Category: Uncategorized

Windsurfer Finian Maynard received official confirmation of his sailing speed record of 48.7 knots. Wouldn’t we all like to receive a letter like this:

Date: 15th April 2005.

Finian Maynard.

Dear Finian,

I am very pleased to be able to write confirming ratification of your record.
Very many congratulations to you on a wonderful performance.

The details are as follows:

RECORD: The Outright World Sailing Speed Record
Equipment: Windsurfer F2/Naish
Sailed by: Finian Maynard (BVI) at St Maries de la Mer. France.
Dates: 10th April 2005
Elapsed Time: 20 seconds over 501 meters
Speed: 48.7 kts

Don’t let the dog get ahold of that one.

Here are the photos of Finian on his record run, and Karin Yaggi putting up her record of 41.25 knots. Unfortunately, Finian’s record was not caught on video…

“This is getting a bit routine. Maybe I should try foils…”

“Mine looks faster, doesn’t it…?”

(Had to get at least one sailing post up…)

Well, a purpose other than the obvious. Thanks to the ever-swinging, ever-environmental Norwegians the world finally has public interest porn. It’s called F*ckForForest.Com (warning: It may be for the environment but the Boss will still fire your ass). The idea is simple: a porn site which features all manner of outdoor activity (it gives treehugging an entirely new meaning), along with facts and news briefs on the state of the world’s rain forests. And profits (about $100,000 last year) from paid memberships go to help the environment. If you want a complete, pretty much safe for work and teenagers, description, you can do no better than to check out this profile in the San Francisco Chronicle. The article is worth reading, even if you think all forests should be paved over with malls, because of the hilarious prose. For example:

“Tommy and Leona are having sex on a tree stump in the middle of a Norwegian clear-cut. Leona, with a mop of brown dreads and a lip ring, looks dreamily across the demolished forest as Tommy, a little shaggy in nothing but a knit hat, works his magic.

A few minutes earlier, Leona and Tommy stood at the same spot lecturing about the evils of industrial forestry. But now they’re moaning in feral ecstasy, overcoming the powerful negativity of the place — the broken branches and dried-out logs — with the juices of the life force itself.”

“Juices of the life force”? Bad writing doesn’t get any better than that. The article does in fact get around to describing the range of material on F*ckForForest, and that’s also pretty funny:

“Most of the material on FFF features the gentle Burning Man-esque couple and/or their friends romping in every imaginable combination. The great outdoors is a favorite setting, of course, but scenes are also set in apartments, photo studios, sex clubs and elsewhere. The sex runs the gamut from couplings involving vegetables used as sex toys to performances by scary-looking shaven-headed German Goths and is unflinchingly graphic. Like those of most porn scenarios, the plots of the video segments are vestigial at best, but in written material and between the scenes, Leona and Tommy share their feelings for the forest with visitors to the site.”

The best part is that the Norwegian government provided the original seed money for the site, thinking it was a pure environmental play. And the membership of the site took off after Tommy and Leona were arrested for doing their feral thing live onstage at a heavy metal concert. As Dave Barry says, “I am not making this up.” I mean, according to the article, “In one session featured on the site, Leona, in a blue wig, starts the lesson by flogging another woman with a huge leek.” You just can’t invent that sort of stuff…

New Gig For Paris?: “Move over PETA Pammy. I’ve been looking for a way to do some environmental work and this will suit me just fine…”
(Thanks to TWC reader Doug Bailey, who tipped me to this important internet development…)

Forget politics, the Pope, Michael Jackson and the debate over Social Security for a minute (or longer if you can avoid cable news), and take note of some truly important news. Which is: researchers say that they may have located the perfect spot for a moon base. Not too hot, not too cold, in sunlight year round, and potentially close to ice water which could be used for, well, water, the manufacture of oxygen, or even the production of rocket fuel for those astronauts who get bored of moon golf and decide to push on toward Mars.

“The best spot to settle on the Moon may be on the northern rim of Peary crater, close to the north pole, says Ben Bussey of Johns Hopkins University…”A region with this relatively benign temperature range represents an attractive site for building hardware designed for long-term use,” Bussey and his colleagues write…The Peary crater, created long ago by the impact of an asteroid, is about 45 miles (73 kilometers) wide.”

Guess all those guys selling lunar real estate on the Web better start snapping up lunar craters (Warning: Wired magazine says watch out for the hazards of moon dust…). Bonus round: click here for the Top Ten Cool Moon Facts (#1: the Moon is moving away from Earth at the blazing rate of 3.5 centimeters a year. When the Moon was formed it was just 14,000 miles away. Today it is 280,000 miles distant)…

“Okay, Neil. You’ve got about 250 meters to the flag. And whaddaya say we head back to the condo after this hole so we can hit that hot tub party…?”

