Windjunky

Aotearoa (New Zealand) 2012

2012-01-15T08:29:00.003+11:00

Plane Boy (+ Pierre)

Well, that was one great holiday.

New Years Eve 2011 saw us boarding a big ole jet airliner and taking us too far away - well, not all that far away really - across the ditch/Tasman to New Zealand, or Aotearoa as the Maori called it. (Someone told me that Ao = big, tea = white, roa = cloud, but then they might have been pulling my proverbial - comments welcome.)

The plan for the two week stay was largely based around, well, no plan. Except to go camping for five days. And I had no idea where that camping was going to be... (Only realised this when I arrived and the taxi man said "where ya going" and i said... "Err... no idea - somewhere in a tent - wife's plan..." Pathetic really.)

The night of our arrival coincided with our hosts - Pandora's sister Finda and hubby Steve - holding a NYE party/barbie, and hence we met a few others as well. Apart from saying "the WHAT?" when told the beers were in the "chully-bun" (a.k.a 'chilly-bin' = esky), everything went great guns, arguably aided by the fact that timezones were on our side and hence midnight really did equal 10pm for us Aussies. Oh, and the fact they'd beaten us in a recent test match for the first time since pussy was a cat.

Eastern Beach fish and chips picnic, Auckland

After settling into our UnZud-HQ in Otahuhu (myself and Steve being the only middle class white guys in a 5km radius - which was tre' cool, cos so were the Pacific Islander locals), the first cupla days were spent celebrating Katrina's (our hosts mum, and our kids 'third grandma') birthday, travelling to the museum to soak in a little Maori culture, travelling up to Wenderholm Regional Park for a brilliant picnic and a bushwalk through the forest in thongs (woohoo -- no snakes!!), a trip to the Weiwera Hot Springs water park (water ranging from 30degC [kiddies pool] to 48degC [lava pool - you dared only touch a hand in] where the kids had a goddamn hoot on slides and tubes and even watching a movie in the movie pool; we all ended up like shrivelled prunes), and catching up with 'Grandad Jack', who in actual fact is the kids great-grandad - kinda weird if you think about the fact that they don't have any genetic grandfathers left but do a great-grandad... Grandad Jack is pushing on for the ton, but still swimming at Bucklands Beach daily (when the chop doesn't get too high) and walking the 1km through the golf course to Musick Point. Dude...
Respect.

Grandad Jack, Tanya, Mike, Pandora, Sarah; Musick Point

Then it was pack the kids in the people mover and off to the Coromandel Peninsula for a few days. The Coromandel is a place of high hills, lush forest, huge Kauri trees, pockets of actual kiwi birds (we didn't see or hear one) and magnificent NZ beaches.

One we visited was 'Hot Water Beach' which, as the name implies, has hot (i.e., geothermal) water flowing underneath. 'Bring a shovel and dig out your own hot tub' they say. Pity we arrived at high tide, so just had to imagine it... but it was a stunning spot regardless. We crossed from Whitianga to Coromandel Towne via the 309 Rd, so named because it used to take the old horse and carts 3hours 9minutes to do the trip. The GPS reckoned it'd take us an hour fifty, which seemed ridiculous for a 30km gravel road in the home of Possum Bourne, and while we did cut that down to around the one hour mark, it wasn't surprising given how narrow the road was (a constant fear was coming across one of those goddamn Britz campers on a blind corner), the scenery you wanted to see - absolutely magnificent with sheer mountains and lush forest and ferns - and the one way bridges that seem to dot rural UnZud and which took me several goes to understand what the hell the 'big arrow/small arrow' sign meant; "Pandora - is it me or him?!?!?!"

Walking to the Kauri Trees, 309 Rd

We only had to reverse out once...
To a bit of staring.

Near the end of the road we visited the Waterworks, which can best be described as the Heath Robinson-like creations of a mad plumber. If it could shoot water or involve a pump, they had it. Drenching other people was fair game, as were a plethora of 'Dad jokes'.
You know what I mean...
Kids were like pigs in poo.

Several kilometres down the same road the kids were liking pigs in poo. A somewhat bizarre gentleman (sans shoes but strangely wearing a very muddied Pierre Cardin jacket) was looking after his pigs and chickens on the side of the road. We stopped, he let our kids cuddle piglets, dad swatted a tick off his own arm, we spent the rest of the day paranoidily and periodically checking every inch of the kids skin. I asked him about all these pigs and he delightedly told me that he wasn't farming them but they were all his pets. Which took him from kindly man tending the land to feed his fellow countryman to 'crazed lady with cats'-equivalent status in my mind.

Pigs to you young Sarah

Still 'Stuart' is enough of a local celebrity to be in the local "highlights of the 309", possibly only to keep the local GP in profitable business to remove parasites.

The following day was spent tootling back to Auckland via the Coromandel Coast Rd, which arguably is the carsick capital of the free world (we did actually see a person prone on a blanket by the side of the road surrounded by family waiting patiently...), but at least that meant we had a couple of impromptu stops which allowed us to fully soak in the amazing scenery that we would have otherwise missed.
Dad's daydreaming as others tummy churned did mean he devised a measure of Coromandel driving skill;
Drive Skill Score = {time to drive from Coromandel to Thames} + {30/(1+number of passenger spews)}
The faster you go, the more you risk have a time penalty through passenger vomits.
Lowest score wins.

Coromandel Coast

After a brief overnight stop in Auckland to collect our rented camping gear (absolutely brilliant tent, completely crap chairs) we were headed off to Awhitu Regional Park.
In the rain.
Which got heavier as we headed closer.
We arrived to find Finda and Steve already set up but about to mop the water out of their tent.
We sat and waited for the rain to clear.
It got heavier.
We waited some more.
It got more piss-istant.
We waited some more.
Till one of us genius meteorologists said "come on, you know this is eight-eighths anti-cyclonic nimbostratus" (translation -- we both knew full well it wasn't going away any time soon), so we set up the tent.
Apparently to the great amusement of some fellow (under cover and hence dry) campers from across the way, who even cracked a beer to kick back and watch the show.

Kiddies being minded by the commune, obviously...

Four seemingly intelligent people (inc. at least two PhDs) vs Mother Nature, a tent no-one had even seen or knew existed less than 24 hours before, and a set of instructions about blue, grey and black poles, but no mention of the yellow ones that (also) emerged from the packet.
Oh goodie.
Somewhat amazingly, no ANZACs were drowned in the making of the camping taj mahal, and all slept dry that night.
To the sound of even heavier rain.
By the end of the first 24 hours of piss-ipitation we'd all started to get the irrits with the rain gods, not to mention that being a summer beach holiday none of us skippies had packed gumboots. The locals, however, were all happily trotting about in shorts and boots a-la Wal from Footrot Flats. We had to contend with thongs (no, I will not call them 'jandals') until the mud became too thick and sticky and hence we risked pulling a thong plug [i.e., thong death], in which case footwear was abandoned altogether and hence for the first three days we pretty much went barefoot.
I'm sure there are Toorak ladies who pay shedloads for a 30minute foot mud massage.
For us a 72hour footjob was just $NZ10 per night.

Manukau Heads

Still, 'Brookes' campsite proved to be the clear highlight of the entire trip. The mob included the four of us, Mistress P's sister Shoni and sig.other Pierre, our hosts Finda and Steve, Finda's mum Katrina, Steve's sister Kim and hubby Chris plus their kids Sinead and Liam, and Gordon the Scotsman, his wife Tracey and kids Jamie and Cameron, the latter who was a minor UnZud TV celebrity after falling off a cliff and appearing on a reality program about people who fell off stuff and were subsequently rescued by chopper.
"It meant I didn't have to go to school for weeks!"
Also meant he had multiple fractures, has permanently more bend in his elbow than Muttiah Muralitharan, and was freakishly lucky he didn't shuffle off this mortal coil altogether.
But ya gotta love the glass half full attitude...

The Dining Tent

[If not his amazing culinary ability - watch out next time there is a junior masterchef tryouts - and hence his fascination with everything put near a stove. I felt somewhat pathetic plonking in my Alfredo packet pasta and adding a few mushies/capsicum/tinned tuna, but he watched every action like a hawk...]

The rain and mud all meant we were confined for long periods in Steve and Finda's "Kathmandu Compass Retreat" dining tent, as well as the gazebo which Steve rushed off and bought to pop over the cooking and cleaning area. (It vaguely amused me that some stuff I read about area said it was remote. He drove off, bought a gazebo, got slightly lost, and returned in 90 minutes...)This idea - of communal tents to shelter under - seemed quite popular/common with the NZ campers all around us, and indeed for us it meant many a tall story, bongo/guitar playing, newspaper reading, slap up feed and even the odd 9am (yes, sorry mum; AM) shot of Glenfiddich 12 yo Scotch, was had in complete dryness.
Brilliant.

Still in the breaks in the weather gave us plenty of time to explore near and far.

The (Octonaut) Island

Nearby was "The Island" - a dot of rock with a little dirt on top on which a Norfolk pine, a few shrubs and a bit of grass clung ferociously, if not precariously - about 300 metres offshore. At low tide you could walk out to it, dodging the razor sharp oyster shells as you go (I didn't do this successfully for all the days, and hence sport a slashed first toe for my efforts). Unfortunately in an attempt to coax the Boy away from my mobile phone and its downloaded movies (hell, it was wet - can't blame him) we told him it was Octonaut Island.
He didn't believe me.
Someone else told him it was.
About half a day later he abandoned camp and took dad on a mission... to find the Octonauts; which I only realised about halfway out to The Island as he started to get a bit concerned he been told a load of bollocks.
"Errr... they may be under the sea octonauting..."
Geez - how are we going to feel when he realises Santa is a dud?
[As an aside, The Island was also one of the last landmarks of NZ we saw as we flew off home - bizarrely appearing through a break in the clouds almost directly under our flightpath - magic sendoff; must have cost a bit to organise that one guys.]

Away from camp we visited the lighthouse which guards the entrance to Manukau Harbour, high on the southern headland of (in)famous Manukau Heads.

Cuppas in the rain and the famous gazebo; Finda, Pandora

"Geez, what a pathetically short lighthouse... its in danger of being trod on by a dwarf" {a Spinal Tap reference there if you don't know it} I moaned at first, until we arrived at the top of the short hill and looked over the other side to a near 240 metre sheer drop to the water below.
Wow.
What a view.
Sadly, this was also where the boy started to wail.
Inconsolably.
Dad got shitty. Mum showed teeth gritted patience. Katrina was a saint.
In the end we drove down to Waiuku (about 30km away) and forked out the "$70 non-NZ'ers" fee to see a doctor.
Tonsil infection, prolly viral.

Hamiltons Gap black sand beach

Take some kiddies panadol and iboprofen if needed and plonk him on the anti-biotics if he doesnt improve by day-after-tomorrow morning.
Meant a couple of semi-difficult nights, added to a truckload of snot and goober-related nose blowing.
And lots more video watching in the tent.
Poor sod.

The other great adventure was to the incredibly black sands beaches (even the white bits were black) of the wild west coast. We spent an hour or two at Hamiltons Gap, where a stream enters the ocean, rolling green terraced (some by stock, but most by ancient Maori farming) hills surround the inland views, and steep sand-dunes rising about 150m up from the sands below. Both dad and mum climbed the dunes in lieu of having to go on a run, while Little Miss Sarah ran around screaming in horror at the black of the sand on the soles of her feet.
Seriously. Freaked. Out.
(Though she seemed quite happy to wade back up the stream despite the very same black sand being under the water.)

