Friday, June 04, 2004
Have A Wetass Weekend...
Wetass Sport #363--Cluster Ballooning: Remember the moron in LA, who in 1982 thought he would go for a little ride above his neighborhood by attaching some helium balloons to a lawn chair? He ended up at 16,000 feet, in the flight path to LAX. Somehow, he survived to keep the gene pool just a notch dumber than it otherwise would be. Well, naturally this little stunt has been turned into a full-fledged sport, and the numero uno cluster(f*ck) balloon pilot in North America (actually the only cluster balloon pilot in North America) is a guy named John Ninomiya. He's made 23 cluster balloon flights, which he claims to be the most by any "pilot" anywhere (Ninomiya says there are about a half dozen others around the world with a similar big balloon fetish). The idea is simple: attach a bunch of big-ass helium balloons to a harness, release ballast when you want to go up, and pop the balloons (no, not all of them!) when you want to come down. Ninomiya can get a little scary on the subject ("There's a sense of anticipation as the balloons are attached to you, and you grow lighter and lighter. The balloons are so big, it's like being a child again") but I guess it's better that he's into balloons than, err, other things. So check out his extensive website, and read about his lifelong obsession with big, shiny, colorful balloons (triggered by watching the movie "The Red Balloon"), the history of cluster ballooning (first flight: 1937. Really.), the relative merits of latex versus mylar (sounds like a condom ad), and a whole bunch of other crap you probably don't need to know...
"Yup, I'm really up there. Just me and my balloons. Flying. I can't believe my Mom thinks I still need to grow up..."
"Yup, I'm really up there. Just me and my balloons. Flying. I can't believe my Mom thinks I still need to grow up..."
Transat Live (Almost)!: Ahh, the wonders of technology. Thanks to the intrepid cameramen of Seamaster Sailing we no longer have to wonder what an Open 60 trimaran sailing the North Atlantic looks like. We can sit right at home on our fat duffs and click the mouse a few times (as long as we have Quicktime! If you don't, just get it already. You're missing a lot of great video...). First a quick race summary: The leading trimarans have sailed through the center of the gale, and are now blazing along in strong northwesterly winds, heading for the exits of the depression. They are more than halfway to Boston and nervous about icebergs. Except apparently leader Michel Desjoyeaux, who claims that he slept all night and let the autopilot do the driving in 44 knot winds and 18 foot seas (the fleet's collective response: "Bullshit!"). A couple hundred miles back the three leading Open 60 monohulls are packed in a tight group and racing their hearts out, putting up 300 mile-plus days. Mike Sanderson on Pindar AlphaGraphics reports that he was sailing at 27 knots last night, which is just about the only reason these sailors put up with the cold and damp. Anyhow, let's go to the tape!
Click here for a Day 3 report, which has some great shots of the tris at 24 knots, launching off waves. You can really see how light--and powerful--these racing machines are...
More? You want more? Okay. Click here for a Day 4 wrapup (and to practice your French). We've got fog, we've got spray, we've got more trimarans, and one great shot of the outboard steering station (towards the end). No wonder these guys love the autopilot...
Stop! Enough! You're killing me! This is the last one! Click here for Day 5. See Foncia literally flying over the waves, and hear Alan Gautier describe how he broke almost all his mainsail battens in 40-plus knots, and had to drop the beast for repairs...
Phew, after all that I've got to lie back and smoke a cigarette...
Desjoyeaux Underway: Is that the sound of snoring?
(Photo: DPPI)
Click here for a Day 3 report, which has some great shots of the tris at 24 knots, launching off waves. You can really see how light--and powerful--these racing machines are...
More? You want more? Okay. Click here for a Day 4 wrapup (and to practice your French). We've got fog, we've got spray, we've got more trimarans, and one great shot of the outboard steering station (towards the end). No wonder these guys love the autopilot...
Stop! Enough! You're killing me! This is the last one! Click here for Day 5. See Foncia literally flying over the waves, and hear Alan Gautier describe how he broke almost all his mainsail battens in 40-plus knots, and had to drop the beast for repairs...
Phew, after all that I've got to lie back and smoke a cigarette...
Desjoyeaux Underway: Is that the sound of snoring?
