Life - you wouldnt miss it for quids.

Well another weekend and another smile on the face.

This time is was a long awaited reunion of the Geraldton sailing crew - the people we travelled with to Geraldton in Western Australia last year, for our month of beach bumming/windsurfing/sehanigans. Yes, a small gathering for just us 11... oh and about 70 of our closest friends/people I had never seen before in my life! Cos not only was it a night for backslapping and "wasn’t it great"s, but it was also the long awaited viewing of "Indian Inc", the movie that was made by one of the guys about the trip. (see the invite/flyer beow). We reckoned it had better be good - Haggis had spent the better part of the past year working on it (in dribs and drabs) and he had about a gazillion hours of footage - much of it taken from a camera atttached to his head while sailing.

I'll confess I hadnt felt as excited about a partly for quite some time. I was all hyped to have a few beers and act like the fool that deep down inside I really am. The reality was quite different - we had to leave just after midnight cos mistress P had a kayaking (canoe polo) tournament the next day starting not long after sparrows fart - and the only risk of oblivion came from over indulgence in the free jaffas and maltesers... But it’s the thought that counts.

There was a huge drive-in-like movie screen erected in the backyard and a projector mounted in the lemon tree (yes, the thought did occur to me that I could watch movie AND pee on said tree at the same time - multi tasking at its masculine finest). But a certain Melbourne deluge on Saturday put paid to the moonlight cinema, so the better part of 80 people were crowded into their lounge room, with me wedged up against the precarious looking projector stand and suffering from a dog who wanted to lick my face at inopertune moments.

In short, the movie was a classic, with just the right amount of "ohh/ahh" moments and ritual humiliation. Mine involved me proclaiming that although my board was showing definate signs of breaking into a million bits, and despite this was being pointed out to me by my concerned fellow travellers, I didn’t care. It was, I exclaimed, "Death or Glory". (The next scene, of course, showed my board dutifully split into two neat halves... yes people also went "oohhh")

All in all, The fillum was truly a classic, I ate my body weight in jaffas and maltesers, got to sink a larger number of beers than normal and some nice young girly propositioned (or was it laughed at - I cant tell these days) me with the line "Hey, arent you Mr Glory or Death??
("No Mam, I'm Death or Glory.")...

Ducking good time

Duck gybes eh... Its been an epic battle but in the end the powers of good have won out.

Five bloody sessions of frustration in getting that elusive first ever duck gybe happening and POW! A howling session on a 4.1 at Ricketts Point (a.k.a Rocketts) and some smooth water inside the reef. Sheet in hard (check), foot out of rear footstrap (check), kness well bent - curtsey not bow (check), levering up the front footstrap/weight forward (check), front hand near boom, (check), bear off; just a little... (check), back hand as faaaar back as it will go (check), release front hand (a big check as sail perfectly dropped to about 40deg off the nose), pull sail overhead with left hand (check), grab boom on the other side with right hand (CHECK - and ohmigod its "floating" as they said it would when you do it right... come on, come on... we can DO this...), flick sail back (CHECKKKKK!!!), grab boom in sailing position (CHECKKARGHHH!!!), switch feet and GO....

Cripes, we would've planed out of the thing too if we werent screaming like a blue arsed banshee!! Still, a brief drop off the plane and we were off again.

It smells like..... victory.

That said, the day (Feb 7) was an awesome one for a sail on the Bay. Lotsa wind (~30knots) and waves to wet yourself over. Some big jumps (including an almost involuntary backloop which ended in a back-whacker from 4+ metres up) and grins alround.

Duck gybes eh.. been there, done that, got the ding on my board to prove it.

It wont get better if you pix it...

Ok, that last post was somewhat pukey - i must have not had my dose of wonder and light for the week. In retribution I give you the pics I sent to BOARDS magazine in the UK, on the oft chance they might publish some photos in their readers pix page. Snoball chance in hell of course, but i windsurf, i'm used to being skunked.

Ok, pic 1 is an old friend of mine, David Noone, now a resident of Boulder Colorado and a meteorological guru, home in Australia in Jan 2006 and racing an ancient Bic battleship against a jet ski containing a dad + 2 kiddies. Location - Sandy Point, Victoria, Australia, former home of the world sailing speed record (Yellow Pages)."Noony" would be stoked to get a photo in (cos he's never going to set any records on that kit)! Photographer - lil ole me.

There i am, sailing in from an overpowered session at Elwood Beach, Victoria, Australia, just after the completion of the Formula World Championship in December 2005 at the exact same beach (go you good thing Alison Shreeve!). Peter Hart may say "if the wind picks up go to shore and rig it like a bag-o-whatsit" but I say, "bugger that - I'm converting my 5.0 to a 4.1 via the use of my head". Photographer: Mistress P.

Last but not least is me again. New Years Eve 2005 at Sandy Point, Victoria, Australia. I (almost) had the whole place to myself (ie no one else was stupid enough to go out, well cept Sandy legend Andrew Daff). A 4.1 NP Zone and an Acid 80 was way too big. I needed to put on 20kg - mostly in the testicular dept. Scarily windy and wayyyy too much chop for true blasting, not to mention that this is completely the wrong tack for speed @ Sandy (should be on opposite tack along the sandbar in the distance). Photographer: Mistress P.

All taken on a Panasonic FZ5 12x digtal camera - for what its worth. 12x optical zoom - the windsuring photographers friend.

Bloke on the Water, fire in the sky...

I was out at Dendy St Brighton last night - a place i hadnt sailed for probably 2 years - and i was quickly reminded of what a damn good sport this windsurfing caper is when it comes to good sorts. No, not Cameron Diaz good sorts (mores the pity) but people who say g'day for no other reason than you're wearing a harness.

First it was Paul. Now even though he's a bloke who works in a windsurf shop and hence may have a vested interest in being your mate, he never gives that impression. In fact, given the amount of his time i have seriously wasted asking for hints and tips on gear (after all, windsurfing is a gear freaks paradise), you'd think he'd run a mile from talking such stuff on his time off. No...

Then onto the water. Wind was dying, as was my duck gybe attempts (ARGGH... but thats another story...) and past shoots Hamish. Hamish i wouldnt have known from a house brick till a month or two ago when he wandered up and asked about some gear he saw in the trailer and we got chatting. Seems he knew the Mistress P in a previous life (yet again: small world, but i wouldnt wanna paint it). I tried some heli tacks (shocking.. but thats another story) and Hamish and i swapped smirks and later a chat on the beach.

Back on terra firma Evan also introduces himself. Evan is the master of the forward loop, as I have witnessed on several occasions from close range as a blue helmet went whizzing through the air. His freestyle tricks arent bad either. Had a chat about life the universe and everything, (but mostly windsurfing).

So for a night when i imagined i'd be out somewhere alone I was anything but. Maybe i should start wearing a harness down the shops (a step up, i must say, from the Hampton East regulation pair of moccas)...