never sailed the rock before with so little water. One of the (few) benifits I suppose of west coast sailing over Hawaii, where the tide only swings a few feet comapred to the 8ft swings we see up here, is the variety of conditions a site can present by water level alone.
Arrival at the rock revealed two things. First, I would be going back for a bigger sail. Second, the water level was really low. Even the small waves were closing out head high .. all the way across the reef. Timing was critical in getting out. I barely had power to slog in the lee of the rock and the turbulent impact zone. I managed to catch a couple good waves while waiting for Broffman to catch up. He lost a lot of ground on the way out, alternately planing, sloging. To make it up he sailed way, way out to sea. A practice of his that continues to make me nervous. I kept a watchful eye and stayed close to the rock. Riding waves to stay upwind. Broffman eventually caught up and we both agreed, "rig up!"
Harold arrived as I rigged my 5.2. I welcomed the thought of a threesome. Now with power and company, the rock was ready to be ripped. Harold sneaked out just ahead of me. I took a logo high wave full on as it went critical. Just when you thought you've already jumped as high as you ever want to go, you find yourself a little higher. What a view! Thats pretty much the story going out. Lots of critical faces, lots of big jumps, lots of chicken jibes.
The shallowest part of the reef, I'll call it Weed Patch, showed itself regularly. The suckout in front of the larger waves would expose the weeds and the wave would bowl up around it. I was riding a good size wave a little upwind and left of Weed Patch when near disaster struck. Since the wind is backside here most wave riding is done to the left with brief excursions down the line to right. Once down in front there's little power left in the sail. As the wave got peaky I came backside up to the lip and started a bottom turn to the right to get closer to the bowl ...
"This one's a little bigger than I thought. Damn. Second guessing myself. Too tenantive. What kind of a carving turn is this?" My board is flat, bouncing down the face of the wave. My sail is too far back, leaned into a turn thats not happening. I'm stuggling to re-gain composure. Off balance I can't initiate a turn back to the left. The wave is beautiful from this vanatage, so close, light and feathery on top. The late afternoon sun shines through the face giving it a cool translucent glow. Now though, I wish I were somewhere else. The wave explodes and the rig is blasted from my hands. Rule number one here is never lose your gear. Mine is almost gone. My back foot has turned 90 degrees in the strap. Its got me clamped in. The crushing pain in my foot increases as the board and rig drag my sorry ass into oblivion.
"So this is what it like to be keel hauled." Finally, my foot is free. The thunderous rumbling has stopped and I'm floating .. or falling? "Need to breathe." Slight panic. "Its too dark. Just relax. Ok, brighter now, swim." Break free. Deep, deep, deep gasping inhale. Deep blue sky and bright white foam surrounds me. for a couple seconds the peace overcomes me. My gear is about 60ft away I wont reach it before the next wave. My foot is still on the end of my leg, good. Not even broken I think but man it hurts. Don't know if I can sail. I'm still in the impact zone. The swimming is the worst part of all this. Swimming and swimming like mad. Mother nature likes to kick hard when you're down. Almost there when the next wave picks up my gear and tosses it another 20ft.
I eventually caught the board and made a hasty, out of breath waterstart. There was a break between sets so I went outside instead of in. I really didn't want to quit but quickly found I was no good for sailing. I could put little weight on my right foot. I gingerly made it ouside, sat and rested on my board. The Pacific is my ice bucket.
I watched Harold and Jeff cut up the waves for a while before I limped back to the beach over a mile away. They sliced and diced into the sunset. Another reminder that we are mearly human.