Below are the results.  Thanks to everyone who came. Weather was perfect. Sean Brennan won going away and won the Stellar $100.00 for being the winner. It is astonding  how fast he is!!  Chris Chappell had best race since he started paddling three years ago.  Greg Lesher pushed me to the limit in my old S1R hitching a ride for 5 miles. Nevertheless, it was a display of power to be able to ride my wash in my old 30lb S1R upwind/up current.  Mark Ceconi and Sean Milano made their debut in the Stellar Double coming in just behind Steve and Jim.  Tim put in a consistent effort and still had enough to help me and Betsy clean up!!! All of us agreed that the Blackburn is another 45-60 minutes of paddling so today was a great test to see where we all are with only 6 weeks to train. More details and photos to follow. Many thanks to Betsy and my neighbor Don for taking all the pics!!!Wesley

Pics https://picasaweb.google.com/Surfski14/SakonnetRiverRace2011#

1. Sean Brennan, 1:41:15, V12

2. Wesley Echols, 1:52:59, Stellar Ses Ultra

3. Greg Lesher, 1:53:02, Huki S1R

4. Tim Dwyer, 1:54: 46, V12

5. Chris Chappell, 1:56: 04, Stellar SE Ultra

6. Mike McDonough, 2:01:05, Huki S1X

7. Tom Kerr, 2:03:15, V12

8. Bob Cappelini,2:11:36, Huki S1X

9. Bill Stafford, 2:13: 32, Huki S1X

10. Chris Sherwood, 2:30:31, Sea kayak

Doubles

1. Jim Hoffman/Steve Delguadio, 1:52:39, Fenn Elite

2. Mark Ceconi/Sean Milano, 1:54:20, Stellar SE2 Excel

Greg Lesher,  A Day on the Water

A dozen boats converged on the beach at McCorrie Point for the 4th Sakonnet River Race, hosted by the Echols.  The field included a couple of double skis and a mystery V12 that turned out be piloted by elite paddler Sean Brennan (who had destroyed the field at the 2009 Lighthouse to Lighthouse race).  Many of the die-hard New England paddlers were at the race, but a few familiar faces were unfortunately missing.  Although the forecast was for a mild breeze from the NNE, tapering off to the East as the day wore on, it looked like we were going to have a steady 10 knot NNE wind directly down the first half course.  Would it be enough to kick up rideable waves?

During warm-ups, things looked promising.

With the breeze making a conventional start difficult, Wesley deftly led a slow-moving pack of skis in a rolling start.  At this point, Sean Brennan engaged his thrusters or flippers or whatever it is he has and made a mad dash for the finish line, where Betsy awaited with his pre-ordained $100 prize put up by Stellar.  In the Mortal Division, Wesley sprung out to a quick lead, with Tim not far behind.  I settled in several boat lengths back of Tim, with Chris off my left quarter.

The first leg of the race was to be dead downwind.  Although the waves weren’t as big as we all had hoped, there were runs to be had.  Despite the angel on my left shoulder reminding me that every mile of skimming downwind would have to be repaid on the way back with a slog of the same distance, the devil on my right suggested that maybe Wesley would call the race at the turn-around point.  As any connoisseur of Warner Brothers cartoons can tell you, the angel *never* wins these arguments.  I decided to make hay while the waves rolled, using frenzied strokes to catch every possible bump – heart rate and muscles be damned (appropriately enough).

My short-sighted strategy was paying off.  After a couple of miles of cat and mouse where I’d be convinced that *this* was the run that I’d catch Tim on, I finally pulled even with him.  Chris had apparently fallen back a ways, although he later was to reappear later on an inside line.  Over the next mile or two, I managed to pull ahead of Tim, still concentrating on catching every rideable ripple.  Although Wesley was still many boat lengths ahead, I imagined that I might perhaps be closing the gap a little.  As the festively decorated turn buoy approached, Jim and Steve pulled by in their Fenn double.  Jim jokingly offered me a ride on their wash, saying that they “wouldn’t tell anyone about”, but by this point the devil had apparently grown tired of the whole affair (after all, there’s only so much mischief you can get up to on a ski) and didn’t even bother to tempt me.

Wesley neatly turned around the buoy and started the upwind trek back.

