I learned how to windsurf in Austria in 1979 spending a full day falling off the board and rubbing my hands raw by pulling the water filled sail back up, only to be blown back off into the water.  It was great fun and even though I knew I sucked at it, I also knew I was going to have to buy one of these.

I continued to learn by renting a board at a local pond near Bad Windsheim, Germany.  I later found out the pond was a holding area for waste water, which is another story, but it was big enough to sail on and small enough to walk back if the wind blew you the wrong way.   After a year of Wednesday afternoon sailing,  I felt pretty good about my ability.  I packed up, moved from Germany and after living in the non-windsurfing states of Georgia, Texas, and Pennsylvania we moved to California.  

I was unemployed or underemployed for a year while waiting to become a California resident so I could attend college at the resident rate.   I was in California, definitely a windsurfing state, supported by my wife, had plenty of free time, and just enough money to buy a board, so it was time.

I bought a long board because I wanted a board that was easy and would work wherever I moved to next.   I started off windsurfing in the Long Beach marina.  Good wind and if you get blown the wrong way you still can walk back to the car and drive over to load up the board.   After a couple of months of surfing the marina, the ocean begins to call to me, "Tom, imagine sailing out here, fast wind, rocking waves, come Tom sail me."  I decide to take my long board across Ocean Boulevard and put it into the gentle surf.    First thing I learn is that Long Beach is a long beach, I'm dragging my board, sail and extra junk across the hot sand, it is not a good way to start the day.   The next thing I learn is the surf is not gentle.  The waves spill across my sail and push and pull me around like flotsam.   I work at it for a couple of hours and then decide that a long board is not a good surf board.

The ocean keeps calling to me, actually mocking me, so I am on the look out for a launching spot that is calm but which will allow me to sail out among the boats and oil rigs of Southern California.  My secret dream is to sail to Catalina, but it must remain secret since my wife is smart enough to tell me I am an idiot if I speak it out loud.   

I find a place that seems to fit the bill, Cabrillo Marina in San Pedro.  It is inside the Los Angeles Harbor and the waves are blocked by Point Fermin Park.  I sail it a couple of times and it is faster and a bit more adventurous than the Long Beach Marina but still tame enough for a long board.    I am sailing one afternoon late and the wind really starts to kick up.  I have been out most of the day and now I am planeing across the surface, before I realize it I am way out,  I mean supertanker out.  I have to tack away from the side of a ship and that only pushes me out even farther.  I keep trying to work my way in but I am tired and the wind is really blowing. The very big ship I had to steer around now seems rather small and the beach is no where to be seen. I also make the mistake of not caring.  The board was flying across the water with the center board kicked almost all the way up so the bottom of the board was skimming almost out of the water, the only thing that was wet was the skeg.  It was really fun.

I start to care when I noticed that I might not be able to find Cabrillo beach which is where I parked my wife's 240Z which she loves more than me.  It is our only car and she isn't likely to come pick me and my board up on my motorcycle.  I really do have to get back to the car.   I try and gib in against the wind but I keep falling and sometimes the wind is blowing so hard when I pull up the sail it flips around and knocks me right back into the cold inky water.  I finally give up and de-mast  the board.  I roll up my sail and lay it on the board then lay on top of it and start to paddle in.  This is stupid and dangerous since a large cargo ship seeing a windsurfer in time is not very likely but a ship seeing some idiot laying flat on a surf board in the middle of the shipping channel is impossible.

The tide is going out, so I am going out.  The wind is blowing straight out to sea and even laying flat it still is pushing me farther and farther out.  I figure at least my board will make it to Catalina while I most likely will become the main entree for some lucky shark.   I am pretty sure I am in trouble when I can see the U.S. Naval Station at Long Beach and I know I am in trouble when I can no longer see it.   I keep getting farther and farther out and the sun is so low that the rays no longer penetrate the water's surface.  I lose a clip from my uphaul line and when I go underwater to retrieve it I realize that it is pitch black and very scary.    I decide that I can buy a new clip or at least tell whoever I sell the board to that I lost it.   The sun is down and the lights on shore are visible but very far away.  I have stopped paddling not because I don't want to make it to shore but because I am too freak'n tired.   I am laying on the board looking at the lights move slowly away when I hear a motor and a voice in Spanish.   The boat comes closer and they call out to me something which I assume is, "Would you like some help?"   I answer, "Yes", not really sure what the question was but even if it was, "Hey, stupid Gringo would you like us to shoot you and put you out of your misery?" the answer would still have been, "Yes!"  

They pull up along side of me and throw me a line.  One hour and ten minutes later I am back in the Marina.  They let go of the line and I paddle in the last couple of hundred yards to shore.   I land and turn around to thank them but they are already gone.   I find out that fishing boats don't normally off- load at Cabrillo Marina also known as "Hurricane Gulch," the other name for this place which I found out later from one of the locals over a beer.  He also laughs at my story and tells me I most likely would have missed Catalina but might have landed in Hawaii. 

I load up the board without rinsing it down so salt water drips down on my wife's car, a definite "No No" but I am tired, wet, cold, and have already picked up a buzz from having to tell the story six times to six locals.  I would finish a beer and then the guy would call over one of his friends and make me tell it all over again.  My only payment was another beer which would lead to another guy and another beer.   I understand that there are two ways to make friends with the locals.  The first is to be very very good and the second is to do something really really stupid.  I someday hope to try the first way, but for now I have lots of friends because I am lucky enough to have survived some really stupid things. 

I go back to windsurfing Hurricane Gulch after a few more months of sailing inside the Long Beach marina.  The locals know me as the guy that packs up just as the wind gets really good.    I also buy a short board so I can launch and recover in the waves but after college I get a couple of real jobs so my windsurfing slowly declines until I move from California to Texas where I never get either board wet, then to Utah where I don't even unpack them, and then to England were I don't even bring them.  

The funny thing is I still think of myself as a windsurfer, in the same way that I think of myself as a motorcyclist even though I haven't ridden a board or a bike in a long time.  Someday I'll dust off the board, tape up the sail, and sail again, till then I'll exploit my stupidity for all the free drinks I can get.