If it can't be a new toy, have it be primo conditions to play with one you've already got! Perseverance pays! This high pressure ridge has been parked over the Pacific NW for 3 weeks now, bringing ice building temps, overcast skies, no precipitation, lots of freezing fog, and ZERO wind. Which is hard on an iceboat junkie, to have the shallow lakes frozen, free of snow, and no opportunity to pull the trigger. This early ice season is often short to non existent, killed by anything more than a couple of inches of snow, often for months, until the spring melt/refreeze cycle again offers up clear ice.
The National Weather
Service promises that a weak low pressure system will show up Christmas day to
nudge the ridge eastward. After a fine family breakfast, and furious
present opening on the part of the grand kids, a quick check with NWS proclaims
that it's begun. Now this form of sailing is another wind sport requiring
repeated leaps of faith. I leave home in deep fog and dead calm, solely on
the promise that there'll be breeze when I get to the lake in an hour and
a half. I'm desperately watching flags and roadside weeds as I cross the
rolling wheatlands, for any sign of the element that I need. As I approach
the lake it starts to sprinkle, but I break into a monster grin. I can see the
the trailing edge of the cloud bank, and it's blowin'! As I finish
rigging, the sun busts free, and I bask in the first sunshine in
three plus weeks!
I launch into 15 plus,
gusting over 20, enough to overpower the boat with the big 5 meter sail on. A
bit of a handful for my season opener. I scream around close to put in,
to get dialed in on ice I know, and then slowly expand my range as I get
comfortable with the power. I walked this playground two weeks ago, when
it had just gotten thick enough, and it's been below 32 since then, but ice is
worthy of deep respect, with pressure ridges that form and heal, and springs
that can thin the ice depth, it's an ever changing surface. But careful
inspection reveals a solid surface, and I start to let her run free. The
wind has moderated some, so now I'm working on building speed. With
so little friction, this machine feeds on apparent wind. There's
this great little dance to power her up after a tack, sheet out to increase the
sail's draft, bear away to gain speed, the boat accelerates, allowing the
main to be sheeted in as I head up. Bear away again for another burst of
acceleration, and a corresponding carve back to windward as the main comes in
some more. Repeat until the boom's just leeward of my helmet,
the main's as flat as my protesting sheet hand will tolerate,
and the speed is exhilarating! Done properly, it's a graceful
wiggle, yielding yet another big smirk.
A similar maneuver cranks
her up after a jibe, sheet out to get the boom up over my helmet, head
up for power, carve down, sheet in, head up for more, and bear away
again till fully turned on. Then straighten her out right there on the
edge of that pressure, and hold on! 40 knots of boat speed in 15 knots
of breeze with the big sail. It only increases as the wind speeds rise and the
sails get smaller (less aerodynamic drag, the limiting factor for top end
speed).
The days are mighty short
this time of year, and sadly the sun finally finds the horizon, and
with that, the wind drops. I head for the launch with
every intention of shutting her down. But as she glides to a
halt, the pressure builds again, and I can't quit! I know! The
warning signs are very clear! I last another 10 minutes till the
rapidly dropping temperature and fading light send me in. I pack up by
headlamp, and make the drive home with a monster smile, and
deep gratitude to the big man for the beautifully tailored gift.
Dave Farmer of Tum Tum, WA.
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