Sarah, flowers, Auckland

Before we knew it our six days in a leaky tent (ok, five days and the tent didn't leak a drop, but I had to get a [vague] Split Enz reference in this blog somehow) were over and it was time to leave the campsite, cars packed to the rafters (two cars had left the scene in search of greener, or at least less muddy, pastures earlier) but about 30 kg lighter in terms of food, somewhat discounted by the extra kilos on peoples torsos.

Drive home highlight was a real live (and wild) pheasant trying to embed itself in our bumper.
Half expected some beaters and English gentry to emerge directly behind him.

The final full day was a bit more catchin' up and checkin' out the sites, including the summit of Mt Eden whose distance marker almost brought Pierre to tears (Paris: 18500km away; or maybe it was looking down on Eden Park, where France lost the Rugby World Cup by a solitary point to the All Blacks - either way he got all misty eyed...), lots of packing and washing (both clothes and seemingly permanently muddied feet), getting our dose of UnZud culture watching Bro Town epsiodes and finally a big slap up traditional NZ feed of... burritos! (Brilliant by the way - thanks Finda.) Little Miss Sarah supplied the entertainment with renditions of Baa Baa Black Sheep with backup singing from her Aunty Shoni and accompanied by Steve on the guitar (see video below) who'd even googled the chords for the occasion, followed up with the freakshow of Master Mike and Finda having a nostril licking competition - a clear genetic link to the Hope clan. (He'll make someone a very happy girl.)

Pandora, Steve, Shoni, Pierre. Andrew, Mike, Finda, Katrina, Aaron, Sarah

Next day it was back on the plane, after two very tired kids (going to sleep on Australian time for the entire trip, which would be fine, only they were still waking with the sun, i.e., NZ time) created an embarrassingly large detritus heap in the QANTAS club.

All up - what a trip. Nearly 1200km of driving despite only travelling 180km from Auckland at the most (we wont mention the swinging gate hitting the hire car if you dont...)
A new set of friends to keep in touch with and welcome when they head over the ditch.

And a most wonderful set of people who took our kids into their hearts which meant that mum and dad managed an awful lot of easy and (almost) guilt-free parenting. Special mention to "Uncle Steve", "Aunty Finda" and Katrina, who all have the patience of saints and the open arms of nuns (sorry Steve - but you know what we mean; though I am sure there's a fetish website for habit-wearing big bearded men...).

And we were only bagged about the underarm incident once.
(Oh ok; twice...)

[*More pics on facebook]

Ride of the Valkyries

2010-09-05T22:17:00.003+10:00

Notch one more up in the "experiences I'll never forget".

After many years of watching helicopters swish up and down the bay, and of course living with them clattering overhead doing their resupplies when on boats in Antarctica, I'd often said "that must be an incredible thing to do."

And now I can say it is.

Fathers day 2010, someone must have raided an awfully large piggy-bank, cos my present was not just a ride in one, but an actual one-on-one with an instructor and a go at the controls. Suffice to say, it now makes driving a (manual) car seem a doddle.

The initial briefing last about 25 minutes, after which I was so confused by "cyclics" (the joystick between your legs which can make you dive or bank and turn), "collectives" (the 'handbrake-like thing' that you lift to change the pitch of the blades and go up, as well as twist to increase revs - though you generally keep this quite steady), and "anti-torque pedals" (that control the rudder so you can turn from side to side) that I clean forgot the instructors name (Cathy. Sorry.)

I hoped this wouldn't be a problem.

After buckling up and headsets on, about a zillion switches were flicked and the thing burst into life. The thing being a Schweizer 300 CBi , a neat little sports coupe' two seater.
Hence I was somewhat surprised it sounded like a truck. And didn't have a Ride of the Valkyries soundtrack.

Cathy called the tower and we were off.

Straight towards a flock of seagulls.

This, apparently, is a hazard, so we crept up on them until they'd all been scared off and not been sliced and diced, bamix style. Birds dispatched, we headed east, climbing up to 1000ft and heading off over Breaside park and the green wedge between Dandenong South and Chelsea Heights.

Just as we did, Cathy said...
"Ok, we're level - you take the cyclic".

After remembering what the cyclic was (the big stick between my legs; no jokes please), I had it in hand. Or rather, perched delicately in my fingers, as this thing is sensitive (no jokes, please) and really only requires finger pressure to get a response (oh come on...).

"I'm in control" I said.

And I was. Even though my taking control coincided with us bouncing up and down a little as we passed under a cloud, and hence for a moment I wondered what in the wide wide world of sports I'd done. To god. Or Stephen Hawking. Or whoever is in charge these days.

I thought I was vaguely flying straight and level, judging by me lining up the horizon with the compass glued to the windscreen (hey, that's what you're told to do), though apparently I was climbing. Which I only realised when Cathy pointed out the altimeter heading north.

Levelled it out; only levelling it out (i.e., dropping the nose) felt like you pitching yourself into a kamikaze dive - it took a little getting used to - and we were off again.

"Ok, you're doing great. Now, take over the collective".

(Quick thought - collective is the handbrake thing.)

"I have control" I replied.

Now there wasn't a lot to do here, as this is basically set and forget for level flight (i.e, you don't lift or drop the handle, just leave it at about 30degrees), though occasionally I'd twist the throttle a little as the revs dropped slightly.

We did a bit of a bank and headed a little more south, then over the intercom comes "Ok, take over the pedals."

Even I could work out what that meant.

Unlike a car, you have two pedals that if you push one in, the other pushes out. Also unlike a car you have a little dial that's a bit like a spirit level, and hence I was constantly checking that and if "the ball is left, push down left" to keep us going straight.

I was in control.

At first I must admit this was quite daunting, as cars were like ants below us, and only an hour before I didn't know a collective from a noun, and here I was in an inherently unstable physics-defying single engined coupe' tottering across the sky.
At 75 knots.

"Do a circuit around here" Cathy suggested, somewhere over Western Port Hwy/Thompsons Rd/Sandhurst . A gentle push on my thumb (i.e., towards the right on the cyclic) and we started banking over and turning. Around we went, no problems. Lots of ant cars below, amazing views of Western Port, the Dandenongs, Port Phillip and... rain clouds.

"MMmmm... we might get a bit wet" mumbled Cathy.

After the circuit we aimed our nose at the bay - or rather, 1000ft above the bay - and headed west, crossing the coast somewhere between Seaford and Carrum, with the dirty gunk of a flooding Patterson River just to our north.

"I'll take over for a tick" said Cathy, and I wasn't one to argue with the boss. Though she did kindly say "You're doing great - you haven't scared me."
{brief pause}
"Yet."

We banked over and dropped down to 700ft as we crossed the river heading north, while Cathy spoke to the tower at Moorabbin letting them know we'd entered into their space again. (Apparently Patterson River is some sort of contact/way point.)

"Ok, follow the coast at 700ft" she said.

"I'm in control" I replied.

And up the coast we flew, scaring the dogs/dog walkers on the beach and marvelling at having a seagulls eye view of the bay. We'd soon whisked over Gnotuk Avenue carpark and I was looking out for houses of people we knew (errr... while being conscious of the controls of course) and noticing we were headed for aforementioned big rain cloud.

"I'll take over" said the boss, and with that we banked inland and lined up Moorabbin Airport (which is actually in Mentone; if it was really in Moorabbin I'd have asked her to set me down in my backyard, being that not too long ago Hampton East was known as Moorabbin West).

Though when I say lined up, I mean "took a stab in the grey where it was", cos by now we were in the rain and you could see bugger all. And like a good little two seater coupe', it started to drip inside, just missing my leg. (An inch to the right and it would have left a wet patch on my pants somewhat difficult to explain...)

I just looked out for the lights of all the other planes trying to land at the airport in the grey, cos I could hear the control tower talking to them out there in the gloom, somewhere... hunting us...

Then there it was, the little H for us to land on, only rather than land on the H, we swivelled in place about 3 ft off the ground, and inched forward until we were about 10m from the hangar.

"Beats pushing it all the way in in the rain" said the boss.

A quick debrief as we sat and idled the engine to let things cool down (fixed wing planes do this as they taxi...) and we were done.

Click clack, off with the belts, fumble with the door release, get my foot caught on the cyclic, and...
35 minutes after takeoff, Terra Firma once more.

What a goddamn amazing fathers day hoot.

(Only made better by an excited little boy yelling "Daddy" as I walked in the hangar.)

2010 NP X6 Boom - my 2c.

2009-12-17T12:07:00.037+11:00

Ok, lets face it...

The old X6 Neil Pryde boom broke bits more often than a Melbourne train in a summer heatwave. (For those from out-of-town, that's a lot.)

Whether it was too much cost cutting, a lack of attention to detail, or all of the above, bits just simply fell off 'em all too often.

It was for this reason that I was about to chuck mine in the crusher and start again, cos I'd had a ($600) gutful. (Must be said, Pryde did supply free new bits without hesitation...)

Till i spoke to Paul @ SHQ.

"Try the '010 version" he insisted. "Its all new - you'll love it. Trust me..." {imagine a glint of pearly white light off his teeth/bald head.}

There and then he (and Mr Pryde) swapped over my old X6 for a brand spanker 2010 140-190cm jobbie, no questions asked. (Now that's service!)

And its all new.
And I love it.

I've sailed the '010 X6 for a few months now, in everything from big Bay waves to flat water Sandy Point blasting. Its been jumped, gybed, crashed, smeared and, due to the wonders of climate change, cooked in my shed before summer even arrived. Hence surely time for a review.

First things first. The shape is different. Stand 'em side by side and you'll immediately notice that the new boom has way more S-bend in the arms than the old one (see above pic; 2010 X6 lying ontop of a 2008 - with any luck they're breeding me a 2011 right now). I gather that having that bigger curve nearer the front is kinda like the physics of an egg; the tighter bend actually gives the thing strength. (Go on, tap on the tighter-bend end of an egg. Doesn't break as easily as whacking its bum does it?) I reckon it works.

The grip is good and arguably feels slightly narrower, even if the stats say it shouldn't be much difference. On the downside, I don't know if its the new grip, but even though my hands feel super secure and there's never a problem grabbing back on in a duck gybe, my goddamn harness lines seem impossible to stop sliding. Maybe I just need some decent lines - adjustable ones (that I never adjust) are the jack of all trades/master of none, and should be drowned at birth.

Speaking of feel, the new X6 also feels lighter, both on the beach and more importantly, out sailing. As I often say with good sailing kit, it's when you don't notice it that you know its doing a great job. And in a gybe, I'm not noticing this boom. (Well, cept the time a Sandy Point end-of-speed-strip duck duck gybe went horribly wrong; boom clipped the water and I was ejected forward at something akin to the speed of sound; or was that sonic boom just the sound of my back whacking the water?)

The boom head certainly looks a lot different. Still the same general clamping action as before but clearly made of different stuff in a different shape and with lots more air/less plastic. Not that the lighter weight design means its less efficient - you can certainly put a lot of force on it when closing around a mast. In fact I'd say be careful, cos I have indeed heard the odd "geez dude you're hurting me" whinge from the carbon fibre as the clamping gave way to crushing, at which point I've loosened things off in self preservation.
What this means, of course, is that you're unlikely to have the thing slip when used in anger - not that that ever happened with the old X6 - plus good to know when you're trying to clamp on extra hard to unstick a mast using the old two boom trick.

Finally, and what everyone really wants to know: AB - how stiff is it??

Well we're not quite into the "schoolboy's first read of Penthouse" stiffness category here, but I'd still rate it above "Sports Illustrated Elle McPherson issue" at the very least, and well above the "National Geographic Tahitian Special" of most alumimium jobbies.

And that's bloody good for a non full-carbon boom.

