T1 -> T3 : Moody me, Moody sea

Sometimes a T3 is so lame it's not even worthy of a BF3; this time though, the gusts kicked my ass.

Went out for dim sum with my family in the morning; one thing leads to another, my mom decided she needs to lecture me on water sports safety. It's not the first time, and I don't suppose it's gonna be the last, but she has no idea what she is talking about, she seems to think she has the mandates from heaven to talk down to me just because, well, she is my mother.

It's rather silly, really. I got very very angry, like she is doing something rather indecent against my person. I have no choice but to speak in Chinese with my mother, and my hongkie friends in Canada have attested that I speak like a child when I speak in Cantonese ... what do you expect? I only ever speak in Cantonese at home, when I'm being talked down to by my mother, father, or elder brother.

My lingustic retardation just added fuel to the fire; she imagined the darnest "dangerous" situations -- like pirates and sharks and tsunami-sized rogue waves -- and she hasn't got the patience to listen to me when I try to explain to her about HK water. She cuts me off and tell me "the observatory advises against such and such," well, kiss my ass, the HKO has been wrong so many times, I'll be rich if I get a penny every time I get screwed by their stupid forecasts. Besides, it's a big sea, you can't take one blanket forecast statement and apply it to the entire HKSAR. I told her she isn't qualified to critisize my judgement, because she has neither the training nor the experience, I mean, even Siu Ming and Man-sir and Dennis don't challenge my decision to launch during a storm, and they are experienced paddlers. I will explain to them why I think a sea is negotiable, or why it isn't, and they will contribute something useful, and analyse with me, but my mighty mother will grasp at any thin straw, and if she can come up with nothing else to say, she will beat the same dead horse and tell me "the observatory says so and I know they are right." In the end, she even called me a "know it all," "full of yourself," and "waster of tax-payer's money."  Such loving parent she is, honestly.

Sometimes I think she riles me up just for the fun of it, like she is trying to make sure she can control me and talk down to me like a kid. There were times when I happily discourse with my father, who shares some of my enthusiasm for the open sea, and she will cut in to insist I just made my stories all up, because she can't navigate on open water, and she has no idea how to use a map, then there is no way in her screwed up world that someone as unworthy as her lowly daughter can.

I hate her; I'm furious, I wanted to hit her. But instead, I walked out of the restaurant before I had a chance to say something venomous. I decided to launch, and even as I walked down to the beach, I kept thinking, "you are so sure you are right, I hope I die in the storm tonight. That should make you happy."

* * *

With a death-wish in my head, I launched. For the second time, I found my cockpit home to a clan of ants. Took me half an hour to clear them out (good thing Martlet is very easy to empty.) and off I went.

It was windy, but it didn't start out looking like a storm. The low pressure made it very difficult to breath, I kept having to stop for water. The wind was behind me at first, so even though I wasn't focusing on speed and stroke efficiency and postures, I was still making decent progress.

I noticed the ever diligent net-casting fish boats were all parked inside HLC shelter, so I thought, maybe there is some bite to this typhoon warning.

Somewhere along Mui Wo/ Ha So Pai, the wind switched to my port beam. I was still angrily cursing my mother at the time, so I wasn't paying too much attention. I'm just so glad that Martlet comes equipped with a rudder, because there is no bloody way I could have handled a beam wind like that when I was so very distracted.

Once I rounded Ha So Pai, things got really really nasty. It got dark all of a sudden, and the air pressed down hard in bursts. Big drops of rain drummed against my back, luckily, the wave followed me again, but it was steep enough that Martlet's bow digged into the water from time to time. That, compounded with the constant boat waves that came from my port side, made a very confusing sea. 

The wind and waves pushed me so hard from behind, for the first time I understood what Fan-goh said -- it slows down the boat to put your paddle in the water when you negotiate a following sea. I darted forward like an arrow, relying heavily on the rudder to keep the course true; I swear, as shallow and fast as I paddled, the waves still travelled faster than my cadence.

It was not the roughest sea I've paddled, the strong monsoon at TMT was no less demanding. The trouble is, I wasn't mentally prepared to deal with a rough sea today. Normally, with an energetic following sea like that, I would thank god for being alive long enough to experience something so powerful and exciting. But today, death was on my mind, and I hadn't stopped thinking about dying to get back at my mother when the Shek Wu hits, and when the thunder finally cracked, I jumped, my heart pounded furiously, and I couldn't help but to think, "this is it, I'm really going to die today."

I willed myself to calm down, to no avail. The sea condition wasn't terrible, it wasn't something beyond my control, but my emotion state was.

