Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Ada Foah, Ghana
Stuck in a rut, living out of a tiny bug ridden flophouse smelling of rotten eggs while waiting for the long list of visas necessary to leave Accra, we decided to leave town for a few days and save some money by camping. We headed east to Ada Foah, where the beaches had been highly recommended. While picturesque, the water was swimming with an astonishing number of trash bags and other flotsam, and the currents were no joke. With a calm and tranquil setting to catch up on our writing, we slowly regained our mental health.
After meeting a trio of Americans who informed us about a nearby Yacht Club, it seemed a travesty not to check it out. It wasnt hard to find and, while they wouldnt let us touch any of the catamarans or bigger sailboats because they belonged to high rollers from Accra, they did have a couple of Lasers that they could let us take out for a few dollars. Choosing Nate, who last sailed during his small boy years over a decade ago, as my second mate, I figured we had nothing to fear. I had sailed less than five years ago and, to my best recollection, was a decent seaman. However, remembering squat about properly rigging up a boat, we let others do it for us.
Full of optimism, I guided the Laser into the channel and, immediately caught a strong gust of wind that flipped us both into the water. Climbing onto the keel, we righted the boat, scrambled back in and sailed on, only to once again find ourselves in the water. The boys at the Yacht Club loved it. After a few more times in the drink, I managed to get the hang of it, which meant only occasional flipping. Nate took the helm and, after a few of his own mishaps, got us onto a good line with a starboard wind. He then proceeded to keel a bit too sharply and I ended up sliding off the bow of the boat into the water. Without a life jacket, I was left to tread water for a while as Nate tried to figure out how to tack back and pick me up. He slowly got further and further away. After six oor seven minutes, Nate finally got the boat going in the right direction but before he could pick me up, an errant gust of wind started to tip the Laser and he jumped out. I watched the empty boat sail past me before collapsing ahead of us. After about an hour, we both regained some of the skills that had been lost over the years, before taking the boat back and returning to our tent colony on the beach.
Stuck in a rut, living out of a tiny bug ridden flophouse smelling of rotten eggs while waiting for the long list of visas necessary to leave Accra, we decided to leave town for a few days and save some money by camping. We headed east to Ada Foah, where the beaches had been highly recommended. While picturesque, the water was swimming with an astonishing number of trash bags and other flotsam, and the currents were no joke. With a calm and tranquil setting to catch up on our writing, we slowly regained our mental health.
After meeting a trio of Americans who informed us about a nearby Yacht Club, it seemed a travesty not to check it out. It wasnt hard to find and, while they wouldnt let us touch any of the catamarans or bigger sailboats because they belonged to high rollers from Accra, they did have a couple of Lasers that they could let us take out for a few dollars. Choosing Nate, who last sailed during his small boy years over a decade ago, as my second mate, I figured we had nothing to fear. I had sailed less than five years ago and, to my best recollection, was a decent seaman. However, remembering squat about properly rigging up a boat, we let others do it for us.
Full of optimism, I guided the Laser into the channel and, immediately caught a strong gust of wind that flipped us both into the water. Climbing onto the keel, we righted the boat, scrambled back in and sailed on, only to once again find ourselves in the water. The boys at the Yacht Club loved it. After a few more times in the drink, I managed to get the hang of it, which meant only occasional flipping. Nate took the helm and, after a few of his own mishaps, got us onto a good line with a starboard wind. He then proceeded to keel a bit too sharply and I ended up sliding off the bow of the boat into the water. Without a life jacket, I was left to tread water for a while as Nate tried to figure out how to tack back and pick me up. He slowly got further and further away. After six oor seven minutes, Nate finally got the boat going in the right direction but before he could pick me up, an errant gust of wind started to tip the Laser and he jumped out. I watched the empty boat sail past me before collapsing ahead of us. After about an hour, we both regained some of the skills that had been lost over the years, before taking the boat back and returning to our tent colony on the beach.
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