The new-alloy S-bend arms are clearly stiffer than the old model even at maximum extension, and that's definitely saying something; the one piece front and back ends certainly do their job. The carbon extensions also slide more easily into the arms of the boom than ever before, even after a run in the ludicrously fine Sandy Point sand. (Hey, they don't call it Sandy for nothing.) If they can still be smooth after that, they'll be smooth after anything. The clips are also strong, firm, and appear to be made of something different than before. Or at least they're white.

And thank Ford for that.

I've used them dozens of times now and they haven't broken, which would have been a canonising miracle for the old X6. This is despite them having the seams down all the old places, which was clearly a weak point. Still, the new plastics appear to be making up for the old design, cross fingers. Likewise the tail piece is still from the previous mould, where the seam goes straight through the hey diddle diddle of the rivet, a.k.a, through the highest stress point.

Which brings us to the rivet itself; mines already showing signs of rust (see pic). How much does a full galv/stainless rivet cost? Come on Neil - splurge on a freakin' rivet dude; you're killing me.

All up?
I like it.

Its stiff.
Its firm.
Its comfy.
Its barely noticeable.
Its held together in original form so far and that's so good.

The 2010 X6 140-190cm boom

Overall rating: 8 "woohoo's!" out of 10.
Likes: Stiff, light, strong, forgettable; all the good stuff for a boom
Dislikes: The rusty rivet (Neil Pryde's personal fault). The slidy harness lines (Maybe my fault). Some decals falling off already.
Summary: In the words of Dr Suess "Green Eggs and Ham", surely in at least partial reference to NP X6 booms:

"You do not like them.
So you say.
Try them! Try them!
And you may.
Try them and you may, I say."

Right on Doc.

Does it get any better????

2009-12-15T19:48:00.022+11:00

Does it get any better than this (on flat water) umpire??

Dead flat water.

Inlet all to yourself.

(Well 'cept for a couple of mates.)

Sunshine.

Steady 20knots WSW.

(Ok, it could have been a little more southerly, but who's going to complain...)

30 knots of speed.

A board that levitates (see the last photo..).

Oh, and a beautiful wife who offers you a sandwich at the end of it all.

The only downside was having to go home.

Sandy Point.

December 13.

2009

Yahoo!!

(Lots more pics here...)

I'm a Turkey - or Swine as the case may be...

2009-06-18T09:47:00.007+10:00

I was recently in Canberra for worky stuff and on the way home I stepped out the QANTAS club at the same time as Nicola Roxon (Federal Minister for Health & Ageing) stepped out of the Business club lounge (they separate them now; Qclub is so low brow these days you know).

She proceeded to join the queue for the plane to Swine flu central (a.k.a Melbourne) right behind lil old me.

Or at least I thought it was the Minister for Health - she was shorter than I imagined and trying to juggle a massive bunch of folders and notes that appeared to sum to about the same size and volume as herself.

("Mmmm... looks like a bit of an OH&S problem ya got right there..." I mused quietly to myself)

Trying not to appear like a total nong (always hard I know), I slipped a look at her boarding pass, and indeed it was the Federal Minister for Health her very self.

I couldn't help it...

"Well," I said "I feel just that bit more confident in the fate of the world seeing you jetting down to Melbourne not wearing a surgical mask..." or some dumb line like that.

She laughed and said some niceties and then I did it.

"This swine flu thingy - its all a bit blown out of proportion isn't it; like (I dont think I used the word "dude" here) it's just a normal every-year flu really..."

At which point she put on her race face and gave a me a mini lecture on flu and mutations and spreads and WHOs and...
"Oh well, either way, guess its all a good dry run for the big one then..."
and she gave me the
'MMmmmm... not sure about that one'
mumble and gaze.

We actually had nice little chat as the queue crawled along (she kept telling me how tired she was... "somewhat understandable given the situation" I think I said) and when we eventually boarded the plane the hostie even asked if we were going to be sitting together.
("NO!" we both replied in unison... not quite sure what that meant but probably indicated I knew my place (economy) and she just wanted rid of this guy in a rather nice blue jacket (no tie). Either that or she needed the extra seats for her skyhigh pile of manila folders/I didn't want to be Stuart Diver'd in a bizarre manila folder collapse accident.)

Then it hit me.

I deal with nutbag climate sceptic arguments event day.
Serious, loony, uninformed nutbags.
They drive me crazy.

They've never read a climate paper.
They've never been to a climate conference.
They've never even talked to a climate scientist.
Yet they feel they can tell me that they know whats really happening with the climate.
(Ay Kurumba...)

And thats effectively what I did (just replace "climate" with "swine flu" in the above)...
To the Federal Minister for Health!

Nicola - I apologise.
And hope you get more sleep (watch the folders).

Heads up....

2009-03-24T21:05:00.018+11:00

The weekend saw us rush off down to Portsea for a bit of a bike ride down to the infamous Port Phillip Heads to watch Mistress P's mum's new boat (an Elliot17; a 56 foot racing boat, and 25th in last years Sydney-Hobart) head through on the slack water, on the way up to Qld.

When we first saw Rager, they seemed miles and miles away, off Blairgowrie, and I looked at my watch and said to Mistress P: "She reckons they'll be here by 3:30 - I reckon she's dreaming!"

We then sauntered off and stopped at "Eagles Nest" which is the lookout bunker on a small peak near the Point (its all old concrete army bunkers in the hill designed to blast invading ships out of the water and protect Melbourne from invasion...) where they had a high powered binocular set up.

They were getting a bit closer, but wow... when we looked through the binocs they were MOTORING (as in sailing fast... not literally on the motor).

And with 20+ knots of northerly they had 2 reefs in as well.

We held Mike up and gave him a look too, and we think he could see something cos he did say "boat" (and maybe even "Yayas boat"; I cant quite recall now) a couple of times...

Suddenly we realised that we were actually in a bit of a race to make it to the Point and see them through, as the lad was pretty keen on walking himself and not being plonked in the converted bike trailer. So off we bolted...

And found ourselves a spot below a beacon to wave them through with the bike trailer flag. Not that they would have been able to see it.

No sooner were they there than they were gone. This thing is seriously fast... like 11 - 12 knots. Ok, its no windsurfer, but for a boat thats damn quick.

Anyway, well worth seeing and a beautiful spot to have all to ourselves.

Enjoy the pics... (and yes, that is a giant beer bottle on their side...)

Labour of love

2009-03-19T16:05:00.001+11:00

Gotta love Labour Day.

At Sandy Point.

With a 6.5 and 18 knots of wind.

Ahhhhh......

The New Toy

2008-12-19T22:45:00.011+11:00

I love the smell of new monofilm in the morning.

(i.e., MMmmmmm... nneeewww ssaaaaiiilll....)

A 2009 Gaastra Poison 5.8

As mentioned earlier, it was all the result of putting my knee through my sail in the Breakwind to Beacon race.

The local sail shop (SHQ) had this competition for a brand spanker new Gaastra open to anyone who had competed in the race, all you had to do was be there at the post-race BBQ for the draw.
I'd competed in the race.
I'd busted my current sail doing so.
I needed a snag.
But I was sposed to be somewhere else/I was knackered and wavering, until good ole Mr Porridge said:
"Mate, you're sure to win... you need a new sail now. Its karma"

Such amazing logic.

So the snags were eaten and the draw commenced, but after a couple of aborted tries because "winners" weren't there (plus one person - Matt - was drawn out but gave it back as he'd won it the year before...) they decided it was all taking a bit too long, ditched the obvious jinxed drawer, and asked, of all people, Mistress P to be the new and infinitely more spunky barrel girl.

Being barrel girl involved the complex task of calling out some random numbers and the person with that number on the start list would win the thousand dollars worth of Gaastra's finest monofilm and crossply.

First she called out "3", but it was someone who worked in the shop.
"I'll put it back in stock!" they said.

No can do.

Then she called out "20" but yet again that nongsicle wasn't there to collect the prize.

"SAY A HIGHER NUMBER!!" yelled some whacker from the bleaches. (And no, that someone wasn't me...)

"Forty-five!" she cried.

Paul from SHQ flicked through his start sheet.
"Forty-five... forty five... thats... Andrew".

{No, couldn't be this Andrew I thought as i hid behind the masses...}
"Andrew.... Watkins"
{Oh crumbs...}

Suddenly someone yelled out:
"Hey - that's her husband!"
{I felt all sheepish... and cowered in the back clutching my BBQ raiding son; "Its too hot Michael!"}

Paul spun and faced the angry horde...

"But Andrews the bay wind web page guy (http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/~awatkins/bay.html).
And he put his knee through his sail in the race!
Will we give it to him anyway??
What say ye?!?"

And everyone cheered.
Seriously.
They cheered.

I was stunned!
(Not to mention several hundred dollars better off.)

Thanks everyone - what a great community.
Thanks Matt a.k.a "the guy who handed it back cos he had won one before".
Thanks Gaastra!
Thanks SHQ!!

Look at her.
Sex on a (carbon) stick.

Stoked.

Breakwind to Beacon

2008-12-18T11:35:00.004+11:00

Finally went in the race.
Wind dead onshore.
Straight line is 8km out, and 8km back.

Me:
35th place.
28.8km.
58 minutes.
One knee through bottom panel of my 5.7.
Won the lucky draw prize at the BBQ (A Gaastra Remedy 6.4!)
Bloody great day :-)

Dot/Elwood

2008-10-21T14:44:00.003+11:00

Its kinda like how I felt when I looked back after sailing (with JM) from Elwood to out past the shipping channel last weekend.
Or maybe not.

The Search

2008-10-13T14:58:00.016+11:00

Sometimes you really gotta wonder why we do this sport...

Forecast was for 20-30 knots Northerly, but against my better judgment ("Never go to Rye once the bay temps warmer than the ocean temp...") said we might tippy-toe down the Peninsula so as not to disturb the gods and attempt a sail regardless.

Headed off at about 9am, but could see no wind and fellow hopeful Adrian had said he was doing a bike ride so wouldn't be at Rye till 11am.
Also thought the wind would come in late if it did at all.
Had, as a precaution, packed the the surfboard (all nice and newly repaired from a Sandy Point fin removal... so new wax on and everything) so decided to turn off Moorooduc Road and head to Pt Leo, as I knew the tide would be right.

At Pt Leo they wanted a fee to get in, so I turned round (as I wasn't sure I even wanted to surf cos it was starting to look windy) and went to Shoreham instead.
There were HEAPS of people, sunny skies, warm already and a beautiful wave that looked the dux guts for beginner-me.
PERFECT!
Chucked on the wetty, grabbed the board, locked the car went to go and..
ARGGHHH!!!
YAGOTTABEFUGGINJOKING!

No leg rope! (Been taken off during the repair...)

Bugger. Bugger Bugger.

Oh well, looking windier so jumped back into car and drove to Rye for a sail.
Rye.
No wind.
Like 5 knots.
Sat round, got a call from Joel who saw me as he drove past to go jerkskiing.
"No wind dude - didnt even bring my sailing gear" he says...

Wandered across road and bought some new sunnies from the Bolle shop.
Still no wind.
Wandered into Peninsula surf centre and bought a $25 leg rope (can always have it as a spare) and drove back to Shoreham, via Flinders for lunch where I chanced upon, and bought, the worlds biggest donut - seriously, it was the size of a dinner plate; I was in heaven.
Seriously - a frikin dinner plate (with a hole in it).

Back at Shoreham.
Tide had gone out, rocks exposed, no one out, crap wave.
Bugger.
Spoke to Adrian who was now at Rye.
Still no wind.
Jumped in car, headed off thinking I'd check out up the bay and maybe a sail at BonBeach or in desperation, Green Point, Brighton.
Halfway along Tubarubba Rd get a txt.
Pull over. Call Adrian.