So I landed on the South facing beach between Cheung Chau and Shek Kwu Chau. There was a bit of dump surf at the landing site. I managed to get out of the boat without incident, but the second surf pounded on me too soon, I took one quick look and decided I was fighting a losing battle, and gave up trying to drag Martlet up the beach. That decision probably saved my fingers; the surf pounded on Martlet violently; the PFD, maps, and electronic gear bottles got washed away as Martlet went belly-up, and before I had time to right the boat, a third surf crashed. I stood besides the cockpit and did not wait for the water to recede to act this time -- I righted Martlet -- who was filled with sand by that time -- and ran up to drag her up as hard and fast as I could.

So I had a sea-kayak version of a garage-sale, my paddle, gear box, maps, and croc shoes were all floating around the surf line. The crocs, gear bottle and PFD were light enough to float back, as soon as I retrieved my electronic bottle, I swam out to try to retrieve my paddles -- bolted around just in time to realize I wasn't even wearing my PFD (I had a death-wish, remember?), so I ran for my life with the surf hot on my heels, grabbed the PFD, put it on as I waded out into the water again, and swam for the paddles.

I knew it was a bit dangerous, but I wasn't going to get stranded there without a paddle.

After retrieving the paddle, I decided to call Dennis before I get back into the water to retrieve the rest of my stuff. I still can't believe I tried to swim out without a PFD, and without making a safety call.

After retrieving all my gears, I sat down just behind the waterline, and felt totally, royally screwed. At some point, I was almost ready to admit, "mom was probably right."

Then I suddenly noticed I was trembling, I'm not sure if it was just my anger at my mother, or the adrenaline, or hypothermia. I decided my heart wasn't going to slow down with "rest," and so I made up my mind to paddle back to DB while I still could.

I stuffed everything that I might not need into the stern hatch -- including my sunglasses and cap -- it was just too cloudy/ foggy.  That was a baaaad decision.

When I finally scooped enough sand out of the cockpit, I studied the surf, watched for the water line of the biggest surf, placed Martlet accordingly, fitted my spray deck on and waited.

And I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Waited...

But the big surf never came. I pushed with both of my paws on the sand to lift Martlet up and forward a few feet; finally a mid-size surf hit us, but it wasn't enough to float my boat; only enough to veer Martlet to port side a little. Which was a bit nasty, because when the big one finally hits, it steered Martlet further towards the left, and nearly gave my left wrist a fracture as I tried to push against the sand to launch forward.

But I did it; got hit by the on-coming surfs a few times, but I leaned back and kept paddling forward, and made it through the surfline without incident.

Water was somewhat calm when I relaunched, the Shek Wu squall moved behind Shek Kwu Chau and beyond. I felt fairly defeated -- I got the stormy sea I wanted, it wasn't beyong my ability to handle, but I wasn't in the right mood to tackle it, and I ended up feeling very miserable.

So I dragged on and on, I shouldn't be tired, but I was dragging my feet (so to speak,) and paddled slowly. I stopped many times, I felt sure I would benefit from a hearty tantrum, I wanted to cry, I was sure I would feel better if I just let it all out. But then again, I wasn't sure if the weather would turn nasty again, and I needed to stay feisty if I were to survive the storm, so I paddled on moodily.

Sure enough, a second squall hits, this time, it hit me right in the face, and I wished I had the brain to keep the sunglasses/ cap within reach then. For the second time I was plunged into the fog, but the almond-sized rain drops hit me squarely in the eyes. It hurts, it burns, I could hardly keep my eyes open, yet I daren't have them closed. Even as I forced them open, it was no use. I could hardly see - I knew there was a red flashing navigation beacon within 10 meters, yet I lose sight of it as the squall engulfed us.

When the squall finally passed, I saw a bird flying alone high up with the cloud. What a brave, lonely bird! I thought admiringly, only then a light flashed, and I realized it was an airplane. Somehow I felt better, knowing there are other sentient beings battling against the elements right there and then. As Santiago says, "one is never alone at sea."



2:42 DB (launch)
3:24 Mui Wo
4:02 Ha So Pai (N.Beacon 177)
4:30 landed on beach

5:07 relaunch
??? Ha So Pai (N.B. 177)
6:53 Marina Beacon
7:18 DB (landing)


I tried to memorize my arrival time at many check points, which I regularly do when I paddle solo, and usually I'm pretty good with a sequence of small numbers like that. But today, I was too distracted to remember the numbers. I know the launching and landing time was accurate, I know I mucked around at the beach for about half an hour. Beyond that, nothing is certain.