Wednesday, September 14th, 2005. Turbulent surf.
Paul Mc Hugh published yesterday his chronicle on the last leg of the 400 miles expedition down the North Coast of California. On the third day, the party of three headed towards the mouth of the Klamath River.
A groundswell strengthened by the gale winds of Friday, still coursed under the boats’ hulls breaking against steep coastal bluffs. This is an excerpt of their landfall:
Eventually, we were committed. We now had to pick the smaller swells to snatch rides on, in between sets of monsters. Weed went first, angling left. Barnes and I picked the same instant to go, seconds later. Then I had to concentrate fully on my own fate.
Our go-decision had been reasonable. I paddled furiously on the back of a small swell, casting one glance back over my shoulder. Now, there was motivation: Big waves were approaching. My bow touched sand. Yay!
But glee turned to horror as I felt my kayak being sucked backward by a potent undertow. I couldn’t stop from turning sideways. The curl of the next breaker reared up, amber-shaded by a load of sand sucked off the bottom.
I tried to brace into it, but the water was already rotating so hard the paddle blade was knocked over my head, and I and the boat were "window-shaded" (spun over) in a heartbeat; because my heart was pounding fairly hard, that means: very fast.
I flinched, expecting my head and shoulders to bash into sand, but I spun clear in deep water — which shows how steep that beach actually was. However, I did feel a strong shock in my hands. When I tried to position for a roll, I discovered I had only half a paddle — its new carbon graphite shaft had snapped in two. …
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