Countdown to a splashdown!

Gaston de Rosayro

It is not exactly walking on water. But it is the closest you can get to it. And you might say it is decidedly better. Gliding across the surface of a lake at 30 miles per hour with the wind in your hair and the spray in your face is definitely ecstatic. You might also imagine that it is pretty simple. But then again once you are really in the action you will realise that it’s no cakewalk either.

Sure, it looks easy. But then that goes for so many other events and enterprises when viewed from a theoretical perspective. But from a practical standpoint one finds certain acts a far dodgier proposition than imagined. As in the case of a water skiing first-timer you will find the reality leaves you feeling as though you’ve spent a couple of hours in an automatic washing machine. Sumo wrestling might be unquestionably easier.

Water skiing is becoming increasingly popular in Sri Lanka, particularly among the younger folk. Although considered relatively expensive, the sport is not the exclusive privilege of the filthy rich any more. Those bronzed figures skimming gracefully over lake and sea positively make water skiing look as easy as downing an ale in three gulps on a dog-day afternoon. At least that is what I mistakenly imagined, when the sport was gaining popularity in Sri Lanka, some years ago.

It was perhaps a touch of the old male chauvinist that impelled me to have a go at the sport on a palm-fringed Bolgoda Lake on the outskirts of Colombo. I intently watched a power boat thunder by towing a pair of lissome lasses. Amid the frothy wake they were like disporting water nymphs.

What I did not realise at the time was the fact the two gilded goddesses were trick skiiers who could flawlessly execute intrepid zig-zag slaloms, jumps and other breathtaking ballet-like manoeuvres with the skill and grace of Dame Margot Fonteyn in her prime.

“If any slip of a girl can do it so can I,” I confided with a touch of braggadocio to the then bald-headed ski-instructor friend who now, miraculously, sports a full shock of hair. I concede that I was not all that gung-ho when the time for action approached.

With much reluctance bordering on stark fear I was cajoled into a pair of skis. Since water-skiers can reach speeds of about 35mph, if you take a tumble, it can have pretty serious repercussions. The skier should know how to swim, but should wear a life jacket regardless of swimming ability. The most common water ski injuries involve the lower legs, such as the knee, because a tumble at high speed can create irregular angles of collision between the skier’s body and the water surface.

With foolhardy bravado I refused the life-jacket - any seasoned skier will tell you that all but idiots wear life-jackets. As the powerful motor was being gunned into action I crouched in the shallows feeling tight knots in my stomach as I hung grimly on to the tow rope. Over the throb of the engine I heard the instructor yelling out his orders: “Knees bent together ... ski tips apart ... arms straight out.” Then at the helmsman: “Okay, slowly forward.”

I was afforded one last glimpse of laughing faces on the pier and then I was off, gliding, actually gliding amid a foam-flecked spray. The feeling is quite exhilarating really, if you are willing to ignore a number of embarrassingly uncomfortable factors.

For one, your arms feel as if they are about to pop out of their sockets and there is that unbearable ache in your thighs which gives you a far worse feeling than after climbing sixteen floors when the lift has gone kaput.

In addition, there is the absolutely excruciating sensation of having unending gallons of water being forced up your swimming trunks. Believe me, the latter sensation totally defies classification. I can humbly describe it as the grand-daddy of enemas.

No doubt, there will be many among the gay fraternity who might quite enjoy it. Speaking for myself, such rupturing torment would be sufficient cause to drive anyone to a frenzied state of homophobia.

I realised with frightful clarity that the beginner’s lot was not a very happy one. I hung on to that tow rope in desperation, more by sheer willpower than physical prowess, while my face, eyes, privies and the lower extremity of my alimentary canal were being subjected to the worst water torture imaginable.

However, for a first-timer I was doing pretty well. And despite the physical discomforts a feeling of euphoria seemed to be welling inside me. Five hundred metres, 1000 and then perhaps around 5000 metres, I tried a crouching stance making it easier on my arms and legs. I had been advised categorically not to attempt any instant improvisations on my first try. But it worked. With growing confidence I attempted to look back at the inexorably disappearing pier.

But I should have realised that before one gets to be an expert skier, one needs to start at the beginning. I should have also remembered that the faster the boat, the faster the skier is towed along. And the faster the skier the more painful and severe the pain in case of a spill. To slightly amend an old adage, ‘pride goes before a splash’ should have been most appropriate in the circumstances.

I hit the water around 35 mph. One moment I was gliding on water. The next I was somersaulting in the air, in a tangle of arms, legs, skis and all. And then I hit the water with an excruciatingly painful thump-a-thump-thump. In the maelstrom that ensued, I felt as if a heavyweight had given me the old one-two.

I lay floating in the backwash, stunned and strangely uncaring. I believed I had smashed every bone in my body. But the instinct of survival soon returned as I paddled weakly to keep afloat, gulping in great lungs-full of bracing Bolgoda air.

Fortunately for me, the bruises were only superficial, compounded by a major case of terribly bruised ego.

No more heroics for me. The lovely lasses can execute all their breathtaking manoeuvres with all the poise and grace of ballerinas. They’re nice to watch anyway.

I am now strictly a landlubber instructor of sorts, ready to give anyone valuable tips on what they call the ‘dry run.’

[email protected]