A Race of a life time!
I had the longest and most consistent runs of my life and the most violent launch/capsize ever off of Angel Island. Moments of fear alternated with all out effort and exhilaration. I’ve never been so pumped on a ski. Yet as a race, nobody could argue that I tore it up. I was well back in the pack. But I’m fit, race ready and competitive back east so how could it be that I could only manage a humble 81st place paddling in the raucous conditions skis were designed for? The US Surfski Championships are arguably the most technically demanding and challenging surfski race in the mainland US. This newer course and date change to the windiest part of the year was a brilliant piece of inspiration. Top paddlers from ski powerhouse nations such as South Africa and Australia find it worthwhile to come here despite Joe “Glicker” Glickman quoting Dean Gardiner as calling the conditions “just a bit of a chop”. Still, if you are a ski paddler in the US this is one for the “Bucket List”. But this isn’t the story about the big guys competing to win. For just this race I came with different goals. Take in this extraordinary coastline, catch some great runs, and go at a pace that will allow me survive this beast of a race. I didn’t feel bad when I helped a capsized paddler, waited by a buoy in the shipping lane to let a tanker pass or wait while a fleet of racing sailboats crossed the finish line.
Ready or not?
There’s lots of interest in the US Surfski Champs but actually going out there to do it is another story. As Glicker has noted, conditions during the paddle season in the Northeast are often moderate at best. I was elated when the seas on Brenton’s Reef or Beavertail near my hometown of Newport, RI gave me a good Atlantic coast thrashing. Most of the crew of New England paddlers who came out to SF last year had a rude awakening with bigger, colder and much rougher seas than expected. One had to be rescued, others didn’t finish. A very humbling experience for most that went out. Only Alex McLain, who took 3rd in the women’s division, had a strong performance. Cory Lancaster, our best New England paddler, finished somewhere mid-pack, and went as far at to describe the race as “another sport” than what we do here. His account of the difficulty of his race was chilling. Nobody else from New England ventured out this year to do it. Mike Tracy had done it twice in previous years.
A family affair
I could hardly justify the expense of flying, hotels, car and boat rental etc. for myself. So I made it really expensive and logistically more challenging by bringing out the whole family and staying to travel and visit college friends for 9 days. The deal was that we’d play tourist for 7 ½ days and I’d get 1½ days “all about paddling”. Half day for the Demo day and race day. I had little opportunity to follow any normal pre-race prep. Until the Friday Clinic and Demo Day, the days leading up to the race was hiking, zoos and museums.
Fright at first sight
The first real look at the mighty pacific was an intimidating maelstrom of ocean waves breaking on the rocks and beach. My son Finn, age 13, noted my reaction, smiled and enjoyed asking the question, “Dad, why are you doing this?” I could only manage to mutter, “they actually paddle out there?”
Mocke’s clinic
Finally my allotted 1½ days of paddling began. Dozens of paddlers and skis converged at Shorebird Park to let the games begin. I attended Dawid Mocke’s clinic and he regaled us with stories of paddling mishaps in the early days of the sport when hydration might have meant a can of coke—to share with your mates, PFD’s were optional, and weather forecasts be damned. Dawid had us practice how to respond to several of his near misses by doing on the water drills to deal with such things as a broken rudder cable, a holed boat, or losing a boat or paddle.
Personal photo boat
My wife Alyce was able get herself, my kids Finn and Gaelyn and my niece Taryn out on a 19’ Avon inflatable motorboat armed with camera and video. Ironically, Alyce’s Nikon camera battery died just before the race start. If it weren’t for her amazing luck connecting with a trusting Nicholas Goulden, a race volunteer who lent her his Nikon camera battery, there would be no photos. Thank you Nick.