(Photo: DPPI)
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Everest Speed Record Revisited: All is not mellow in Sherpa-land, it seems. Just over a week ago, TWC reported on a new Everest speed record, set by Pemba Dorji Sherpa who said he went from Base Camp to the summit in the spectacular time of 8 hours and 10 minutes. But now Lakpa Gelu Sherpa, the previous record holder who managed the feat in May 2003 in 10 hours and 46 minutes, has challenged Pemba Dorji's new record. Citing inconsistencies in Pemba's account and the bad weather on the mountain that day, Lakpa filed a complaint with the Nepalese tourist ministry, questioning whether Pemba really could have pulled off the climb. "When Pemba is believed to have reached the top at record fastest time there was no one above 6,500 meters (21,330 feet)," [Lakpa] said. "Thus no one can say if Pemba really made it to the top or not." Pemba has shrugged off the charge, saying that he has sufficient poof. Interestingly, when Lakpa set his record in 2003, the record he bested--set just three days earlier--had been put up by none other than Pemba Sherpa. The tourism ministry has opened a probe to sort out this ongoing pissing match. But there's obviously only one way to resolve it once and for all: both Sherpas, head to head, sprinting up Everest. And TWC claims the TV rights...
Pemba Sherpa: "Hey, Lakpa. You're right. I do look pretty damn good for having been to the top and back. Heh-heh. Eat your heart out, bro.."
(Photo: AFP)
Pemba Sherpa: "Hey, Lakpa. You're right. I do look pretty damn good for having been to the top and back. Heh-heh. Eat your heart out, bro.."
(Photo: AFP)
TWC Quick Hits...:
Man Hangs Himself After Wife Catches Him Having Sex With Hen: Distraught hen then slaughtered. Wow, talk about a bad day...
Racehorse Outsprinted By Middle-Aged, Sausage Eating Greyhound: Dog wins by 15 dog lengths over 400 meters, resolving local barroom debate. What, you've never wondered about this?
21 Bloodied and Battered In Chaotic Annual Cheese Rolling Competition: Participants pursue 71-pound double Gloucester wheel down a very steep hill. Why? They're English...
"Faster, chaps, it's getting away. Oh bother! I seem to have broken my ankle..."
Man Hangs Himself After Wife Catches Him Having Sex With Hen: Distraught hen then slaughtered. Wow, talk about a bad day...
Racehorse Outsprinted By Middle-Aged, Sausage Eating Greyhound: Dog wins by 15 dog lengths over 400 meters, resolving local barroom debate. What, you've never wondered about this?
21 Bloodied and Battered In Chaotic Annual Cheese Rolling Competition: Participants pursue 71-pound double Gloucester wheel down a very steep hill. Why? They're English...
"Faster, chaps, it's getting away. Oh bother! I seem to have broken my ankle..."
Transat Trials: The lead trimaran is about 1700 miles from Boston, and the lead Open 60 monohull has got about 1850. Directly between them is a fast-moving depression--packing winds of 40 knots or more, and nasty seas--which the fleet will be forced to sail directly through. The last time this happened, in the 2002 Route De Rhum, there was carnage all over the place, with boats breaking apart one after another. It's not as if life has been easy so far. A bunch of trimarans have been reporting collisions with floating debris, and even a whale (though no major damage yet). Plus, it's been almost all upwind so far, which is by far the most miserable point of sail for these sensitive boats. Yves Parlier's radical hydroplaning cat, seems to be suffering most. He's already more than 300 miles behind the multihull leader, former Vendee Globe winner Michel Desjoyeaux. Uh, Yves, maybe you better stick to downwind events in that thing. At least our buddy, Joe Harris on Wells Fargo-American Pioneer, knows how to deal with the sh*t weather, reporting "I have made the first of my favorite night watch beverage-instant coffee, cocoa, Parmelat milk and a splash of Jameson's Irish Whiskey to buck me up to go on deck in the dark and cold and rain." There are very few situations in life that a dash of Jameson's can't improve...
"Great, I've only got to do this for another, oh, 2000 miles..."
"Great, I've only got to do this for another, oh, 2000 miles..."