"Its blowing 18 knots here at Rye - get ya woolybutt down here!"

Fair enough.
Keep driving along, past Foxy's Hangout (complete with wooden foxes, unlike my early childhood when "they" hung real foxes there) to freeway and turn BACK south.

Get to Rye.
Adrian, Bernie, Jane sitting on the beach having lunch.
And NO wind.
Like 5-8 knots.
"Sorry bout that" says Adrian...

We sit, yabber, then head to a coffee shop for a caffe' and cake.
Adrian gets garbled message from Mel about "You must be loving this wind".
Decide to tootle to Mt Martha to see if this wind thing actually exists.
Mt Martha.
No wind.
Decide to drive till we find wind or get to BonBeach (I'd heard it a good spot on as northerly).
Don't see any wind till Carrum, and a few kites.
Pull into BonBeach - theres a car park down the street directly opposite the station;Williams St I think.

See some guys packing up.
Seems a bit breezy.

"How'd ya go?" I ask.
"Well, those guys have been sailing since 9am..."
... my jaw drops...

"And i'm just coming in cos it was getting a bit gusty - i was on a 4.7"
... jaw slams into ground and I slump over like Burke and Wills at the dig tree.

"YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!!!"

Adrian walks up.
"This guy says he's been on a 4.7 for the last hour"
Adrian almost crumples to the ground in disbelief.

Its 5pm now and theres a plaintive Voicemail messages saying "I'm tired" from Mistress P but...
We decide to rig.
Sometimes its better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
Seems windy again.
Both of us have run out of drinking water and hence are indeed parched as Burke and Wills too.\
And maybe as stupid.
Put up a 5.7 on the big (93l) board.

Fly out, first run.
Wind drops immediately.
Spend 5 minutes trying to waterstart in nothing.
Get going, but its very off and on. Nice place to sail though.
About to call it a day cos sick of this dam gusty crappola, when "whoosh"...

Wind comes in and we're flying, solidly powered.
My gybes were seriously crap and I am a bit frustrated, but hell, it beats driving.
Jellyfish everywhere so don't exactly like falling in.
(Since when have there been jellyfish swarms when the waters COLD!)
Still we're sailing.

Or were... mast suddenly rips through the top of the luff pocket and slowly descends down the stick, turning a 5.7 into a 4.0 in the space of 30 seconds.

"THATS IT!!!"

Sail in, pack up, head off into Beach Road traffic jam.
Arrive home at 7pm.

I really shoulda just given up at 9:30 (am).

(Nah....)

Google map...

The gods must be crazy. Or just vindictive towards cyclists.

2008-09-16T21:02:00.007+10:00

The things we do for kiddies.

Monday, 4:30pm. Gotta get boy from child care.
Train or ride?

Train pro: gets me home well before 6pm and hence early pick up for Master M.
Train con: feels like a live sheep exporter; may get stopped by delays due to howling 40 knot gale and 100 year old train infrastructure that breaks if you sneeze on it.

Ride pro: makes me feel good; fitness plus; get to see outdoors after day at desk, WNW means generally tail wind
Rode con: bit of a mad rush to get home, weather seriously crappy.

Oh sod it.. I love weather.

Off I go. Feel the rush.
Or is that air?
"Oh oh..."
Barely 500 m of a 21 km ride home and indeed its air. Coming out of my rear tyre.

Bugger.

Change tyre, but find that new chain wax is not so much wax on- wax off, but rather wax on and wax stay on... meaning it just collects gunk and becomes messier than a Carlton FC Mad Monday.

Hands filthy. Dont realise that I have wiped my brow and hence face equally smeared with gunk. Look like madman.

Bugger.

Back on the road. Wind WNW. Slight headwind to Station pier but not too bad. Turn left...

WOOOHOO--WOOOSH!!!

Tailwind just takes me away and to St Kilda pier I'm sitting on 44 to 48kmh; that's Cadel Evans time trial speed, and I'm on a mountain bike.

Sheesh. I'm a cycling god.

Wind goes a little more W and hence more a cross wind, so slow down to a measly 28-30kmh. Also means that the waves are a little more onshore.
Get to Brighton and notice I am suddenly cycling in a fine spray.
Which for a second or two becomes large drops.

"Bloody rain" I think.

Till i taste it.
Its salty.
Its sea spray.
"Bloody waves".

Bugger.

Riding next to the sea at Elwood and a gust hits that almost literally takes the front wheel away from under me.
Must have been 40 knots at least.
Cling on for dear life.

"Bloody wind" I think, as I poop myself a couple more times when I get hit by another gust of cross wind and almost career into a fence.

Round the corner near the end of North Rd to find a seawall with waves crashing over it showering the bike track at seemingly random intervals.

I think of that Russian roullette scene from The Deer Hunter.

"BANAZII!!!" I scream as I plough on at 30kmh into the death zone.

"Keep going.. almost there.... she'll be right.... OHHHHH NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

A full 2 metre wave crashes over the wall and I am drenched but still upright.
Salt water drips from my helmet, ears, shirt and out my from my jocks.
Mostly down into my shoes.

Continue on looking through the blobs of salt water on my riding glasses and thinking of all the bike bits now slowly rusting.

Past Brighton Baths and another huge wind gust just as a cyclist comes the other way...
"WHOAAAA!!!"
Almost a head on as he is pushed straight infront of me...
I see the look of terror in the whites of his eyes.

Almost home... Green Point.
"At least there will be a true tail wind when i turn inland..." I rejoice.

Only there isnt... the tempest has passed.
Even the 2 guys trying to windsurf are having trouble getting out to sea through lack of wind.

Bugger.

Look at my watch and almost late for picking up the boy.

"Will grab the car when i get home..." I calculate.

Swing into my street and turn into my house.

"Oh you've got to be fuggin joking..." I exclaim.

The council have dug up 100 metres of footpath and put streamer "do not pass - danger" tape across my driveway.

Bugger.

Think I'll ring the carer to say I'm late.
Look up at dangling black line.

Wind has blown down phone line. (Tru dinks - I can't make this stuff up.)

Bugger.

Hose salt off bike.
Change clothes.
Jog to carers house.
Collect boy 5 minutes late.
Carer doesn't mind one bit and in fact waits at the door saying long goodbyes to the boy.

Stroll home and collapse on the couch.

Realise ear is full of dried salt.

Bugger.

(But stills beats the train.)

GPS good fer sumfing...

2008-07-13T17:21:00.003+10:00

Got out in the end down at Rye (see below) after standing on the beach for a while and wondering if a Crunchy Pt surf would be a better option - tide was up after all... Of course i was the only one flopping about, but suddenly the wind came up and i was flyin', and hence dragged several others out onto the water when they watched me planing by giving them the "watchawaitin'foryalugnuts?" yahoo.

Anyway, the point of this post...

Well after jinxing myself at the start of the session with a "This 6.5 Sailworks Retro is flippin' amazing... bought it new in 1999 (a 'Gear 2000' model no less) and its still going strong" it, of course, tore a ruddy great hole in itself when i was miles (ok, a nautical mile) from the car park.
"No worries... I can still sail it home; if Mike Carter-Key can do it on Mad Monday, so can I..."

Of course... A hundred metres later..
"BANG!"
Whole dang sail exploded, i was plonked in the freezing drink, and i was out at the second sandbar.
"Bloody cold swim..." I thought.
Only to find that I could touch the bottom. So.. I walked in (doncha love Rye?), chest deep at most.
"Bloody cold walk..." I thought.

Left the gear in the bushes behind the beach, quick look at where i was {near set of locked dunnys} and then, the "piece of resistance", set the spot as a waypoint in my GT-11 GPS.

Jogged the 0.8{something} nautical miles back to the car, whipped off the togs, ate a banana, had a wee, then set the GPS up on the dash and headed back up Pt Nepean Rd till the little GPS arrow pointed at the water and the distance to waypoint said 0.01nm.

Pulled in, and sure enough, there on the beach, was my (slightly second hand) stuff! Genius.

Knew these GPS thingys were good for something.... ;-)

(Anyone have a good 6.5 for sale - cheap?? Preferably another Retro - that will last me till 2017...)

Session details....
http://www.gps-speedsurfing.com/default.aspx?mnu=user&val=33984&uid=2447

AB hits the bucket

2007-12-30T11:59:00.001+11:00

One for the weird and wonderful (ok, maybe not all that wonderful) file.

Ricketts Point, a 5.0 and the 93 JP freestyle wave, waves and a dying wind. Decide on a little bit of a speed run down the line of the waves, and turned her up to 11. We were smoking.

"Mmmmm... whats that blue thing down ther......."

!!BANG!!

"Ohmigodnooooooo....." and over the front we go in the traditional rag doll in the jaws of a rottweiler catapult fling and smash - something we hadnt had the "joy" of experiencing, at least at that sorta speed, in quite a numbe of years.

"What the goddamn $#%^&*^ hell..." I gasped as I came back to the surface and checked that the board/sail/mast/most of my more vital body parts were still in tact.

And there it was floating, somewhat worse for wear and exhibiting a doozy of a fin-induced crease: a bucket. A blue plastic dropped-over-the-side-from-a-bloody-fishing-boat bucket.

Well fugg me. (And it almost did.)

Oh no...

2007-11-29T11:15:00.000+11:00

How much is this going to cost us???

:-)

Cup weekend at Sandy 2007

2007-11-17T09:29:00.000+11:00

With a bub its all a bit different... but Sandy once again turned it on for the Cup Weekend.

Ok, we didn't actually sail in the competitions (who sails slalom these days anyway???), and we didn't make it to the pig-on-a-spit BBQ, but we manged to catch up with all those people we hadn't seen since pre-boy days.

The house we stayed in was a mix of top class stuff ("Ohhh... a Russell Hobbs toaster..." Me: "A What???") and total impracticality (A ladder hung from the ceiling dangling things in the head anyone approaching 6ft), but it did have a track directly out the back and over the dune to the beach - well, it you were prepared to scramble a bit.

As for the sailing... well there was a bit of cross-off surfbeach sailing, but the wind was flukey and the current was horrendous; one slip and you were drifting back to Melbourne. Even the good sailors were having a walk of shame every second run.

Still, i managed a ripper of a backside wave ride, carving off a steeper face than i've ever attemped before and leaning into the sail quite nicely thank you very much.

As for the inlet, the wind was mostly easterly, and hence it wasn't perfect but indeed better than sitting on the beach. The GPS was given a run and managed a top speed of around 30knots. Its all on gps-speedsurfing of course.

Fun times!

Ride to work (very fast) day

2007-10-17T08:32:00.001+10:00

Embarrassing ... but Ride to Work Day 2007 and it was just such a doozy of a wind (perfect 10 knots SE) and perfect blue skies that i couldn't help going for it... the end result: 42:57, home to (bike) hook, av speed 28.2km/h.

My all time record ride in - and not on the silver bullet but on my full suspension NRS2 mountain bike too!!! (And no road riding like last time...)

My apologies to all those first time riders that saw a black blur and felt a breeze. We only get days like that a culpa times a year at best. A pearler....

Misguided

2007-04-25T08:20:00.000+10:00

As I enjoy my 2 minute shower with a bucket, with my optimistic downpipe diverter to water the hedge screen and grey water off the washing machine keeping my last remaining patch of lawn green. As the globe potentially faces its hottest year on record, and Australia experiences its fifth warmest first quarter, I gaze at my innocent week-old son - who may be a father himself in 2050 - and I wonder.

