Good days in Bandon end with Burritos at La Fiesta and dreams of Mexican wind and waves.
Bad days end with Spam Goulash and nightmares about Whitey.
Yesterday was a bad day.
Personally, hailing from the Land of 10,000 Lakes, I'm terrified of every part of the ocean where I can't touch. God only knows what BEASTIES lurk in the abyss. For all I know, those BEASTIES could've eaten God centuries ago. That'd explain a few things.
But I digress.
As is becoming oddly typical, we ran into our dear friend _______ just as we were loading up the Zodiac to head for the beach.
While ripping feathers from the recently gunned-down geese, ______ assured me the community will find Mac and I jobs if we don't make it out of here before winter hits...
...a very nice gesture.
The offer tempts, but Baja beckons beyond this dreary sportsmen's paradise named Bandon.
Bandon really is a sportsmen's paradise. The relatively healthy, dam-free Coquille River flows into the North Pacific here. The nutrient rich fresh water and fish spawning habitat allows life to flourish.
The place teems with crabs, fish, birds of all sorts, and hundreds of cuddly Harbor Seals.
The other day a playful seal followed me around while I was kiting. I hadn't had that much fun with a critter since a goofy coyote chased my kite in Wyoming.
Cruising in the dinghy yesterday, we came across 30-50 seals hanging out in a shallow bay behind the jetty.
They'd bob up and down, peeking their little heads out. It reminded me of the Chuckie Cheese game where you whack seals or clowns or gophers with a club.
The really brave seals came up to the dinghy and tried to splash us. Mac wanted to swim with them, and all I could say was:
"Dude. Don't"
They weren't very welcoming. Frankly, I had the impression we were intruding on some sort of seal orgy. That little cove seemeed just a little too cozy.
It was a good day to stay in bed. Those seals and most of the rest of Bandon did. A major cold front had it gusting close to 80 at Cape Blanco. Mixed swell from the S and W at 10-14 feet. Mac and I decided to test our limits.
Around 2pm when we were kiting it was averaging 62mph at Blanco. More protected, Bandon was hovering in the mid-30s... but holey and gusty simultaneously.
Mmmmmmmm. Gritty.
Shameless product shot two. Mac opted to try out his new 09' Naish Thorn. He was feeling "boosty" until we launched and realized the wind was truly dogshit.
Between the gusty/holey/swirly wind and incomprehensible jumble of big breaking waves it was survival kiting at its finest. We both crashed our kites within the first 15 minutes and amazingly got them relaunched unscathed.
Adding to the chaotic mix, the storm had uprooted whole forests of Bull Kelp, leaving the stuff floating everywhere.
...a very nice gesture.
The offer tempts, but Baja beckons beyond this dreary sportsmen's paradise named Bandon.
Bandon really is a sportsmen's paradise. The relatively healthy, dam-free Coquille River flows into the North Pacific here. The nutrient rich fresh water and fish spawning habitat allows life to flourish.
The place teems with crabs, fish, birds of all sorts, and hundreds of cuddly Harbor Seals.
The other day a playful seal followed me around while I was kiting. I hadn't had that much fun with a critter since a goofy coyote chased my kite in Wyoming.
Cruising in the dinghy yesterday, we came across 30-50 seals hanging out in a shallow bay behind the jetty.
They'd bob up and down, peeking their little heads out. It reminded me of the Chuckie Cheese game where you whack seals or clowns or gophers with a club.
The really brave seals came up to the dinghy and tried to splash us. Mac wanted to swim with them, and all I could say was:
"Dude. Don't"
They weren't very welcoming. Frankly, I had the impression we were intruding on some sort of seal orgy. That little cove seemeed just a little too cozy.
It was a good day to stay in bed. Those seals and most of the rest of Bandon did. A major cold front had it gusting close to 80 at Cape Blanco. Mixed swell from the S and W at 10-14 feet. Mac and I decided to test our limits.
Around 2pm when we were kiting it was averaging 62mph at Blanco. More protected, Bandon was hovering in the mid-30s... but holey and gusty simultaneously.
Mmmmmmmm. Gritty.
Shameless product shot two. Mac opted to try out his new 09' Naish Thorn. He was feeling "boosty" until we launched and realized the wind was truly dogshit.
