I think it was Quick Nick B who spoiled the notion of an easy and fun downwind run on summer days. Soon after we bought our house on the NSW South Coast we noticed that the summer northeasterly winds blew directly onto the beach trolley distance from our house. On summer afternoons, this made for a perfect downwind run. When we started these easy adventures, we would leave the house around 10 am and arrive at North Head beach within a comfortable hours paddling. On a typical summer day, the northeasterly wind has just begun to tickle the water at 10 am and crossing the big bay is easy. We would land on the beach, have a mug of tea, perhaps stroll up to the look-out and launch as the wind built to at most 15 knots.
With a sail up, the run home across the bay was delightful and effortless. Most days we would simply skim our paddles across the water from time to time if needed for a brace or throw in the odd paddle stroke to catch some runners. We would arrive back home after a few hours feeling invigorated and lucky to live in a location so convenient to downwind runs.
But then Quick Nick burst onto the south coast scene bringing with him strange customs acquired in regions further to the north. These customs involved waiting until the summer northeasterly had reached its acme, preferably over 20 knots, at which time we would launch from the beach and paddle into this stiff headwind for a hard hour or two before we would finally arrive into the shelter of North Head. There was no rest on the beach, no stroll to the lookout, certainly no cups of tea, and most definitely NO sails.
With barely a moment to catch our breath, we would leave the shelter of North Head and paddle back out into a powerful wind and breaking sea and, if we could paddle fast enough, we could catch runners all the way back to the beach. In the early days of these adventures, I would trolley to the beach like a (wo)man condemned. At once keen to learn this new skill of catching runners in a strong wind but also half-terrified lest I capsize, miss a roll, bail-out, lose my boat …. On very windy days, my anxiety would be such that eating lunch was difficult and by the time we crossed the bay and reached the lee of North Head, I’d be shaking with a mix of hunger and nausea.
According to Quick Nick the wind was never above 15 knots although many days I had to hold my boat down on the beach lest it blow away before I launched. I would check the weather data when we got home and find the wind had, in fact been blowing 20 knots with much higher gusts. I came to believe we could be standing in front on approaching Category 4 Cyclone and Nick would think the wind about 15 knots.
Apart from paddling bloody fast to get on the waves, it helps if you can speed up at the right time. Watching Nick, and later Doug, I would marvel how these two could throw in a few quick powerful paddle strokes, get onto a wave and then pause and ride the wave for a few seconds or even longer; not only speeding ahead but also getting little mini-rests. As a smaller paddler who is neither quick nor powerful this technique continues to elude me and, most of the time, although I can ease off a bit when I get on a wave, a full rest with no paddling is rare indeed. Mostly, I paddle like I’m being pursued by a Great White Shark the entire way arriving at the beach with barely enough energy left to land the kayak.
When I was first learning timing, Quick Nick would paddle beside me and yell “Speed up now!” or “Paddle hard now!” “What,” I would think to myself “does Nick actually think I am doing? I am paddling as hard and fast as I bloody well can. Any harder and I’ll pop an aneurysm.” Occasionally, we would make really good time on the downwind leg and, checking his watch back on the beach Nick would say “That’s not bad, but you can probably go quite a bit faster if you just try harder.” I began to research Personal Defibrillators. Is there a model that can handle exposure to salt water?
We don’t see Nick as much anymore for afternoon downwind runs but we’ve never gone back to the cushy days of leaving before the wind gets too strong and employing a sail. Somehow, those eminently sensible practices feel like cheating. It was the end of easy.
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