Who is being misguided and mislead?

bizzare cycling injury #10

2007-03-23T09:09:00.000+11:00

We've experienced been some bizarre cycling injures in the past - broken bone in hand from crashing (and grabbing onto) a chicken wire fence; grain of dirt in the eye so embedded that required a doc to literally scratch it off our eyeball; burnt finger from going "geez that was a bloody steep descent - wonder how hot my disk brakes got...? FUGGGINOUUUUCH!"

Then today riding to work another to add to the list.

"Wasp lands on hand and gets feet stuck in cycling glove soft velcro stick pad thingy, craps itself and stings me like a bastard"

Took 2 or 3 flicks to get the damn thing off he was on that tight. (Which only got him more pissed, and me more stung, off i reckon.)

Christ on a bike... (I'm gunna be whining for my mummy all day.)

Stylin... 1985

2007-03-13T16:00:00.000+11:00

This is how cool people went windsurfing in 1985... (note hair and pink T-shirt; how cool was this dude!)

A 320cm board.

A "powerhead" (i.e., single batten in the top) sail.

A fin that slid into the board from behind.

A boom that tied (not clamped) onto the...

One piece fibreglass mast.

Oh, and the coolest thing of all? Being driven to the beach in a buzz box Mazda 323, where the gear was longer than the car... by your mum.

Sandy turns it on...

2007-03-06T13:46:00.000+11:00

Does it actually get any better than this (umpire)??

Sandy Point, arguably our last child-free trip away until 2024 (see http://bigtum.blogspot.com), and a Monday flex day. Sunshine, warm water, spring suit, 18-24 knots SSW, mid tide... Hey, there ain't no waves, but when it comes to cruisin' it just cant be beat.

Not to mention only 2 others on the pond.

Bliss.

:-(

2007-03-01T18:16:00.000+11:00

Oh no... the saddest day of the year.

Summer is over. :-(

Oh well, only 9 months to go.

:-(

Coronation Beach doomed... ??

2007-02-20T16:21:00.000+11:00

When in Geraldton, W.A, we were told that, yet again, a deep water port was planned for Oakajee in order to help export even more of the mineral wealth of Western Australia. Great, but it would also bugger windsurfing north of Gero. And although a lot of people have kinda shrugged it off as "all having been said before", the problem this time is that there actually is a minerals boom that could support it, based largely upon the rapid growth and need for materials in China. And it seems this boom has no end in sight... anyway, deep water port/Oakajee...

Oakajee is pretty much Spot X, a local(s) sailing spot. A port would not only bugger up Spot X, but also ruin the wind and waves at the world famous Coronation Beach, thus making it worthless for windsurfing. Theres lotsa info on the possible impacts at the Geraldton Windsurfing Club web pages.

As a concerned windsurfing citizen, I sent an email letter to the Minister for Planning and Infrastructure, Hon. Alannah MacTiernan. (And so can you... alannah-mactiernan@dpc.wa.gov.au ).

In short I was concerned at the impact upon the coast and windsurfing at Geraldton, and hence upon the local tourist support industry. My letter is at the bottom of this post. I've just received a response (click on the letter to enlarge if you cant read it...) :

Whats interesting are the comments that 1) It will have little effect upon Coro, which is damn hard to believe. Even just one of the massive ships berthed at Oakajee will surely destroy the wind, let alone what the breakwater will do to waves and sand movement (and hence bottom topography and, again, waves), 2) that Spot X is mentioned, which i did not even raise in the email. Clearly this means they know about the fact that this location will be sacrificed and people are not gunna like that, and 3) that they are deferring to the Geraldton Port Authority on this state-based issue. (Like they'd ever want to move away from Gero...?)

I'm far from convinced without seeing the facts. Hopefully we'll hear more. And hopefully more people will be equally concerned enough to write.

My original letter (feel free to use for inspiration) was as follows:

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Ms MacTiernan,

Over the summer months i traveled to Geraldton to windsurf at the (world) famous Coronation Beach.

It was with some dismay that i learnt that a deep water port is planned for Oakajee, just upwind of Coronation. If this were to occur, Coronation Beach, it's waves and it's wind would be devastated.

While this may seem small impact given the vast wealth that will be supported by the port, it would have a hugely detrimental impact upon the local tourist industry. Our group alone consisted of over 20 people, all from outside of Geraldton, who had come for the sole reason of windsurfing the near-perfect break that is Coronation Beach. If this were to be spoiled we simply would not be visiting Geraldton at all, but travel elsewhere to sail, possibly not even in W.A. This would be the same for hundreds, if not more, people from interstate and overseas every year, contributing significantly to the livelihoods of a huge number of locals in "Gero".

If the port were to be located somewhere further north on that stretch of coast, not only would the big mining companies maintain their operations, but so would the mum and dad tourism operators, cafes, caravan parks, surf shops etc who rely upon the influx of non-locals every summer. And of course, I could keep my favourite beach in the world.

I hope that you can consider this request.

Kind Regards,
Andrew.

--
Andrew B. Watkins
windjunky@gmail.com

windmap

2007-02-17T18:10:00.000+11:00

Just discovered a great site locator, with lotsa local info.

Would be even better if we can all contribute.

http://thewindmap.com/

Double-ewe-ayy

2007-01-20T22:17:00.000+11:00

W.A. Western Australia.

There can be no better place for consistent windsurfing than sandgroper country.

For me this was the fourth trip over on which I sailed, and the second trip to "Gero" - the windy city of Geraldton some 420 km north of Perth. Last time we went it seemed we'd never arrive, having been lumbered with the mazda van of doom, but this time Mistress P put her foot down and we'd gone with a slightly more reputable company, and hence had a van that could actually exceed 80km/h without the assistance of a hill.

We stayed in a cottage just round the corner from last time, in the glorious little enclave that is Bluff Point, only 80 metres from the waters edge.

Sailing, however, was at Coronation Beach, some 25 km up the road from home. "Coro" is famous the world over for its wind and water - flat on the inside and big rolling Indian Ocean swell on the outside. Mostly a jumping spot, but come late afternoon the sharks come out, the wind swings a bit, and theres the chance of a good frontside ride or three. I managed the best down the line ride i have ever had at Coro when two intersecting waves left a little gap between each other that i managed to race up on, squeeze between the low point, and rip a turn back into the face almost immediately, the extra speed pushing me along for a several turn run and a grin wide enough to filter krill.

Of course the trip wouldnt have been the same without breaking something major. In this case, and just like my previous sojourn west, it was my board. On day 2. I was mortified. The thing just went to spooge right infront of the back footstrap. At first i tried ignoring it, but when i landed a jump and the whole thing creaked and cracked like someone breaking kindling I knew we'd entered "possible long swim if you dont stop" territory. I lumbered back into the beach totally dejected. Felt the solft spot. Felt more dejected. Went up to the van and waited or Mr Porridge. I needed a second opinion.
"Whaddya think of this?"
Mr Porridge pressed on the board. It went up and down like a chunky custard. (NB: Boards shouldnt do that.)
"Mate, thats stuffed."

The next day was spent talking to board repairers, shop owners, fellow travellers and generally getting my brain way out of whack for a cruisy holiday. In the end i bit the bullet and just bought a second hand Fanatic Goya Pro Model 81, which i figured that even if i traded it in when i got a new board back home, would still be cheaper than renting for 2 weeks. We'll see how the plan works...

The wind wasnt as kind as last time we were in town, but it still blew well enough to get us out on more days than not, and generally on a 5.0. Of course Murphy's Law meant that the week after we left guys were struggling to hold onto 4.0's. But thats windsurfing - If you worried about perfect conditions every day you'd end up going barmy.

W.A. I love it.

(More piccies on the web....)

Breakwind to Beacon

2006-12-20T21:32:00.000+11:00

Firstly, thanks go to the Joelster for the title... it was incredibly apt.

The annual SHQ Gaastra Breakwater to Beacon , from Sandringham YC out and back to Fawkner Beacon, was greeted by nowhere enough wind for me (or sane people) to sail... errr, and the last remnants of my first hangover in about a zillion years (but thats another story, mostly involving a wine and cheese night that included too much wine, not enough cheese). Hence rather than join in the dog-slog out the 8 or 9 km and back I chose to sling the camera over the shoulder, laze on the beach and take some pics.

This proved to be a winner. As despite first place romping home in about 24 minutes, (and Joelster in about 30) the likes of my good and normally faster-cross-the-water friend, Mr Porridge, wandered home in something best measured in geological time. In fact, as we had a bbq we had to cater for, we left in the hope that he'd turn up eventually/the yacht club had a rescue boat handy. (He did/they didnt.)

Fun and games, shame about the wind. See:
http://picasaweb.google.com/windjunky/BreakwaterToBeacon

Mad (Mike) Monday

2006-12-12T10:32:00.000+11:00

11/12/2006 Ricketts Point - Mad (Mike) Monday - What a session!

For me (see attached pic) it was the first ever serious attempt at backloops, of which I tried several, and once the fear had (at least partially) gone it was an awesome experience. Everyone seemed to be going for it - at times there were almost more bodies in the water than above it!

Highlights included:

The waves - they were HUGE, and steep.... and hence,
Numerous backloop attempts from seemingly everyone, with Joel almost pulling off a couple of sail-aways. My over-rotation and subsequent landing on my kermit-the-frog green Zone 4.1 sail - giving it a nice and seemingly permanent knee dimple - actually had me thinking it was possible!
Silly old me again, thinking i was through the gap in the reef, hitting a wave, taking off, looking down and OHMIGOD!! - almost landing ONTOP of one of the reef navigation sticks! (I think i actually glided over it!)
Watching Joel swim for his gear 3 (THREE!) separate times after backloop attempts, which were followed by waves washing over him and sending his gear beachward without him - well it made me laugh!
Listening out for mad Mike and ripped sail - he decided a big tear that would normally end a sane mans session had actually depowered it quite nicely, so he just kept going!! (Hence mad Mike) He must have spent at least 3/4 hour sailing with that bloody hole flapping like a bastard and hence you could hear him a mile off. We think we're going to patent the idea of a velcro pull off in the next line of Severne wave sails....
and the "THAT WAS FUGGIN AWESOME!" banter when packing up in the gloom.

I don't think anyone wanted it to stop!

The other awesome thing is that Wally outdid himself, and sat freezing in the dunes until he neared an Oates-like Antarctic death, taking 146 photos! (yes, one hundred and forty six!!) Included a stack of keepers, which we've popped on the web - check out the pics at http://picasaweb.google.com/windjunky/MadMikeMonday or by clicking on Mike...

Mad (Mike) Monday

Epilogue...

2006-12-06T10:03:00.000+11:00

A near revenge incident.

Riding in this morning with a howling tail wind (only took me 45:01 home-to-(bike)hook), i was stomping it down the bike path on the low hill past the Dendy St beach entrance, sitting on high 30's kmh and just thinking about the joys of the mountain bike launching ramp which is the big buckled concrete on the path right there ("mmm will i flick out or front land or just sanely roll over?"), when...

WHOOOAAAAWHATTHEFUGGINHELL....!?!?!?!

A red Starboard Acid (90??) board appears RIGHT IN MY PATH as a muppet windsurfer walked out from between the trees - board first - obviously having just had a session at Dendy before work!

I missed the board (just), missed veering off the path onto Beach Rd-peak-hour (barely), and, dammit, missed out on the jump too.

Motto: Never laugh at a windsurfing board (in a bin). They try for revenge.