Okay, so you’ve only been in your cubicle for, umm, five minutes. But at least you made it to work. And for that you deserve to go do a little 49er sailing (courtesy of Bethwaite.Com). So kick back, make sure your boss is in the head, and go for it…

Rip Downwind
Plane Upwind
Hold The Mast Cam

Ahhh. You’re welcome. Now, get back to your filing…

“Dude, can you believe we earn our living doing this…?”

You can never turn your back on this guy, or his wacky twin-masted, hydroplaning catamaran. We haven’t heard much from ol’ Yves for a while, but yesterday the Extra Terrestrial, as he is fondly known, snuck out from port in the Canaries for a crack at the solo 24-hour record, held for more than 10 years by Laurent Bourgnon at 540 miles. Everyone (Ellen, Francis Joyon) wants this record bad, and Parlier just announced he is a contender with a pretty impressive attempt. Here’s the report:

“The skipper from Aquitaine left early on Monday morning from the port of Las Palmas to position to the North of Canaries Islands. His objective: to try and beat Laurent BOURGNON’s (FRA) single-handed 24 hour distance record. BOURGNON established the record over ten years ago on Primagaz during his crossing of the Atlantic Ocean in June 1994 where he covered 540 miles in 24 hours at an average speed of 22.50 knots.

At 1500 Médiatis Région Aquitaine was 30 miles ahead of BOURGNON’s record and was at times travelling at more than 39 knots with an average speed over the first seven hours of more than 30 knots. For PARLIER these were very encouraging figures that confirm the enormous potential of the boat.

However after noon, very unstable meteorological conditions obliged PARLIER to take in a reef. Whilst he was doing so, the boat gibed violently, breaking four battens and ending the record attempt.

PARLIER, on satellite telephone, indicated that he has returned to Las Palmas to make repairs and get ready for the second attempt as fast as possible.”

More than 39 knots? Hmm. Accurate reporting or Gallic bluster? You decide. Anyhow, it’s good to know that contraption he sails is not a total joke. Too bad about that little crash gybe situation…

“Holy Merde, Yves! Are you sure you can handle this thing by yourself…?”
(Photo: Thierry Martinez)

Who needs the actual Volvo Race itself? We’ve just got two Volvo Open 70s sailing, and already there is plenty to get hooked on. ABN Amro bashed its way across the Atlantic and lost a chunk of its bow (click here for pics). And last week Telefonica Movistar ripped off a new outright monohull record of 530 miles. Now Telefonica skipper Bouwe Bekking comes in with a hot report on sailing these babies in the Southern Ocean:

386 miles to go to the Horn, and I tell you we are counting down every single mile. The last 24 hours we got the “sh*t” kicked out of us. Real SOUTHERN OCEAN, freezing cold, big winds (40 knots), snow showers and huge seas. Fascinating in a way, that our little nutshell doesn’t care about this and is doing it’s job so well, but in the wrong hands it can go terribly wrong. Sorry for the girls reading this, but I am actually happy that there isn’t a female crew for this race; they would have struggled tremendously.

So back to us, the last miles in the Southern Ocean and Neptune had a nasty surprise package in mind for us, in the form of front passing us. One moment we are “cruising” doing steady 18-20 knots of boat speed, and than it changed within seconds. We knew that the front was arriving, so the boys on deck were on standby to put reefs in the mainsail, but as always the arrival of the front came very suddenly.

Winds picked up in seconds from 20 to 40 knots: Here’s the inside scenario:

The watch captain shouts: GET THE REEF IN, the crew starts moving smoothly around in the pitch dark night to their positions and I take over the helm, heart rate probably close to 190, and it flashes through my mind, just relax, keep her on her feet, you have done this a thousand times before., but still… The boat speed increases dramatically, we are nearly flying over the waves, doing over 30 knots of boat speed, and the wind is still increasing.

I shout: GO STRAIGHT TO SECOND REEF. Suddenly a big loud BANG, ‘sh*t’ what’s that? The answer comes instantly as the reacher jib, starts flogging like a maniac. The guys asleep downstairs are now up and jumping in their foulies. You don’t have to call them, they know we have a bit on. What is the priority in such a situation, first finish reefing the mainsail, the sail we use 24 hours a day, and can’t do without. But now the snowball effect starts really rolling. The reefs are nearly in, as all of sudden the second reef line comes undone. OH NO, GO TO THE THIRD REEF!!!! In the mean time the wind has changed nearly 80 degrees in direction, so we are crashing into the old wave pattern, and getting douched constantly, the boat making heavy slamming noises.

