Hydrofoiling anyone? It’s 3D water-skiing
Ever dream of flying 20 feet above the surface of a lake strapped to a modified airplane wing? Then hydrofoiling is your kind of sport. Al Lewin, 35, the leader of eight veteran foilers from Austin, Texas, who call themselves "The A Team," says hydrofoiling is water-skiing in three dimensions. You have to see it in action to understand it — and then trying it is something else entirely.
Although hydrofoiling is definitely extreme, it's also awesomely fun, as well as relatively safe. Accomplished foilers are airborne acrobats who perform or "throw" front flips, back flips, and exotic tricks with names like "KGB," "CIA," and "Ball and Chain." The best way for a novice to appreciate hydrofoiling's unique thrills and spills is by trying it, as I did on a recent trip to Lake Austin in the heart of the Texas Hill Country.
Al started my first lesson by strapping me onto the so-called foil, a contraption that combines elements of old-school water-skiing with high-tech engineering. Foils range in price from $1,200 up to $4,500. The main parts are a fiberglass board wide enough for two footholds; a metal "tower" that resembles an elevated motorcycle seat; and a 38-inch-long aluminum blade that juts from the bottom of the board. The tips of the blade feature aerodynamic wings that provide the lift needed to fly above the water.
Hydrofoiling demands a kind of balance more akin to riding a unicycle than a mere bicycle or even a water-ski. The three stages every beginning foiler must master are getting up out of the water, taxiing on the surface of the water, and finally, flying up above the water. Wisely, Al made sure that I donned a wet suit, a flotation vest, and a crash helmet.
That first morning I made two dozen ill-starred attempts to get up on the foil while clinging to a ski rope. I probably spent a total of six full nanoseconds above the water before suffering a corresponding two dozen wipeouts. In the afternoon, I managed to get up for several seconds on each of three runs while hanging by my arms from a boom extending off the leeward side of the ski boat.
The sensation of riding the foil was surprisingly blissful: I felt buoyant and almost birdlike. There was none of the body pounding that comes with water-skiing. Likewise, with my feet strapped close together on the top of the board, I had no fear that my legs would splay and rip my groin apart when I wiped out.
By the end of my first hydrofoiling lesson, I longed to master the ultimate stage of flying. Al informed me that would probably take at least six weeks of instruction and practice. He and the other members of the A Team offer lessons and loaner foils for the price of ski-boat gas.