The mellow start
I was conflicted about how fast to start. Join the fray in blasting off line with the pack or take a just survive the race pace. When the gun went off I was in the last row and in the last half of the pack at the GG Bridge. Rambo wasn’t going to film this slacker. Passing under the GG bridge the mighty a fleet of racing skis pitched into the not so Pacific Ocean along the Marin Headlands. On the way to Pt. Diablo and Pt. Bonita the sea caves reverberated with exploding spray as the incoming waves compressed air into the cliff hollow to dramatic effect. After pitching round the famed Pt. Bonita turn buoy on the way back, the now downwind conditions were moderate and it became a game of how to avoid the worst of the outgoing current. Soon while back at Ft. Baker I thought is that it? That must have been the hardest part I thought—no problem, anti-climactic even. The $1000 Fenn Hot spot had cooled significantly by the time I got there. I looked for a buck floating in the water but found none.
Onshore breeze vs. outgoing current
The approach to the Angel Island area was one key to race success. How do I take the current now ebbing strongly? Tuck in toward Angel, keep a straight line or stay more to the south and find the eddy? Taking a close to the island line, I spotted a fast moving tanker heading my way. I now turned south to the outside to hide behind the buoy off Angel till it passed. Thankfully I heeded the pre-race warnings of the race organizers about the speed of the tankers and overcame the urge to dash for Angel or I might have needed help from a guardian angel. The outgoing current collided with the incoming wind driven waves with their greatest force off Angel, requiring a series of spastic braces to stay upright. It was too late to take any “I’d turn back if I were you” advice. The strong breeze pushed me inexorably closer to the seething water created by mother natures wind and pull of the moon which tossed up a Jackson Pollock like montage of waves. Could a ski make it thru this? It was the ski equivalent of riding the bull—bucking, jerking and trying to stay on. Other paddlers around me appeared to plunge into the deep, boat and all, disappearing completely then reappearing in this ½ mile stretch of original chaos. I got unceremoniously ejected out of my ski here but remounted and started catching my first great runs of the day. During this time the family boat was nowhere to be found. Later asking why they replied, “it was too rough to take the powerboat where you were paddling”!
Speed bumps and Go Daddy!
I confess that when sailboat racing I think of kayaks as speed bumps on the water. But when I’m paddling it’s a different story. My path took me onto the race course and right thru the finish line area of a fleet of high performance 30’ Melges sailboats. These were 3 tons of heeling fury battling for the finish line. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is a photo of one of the sailors leaning over and yelling “we’re racing here!” as if to say only an idiot would try to pass thru right now. I took some amusement in shouting back “so am I!” He shook his head in a disbelieving “yeah right” gesture. Though I’d done my best to go at a moderate pace with about 3 miles to go the kids started yelling at me to catch and pass another paddler 100 yds. ahead. I resisted and focused on enjoying catching as many good runs as possible. But they were relentless and I gave in to the competitive rush and tried to find that extra gear. Now missing a run was bad news and stalling on top of a wave even worse. HR was pegging in the mid 170’s but I had a bone in my teeth and was giving it a go. Sprint then glide. Push a little harder. “Come on dad you can beat him. Go daddy!” Now neck and neck, then a sudden surge ahead, and stalling on the top of the wave and falling back. Who is better able to get on a wave and stay on it to “connect the bumps”. My fellow competitor pushed me to focus on and respond to the waves–to drive hard and use every opportunity to move faster. Runs were strong all thru the final turn buoy then was on the beam for the final exhilarating 100 yds. to the finish. Grinning like a goof, swaying in my boat like a drunk, completely jacked I crossed the line. I turned to look at each person in my family, beyond happy we got to share in this moment.
Still high
Wisecracking Kenny more than kept his good humor as he handled boat deliveries, trailer shuttles and other race logistics before and after the race as he was trying to get ready to race himself. Because of these duties it was some time before Kenny was able to show up for the revelry at the after race party and enjoy Miller Time. Helen Workman’s warmth and generosity helped make this event so fine, cheers to them both. At the awards ceremony when asked how the race was I answered “I’ve never been as stoked after a race in all my life!” There was no medal, no competitive glory, just moments of moving well thru the ocean elements with skill and power. Glorious moments. This was the rare race when I (mostly) let go of what place I came in. It was enough to share the high that all those that complete the race feel. I wouldn’t trade this for any race I’d ever won.
Tim/Kim Hayashi
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