Windsurfing Magazine

kristin
2000-04-01 19:00:00 | 102 views | 0 Comments

In the beginning, on One-Design windsurfers, rounding the rock was something only the elite did. Bodega Rock - a.k.a. The Shark Deli - had a pretty imposing history of shipwrecks and, well … sharks. If you were brave enough to go out and skilled enough to come back, you were held in awe. Looking back, those days were mild and sunny, with no swell and always a light breeze. Life was a lot simpler then.

Over the years as equipment got better and our skills improved, Dave Lorenz, Will Cramer and I started seeking new sailing challenges at Bodega Bay. We've been sailing the area for close to 20 years and sailing together regularly for about the past six. We had followed the area's logical sailing progression, first learning to waterstart, jibe and chop hop in the harbor, then speed-sailing in the channel. We sailed the offshore winds at the hook and finally graduated to wave-sailing the closed-out shore break at Surfer beach. We were content with those options for many years, but the rock and its wave-sailing potential always loomed in the distance. It wasn't until recently, however, that we really started to realize the full potential of this magnificent place.

Doran-Doran. The wave bug really bit me a few seasons ago when I started sailing the shore break at Doran. It was a chore at first to get people to join me. I've broken a lot of stuff, and there are maybe four or five days a year when conditions get really nice. But in time I got pretty good at handling the sometimes-overhead shore break, and the experience has anesthetized me somewhat to big, powerful waves.

Our tight little Bodega sailing region really started to open up in the spring of '97. I arrived at the beach one day and Jim Caroll was out sailing alone. It was a typical late spring day: 20 knots or so, 1- to 2-foot beach break. I watched him take off downwind out to the rock, back to the coast, down to Estero Americano, then out of sight - gone to who knows where. I figured he was nuts. He did eventually come back, but in my mind he had taken incredible risk. Still, it made me think. We were perfectly capable of sailing far out to sea and returning. It was just a matter of balancing the risk with the reward.

As it were, it was only a matter of time. That summer I found myself sailing at Doran with Jim and a guy named Sean Plikuhn. We had been reaching back and forth between the rock and the beach. The wind was pretty solid, and swell inside the bay was pretty mild. Things just felt right for something a little more adventurous. Jim and I had talked earlier about a run out to a buoy two miles offshore to the southwest. He had done this before, and I had expressed interest. I took the initiative. I slogged out through the shadow of Bodega Head and orbited just past the wind line. Jim took the bait and was right with me in minutes, with Sean not far behind him. It was really an enlightening experience. The Sonoma coastline is incredibly rugged and beautiful, and I had never seen it from that vantage. The 10-foot ocean swell was just a joy to sail in: lots of big, lazy turns and big, beautiful water everywhere.

Training Ground. Things pretty much snowballed from there. I started dragging my regulars - Will and Dave - along with me every chance I got. Each time, we'd spend a little more time outside, becoming increasingly callused to our fears. By winter of this year, we had had our first close-up at what can happen on the reef southeast of the rock. El Niqo - you gotta love it. It brought the storms far to the south and gave us days and days of unending easterly winds. It made the reef accessible in a single broad reach, like an invitation. With the 20-foot winter swell, waves would break completely over the top of the rock. It was dramatic, and sailing was epic. One day, we found a deeper section of reef farther south that peaked up near critical, but only broke with the largest of swells. This was our big-wave training ground. The calluses got a little thicker. On Sunday, March 29, we experienced the real thing - no more training. Our calluses were thick and hard, and it's a good thing. Sailing the reef in a northwesterly, we experienced the biggest waves any of us has ever sailed. What can you say about the pinnacle of one's sailing career? The waves were big, really big! I felt small, really small! It was good, really good! And I'm stoked - you fill in the blank.

Long-Lived. We tend to worry a lot about our longevity. That's the biggest reason it has taken us so long to sail the rock. We try to get mentally prepared for anything that may happen. I think that's one of the most important things you can do. Just have a plan and stick to it. We've got enough sailing years among the three of us that we've experienced about every kind of equipment failure there is. A buddy system is a must. Three seems to be a good number for a sailing group. Number 1 goes down. Number 2 can assist. Number 3 goes for help.

One of our biggest worries is losing a sailor. Even when everybody is sailing, it's a chore to keep track of who is where. A sailor who's down is invisible. When you're trying to get out through the break or riding a wave and totally focused in that little dream world, it's just you and the waves. And, heck, that's why you're out there in the first place. But if you go down, there's little consolation in knowing your buddies are having an epiphany while they're Zenning on the waves. Once, Will got rinsed and lost his gear, and neither Dave nor I had a clue. That's scary, really scary! But it's part of the chance you take. Even with buddies you know and trust, you've got to be in the frame of mind that you're on your own. We're buying radios for each of us and formulating a plan to check in on a regular basis.

Dine In. Although I've had no personal encounters with Whitey yet, he's probably here. The most recent significant event at Bodega Bay was in 1994. A great white reportedly made a meal out of a sea lion while a boatload of fishermen looked on. That was early on a Tuesday morning - the day after an evening session in which Dave and I happened to be sailing there. Looking back, the place was kind of surreal that evening, the ocean almost like a big bathtub with a light breeze powering our 6.0s. It was warm and calm and deathly quiet. The rock - usually teeming with squawking birds and sea lions - was barren. Now we realize it was the birds and sea lions that knew about the food chain. They were gone for good reason. I understand that a great white will come back to the same hunting ground the same time each year and stick around for a few days before moving on. June 14 is marked on my calendar. I noticed lots of small sea lions playing in the waves on Sunday. I had to look twice to make sure they weren't my buds. They had no gear and were smiling, so I knew they weren't. I make it a point to check the rock for sea lions every time I sail Doran.

Yeah, some might think we're nuts. Huge swells, shipwrecks, little recourse if the going gets rough, maybe even a great white checking in now and again - but all it takes is one good ride and you'll be a regular at The Shark Deli too.