Hi! I'm Lynn. I'm 31, I'm a physical therapist in Portland, and from Memorial Day to Labor Day I spend every weekend I can about an hour east of here on I-84, sailing the Columbia River Gorge. (There are no palm trees in the Gorge. It was the most beach-looking clip art I could find. Use your imagination.)

I started in 1994 on a rented board the size of a door, and I have been hooked ever since. This page is for people who are thinking about trying it, people who already sail and want to argue with my sail sizes, and my mother, who wants to know what I'm doing out there and probably shouldn't read the Wind Log.

"Nuking," if you're wondering, is what we say when the wind is blowing so hard that you're on your smallest sail and still hanging on for dear life. It happens a lot out here. That's the whole point.

Because of the wind, and because of the wind blowing the wrong way.

Here's how it works, as best a PT can explain weather. In the summer, the high desert east of the Cascades gets hot, and the air over the ocean stays cool. The cool air wants to go where the hot air is, and the Cascades are in the way. The Columbia River Gorge is the only place the river cuts all the way through the mountains at sea level, so the air comes pouring through it like water through a funnel, from west to east. On a good summer afternoon that's 20 to 35 miles an hour of steady wind, day after day.

Meanwhile the river is flowing the other way, west to the ocean. Wind blowing upstream against the current stacks the water up into steep swells, sometimes several feet high and close together. If you like jumping, it's a giant ramp park. If you're learning, it's a washing machine. Either way you're going to get wet.

Before I drive out, I check the forecast and the difference in air pressure between Portland and The Dalles. When it's a lot higher in Portland, the air has somewhere to go in a hurry. Bigger difference, more wind. Andrea, who I sail with, says I talk about pressure gradients like other people talk about their kids.

"Quiver" is what windsurfers call their collection of boards and sails, because we're dramatic. Mine lives in the garage of my apartment building, and on summer Fridays it lives on the roof of my car. Here's what's in it:

• The big board. A freeride board, 270 centimeters long and about 110 liters. Floaty enough to get going in lighter wind, and forgiving when I mess up a jibe. I bought it used in 1997.
• The little board. A wave board, about 254 centimeters and 85 liters. It sinks if I stand on it in no wind, so I have to water start it every time. On a nuking day it's the best thing I own. Bought new in 1998 and I am still paying it off.
• Four sails: 5.5, 5.0, 4.5 and 4.0 square meters. The 5.5 is the oldest and has a patch on it from the Hatchery. The 4.0 is for when I'm scared.
• Two masts, two booms, extensions, a pile of fins, and a bag of spare parts I have never once had with me when I needed it (see June 26 in the log).
• Waist harness, so my back and arms don't do all the work. More on that in the learning page.
• Wetsuits: a full suit for May, June and the end of the season, and a short-sleeved one for the warm part of August. Booties, always. The rocks at the launches are sharp, and the slimy green stuff on them is slippery.

This is for me, at my size, at my skill level, with my gear. If you're bigger than me, go up a size. If you're a beginner, go up a size and stay at the Event Site. Wind is in miles an hour, the way the Gorge reports it.

There are a lot of launch sites up and down the Gorge, on both the Oregon and Washington sides, and the locals all have opinions. These are the two I use most. Go look at them, ask at a shop in Hood River, and start where people at your level are sailing.

The Event Site, Hood River (Oregon side). Right on the waterfront in town. A big grassy area for rigging, a beach to launch from, bathrooms, and on a summer weekend about a thousand people. It's where I learned, it's where I still go on most days, and it's the best place in the world to watch windsurfing from the grass with a sandwich. Nearby is a sheltered cove the beginners use, where the water is flatter and the wind is lighter. I spent the whole summer of 1994 in there and I'm not ashamed.

The Hatchery (Washington side). A few miles away across the river, near a fish hatchery, which is where the name comes from. When the wind is strong, this is where the big swell is, and where the people who really know what they're doing go jumping. It is not a beginner site and it is not an intermediate-having-a-bad-day site. I sail it on my good days, with my friends, on my small gear, and I stay where they can see me. The first time I went I sat on the bank and watched for two hours before I rigged. I recommend that.

I joke about my falls. I don't joke about this stuff. The Gorge is a big river with real traffic, real current and real wind, and every summer somebody gets in trouble out there.

• Stay out of the barges' way. Tugboats push barges up and down the river in the shipping channel, and they can't stop or turn for you. They're bigger and faster than they look from the water. Never cut in front of one, give them a wide berth, and if your gear breaks, get out of the channel first and figure out the rest later.
• Remember the current. The river is always moving west. When you fall, or stop, or break down, you drift downstream, and sometimes you end up a long way from where your car is. Know where you'd come ashore if you had to.
• The water is cold. Cold in May and June, and still cool enough in August to chill you after a long swim. Wear a wetsuit. Being cold makes you tired, and being tired is how people get hurt.
• Never sail alone. I sail with Andrea and Kerry, and we watch each other. If one of us goes in to rest, we say so. If one of us is out of sight for too long, the others go look. If you show up alone, make friends on the beach. Everybody does.
• Learn to self-rescue before you need it: how to take the sail off the board in the water, roll it up on the boom, lie on the board with it and paddle in. Practice it on a calm day. I had to do it for real this June, and I was very glad I'd practiced.
• Know your limits, and then sail a little under them. The wind usually gets stronger in the afternoon, not weaker.

These are the two big walls every windsurfer runs into, and I ran into both of them face first, many, many times.

The water start is how you get going in deep water with a board too small to stand on and pull the sail up. You lie in the water, get the sail up out of the water and into the wind, put your back foot on the board, and let the wind lift you up onto it. It sounds like a magic trick, and the first time it works it feels like one. It took me a summer and a half.

The carve jibe is turning the board around downwind without slowing down: you lean the board into the turn on its edge like a ski, flip the sail around in front of you, switch your feet and keep planing out the other side. When it works, it's the most graceful thing I'll ever do in my life. When it doesn't, which for me was thousands of times, you fall in, sail on top of you, in front of everybody at the Event Site. It took me three summers, and I'm still only making about seven out of ten.

The whole embarrassing story, with my tips, is on the other page: Learning to Windsurf: The Honest Version.

A word from your physical therapist. Every August my clinic fills up with sore shoulders, tweaked lower backs and forearms so pumped people can't hold a coffee cup. Most of it comes from hanging on with your arms instead of your harness. Use the harness lines, keep your arms long, hips forward, and loosen your grip. Stretch before you rig, not after you're hurt. And wear sunscreen, because the reflection off the water will cook you even on a cloudy day. That's free advice. It's usually $90 an hour.

Today is Labor Day, the last big weekend of the summer. The Gorge doesn't stop blowing on Labor Day, and some people sail right through September, but the crowds go home, the days get shorter, and for most of us with jobs this is the end. I sailed 27 days this year, and I've logged every one, plus the days I drove out and didn't sail.

Read the whole Wind Log, Summer 1999 >>