Without A Rope

"Get ready," Neil announced in preparation of throwing the tow rope.

Suddenly, a flying snarl of snakes was in the air and landing on the rear deck of the boat where I grabbed the tangled mess to avoid it slipping back into the water. To my utter amazement, he was tailing the boat around the lake as if there was an invisible force keeping him at a precise distance.

An evening invite on the lake had us enjoying the cooler weather while out on his boat. He had previously mentioned "surfing" behind the boat where my brain immediately thought of long tow ropes and wake boards zipping back and forth with some flying into the air for acrobatic stunts. 

But, I remained quiet as he stopped the boat and opened compartments to expose huge water bladders that he began to pump full with lake water. Gradually, as the bladders filled, the boat sank. Satisfied, he put the pumps away and closed the compartments as the back corner sat deep in the water. Having no experience with boat terminology, it was the rear corner opposite the steering wheel. Starboard? Port? Stern? Aft?  I don't know...to me a knot is something I do with shoestrings and is not a measurement of speed and why confuse things by having a nautical mile that differs from a regular mile?

Anyhow, out came short but wide boards with knobby rubber surfaces for traction. A life vest was strapped on and a short tow rope was tossed out. Neil rested his heels on the board while sitting in the water and suddenly, his wife hit the throttle and he popped up on the board. Hand over hand he climbed the tow rope until he was right behind the boat where there was a huge swell created by the propeller that was deep in the water thanks to the full bladders. He eased his board into the valley beside the wake and effortlessly rode the board. The tow rope was tossed on board and he surfed behind the boat as his wife drove around the lake. 

My jaw dropped as I marveled at the physics behind the magic act.

I later gave it a try. Floating on the lake, especially during "Shark Week" on television, I quickly convinced myself I would be the first ever victim of a freshwater shark attack in Colorado. With my string of luck, it became more believable as I felt dorsal fins brush against me... or was it a snorkeling Sasquatch getting too close... 

After popping up on the board, I pulled myself up the tow rope and settled into the hole behind the boat. Revisiting my kind of luck, I knew that somehow, even if it was impossible, I would get spun up in the propeller and pureed into bloody chum to excite the aforementioned sharks into a feeding frenzy. 

I struggled to find the "sweet spot" but periodically the tow rope would go slack to signal I was in position. Tossing it on the boat resulted in my slow descent into the lake as if I was standing on quicksand...but, this sandpit had predators lurking underneath.

Having survived potential propeller and freshwater shark attacks, I still find it so quizzical how someone can surf behind a boat without a tow rope. Better yet, I wonder what kind of drunken water rats first stumbled onto the sport while goofing around behind a capsizing boat with one eventually declaring to his buddies, "Hey dudes, check this out!"