Oscar the grouch

2006-12-04T21:23:00.000+11:00

Its not every day that you're riding to work past a big green wheelie bin, and there, plonked inside, is a big blue thing with foam padding insides. No, not Oscar the grouch, but rather an ex-windsurfing board (well, at least 2 halves of one) sans straps.

The last time i saw an AHD up this close was at an AHD demo day on nice flat easy peasy Lake Geneva. (As in Switzerland: dont you hate a namedropper.) Judging by the happy snap, and the boards obvious dislike of choppy old (sm)Elwood beach, maybe thats where it should belong.

(But then again i'm probably still sore that I couldnt get a sail on one cos of some minor Swiss technicality (i.e., my budgie smugglers, harness and wetsuit were in a box 10,000 km away)).

Dig those groovy cycling shades.

Sandy Cup Weekend blast

2006-11-10T18:11:00.000+11:00

Another year and another Sandy Point Cup Weekend blast...

This year it was a combination of 2 days on the inlet searching for speed and 2 days out on the waves of Waratah Bay searching for down the line wave rides. Vunderba!

Competed in my first ever wave comp... absolutely no idea how i went, but considering I didnt get nearly drowned out there this time I consider myself a winner(!) Our good friends, fellow W.A travelers, and general young whipper-snappers, Joel and James, managed second and third, so i'll just bask in some reflected glory and leave it at that.

Mistress P managed 3 sails for the weekend, cranking out speed runs (if an old freestyle board can be considered capable of speed) and almost pulling off her first carve gybe. I think the shock of turning the board, flipping the sail and having it hang there read to grab-and-go was too much for her brain to comprehend - she stopped! (Grab it grrl!!!). Now for a girl almost mid term preggas, thats not too bad...

Plenty of friends, (old and new), tons of sailing, lots of chocolate, a smorgasboard of barbeques and a few cleansing ales... Does it get any better than that umpire?

Dry as a nuns...

2006-11-01T11:46:00.000+11:00

October. Melbourne. Mid spring and our equal wettest month of the year with 70-80mm of rain expected.

At our place in Hampton East (the "Beurut end of Hampton") we got 9.0 mm. Total.

Dry as a dead dingoes donga.

Boys of summer... arrive early

2006-10-13T16:11:00.000+10:00

I love sumer. Love love love. It makes me happy.

But summer arriving in October... errr.. that makes me scared!

Earliest post-winter 30 in Sep, followed by earliest post-winter 35 in Oct, records start 1856... Ouch.

Getting a bit toey...

2006-10-07T14:13:00.000+10:00

Live and learn - 2 months on and my big toe is still looking like a Cabernet grape from too thick a sock and too snug a ski boot. AB - its THIN socks; write it 100 times. (Bugger.)

On top of all that, it seems this snow season past was indeed one of the worst in the industry's history, with maximum snow depths of only 20-50cm at most resorts. Hotham was indeed struggling - if you think my toes bad, you should have seen the base of my (thankfully hire) skis. Theres an interesting story on the season in The Age today...

Contender for the 2006 head in the sand award must go to Andrew Ramsay, executive officer of the Australian Ski Areas Association, which represents the ski lift companies, who said it was "absolutely facetious crap" to connect the the disasterous season with climate change. Errr... Andrew.... hello... remember sponsoring a little thing called "keep winter cool"?

Tupac

2006-10-02T14:51:00.000+10:00

All i wanted was some fish and chips.

Sunday night, tired from a sailing session at Green Point (with my new Combat Wave 5.0; wuvverly), and Mistress P arriving home from a 1-year old barfday party ("Im buggered!"), and all seemed right and dandy for a fish and chippy slap up feed.

"I can't eat flake now (shes preggas) - can you get me some whiting instead?"

No worries my dear.

Head on dow the chippie - which is actually a milk bar run by a nice but grossly overworked asian couple who at first had no idea but now make some of the best fish and chips (and hamburgers) i know of. This side of anywhere.

Walk in the door and out fromthe back walks the lady, scoffing down some dinner of her own.

"I'll have a 2-pack please, and..."
"PACK 2 PACK 2" she barked at me. (A "pack 2" is 2 flake, 2 dim sims, 2 potato cakes and a serve of chips. $10.50 Its not rocket science. Indeed, i always seem to call it a 2-pack, and this upsets her and her husband greatly when i have asked for such in the past.)

me: "Errr.. yes, a pack 2 please, but can one be without flake - whiting instead?"

her: "NO. Pack 2 only flake"

me: "Ok, well can i have a pack 2 with whiting, and i'll pay the difference"

her: "No, pack 2 only flake"

me: "You do have whiting dont you?"

her: "yes yes, whiting sure."

me: "Ok then, i just want the same as a pack 2, but can we just add 50c or something for a piece of whiting instead of flake?

her: "NO. Pack2 only flake."

me: "ok, ok.. well can i just buy all the same things as go into a pack 2, individually, but one pice flake and one piece whiting?"

her: "NO NO! No pack 2 with whiting only flake!"

me: "yes, i know, i understand."

I then looked up at the board to read what a pack 2 had in it. I then start to read it out...

me: "Alright... can i have 2 potato cakes, 2 dim sims, chips for 2 and 1 flake and 1 { ...almost there... come on come on.. we can do this} whiti... {oh oh, shes onto me... no no please no...}

her: "NO PACK 2 ONLY FLAKE!"

I was about to leap over the counter at this point and shove the bloody fish in the fryer myself. Plus flake woman for good measure. I think she sensed this.

her: "You get pack 1 {1 flake, i dim sim, i potato cake, chips} plus dim sim, plus potato cake plus whiting: $11.05"

me: "DONE!"

(And i bet you a lobster the flake wasnt flake anyways...)

The things we do for love. If not a preggas Mistress P.

Postscript: You know when you eat a really crusty roll for lunch and it kinda sandpapers the top of your mouth and then you eat something really salty (read soy sauce) and it burns the mouth cuts and destroys all the fun of eating something really salty fatty and altogether unhealthy enough to taste bloody great?? Bugger...

Eating shite and getting smeared

2006-09-24T20:41:00.000+10:00

I am glad to report that stories of my passing are greatly exaggerated.

Sandy Point, a howling WNW wind and an urge to replicate the great Cup Weekend wave sail of 2005. (My favourite and best wave sail ever.)

I rigged the 5.0 and donned the skid lid and joined James and Joel, two young bucks with more sailing talent in their little toes than most will get in their lives. Possibly including me.

The three of us headed out with a posse of onlookers crowded on the boardwalk, videos in hand and "they're bloody nuts" comments wafting from their mouths. And they may have had a point there, cos it was farkin huge. We're talking 2-3 metres average, with the occasional mast high set (ie 4 metres).

I was just pumped and was seeing it as a chance to carve some waves and be a legend in my own lunchbox. Little was i to know that the ocean demands respect, and i was just a petulant little boy with grandiose ambitions and testicles too big for their boots/grundies.

The run out was going ok... till i hit a steepening wave and a breaking top.

"Floof" - in i went.

No wukkas - lets start again.

But it was somewhat harder than that, given that the infamous Sandy wind hole was working to perfection, cutting the breeze to zip the moment you hit the breaking zone. Still i escaped, a little tireder than expected for a first run, and the gods opened a path to the back of the break for the gybe and sail back in.

Or so i thought.

Back on the beach, apparently there was a collective:
"OH-MY-FUGGIN-GOD-HES TOAST!!!!!!"
Cos what they could see and i couldnt, was a mast-PLUS high set building behind the last of what i thought were the last of the breakers. And build it did... (picture the final scene of The Perfect Storm...)

I looked up and, well, pooped me dacks/wetty... cos it was a wall infront of me about 5 metres high. And starting to break. And nowhere to go...

I cant even remember how i ended up in the drink (though i may have fallen - i really cant recall), and attempted to guide the mast under the water and the breaking wave. Survived. If a little mix-mastered.

But then came his uglier angrier brother. Who was particualraly ugly and angry.

Oh shit.

The following monster wave broke on me and all i was doing was rapidly trying to swim under my gear, in front of it and at least away from fins and masts and gel coat and things that break noses/ribs/me-in-half.

The person high wash (which was still heading down) crunched me + gear, and the kit was ripped from my hands. Great. Here i was in the front-loader from hell, being washed about with nothing to float me.

Then i got washed again.
"Oh this is getting rediculous"...
I couldn't see my gear, the boys or, for that matter the beach.

I had a momentary panic... cos i also realised a rip was dragging me sideshore and i was simply buggered from fighting waves. Momentarily though, cos that wonderful little man that sits on my shoulder and whispers words of logic said:
"Dude... you've bodysurfed here all the time... just wash in and dont bother trying to swim it."

Right you are then.

Only some of these waves were about twice the size of anything i'd normally bodysurf, and hence i ducked under several before taking on one that looked a little smaller than the others... which was still size XXXXL and promptly rolled and tumbled me underwater, with an instant of "Excuse me sir, but do you know the way to the air please?" In all seriousness, this was where I had a "so this is how people drown eh..." moment, which was almost instantly replaced with a "dont be a tosser, just swim AB". A second or three later i was gulping the oxygen again.

Man, was i knackered. Where were those boys??
(Bugger - could see them now on the beach having a Tosca.... just my luck.)

A few more and generally successful washes and i'd been rinse-cycled in far enough that i was out of the big ones and into the shore break... which was still big, but i proceeded to bodysurf in relatively easily and quickly.

Then I saw my gear - floating about 50 metres downwind and with joel wading out to meet it. Then i saw him lift it skywards and laughing.

Board fine, mast fine, boom fine, sail farked! It would have fared better through an industrial shredder. Crikey! (At least that wasnt my body...)

After the walk of shame back up the beach, assisted by an obviously nervous Mistress P ("I was so glad when you finally started doing freestyle - you were just a bobbing head when we finally saw you"), and feeling like a complete nong, I went back to the car and packed up and joined the diehards on the boardwalk watching the others carve it up in the waves. Even took a few pics.

I was, I admit, shaken. As well as stirred.

That round goes to the Ocean.
Respect.

Single speeding

2006-09-14T11:47:00.000+10:00

The stick - the natural enemy of the mountain bike derailleur.

We were out at Lysterfied and i was putting in the hard yards/ogling behind mistress P, zipping in and out of the trees on one of the wonderful back-of-park singletraks when...
"CRUNCH".
skid.
stop.

"Oh fiddle sticks" (or words to that effect).

There dangling in a rather unmechanical way was my rear derailleur, no long able to change gears and more than likely DOA (dead on arrival). A half inch stick had neatly been spun up by my front wheel, deposited itself in the spokes of the rear, wedged against my derailleur and - voila - ripped the bloody thing clean orf.

"Oh sod" (or words to that effect).

But then comes the fun part, and surely a furture episode of bush mechanics, Lysterfield style. We werent exactly sure how far i had to go to get to somewhere civilised, so it was repair time. Out with the chain breaker.
"Clunk"
chain severed... derailleur removed,
"clunk"
chain shortened
"ker ching"
chain reattached and the worlds first full suspension singlespeed!!

Mistress P zip-tied the gear-change cables to the frame, and i was off. Worked an absolute treat!! (I would have included photos but we'd just used up the battery filming us being idiots on some log roll.) In fact i tried to chase the others (who were heading back to the cars in another location) it felt and worked that well, but then realised i had better be sensible and just head to the nearer car park.

Mistress P dropped the single speeder off at the bike shop a cupla daze later, and reported they were most impressed. (Thats great, but i doubt they'll give me a discount on a new hanger!)

Cruisin'

2006-07-15T10:50:00.000+10:00

Well finally the chaos of life subsided and Mistress P and I took some time off. A trip down the coast to experience the winter wildness of the Great Ocean Road and Shipwreck Coast. Apollo Bay was the first port of call, where we stayed in a lovely little cottage about 4 km out of town, in amongst the mounatin ash and king parrots. Bootiful.

