LOCALadk Magazine

40 Fall 2019 LOCALadk Magazine LOCALadk to dart along then flit away from as they break. It is hard to guess which board and rig to use. I decide on my 5.2 by 5.2 sail and midrange 125-liter board. The air temperature is in the mid- 40s. This means we wear full wet suits with a 3 to 5-millimeter thickness. Windchill takes on a whole new meaning when you strip to put on a wetsuit in 35 mph winds at 46 degrees. Wet sand squishes between my toes. In moments the pain of strained muscles will be offset by the pleasure of acceleration piloted purely by human strength and strategy. When the first wave breaks against my body, I am reminded that this big lake is as slow to cool in fall as it is to warm in spring. The water holds sum- mer's warmth. Three quick runs skittering across the wave tops down the beach are enough to heat my body. I pull for- ward the neck of my wetsuit and dip down to scoop in the cooling water. The 125-liter semi-floater is too big. I need my sinker. So it's back to the beach and up to the car for the smaller 80 -li- ter board. This will be the first time I've used it in fresh water. The tiny board is more suited to salt water, which is 12 per- cent more buoyant. I watch Bob wrestling his gear down to the water against the gale. Blasts of wind twirl him as he attempts to hold on to his rig with a full body parr y and thrust against the wind. As I've carried my sail to water's edge separately, I scamper by with only my board and give him an encouraging whoop intended to spur him on. The equipment change does the trick. The 5.2m2 sail gives me all the power I need, and the smaller board is more man- ageable. It handles the combination of speed and surf with ease, no longer conspiring to toss me into a crash. I pilot the rig—windsurfing feels as much like flying as it looks, with sails constructed like vertical wings that generate "lift" for for ward power—toward the cove to the east, which reminds me of my favorite places in the Canadian Maritimes. I swoop into a jibe (a downwind turn) on a wave face. It breaks into the jade-hued shallows just as I swing about and point down- wind to gain planing speed. The shoreline cur ves away from the wind toward the west. As I accelerate to maximum board speed, almost a mile of waves unfolds in front of me. But a 35-foot cliff, on which I sometimes stand to take in the conditions, makes for fluky gusts by lifting the wind off the water some 500 feet from shore. And the beach be- yond the rock has silt runoff from adjoining farms mixed into its sand. One October I contracted Cerceria parasites, also called Duck Itch, in the muddy section of the bay to the west. Cerceria parasites burrow into your skin to breed. This contaminates the waterfowl's systems. Human immune sys- tems kill the parasites in time. However, for me the parasites meant one hundred itchy boils on the part of my legs not cov- ered by my "shorty" wetsuit. So now I stay away from the western shoreline, or keep to the deeper waters at that end. This precaution still leaves plenty of playing room.

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