Swim a mile in my shoes

Today was the most intense day of my life.

I spent seven hours pitting myself against the elements, fighting hypothermia and exhaustion.

Today I went sailing on the lake.
Temperature: cold. Wind: 17 knts. Speed: epic.

I originally intended to go out on the J, because it was cold and windy and I wanted to have a lazy Saturday, but then someone mentioned it was perfect check-out weather, so I decided I could use a little practice on the Sunfish and possibly get my checkout so I could go to the next level. One of the People-In-Charge noticed I was wearing jeans, and gave me a bone-chilling lecture on what could happen if you wore jeans on a day like today. I therefore proceeded to run over to the Shed and grab the only decent wetsuit and changed into it. The marina bathroom was surprisingly warm and clean. After changing, I went back to where the small boats were stored, to wait for the other guy who was supposed to get into the Sunfish with me. It turned out that several other people wanted Sunfishes and Lasers, and we were only allowed to check out one of each because of the weather conditions and safety issues. In addition, one of the newer Laser tillers had been dismantled. Confusion ensued, no one knew who was going with whom on what boat and when, and who was going to fix the tiller and when, until the Commodore bravely took action (he's a former Marine) and got everyone in order.

I set out on to the docks towing a Laser with my new redhead buddy. We had some difficulties in rigging up the boat, notably when the sail was flopping around so violently because of the wind that we had to take the mast down to tie it on, then it tore off, so we had to try again, and then we couldn't get the mast back on the boat because the wind had turned and was blowing the sail (and the mast and the guy holding it) backwards, and we had to call for help from one of the other guys. Finally, we left the parking lot and towed the boat down the steep slope to the water, avoiding a major catastrophe when it started sliding off the trailer because of the wind. We eventually made it to the water, where we got into the boat along with a third quidam who hitched a ride to catch up with the J and its crew (who were long since gone).

Now, sailing is a sport of skill, tactic, strength, agility, and sheer luck. You have to be responsive to the boat's every movement. You have to see the wind on the water and act accordingly to direct your boat to where you want to be. You have to be strong enough to maneuver your boat. And you have to be agile enough to move from side to side when tacking or jibing, or when the wind catches the sails and does everything in its power to tip the boat. Sailing, real sailing, is not for wimps. After all, this is my idea of an extreme sport. Also this. And this too. (Yes, all three are about the same thing. But you should pay attention to all three, because this is the stuff of legends.) Ever since I was a child, that's what I wanted to do when I grew up. But now it seems unlikely I'll ever get that far. Sigh. Still, a gal's allowed to dream...

Anyway, back to the lake. The Laser caught the wind and glided at an exhilarating speed. With three people to weigh it down, it was pretty stable and we did not flip once until we dropped our passenger at the J. Because we were pretty far out, we decided to go back to the dock. Without the extra weight, the Laser was 1) insanely fast, and 2) very unstable. Even with extensive use of the hiking strap, which consisted of us two throwing our weight around like crazy at every gust of wind, we capsized twice and broke the traveler, which slightly impeded our return to port.

There, we were welcomed (fortunately) by two other club members, who caught and anchored our boat so that we could get off.

They were busy setting up a Hobie Cat, and one of the sails had just fallen into the water and sunk. They were about to give up on ever getting it back, and were resigned to face the Commodore's wrath (trust me, that's not something you ever want to see), when (My Moment Of Glory) I proposed to dive in and look for it. I told them that although it was pretty deep, I'd been to the bottom before (yay for summer explorations!) and was wearing a wetsuit which would keep me from freezing to death (or so I hoped fervently, I was already pretty cold from the wind). They agreed, although they said it was all right if I couldn't find it. I dove in and found the sail three meters or so underwater. It was so wide the drag kept it from sinking too fast. The look on their face was priceless as they took the sail from me and helped me get back on the dock (I'm sure they'll stop making fun of me for falling off the *very safe and unsinkable* J that one time. Or the time I spent the day in the emergency room because I got hit in the head by a boom when we were playing Pirates in the Scow. Um. Yeah. I'm accident-prone. But that's beside the point.)

Anyway, after several mishaps in taking down the Laser's sail and mast (it tried to fly away again, all 50 pounds of it) and rigging up the Hobie (spare parts, spare parts, thank goodness for spare parts), all four of us set out with the intent of finding the J (again!) and bothering them so we could have some fun.