Days were spent exploring... Day one was the Otway Fly - where you walk along in the treetops - which was spectacular in its own way, but i still found the nearby Triplet Falls more inspiring and natural. Home via some bouncy bush tracks to "indulge my rally driving fantasies" said mistress P.

Day 2 early was a trip to Mariners lookout above Apollo Bay. Now this is a speccy spot - the views over the bay are amazing and we could have sat there for hours. We stayed long enough for a little picnic lunch, and only saw a couple of other people the whole time (the joy of a winter holiday to the beach...). Afternoon was a trip to the Cape Otway lighthouse. We did a guided tour (arghh... the horror; nah, it was actually quite fascinating) during which the guide said the weather observations would be read at 3pm. We thought "great".. the rest of the people thought we were nutbags. The view from the lighthouse itself was superb, but at 3 we tootled off to the weather hut and caught up with Malcolm Brack, the observer. After introducing ourselves we proceeded to chat for well over an hour. Not only had he been the observer there for some 30 odd years, but he was the son of a lighthouse keeper and had lived in, near and around lighthouses all his life.

The third day was a little different... we'd heard about a mountain bike loop near the town of Forrest, at a place called Lake Elizabeth. Heard about indeed... but couldnt get any details from anyone. The closest we got was "a friend did it and its very hard so maybe you shouldnt do it". And this was from the information centre! In the end we just threw caution to the wind and headed up the Skenes Creek Rd to Forrest. Lunch needed... dropped into a cafe where we were greeted by a bizzare collection of 40's paraphanalia, a women cutting out a can-can dress on a big table, and a man behind the counter who just said with a large lump of surprise "ohh... customers" when we walked in. We sat and chatted for a while and wished can-can lady luck (she was quitting her job in 4 weeks and moving to Forrest to do... she didnt really know). Off to Lake Elizabeth and bikes out for a lap of the lake - which indeed was very noice, but hardly a day ride (was 5km all up). We couldnt for the life of us work out where this MTB loop was supposed to be, so in deperation we cycled up a track that looked like it just lead up from the car park to a loo. Now i should say her that the bush here was spectacular - tall mountain ash, blackwoods and rich green soft treeferns. Anyway.. loo track. Along we went... then saw some wheel marks,.. then some more track... and after around 2km of consistent climbing reached the road again. "Oh boy, that'll be a hoot to descend" i remember thinking. "Hey, wonder if it keeps going on the other side".. so we checked, and indeed it did. So over the road and the ridge, and down the other side. and indeed this was truely hoot-worthy. We dived off the main track a few times to what was probably the original (and far more technical) singletrack. On and on we went, gradually descending, and tackling some great little (and medium sized) jumps that just had me salivating for more. But alas and alack, winter also means the sun sets earlier, and that, coupled with the increasing risk of rain (indeed we did get a little wet) meant we werent able to find out if there was indeed a full loop, so we bactracked up the ridge and then did the fern track descent back to the car park. Bwilliant. Just bwilliant.

The fourth day was a cruise along to Port Campbell to check out the shipwreck coast. On the way we visited the cool rainforest of Melba Gully (near Lavers Hill) and also tried to find "The Gables", which i had read about being a spectacular cliff top ocean view. Our maps sent us every which way, but eventually, after taking the dirt road to Moonlight Head, discivered what we were looking for. A short walk and there we were - 130 metres above the ocean and a view well worth the bounce down the track. Back on the tar and a stop at Gibsons Steps, were indeed steps have been cut in the cliff and you can walk down to the beach. Finally Port Campbell, our new home.

Day five was the tourist day, exploring alon the coast and the spectacular scenery of the Bay of islands, Loch Ard Gorge and all the various stops and views along the road. There was more than enough people about - all in little hyundai getx hire cars! - so i shudder to think what it would have been like in summer. Day six was much the same, though it was our travelling home day. But we took the time to drop into the 12 Apostles - which are indeed spectacular - and shipwreck bay. Shipwreck bay is again down the rough tracks towards Moonlight Head, and involved a walk down 366 steps to the beach. Once there the place was truly wild and deserted, woth crashing surf, towering cliffs and rocky shore platforms. We wandered west and soon came across one of two anchors from shopwrecks that, depsite being around 100 years old, are still visible, stuck in the beach. Mind boggling to think of the stories they could tell. Also discvered a little fairy epngion that had been washed up and looking decidedly done for (though still alive).

Home - but thats another story...

show me a sign....

2006-06-24T21:44:00.000+10:00

"METEOROLGY".... oh dear.

A bouncing man gathers no moss (but a bitta dirt)

2006-06-19T18:03:00.000+10:00

Well back again to MTB at Lysterfield, the home of the Comm Games MTB course, and now also home to skin off my knee.

I came a cropper when I hit the base of a snapped-off tree that i never even saw. The "BAM" was the first thing I knew about and then I was bouncing on the ground for no apparent reason.

"What the fugg happened there?" was my muse while I was still sliding down the dirt.

At first it seemed my disk brakes must have jammed cos I thought I was cruising on a clear smooth dirt single track when everythig stopped dead - cept me. A look back revealed a tyre mark (yes, mine) running straight into a stub of ex-tree, about 3 inches high.

Didnt damage a rim or tyre - surprisingly enough - just pride. And took 2/3 of the skin off my knee, which is still making me hobble a bit as it heals - arent grazes the worst?! Oh the joy. And its amazing the respect your mates give you when they realise everythings ok and they cant see inside the knee (eh Greg!). "Get the camera - AB's come off!" (Are these people vampires?) The pathetic, though well-meaning, obligatory band aid lasted about 5 nanoseconds, but its the thought that counts.

Being damn muddy, I also spent a good 1.5 hours cleaning and relubing the bikes this weekend just gone, but then thats kinda meditative.

Still, mud and blood MTB'ing beats driving the computer so you cant complain. Well, cept when you bend said knee standing up, siting down, trying to walk up steps or in a Mistress P snuggle. Then you cry like a purse carrying nancy boy. Bloody (scuse pun) grazes.

BTW: Jules, took the piccies and also made a video of the biggest goddamn log roll I've seen.

something is better than nothing... isnt it?

2006-05-31T21:10:00.000+10:00

Well the all singing and dancing solution to the worlds Greenhouse problems is of course the Asia Pacific Partnership for Clean Development and Climate Change. At least thats what we were told in Australia. No need for Kyoto if we can get Japan, China, India, Sth Korea, Australia and the USA all working together towards reducing emissions (but purely on a voluntary basis of course... ), or at least stuffing the CO2 back in the ground.

Well it seems, despite the Bush administrations best effort, that the US congress has has decided to give the partnership the nod to the tune of $0 dollars for 2007 after spending the sum total of $0 over the life of the partnership so far. Seems, rather than the great leapfrog forward over Kyoto, that they're are saying the APPCDCC is not worth the paper it was signed on...

Oh well, at least I can scrape together another $80 a year for Greenfleet....

BG looses it

2006-05-29T14:07:00.000+10:00

Oh no... Bill Gray looses it (he's the guy who decrees the total number, and reasons for, the Hurricanes in the Atlantic and their "multi-decadal" cycle).

Pick your best line - is it:
"Climate change is normal and natural. There was a Medieval Warm Period, for example, long before Exxon Mobil existed."
"The models can't even predict the weather in two weeks, much less 100 years"
"Few people know what I know. I've been in the tropics, I've flown in airplanes into storms. I've done studies of convection, cloud clusters and how the moist process works. I don't think anybody in the world understands how the atmosphere functions better than me."

Or the good ole ball instead of the man...

"Gore believed in global warming almost as much as Hitler believed there was something wrong with the Jews."

Crikey.
See the Washington Post

(According to Godwins first law of the internet, that's game, set, match. Thank you linesman, thank you ballboys...)

travellin' man...

2006-05-29T10:14:00.000+10:00

For your Monday entertainment, theres a new advert on the CEI website, the one which brought you the most rediculous argument againt climate change ever put to screen when they aired their original ads in the USA (believe me, theres worse on the net!) - the Al Gore "travellin' man" ad. Hell, if you cant play the ball, play the man...

Prepare the laughter muscles...
http://streams.cei.org

Pity their calculations assume he makes 400,000 trips a year!
(http://scienceblogs.com/deltoid/2006/05/cei_exaggerates_by_a_factor_of.php)

wheres the wind?

2006-05-27T22:19:00.000+10:00

Autumn. And a young mans fancy turns to freekin out cos the wind stops. And then comes the rain.

But the one good thing about it all is that it also means its time to turn the attention to the trails. MTB trails that is.

And today was a corker.

I've been a bit lazy of late and hadnt hit the dirt al that much. Watching "Chosen Line" on Ch.31 was about as close as it was getting - though those guys are pure nutbags; i mean, hucking it over a railway crossing (with train travelling underneath) and landing with zero braking distance.. whats going on there?? (A broken collarbone it looked like.) Wednesdays 10:30pm (and Fridays 2:30am)...

Anyway, with such inspiration it was time to hit the trails at Lysterfield, and the Commonwelf games course. Got to the rock garden and i was on fire... didnt miss a beat and the rocks just seemed to flow the right way for me. The big boulder, which i'd baulked at before - no wukkas - I was pumped. Slowing down the rebound on the rear suspension really seemed to work a treat. It was a bit like skiing - into corners it sat well and felt it squatted a little, and hen as you powered out it sprung up and felt like it heled you power out. Coool.

Plenty of roos about, some new people to ride with, a blue sky day and a nice set up.
Its hardly a windsurf, but hey, i was smilin'. Great day...

Problems with my ring

2006-04-30T16:26:00.000+10:00

A typical AB story... and it doesnt even involve water.

Well, almost...

Mistress P is in hiding somewhere in South America (Santiago Chile to be exact...) so I was home alone again. Its autumn, and although autumn teased us and came late this year, its finally arrived with a vengence. Cool nights, but most depressingly, windless days.

I still need my water fix though.

So lunchtime came on my second weekend home alone, and i was cooped inside as it was not only windless, but raining as well, and the plans for a MTB ride had been shelved. I'd just been to Bunnings ("If this is Bunnings then it must be Sunday") and was tootling home and hungry.

"Blow this boring home-stuff" i said, and grabbed some lunch and the paper, and headed to the infamous Green Point to watch the gannets and gobble a pie.

As i was reading the paper and gazing out to sea, I didnt even realise that i was mindlessly spinning my wedding ring on my finger. Never been a jewelery person myself, and never really considered i would wear a ring if/when i got married, but when the time finally came to hitch up I couldnt see any reason why NOT to wear one either. So it got slapped on. And its been loktite-d there ever since.

Anyway - mindlessly spinning the ring on my finger and reading the paper when all of a sudden... "PING"; off it flipped. (The ring, not the finger...)

"Shite.." I said as it landed next to me, took a Warne-to-Gatting-like leg break, and dissapeared into the void between the seat and the door.
"Oh double shite..."

Put my hand under the seat...
"Mmmm.. where is that bastard?"
Reached around behind..
"Oh come on.. bloody thing..."

By this stage i was starting to feel slightly, well, naked. The poor finger hadnt been free this long in over 3 years.

"Oh you fuggin...."

I went to get out of the car.

"Oh shite!!" - huge puddle below me.

Drove back and parked where i wasnt going to drown.
Put my head under the seat.
{in my best Leyton Hewitt voice} "OH COME ON!!!!"
Not there.
Slid the seat as far forward as it could go and climbed into the back seat to look under the drivers chair.
"WHAT THE..??!!"
Not there.