Between the gusty/holey/swirly wind and incomprehensible jumble of big breaking waves it was survival kiting at its finest. We both crashed our kites within the first 15 minutes and amazingly got them relaunched unscathed.
Adding to the chaotic mix, the storm had uprooted whole forests of Bull Kelp, leaving the stuff floating everywhere.
A strapless kiter has no choice but to dodge the floating fire-hose-like stalks, which made things even more complicated.
My head didn't stop turning the whole time I was out there. Between watching swells, waves, wind on the water, bull kelp, my kite, and where I was in relation to the shore it proved a stressful experience.
A 6.5 Bandit left me extremely underpowered and looping through the lulls. On his 9 Torch Mac was getting tossed during the gusts and loving the lulls. Nevertheless, we told ourselves this was "fun" and kept at it.
Mac was riding a 9 because that's his smallest kite. That's how he "rolls".
Anyway, I crest a swell and almost run over a large, freshly-mangled seal. My mind fills with images.
My head didn't stop turning the whole time I was out there. Between watching swells, waves, wind on the water, bull kelp, my kite, and where I was in relation to the shore it proved a stressful experience.
A 6.5 Bandit left me extremely underpowered and looping through the lulls. On his 9 Torch Mac was getting tossed during the gusts and loving the lulls. Nevertheless, we told ourselves this was "fun" and kept at it.
Mac was riding a 9 because that's his smallest kite. That's how he "rolls".
Anyway, I crest a swell and almost run over a large, freshly-mangled seal. My mind fills with images.
and...
and...
Suddenly, I decide my knee feels a little creaky... better head in.
I hit the shore and land my kite. Looking back out there, I can't see Mac's kite anywhere.
I run up the dunes and look out over the water. After a few minutes I spot it, floundering in the water atop a swell about 400 yards off shore.
Then its gone... only to reappear briefly ten seconds later. Big swell.
Mind you, I just saw a freshly murdered seal out there.
As Mac gets closer to shore I can see he's moving and appears to be self-rescuing effectively. The wind is straight sideshore so he's hardly progressing towards shore but he's heading downwind wonderfully.
Fifteen minutes later I've befriended the only other folks foolishly optimistic enough to be on the beach on a day like this: English Tourists.
They've kindly offered the use of their phone and a few Oh Henry! bars. If the scent of an Oh Henry! wouldn't attract Mac towards shore, I don't know what would.
Fifteen minutes and five waves on the head later, Mac is safely ashore and we're munching delicious Oh Henry! bars on the beach. He didn't seem near as concerned about the shark out there as I was.
What happened? Cruising along, Mac got lulled and then gusted. When things tightened up, everything but his 5th line broke.
These things only happen to Mac.
We packed up our kites and began the hour upwind slog back to the jetty.
Even after a hearty bowl of spam goulash and several brushings, my teeth still have sand-encrusted Oh Henry! filling the gaps.
Smackdown.
I hit the shore and land my kite. Looking back out there, I can't see Mac's kite anywhere.
I run up the dunes and look out over the water. After a few minutes I spot it, floundering in the water atop a swell about 400 yards off shore.
Then its gone... only to reappear briefly ten seconds later. Big swell.
Mind you, I just saw a freshly murdered seal out there.
As Mac gets closer to shore I can see he's moving and appears to be self-rescuing effectively. The wind is straight sideshore so he's hardly progressing towards shore but he's heading downwind wonderfully.
Fifteen minutes later I've befriended the only other folks foolishly optimistic enough to be on the beach on a day like this: English Tourists.
They've kindly offered the use of their phone and a few Oh Henry! bars. If the scent of an Oh Henry! wouldn't attract Mac towards shore, I don't know what would.
Fifteen minutes and five waves on the head later, Mac is safely ashore and we're munching delicious Oh Henry! bars on the beach. He didn't seem near as concerned about the shark out there as I was.
What happened? Cruising along, Mac got lulled and then gusted. When things tightened up, everything but his 5th line broke.
These things only happen to Mac.
We packed up our kites and began the hour upwind slog back to the jetty.
Even after a hearty bowl of spam goulash and several brushings, my teeth still have sand-encrusted Oh Henry! filling the gaps.
Smackdown.