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
The Survivor Celebrity Sausage Machine Exposed--"Brand Bethany": We're all familiar with Bethany Hamilton. Sweet 13-year old surfer. Arm gets bitten of by a tiger shark. Overcomes crippling injury with grace and courage. Makes news around the world. Well, it won't surprise you to learn that Sweet Bethany now has an agent, a book deal, and a pack of handlers that manage every interview and public appearance the kid makes. The aim: max revenue, and her family is entirely complicit. The LA Times gets into it all, with a fascinating--and frequently cringe-inducing--expose on what happens when an unknown teenager is transformed into a "survivor," a media obsession...and, inevitably, a slick and carefully milked cash cow. Reporter Ashley Powers doesn't try to make Bethany and her family seem greedy, just caught up in the seemingly inevitable American cycle of fame and exploitation. After all, the kid lost her arm, and physical therapy and a good prosthetic costs a lot of money. But it's hard not to raise an eyebrow. Here's Powers, trying to snag an interview with Sweet Bethany:
It's May now, and Cheri Hamilton is on the line, explaining why her daughter could not be (and, indeed wasn't) interviewed for this story. Cheri's speech is slack, like an overheated beachgoer's. She is patient, and firm: If the family agreed to an interview now, it might jeopardize their deal with Simon & Schuster for a book, still untitled. "They want people hungry," she says, cheerily. To talk to anyone now "would be giving away what they're trying to sell. Call us at the end of October and we'll do all the media you want."
Umm, Cheri? What they--and you, it seems--are selling...is your daughter. The only one just living his life normally in all this is the tiger shark...
"Oh sh*t, better cut back the other way to avoid running over that pack of TV cameras..."
Photo: Noah (Bethany's Brother) Hamilton (You can bill me later, dude...)
It's May now, and Cheri Hamilton is on the line, explaining why her daughter could not be (and, indeed wasn't) interviewed for this story. Cheri's speech is slack, like an overheated beachgoer's. She is patient, and firm: If the family agreed to an interview now, it might jeopardize their deal with Simon & Schuster for a book, still untitled. "They want people hungry," she says, cheerily. To talk to anyone now "would be giving away what they're trying to sell. Call us at the end of October and we'll do all the media you want."
Umm, Cheri? What they--and you, it seems--are selling...is your daughter. The only one just living his life normally in all this is the tiger shark...
"Oh sh*t, better cut back the other way to avoid running over that pack of TV cameras..."
Photo: Noah (Bethany's Brother) Hamilton (You can bill me later, dude...)
Wetass Video Of The Week...: Meet Tim Gross, from Portland, who hucks his kayak off the 101-foot high Abqua Creek waterfall. Just your ordinary, insane huck, except it doesn't finish quite as it started out. Or, as Gross puts it: "It was alright until I was completely upside down..." D'oh! So click here to watch (Quicktime required) what has to be a world record in the newly created category of "Kayak Huck--Inverted"...
"Uhh, Houston, I think we have a problem..."
"Uhh, Houston, I think we have a problem..."
Transat Update: After bashing through strong headwinds and rain for the first day, the 36 skippers (there has been one retirement, a 60-foot tri that had a daggerboard snap off) of the singlehanded transat race got a brief respite as they sailed through a ridge of high pressure off Ireland. The racing is intense (click here for reports), with the two lead trimarans match racing each other through the night, just 200 meters apart. Here's how Thomas Coville on Sodebo, described the experience of racing through the dense fog the fleet encountered:
"A strange atmosphere, like sailing through soft cotton. The feeling of speed is intenseĀ with nothing visual to register on [there has been under 300m visibility] except our wake, we seemed to be flying along in 14-15 knots of wind and a gentle, long swell."
Most of the skippers have survived on just a few hours of sleep, mostly in very brief naps. Here's what race originator Blondie Hasler had to say about sleep:
"A trained singlehander can maintain full mental and physical efficiency for an unlimited number of days without ever sleeping for more than 20 minutes at a time-often only half a minute-but these catnaps must be taken at frequent intervals throughout 24 hours, and must be started as soon as he leaves port, long before he begins to feel tired."
Uh, okay Blondie. However they do it, the skippers better get rested up, though. There is a massive depression spreading across the Atlantic, which is set to hammer the fleet later this week. Here's the long-range forecast: carnage...
Yves Parlier's Radical "Hydroplaneur": "Alors, if the storm takes one mast, at least I have another..."
"A strange atmosphere, like sailing through soft cotton. The feeling of speed is intenseĀ with nothing visual to register on [there has been under 300m visibility] except our wake, we seemed to be flying along in 14-15 knots of wind and a gentle, long swell."
Most of the skippers have survived on just a few hours of sleep, mostly in very brief naps. Here's what race originator Blondie Hasler had to say about sleep:
"A trained singlehander can maintain full mental and physical efficiency for an unlimited number of days without ever sleeping for more than 20 minutes at a time-often only half a minute-but these catnaps must be taken at frequent intervals throughout 24 hours, and must be started as soon as he leaves port, long before he begins to feel tired."