By now people were looking at the strange 10-metre-driving, door-leaping-out-of, bizzarre-gymnastics-in-the-back-seat, truckie-like-swearing, maniac. I was just in a stupor. Of stupidity.

"THATS IT - I'M GOING HOME IF YOU DONT COUGH IT UP YOU BASTARD!!!"

The car didnt respond. The people around me started phoning for the grey van...

"Ohhh fugg it."

I drove home to get a light so i could see what i was doing. Surely it was just under there on the carpet ready to be found and the Mistress P would never know my ring-twiddling ways.

Arrive home. Get the 10W bike light out and just about blind myself shining it into ever nook and cranny i could find under the seat, behind the seat, in the seat mechanism and into the doors Melways holder.

{best McEnroe voice} "YOU CANT BE SERIOUS!!!!!"

Nowhere to be found.

As my mind started to race about how i would tell Mistress P that the ring had just leapt off into space and been gobbled by the ruby-subarooby, i told myself to start thinking logically.

"Ok, its either back in the puddle at the car park somehow or.... what are those hole things under there...???"

Under the seat were some cuts, bordering on holes, in the flooring/carpet, for which i could ascertain no other reason than to trap poor blokes wedding rings and make them feel like a complete dickhead.

I ditched the car park idea and tried to investgiate the holes. How in the wide wide world of sports is a bloke able to look down them and under the carpet - they're under the bloody seat???

I twisted, i turned, i burped, i farted... "how many PhD's does it take to look down some holes?"

I cracked it.
"IF ITS GUNNA BE THAT WAY YA BASTARD I'M DOING SURGERY! YA KNOW YA DONT WANT THAT...!"

But RubySuby refused to cough up.

"RIGHT!"

And out came the socket set. And out came the seat. And out came the carpet.

And there she was. Just sitting there on the painted metal all innocent and sweet and shining and, i swear, giggling at me. Little ring-mongrel.

With the bastard-child safely attached to the monogamy finger, and suddenly feeling a whole lot less naked, the carpet was relaid and the seat bolted back to the chassis. All that bloody effort for an inanimate piece of metal. Which i felt strangely and completely exposed without.

(Dont try this at home folks.)

The Lance Armstrong fantasy... (minus the cancer)

2006-03-21T16:25:00.000+11:00

The following is a bit of a Beach Rd riders fantasy come true...

Arrived at Beach Rd in Hampton for the mornings tootle to work, to be greeted by road closures and barriers and blokes in flouro jackets thinking they were important. (And they probably are.)

"No worries" I thought, "Just hop the road to the bike path and head on my merry way". But as I was hopping cross Beach Rd a little demon on my shoulder said.. "go on AB... you know you want to... go on..."

So I did...

Didn’t jump that last barrier, but turned the sloop north and started cycling towards town on the Comm-elth game time trial course!

Nice smooth car-compressed bitumen, barriers keeping off the pedestrians/dogs, no cars screaming in from side streets, no car doors being flung open in my face, traffic lights sealed off so red just meant GO BOY GO. Ahh.... true cycling nirvana!!

Now I will admit that each games official I saw I was positive would tell me to "get off the track you turkey" (though it was more than 2 hours before the race start) but none did.. all the way until St Kilda and Catani gardens (about 13 kilometres)... and even then it seemed they only barked cos I was about to collide with the start gate for the event.

And in true Comm-elth games style, I got my PB for riding to work (bit over 45 minutes) at over 27km/h av speed. Ok, to a common or garden variety $3000 road bike rider, let alone a true comm-elth games participant, that might seem like going slower than a hamstrung snail, but on my mountain bike with wide slick commuting tyres, carrying full tool kits, half a litre of water and a rider who could afford to lose a kg or three, I reckon it was pretty good.

And it kept me on the streets.

go baby go...

2006-03-19T10:57:00.000+11:00

Speed. Its addictive.

The labour day weekend saw us heading down Sandy Point way - former home of the world speed sailing record (damn those Frenchies taking it away :-) ). I was hangin out the hope for a front beach day on a promised northerly, and a good old fashioned wave sail. (I still say the Cup weekend 2005 SHQ wave sail comp - which i wasnt actually entered into(!) - was still the best wave sailing fun i have had; including in W.A.)

Well the more you wish for it the less it happens, or so it seems. The northerly never came and for a while there it was loking like a windless weekend, when finally, Sunday night, the easterly started to pick up and it was all gun go for an inlet sail. Not too bad... but it was late and we really only got in a 1 hour sail before dark. And when i say dark i mean DARK - Wally was packing up under the glare of my headlights. Thank ford for the fish and chips when we got home (note to self: bringing non windsurfers is always a good thing - they eat earlier!).

Monday we awoke to here 40-50 knots and rain being blown in under the doors. Mmmm.... that spells sleep in to me. And mozzie kill - bloody things kept me awake half the night and the other half i was scratching myself crazy. But midday the wind and rain eased a little so it was down to the inlet again. West sou'west 20-25knots. Bwilliant. Pulled out the GPS and after getting some guy on the beach to show us how the blessed thing worked, headed out for some traditional Sandy balls out speedin'. 6.5 and the old Fanatic bee... Dialed myself in and started doing some runs and gradually worked out what worked best for me. (Basically hanging on tight and praying...).

But the amazing part of the day was when mistress P took over the GPS and my gear (how she was able to hang onto the 6.5 I dont know - but she made it look easy) and flew across and down the inlet. 27.4 knots. Wow... "another run babe?" back we went to the start of the course and she took off... and i almost mean literally. She was FLYING! I was jaw agaped. that was quick... She had a beaming smile alternating with "sheesh i'm knackered fom that" look. Ripped out the GPS and... "no satellite".. WHAT THE?? No recording.
"How about one more run?"
"I'm knackered!"
"AWwww come on..."
She agreed for one more. Back to the start and then off she went. A little spin out early, a bit of an odd line, back to the other side.
"That wasnt as quick..." she said
"Lets just see anyway.."
Out came the GPS..
29.6 knots! (55km/h fo the unitiated).
Bloody hell!
As Joel later pointed out that would have won her the speed comp on the bay! (winner had 29.3 knots).
Shes a quick one is that Mistress P.

Life - you wouldnt miss it for quids.

2006-02-27T17:13:00.000+11:00

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

2006-02-07T17:25:00.000+11:00

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...

2006-02-04T12:47:00.000+11:00

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...

2006-02-01T17:24:00.000+11:00

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)...

If that was xmas then you've had it mate

2006-01-17T14:11:00.000+11:00

Well Christmas is over again.....

The carnage started xmas eve. I decided to do the last minute (ok, I confess, my only) xmas shopping at, gulp {what in the widewide world of sports was i thinking}, Southland shopping mall. Arguably Mistress P chose worse - Coles and the pre-xmas cooking ladys rush. I was out of Southland in about 2 hours relatively unscathed (plus a donut - the food of kings) whereas P spent a lifetime in the Coles checkout queue alone and arrived home in need of a Milo and good lie down.

That afternoon had a sail at Sth Ricketts, overpowered on a 4.1. Was heading out the back when I noticed a guy in the water looking up at me with big pleading eyes... he was still in the water with same big pleading eyes after I gybed and headed back towards shore.
"You alright mate??"
"EErrrrr Umm... I broke this thing..." {holds up a completely floppy and useless sail}.
"Right you are then...."
A bit of spare rope and we tied his bedraggled rig to my footstrap and tried to sail in while he swam in with his sailess board. Nice theory. Crappy in practice. I was almost onto the kit-eating-rocks below the cliff when i decided making it back to the beach was impossible with my boat anchor attached, gave momentary thought to what this guy might do if i ditched his rig, then decided (he was meaner looking than me...) to flop ingraciously in the water and let myself drift into Quiet Corner. We've been friends ever since...

Xmas started the traditional way - peeling 4.5kg of spuds while mistress P had a sleep in and shower. (We were due to make the potato salad for the family feast: I peeled, P cooked.) I fixed the borrowed kit trailer to the car in the (ultimately futile) belief that this would be my third xmas day in a row with sailing session. Xmas with the folks and cousins swelled the belly to breaking point, only for said point to be exceeded by the subsequent dinner with the outlaws. All the eating time also managed to gobble all the sailing time, so i was skunked even though it blew its proverbials off all day. Still, got a subscription to BOARDS out of it all from the wonderous mistress P, so it wasnt a complete waste of a good sailing opportunity. (And its always good to see ya mum.)

Boxing day it was the bolt to Sandy Point, former home of the world sailing speed record and place of the mistress and my nuptials - no wind, so a lie on the beach and the odd outing on the boogie board. Nice waves.... the next few days were spent waiting for wind, swimming, eating and generally having an all too relaxing time with our good friends + dogs (dont tell the agent). Also plenty of time with an old sailing buddy and his 3 y.o twins. On a quiet arvo me, dad & twins wandered down the inlet to take a gander and check for wind. Boy twin gives the cry
"Daddy.. watch this"
Boy drops the duds, stands to attention, does a wee on the beach infront of a couple of sunbakers.
"Oh god..." says dad "not again".
A minute passes.
"Daddy... watch this".
Boy squats over sand; Dad's chin sinks to his chest.
Boy produces a steaming Mr Whippy (chocolate of course) on the sand.
"Mate, you've gotta start bringing a few plastic bags to the beach" I say as dad tries to dig a hole and bury the cable.
Kids eh? And we're crazy enough to want 'em.

New Years Eve sees us out of the house but still in Sandy - a glorious beach day in Sth Gippsland but a stinker in the city apparently: 43degC - who'd wanna be there? (Come to think of it, that question goes for any day, regardless of temperature...) Wind starts to pick up from the NE but theres just too many people on the surf beach for a wave sail, so head to the inlet. BALLLISTIC! Wind rises to around 40knots easterly. Rig the 4.1 & waveboard and get out into it with the the twins-dad, who's using my 4.6 and freeride board. I'm assuming i'll see him blown off the beach but he manages to hold it down quite well with his "cupla" extra pounds - indeed it was one of the few days when i wished that i weighed 20kg more too (and mostly in the testicular dept), cos the 4.1 was wayyy too big, wind wayyy too strong and chop wayyy too confused.

Once the arms had stretched about 3 inches i called it a night, and hence P & I spend NYE tracking the tar back to town, and then dead on the couch cos our house was only a faintly milder temperature than the core of the sun. Sleep, even if completely knackered, was an impossibility. Was home just in time for the illegal fireworks display at midnight (oh the joy in living in the "Beirut end of Hampton"), flicked through some pics of the holiday on the 'puter, and there you have it. 2006 gone. Sum total of 65 sailing sessions for the year... brilliant. Not so brilliant was starting the new year by catapulting my head through my 5.0 sail, and then even less brilliant was finding that our neighbour-the-sailmaker was away and being forced to spend $160 repairing it at some yachting place -Ouch!

Mistress P was soon back to work but i was "deemed to be on leave" cos i had too much accrued. Darn it... not allowed back to the salt mine. Oh the tradgedy. Bummed about, sailing whenever i could, and spending guilty hours sitting by the beach reading the morning newspaper cover to cover. Life doesnt get much better than that my friend.

Well here we are

2005-12-22T17:26:00.000+11:00

"So what if everyone on earth thought they could make a blog?" Well, i'd be a damn fool not to make one too then.

At least that's what i'll tell people if they ask why i'm joining the ranks of the great blog-washed.

Hell, I have as many stupid stories about myself as the next guy. Why not put them in print and expose myself as the fool i really am? And it'll keep me off the streets.