Slow is Relative

I used to sail a 16' Hobie Cat. It was fast and fun. One night a front blew in and we sailed over 30 mph through the dark, listening as white caps tumbled slowly toward us out of the darkness. Plumes of water shot out 15' behind each pontoon. The swells were smooth and even, all coming from the same direction, and the boat raced along between them, slowly climbing over one crest and dropping into the next trough.

One of the fun parts of sailing a small catamaran is flying one pontoon. With enough wind, one hull lifts clear of the water and you have to be careful not to flip or let the other pontoon sink completely below the surface, which instantly slows you to a near stop and makes flipping that much more likely.

After my 2,500 mile ocean voyage aboard a 53' ketch, I sold my Hobie and replaced it with a Catalina 22. It sleeps five inside, has a double-burner stove and a hammock I stretch between the mast and the bow pulpit. I can plug my computer into the stereo and watch a movie. I've camped on it once and plan to spend a week on it at Bear Lake in August. I'm not sure I could flip it if I tried. It would take one heck of a wind.

On the other hand, it's hull speed is about 8 mph though I've had it up to 9 once. It's not nearly as fast and it doesn't slice through the waves the same way. I plan to sail it a few more times and then decide whether I want my quick, exciting boat back.

Yesterday I was invited to drive a 30' racing boat in a sailing race put on by the Great Salt Lake Yacht Club (the saltiest sailors in the world, as they say). It's sleek, low lines give it a handicap of 2-3 minutes per mile over my Catalina, but without much wind, I'm sure we never topped 3 knots.

But we were racing. We maneuvered around before the starting line, keeping a safe distance from other boats until the starting horn sounded. We then tacked upwind, rounded the mark, and hoisted the spinnaker as quickly as possible for a downwind run to the committee boat, then turned and made another mile loop before finishing...last.

But even though it was still slow sailing, it was fun! It was different. I discovered that the secret to enjoying slower boats is to race. Make it relative. It doesn't matter so much that you could almost swim faster toward the horizon at times, because you're not thinking about the horizon. You're thinking about the other boats just in front of you and the lines attached to sail heads, clews and spinnaker poles. You're thinking of the winches and handles right in front of you and the tiny tell tails flapping in the wind, telling you how to trim the sail for maximum speed.

What I should learn from all this is...to stop watching the horizon all the time. Look away from the big picture now and then and focus on what's right in front of me. Get caught up in that and enjoy it. The horizon, like a watched pot, comes faster when you're not looking.

The abundant construction barrels around my neighborhood look different to me now as I steer around them, careful not to touch them and incur a penalty.

10th Time Lucky?

Today I decided to believe in love again.

I hope this doesn't sound too cheesy but I realize that it has been at least several years since I quit believing. It wasn't a conscious choice, but an unconscious reaction to too many crashes and burns. I never would have chosen to give up, which may be why the subconscious took over. It didn't like all those painful experiences and shut some things down to prevent me from finding another one.

Some of my failures came from not trying hard enough, not giving things a chance, and letting them get away too easily. Others came from risking too much as I tried to learn a lesson from the earlier failures, and maybe I overcorrected, opened up more than an undeveloped relationship deserved, which made the flaming wreckage at the end even harder to take.

I imagine a car swerving down the highway, trying to correct course but spinning further out of control until it hits an embankment and rolls over into the river. Years later, the car is dragged from the river and gets ready for another drive.

Anyway, I'd like to put all that behind me and do it right this time. I'd like to think I'm a bit wiser now and that something great will work out at last. It seems like that's how things begin - they just begin. As long as I'm out there, I should run into someone compatible. If that hasn't happened for too long, maybe it's because I wasn't really out there but just going through the motions.

I have no idea how or when or where or who. I'll just get out there and keep my eyes open and hope for the best.

Announcing ShaunRoundy.com

I'm updating Shaun Roundy.com and will probably do most of my blogging there from now on.

Thanks to anybody who's been reading this stuff.

Rescue Season Begins

Warm weather has arrived at last and Utah Valley residents are getting outside to enjoy it. That means stuck vehicles (there's still plenty of snow in the mountains), lost and stranded hikers, and accident victims. So far this weekend, we've had all three.

Summer is always the busiest time for search and rescue with an average of two missions per week and occasionally as many as eight or twelve. Now and then we go for a month or more without incident.

This weekend I'm noticing that it's not just actual missions that can quickly burn up a weekend.

Our second call came out Friday night for a hiker stranded on a steep, snow-covered mountain. I got a helicopter ride to an LZ (landing zone) within a mile of the hiker with Provo PD Mountain Rescue Team member Sam Hunter. We hiked in the dark across steep snowfields and through thick brush full of thorny wild roses.

My crampons caught the brush once and tripped me, sending me for a quick tumble down the steep mountainside. That must be where I got all these scratches on my arm.

When the chopper returned to spotlight the victim for us some time later, we were only 200 yards away and almost perfectly in line with him.

We gave him water and warm clothing and put on a harness and helmet, then tied webbing tag lines to prevent him from sliding hundreds of feet down the steep snow-covered mountainside. Another Provo PD and paramedic who had been dropped off just before us quickly arrived and we added their tag lines.

It turns out I already knew our victim. We met about a month ago in a steep, cliffy area near Bridal Veil Falls in Provo Canyon. The team rescued him again in nearby Dry Canyon soon after, and tonight's rescue was his third encounter with his new friends - search and rescue - the only people willing to hike with him, it seems.

Downclimbing the steep snow was treacherous. One slip could prove fatal to a hiker without crampons and mountain axe as sliding into large trees and rocks could be the only way to stop in most areas. I was glad to have brought an extra pair of crampons which I gave to Sam. Our vic slipped once and was immediately caught by the three Provo rescuers.

I walked below everyone with my crampons and axe, ready to catch anyone who slipped and kicking steps as deep as possible in the often-hard avalanche debris as we dropped a thousand feet or more down a ridge and gully.

Sam also carried my 200' rope in case we found an impassible cliff band as often happens in our local mountains. On some rescues, surrounded by hundred-foot cliffs and loose rock which sometimes goes flying past us or other extreme circumstances, I realize what an exciting place Utah County is to be part of the search and rescue team.

The snow lasted nearly the whole way down, which made the going much easier, and we only had to scramble down half a dozen small cliffs before reaching the road and a squadron of four wheelers and a Rhino waiting to drive us down the steep, rocky Slate Canyon.

In the parking lot, after trying to get our hiker to agree to stay on the trail when hiking alone, a Provo PD officer finally told our victim that he would be arrested if caught hiking alone anywhere in the county again. The message seemed to get through for the first time. We'll see!

"Thanks for saving the day. Again. As always," said the ever-gracious SAR Commander Jared Hansen as he gave me a ride back to my truck.

I got home at 5 a.m. A thin crescent moon was just rising above the mountains, the sky was just beginning to grow light, and hundreds of birds were chirping so loudly that I wondered how anyone could sleep through it. I slept a few hours and worked until our next call out.

This time a girl had fallen off a 20' cliff and tumbled another 20' until she stopped in the water next to a waterfall where we've cleaned up fall victims with much more serious consequences. Life Flight arrived soon after our teams reached her and lowered a paramedic with their hoist, then flew away with him and the victim dangling below. It would be quite a view if the vic could just turn over and look down!

I came home and crashed, catching up on my sleep, but now it's 1:20 a.m. Sunday morning. I don't know how long till I'll be able to fall asleep again.

As long as I'm up, maybe this would be a good time for our next mission. A search on the lake might be fun and would round out our weekend.