Apparently Sean had been moving too fast to be visible, because I never saw him returning.  Figuring that I could out-turn Jim and Steve’s double going around the buoy, I took a successful chance on a tight inside turn and pulled back ahead of them.  I had gotten pretty warm on the downwind leg of the race, so was (almost) looking forward to the cool breeze of the upwind leg.  Perhaps reinvigorated by this, I put in what was probably my best mile of racing ever.  Although Wesley’s lead had seemed nearly insurmountable earlier, it was looking more vulnerable with each stroke.  I felt great.  I was doubtless helped by the fact that he paused once or twice, perhaps to hydrate or scarf a quick gel pack.  I didn’t think there was any chance that I could actually beat him, but I thought perhaps I could make him work a little harder than he wanted.

When I was back about a dozen boat lengths, I was pretty sure that Wesley was aware of my presence.  He checks his six a lot more often than I do, and must have spotted me in one of these surveys.  I try to follow Satchel Paige’s advice on looking back…  Don’t.  Something might be gaining on you.  Mr. Paige also advised not to eat fried food, which I almost never do while on a ski (except during schnitzelpaddles, of course).  Anyway, I eventually caught Wesley and latched onto his oh-so-sweet wash.  I was rewarded with a steady torrent of wind-blown water in the face that I suspect Wesley was deliberately scooping into the air with each stroke to throw me off his tail – the paddling equivalent of laying down an oil slick.

The devil off doing God knows what, the angel reasserted himself and suggested I take a turn in the lead.  Seemed fair.  I pulled alongside of Wesley and got slightly ahead, but he didn’t fall in behind me – perhaps because he was afraid he’d doze off if he was in my wash at that slow a speed.  The pell-mell downwind leg and the strong first mile of the upwind return had sapped much of my strength.  We remained side by side for a half-mile or so, with Wesley (from the landward side) repeatedly reminding me that running us both aground would not help our cause.  Jim and Steve, taking an outside line into the teeth of the wind, caught us and started slowly pulling away.  Shortly thereafter, we entered a rough patch and it was all I could do to get back on to Wesley’s wash.  At this point, it was lead, follow, or flounder.  I’d just established that I couldn’t lead, and floundering sounded like too much work, so follow it was.

I made one last, pathetic attempt to take some time pulling, but once I got out of the slipstream, it was immediately apparent that I couldn’t keep up anything like our current pace.  I resolved therefore to try to ride the Echols Express to its sandwich-laden terminus.  With a lot of luck, I could perhaps cement my weaselness with a last minute sprint to beat out Wesley for 2nd place.

Although the Express was making good time, the immutable laws of psychology were making the upwind leg seem about four times longer than necessary.  I was hanging on for dear life.  Wesley wasn’t helping by making sporadic bursts of speed which sent my muscles into lactic acid hell.  If he unwittingly timed one of those bursts when I happened to be struggling to grab a drink, I’d have been forced into floundery.  Ahead, I saw Jim and Steve turn sharply left from their outside line and head for an upcoming beach.  The finish line!  I nearly wept when they straightened out, realizing they had targeted the wrong beach.  During this time, I kept thinking how fortunate I was to have the stability of my Huki helping me to direct 100% of what little remained of my energy into forward motion.

After several days of this, we came around McCorrie Point.  Wesley upped the pace once again in a final sprint to the finish.  Let me clarify.  He sprinted.  Out of his wash, I waved my arms and paddle in a motion that was designed to produce a sprint, but instead generated something more akin to a lazy saunter.  Fortunately, the end was close enough that momentum saw me through.  Sean had managed to squeak out first by just 11 and a half minutes.  Jim and Steve had taken second overall, followed by Wesley 20 seconds back, then me.  Mark and Sean pulled in next in their Stellar double, followed by Tim and Chris to round out the top five singles.

In retrospect, this was probably the perfect day and course for my S1-R.  In a downwind section with short-period waves, the shorter length of this boat probably helped me catch more productive runs.  In the slow upwind section, the greater hull speed of the longer and skinnier boats wasn’t a factor, but the Huki’s untouchable stability was.

We finished the day with some great sandwiches and elaborate fantasies of downwind runs for which no upwind toll would be due.  Thanks, Wesley and Betsy, for throwing a great race!