Now, the Laser was fast, but it was nothing compared to the Hobie. The wind blew at 17 knts, which propelled us to a dizzying 20 knts (about 37 km/h, 23 mph for you silly nonmetric Americans).

Moreover, being on the Hobie was like taking a shower. Within the first 28 seconds, every one of us was drenched and shivering (except for our excellent Mr. Captain, who is a freak of nature and has a body temperature one degree (Celcius) above that of us mortal fools, and thus was, according to him, "toasty warm").

Being on a catamaran is a lot more physical than all of the other boats combined, and we scrambled around on the trampoline and trapezes (sounds like the circus, doesn't it?) to keep the boat upright (and failing, as the hulls were 75% in the air and the back was a foot underwater by this point). We ventured out from the cove a few miles into the channel, where we capsized for the first time. We flipped the boat over and got back on track, but could not find the J anywhere. We decided to turn around, because we were pretty cold and it had been quite an adventure already. The wind marked its agreement on the decision by capsizing us over again. We righted the boat and headed back. In a particularly nasty and shallow part of the channel, the Hobie flipped over again, and the most trying part of our day began.

Although it didn't turtle, which would have been a disaster, as it would have necessited a motorboat to pull us out of that one, we were stuck on slippery rocks with a capsized Hobie. Rotting tree stumps caught everywhere on the boat, ripping a sail and almost dislocating the tiller. The wind caught on the trampoline, pushing the boat toward the rocky cliff, trapping us in the middle. To right the boat, we had to push it to deeper water and far enough from the wall that the top hull would not hit the rocks when we pulled it down. Every time that we managed to push the boat into the wind, a gust of wind would suddenly slam into us and aim the boat into the cliff. After nearly an hour of treading freezing water, slipping on rocks, and pulling at the boat, we were becoming dangerously exhausted. My partner from the Laser was in the most danger, as he had no wetsuit or high body temperature to protect him from the cold. He shivered incontrollably and started cramping, the first signs of hypothermia. We deposited him on the rocks so he would not drown, and proceeded to once again attempt to right the Hobie. This time, I swam out to the end of the mast and used it as a lever to keep the boat in place as the other two angled it into the wind. Then, as I pushed the mast up as far as I could to lever the boat, the others attached themselves to the upper hull and used their combined weight to pull it down into the water. A couple of minutes later, the Hobie slowly began to shift and rise, and the mast rose from the water. Immediately, the wind caught the sails and began to tug (by this time we were not in the wind but in broad reach), but we each caught a line to keep it from drifting away. Mr. Captain managed to climb aboard and maneuvered it into the wind again, so that we might get on. After reclaiming our spots, we headed to the docks, right as the J appeared.

As the Hobie sped on, we dipped our hands in the water and splashed our faces to warm them up. The water felt like a very warm bath. As we regained our spirits, we noticed various body parts streaming blood. I found that a large area of skin was missing from my hand and that bruises could be felt forming over various areas of my body. I suddenly understood how my father came home from a regatta with bleeding gashes and multiple bruises, without ever being aware of them.

As we arrived at the dock, several people were standing there, ready to catch the Hobie and help us off, bearing blankets, towels, and sweaters. All of us sported a lovely tinge of blue on our lips and hands, and we gratefully accepted the warm offerings. I ran off to change into the dry clothes I had brought (yep, thought something like that would happen) and warmed up somewhat in the wonderful bathroom. I went out barefoot (my shoes were drenched) and stood around shivering for a while until there were sails to put up, which I did, then stood around some more and shivered.

Eventually, carpools formed and we headed back to the city.

Two hours after leaving the water, I regained the use of my fingers. Seven hours later, I am still wearing two sweaters and shivering slightly.

Lessons learned:
1) Always, always wear a life jacket. Even if it looks silly. First of all, you get a $50 fine if you don't. Second, it might just save your life.
2) Shoes. Wear them. Not flip-flops, actual shoes. Otherwise your toes might get cut off, and I am not kidding about this. It doesn't matter if your shoes are ruined, at least you'll have your appendages.
3) When you turtle or otherwise capsize, let out the mainsheet. Otherwise, your boat might just leave without you when you get it upright again. Also one of the "Oh Shit" maneuvers. If you are about to capsize, let the mainsheet out and the boat will right itself. (You may risk getting hit in the head with the boom, though, and that is not fun.)
4) The wind is more powerful than you. Work with it. If you fight it, it wins.

I've never been that close to death, and yet, if I could, I would do it all over again.