Uh, okay Blondie. However they do it, the skippers better get rested up, though. There is a massive depression spreading across the Atlantic, which is set to hammer the fleet later this week. Here's the long-range forecast: carnage...
Yves Parlier's Radical "Hydroplaneur": "Alors, if the storm takes one mast, at least I have another..."
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Transatlantic, Upwind, Alone--What's Not To Love?: Yesterday, 37 solo sailors left Plymouth in windy, wet conditions. Ahead of them lies 3,000 miles of cold, grey ocean, as they batter their way through frontal systems, exhaustion and potential catastrophe to reach Boston. It's called "The Transat," and it's the granddaddy of all solo races. Started in 1960 by an English adventurer and innovator named Blondie Hasler (who raced in a 26-foot, junk-rigged cruising boat), the first Transat took more than 40 days. It was such a compelling and nail-biting competition that it has been held every four years since, and was the precursor to the solo races which eventually took sailors around the world. Today, the boats are the best of the best, high tech 60-foot trimarans, 60-foot monohull thoroughbreds tuning up for the non-stop, round-the-planet Vendee Globe this fall, and a handful of 50-footers. The first boats should be in Boston in just over a week...that is if they don't capsize or break down. The weather, as usual, is for sh*t, and already the skippers are exhausted from lack of sleep (Hasler claimed he perfected the art of the one-minute catnap for this race). You can follow the whole shebang here, and read the latest daily report here. There are two American skippers, Kip Stone and Joe Harris, in the 50-foot monohull fleet, who will be fun to follow. Both are amateur sailors who just said, "What the f*ck," bought racing boats, and are now out there getting cold, getting wet, and probably wondering what the hell they were thinking...
Transat Trimaran: "Whoa, Momma. Note to self: the manual advises that it's important to keep at least part of the boat in the water at all times..."
Transat Trimaran: "Whoa, Momma. Note to self: the manual advises that it's important to keep at least part of the boat in the water at all times..."
TWC Quick Hits...:
Deadly Piranhas May Have Been Dumped Into Bangkok Waterways: Men who plan to swim are warned to, err, "cover" themselves well...
California Surfer Survives Great White Nibble Attack: Researchers interested in examining incredibly skanky wetsuit...
French Police Smash Frog Poaching Network: Huge operation nets restaurateurs and a whole lot of 12-year old boys. In other news, experts wonder why Al Qaeda is thriving...
"I'm as willing as the next frog to go undercover, but that wire totally messed up my croak..."
Deadly Piranhas May Have Been Dumped Into Bangkok Waterways: Men who plan to swim are warned to, err, "cover" themselves well...
California Surfer Survives Great White Nibble Attack: Researchers interested in examining incredibly skanky wetsuit...
French Police Smash Frog Poaching Network: Huge operation nets restaurateurs and a whole lot of 12-year old boys. In other news, experts wonder why Al Qaeda is thriving...
"I'm as willing as the next frog to go undercover, but that wire totally messed up my croak..."
Annals of Achievement--Everest North Central Face Climbed: Over the weekend, while we were all grilling hot dogs and drinking beer, the Russian climbers on Everest pulled off the climb of the decade, getting to the top of the world via the brutal unclimbed rock wall that guards Everest's north face. They were the last climbers on the mountain, and the last meters required superhuman effort. At 8600 meters, just when the lead group thought they had knocked the bastard off, the climbers were faced with a very difficult step of Grade 6 (which translates as "f*cking difficult") rock. They desperately tried to climb it, so they could summit and get down, but it was too hard. SO they had to spend not one, but TWO nights at 8600 meters...without sleeping bags. Oh yeah, they were also running out of oxygen and had to turn their bottles down to minimal flow. Conditions were about as harsh as Stalin's worst Siberian gulag, but instead of backing off these guys just sucked it up and kept pressing. And on Sunday all the pain and frustration paid off, when they finally got to the top (and quickly hightailed it down the other side, using the easy classic route to get down fast). Another team of Russians hit the summit the next day, pulling off the first June summit in Everest history. According to Explorer's Web this is the first clean, new route on Everest in 20 years. The only question is: the Russians survived the North Central Face, but will they survive their own victory party...?
"Leapin' Lenin, this mountain is cold. That vodka tanker better be backed up to base camp when we get down..."
"Leapin' Lenin, this mountain is cold. That vodka tanker better be backed up to base camp when we get down..."
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