Overmast

Panoramic photograph, one size, framed – dimensions: 95 x 33 cm

That Memorable Windsurfing Wipeout

I found the right one: a big wave with a westerly orientation, accompanied by a small gust. I nearly lost contact with the water mid-air at the crest—the classic “air-drop.”

Since there was no wind at the bottom of the wave face, my sail flipped back toward me due to the speed.

I had to ease the pressure by pulling on my back hand to let the sail open up. Just then, the boom slammed into my lower back, making it impossible to turn.

I extended my line a bit, heading straight down the wave to catch the wind correctly, then switched to the opposite rail by pressing down on my toes.

That’s when I looked at the wave—which had finally come to life—and realized it was truly a westerly; I was losing speed without getting any push at all.

I widened the end of my turn to optimize my exit, gaining a few meters that ultimately saved my gear.

During this phase, I used my “sea snake” diving technique—head-first, under the sail, at the right angle—to submerge as deeply as possible, given the wave’s size, speed, and position.

I took a violent blow to the left side of my face and ear; I thought my time was up. I was surprised and truly relieved to emerge unscathed—and to find my gear intact, too.

I surfaced safe and sound a few seconds later and saw my equipment floating about ten meters away, completely undamaged.

I have to say, I felt like the luckiest survivor at Teahupoo! It might not be the most glorious title one could dream of, but it was certainly a pivotal event—one that changed my life.

The second wave arrived, swallowed my gear right in front of me, and I swam over to the jet ski.

I barely made it, but I was in good enough shape to make a quick run on the jet ski over the reef, into the lagoon, to retrieve the wreckage.

I found my board, mast base, extension, and mast intact—clustered together and still rigged.

The boom extension had snapped clean off, and only a small scrap of fabric remained at the base to remind me that a sail had once been there.

I spent another hour searching the area with a friend, but found nothing.

The beast was hungry and had claimed its meal. It loves Goya gear even more than we do—especially with a dash of salt and some French meat. That was my one 30-minute session in the last six months: life at Teahupoo.

Text by Charles Vandemeulebroucke | Windsurfer