This place has a stranglehold on "charm" and the kiting is proving excellent as well.
Bandon, Oregon is the kind of town where you'd feel bad spitting on the sidewalk, so people just don't do it. All the loved-looking collarless dogs and cats lounging streetside just wouldn't appreciate.
Plus, like wildfire, word of a "spitter" in town would spread and you'd find yourself kindly and gently evicted from the Marina. Even then, you'd leave happy... if the legitimately terrifying Coquille River Bar didn't eat your boat en route to the sea.
Anything over a 4 foot swell and there's a breaking wave. Now the swell is 6-8 feet. We're trapped.
Fortunately, it feels like smalltown Minnesota delicately placed on the seashore.
It's "nice".
Notably, all the public bathrooms are spotless and grafitti free. I met the lady who cleans them. She was scrubbing the sink in a men's room with powdered bleach and a toothbrush.
Amazing.
A salty rotating group of cranberry farmers and fishermen hold down a table in the corner of the coffeeshop. Never fewer than seven, they're talking politics, finances, crop prices, fishery depletion, and a smattering of smalltown news. Once in a while things get heated and someone speaks his peace. These folks are happy.
Its good to witness a functioning community.
While working on the boat the other day we made a dozen friends. Folks strolling by would stop to ask...
"Where'd you come in from?"
or
"Nice boat. What's she draw? Fixed keel?"
or
"Bad weather on the way, you know?"
Just by smiling, chatting, and listening we've gotten loads of good advice from some of the saltiest salts and saltettes imaginable. Even the Harbormaster himself stopped by to offer suggestions on getting around Cape Blanco and into Crescent City, CALIFORNIA safely.
Classic.
We were sitting around yesterday waiting for a friend to bring us promised crabs when suddenly both Mac and I perked up.
Wind. And building.
Suddenly it dawns on me why we're on this little trip. Kiting. My knee felt decent enough for a triple braced attempt at wavekiting.
Vamos!
As we're scrambling to get ready our salty crabber buddy shows up with a bucket of goodies.
MAX: "Sorry ______, no time for crabs. We're going kiting!"
"Awwww shit, I was gonna make you guys pull some pots for me."
MAX: "Sorry. Its windy. This is what we do."
"Alright. You'll hear me shooting at you from the beach."
MAX: "Shooting at us?"
"With my rifle."
MAX: "Ummm, OK. You got a scope on that thing?"
"Nope. Don't need one."
MAX: "Alright. Hope you miss. See ya' later."
And on that strange note we loaded up the dinghy and took off for the best afternoon of wavekiting of our lives... all senses heightened by the slight chance this crazy salt was serious.
I guess I'm swimming.
Shameless product shot. Thanks to Dank Dave @ Dakine.
And after a short walk, the high clouds blew away, and we arrived at intimidating Bullards Beach.
Mac rigged up his 9 Torch and immediately got his ass handed to him by heavy, short period beachbreak combined with a 5-6 knot downwind current. Before I was even rigged he was a halfmile downwind, still trying to stay on his feet and get outside.
After slogging back upwind all he had to say was, "I've never been that scared kiteboarding before." Coming from Mac, that meant alot. Clearly the Gorge and occasional forays to the northern coast didn't prepare us for a day like this.
Intimidated, I considered "nursing my knee" but then the silly technoclassic SANDSTORM by Da Rude came through my headphones and I realized I was being a sallypants.
Mac went out again and bashed his way outside, only to turn around and start smashing waves. Before I knew it, he was half a mile downwind again. He has very little fear or self-control.
Strapless, getting outside was going to be tricky. I walked upwind, looked for a hole, found one, and got outside, first try.
That felt good.
We were too busy to take any good pictures so this is all we got. This is way inside.Waves breaking a few hundred yards offshore were well overhead and over the course of four hours we scored "the ride of our life" several times. We also spent plenty of time trolling for "Whitey" after wipeouts.
Most importantly, my knee held up great and Mac eventually came back upwind as well. Rolling over these monsters and looking for our next wave, we whooped it up like two kooks.
Which pretty much sums us up.
I felt like a first season gaper in Jackson Hole all over again. Kiting in waves feels like skiing a neverending, steep, sluffing couloir with shifting walls. I have no doubt that it's the funnest legal activity on the planet. In my opinion, it is the epitome of recreation currently available.
Because it's raining and I've had 32 ounces of caffeine here at the Bandon Coffee Cafe, I made a little map from Bandon Marina to Bullard's Beach.
Go kiting there.
Also exciting, freestyle kiting paradise Floras Lake is a mere 12 miles south of Bandon on US 101. If the weather never mellows and we're stuck here for a few months, I think we'll be OK.
Cold.
Wet.
Inundated with small town gossip.
But HAPPY.
It looks like the weather is going to let us continue South in 4-6 days. Until then...
Here's the wind forecast for tomorrow...
And Saturday...
Combine that with a 12 foot swell from the SW and it looks like we'll have plenty to do. If anyone from the Gorge wants a taste of this, come on down.You can snuggle with Mac in La Sin Fin's spacious "Salon".
After getting off the water yesterday we were starving. Exploring the small downtown's dining options at dusk we came across a good-smelling restaurant creatively named Thai Thai. Full of patrons, it looked like a winner but they had stopped taking tables... at 7:30. We moseyed to our fallback, the delicious, affordable La Fiesta Mexican Restaurant.
They keep the party hopping until 8:30.
Who needs nightlife when you've got nasty kiting?
Not me.
Sell Stock. Buy Kites.
Max