The boys are transferring as quickly as possible to the third reefline, as Mikey shouts out: THE REACHER HAS SHREDDED ITSELF. After the reefs are in, eight guys make their way to the front and struggle on the foredeck to get the jib down. I am trying as hard as possible not to send the boat into the waves but several times they all disappear under water, good to know they are all clipped on. Finally the sail is down and they drag it back, and put it downstairs through the hatch. This sail might be good for building Gucci handbags!!!!

Next we have to jibe, as we are 90 degrees off course, not easy in so much wind, but it helps hugely that we can cant the keel from side to side on this boat. I am waiting for the big surf and start turning the boat, winches run, and the shout comes: RUNNER MADE, the old runner gets eased as well the mainsheet. Who said ‘difficult’? Piece of cake…

From then on we clean up the cockpit and hoist the storm jib for the first time on the trip, quickly followed by a staysail, as the wind doesn’t rise any longer. CAPE HORN , HERE WE COME!!!! This was only a brief moment of our normal office day.

Makes sitting around ashore seem pretty boring, doesn’t it….

“Hey Bouwe, it’s going to be like this every day, right?”

Remember the two morons who went on safari dressed as a zebra? They are at it again, this time getting into a hot tub full of alligators. Yes, you can guess what happens (“They won’t bite you until they bite you”), but watch it anyway by clicking here. Because it’s pretty damn funny. I sure hope these guys are well paid…

Toothy Television: “Cut, cut, dammit! Whaddya mean you need more “B-roll”…?”

I’m as resourceful as anyone when it comes to figuring out plausible excuses (and creative rationalizations) not to lead a conventional life. But I doff my hat to Gwendall Castellan and Tania Lo, the brain trust (and muscle power) behind the Antipodes Expedition. What the hell is it? Oh, just a 23,000 km bike trip/adventure/online project/reason to spend a lot of time in little towns with great tequila. The idea is to bicycle from Ushuaia, Argentina (at the southern end of South America) to Inuvik, in the Great White North of Canada. Not sure if these two geographical points are true antipodes (which are two points opposite one another on the globe; draw a line from Point 1 through the center of the earth and out to the other side, or Point 2. Points 1 and 2 are antipodes). Anyhow, geography arcana aside, these guys are posting great trip reports and a blizzard of funny, moving and beautiful pictures. They are in Mexico now, and have been on the road (picking up a few other team members along the way) for more than a year. They hope to be in Inuvik by late summer (that will be an interesting race against frigid temperatures). Here’s one of their reports:

“On the road at our speed, we hear of many others doing similar trips on bikes as well. Gwendal started over a year ago in Ushuaia two weeks after this speedy spaniard and it wasn’t until Cartagena, Colombia that we met him for the first time. Most often, the chance encounters happen as we cross another cyclo-tourist(s) going the opposite direction. This usually entailes some happy smiles at the parallel world we can immediately relate to even with a complete stranger. A few curious stares at their rig (bike and baggage systems) and we’re off as the hours are short when there’s a destination to be had before sunset. This one particular early morning leaving Tuxtla Guiterrez to avoid the heat, we were met by some police officers excitedly warning us of three cyclists a half an hour before us, heading in the same direction.

Feeling weary from Gwendal’s sun allergies, my quadricep aching and the recent chiapan hills, we thought it improbable to catch this intrepid group probably 10kms ahead of us. They even got up before we did! To our surprise they waved us down a few turns later at the Pemex (gas station).

The six of us rode two-by-two switching conversing partners after every break for the next few weeks. As we found out, it takes many stories to catch up to over a year on the road. Gwendal had briefly met Marcel and Maria on the Carreterra Austral in Chile over 10,000 kms ago but only for a short 20min visit (they were going opposite directions then). Dominic, their third and newest member, had recently joined them in Guatemala city hoping to make it to Mexico city for his one-month hiatus from BC’s strange winter/spring.

Much more experienced world-cyclers, we were able to gain many useful, and subtle to the untrained eye, tips such as eating cold oats in the morning. A trick which speeds up the routine by at least 17 minutes. All minutes and especially grams are counted and shed in order to make the most of the treasured hours off the saddle. We did acquire their mirrors and found some kick-stands that somehow had eluded us until now. Safety is always first, especially on the highways when the buses seem to sneek up on us as their engines are at the back. You can’t hear them until they are streaking by your left shoulder sending a rush of tense adrenaline through your remaining senses. We were able to show them a trick or two ourselves, like keeping waterbottles cooler with wet socks and the virtues of carrying a pressure cooker at altitude.”

Hmmm. If a waterbottle will stay cooler in a wet sock, what about a beer bottle…

“Heh-heh. Butch Cassidy and Sundance had nothing on us…”

Click here to see how Orcas amuse themselves. Sorta sick (Pete Wallerstein definitely would not approve). But funny, too…

“Sh*t. These birds are way too elusive. Let’s go back to playing with seals…”