Category: Kayaking

I’m back in Squamish, British Columbia for the Canadian Surfski Championships. I came last year and had a really good time, so I thought I’d try it again. Only this time, instead of spending a week before the Championships doing family stuff, I decided to be selfish and come in a few days before the race, spend two days in Squamish preparing for the race, then head down to Hood River Oregon for the Gorge Downwind Championships. Also, because I’m also going to be spending some time in “Da Gorge”, this year I elected to get a slightly slower but more stable boat, an Epic V8 Pro. Last year I paddled the V10 Sport identical to the one I spend most of my time in at home, and I was a little bit on-edge at times (and I fell in during the race).

Thursday evening after I checked into my hotel, I went for a short paddle to get used to the boat. I met a couple of paddlers who were coming in as I was going out, including Jasper Mocke who I don’t think recognized me from last year. The area in front of the delta was the usual squirrely mess and I ended up with a cockpit full of water several times – and the water was quite cold. Because it was cold, I was alone, and it was overcast and threatening to rain, I decided I didn’t need to spend a lot of time in that squirrelly water and I basically just went out to about where I’d dumped last year and turned around and came back in. The boat handled well, if a little slow, but it seemed solid and stable.

Friday was beautiful and sunny and I debated with myself whether to do another paddle, but it came down to “will I be faster tomorrow if I paddle today”, and I decided the answer was no, so I did touristy stuff instead. If I’d gotten another offer of a downwinder with some pros like last year, I might have, but no offer showed up.

Saturday morning was another overcast, cool day and it looked like it was going to be a complete shut-out in the wind department. The terrestrial forecast said it was going to remain cool in Squamish with 4-8 km/hr winds, and the all important inland forecasts for Whistler and Pemberton didn’t look any better. If there was one thing I remembered from last year, it’s that hot days in Pemberton are what generates the wind in Howe Sound. But in the parking lot at the hotel I ran into Ryan Taj Paroz, a top “junior” (under 23) pro paddler from Australia. Last year he’d been in the truck when we went for that downwinder, and the next day he found and friended me on Facebook, which was unexpected, and then he’s been really nice to me ever since, which is AMAZING. He’s even offered to paddle with me at the Gorge, which I can’t really believe because like I said he’s an experienced pro who paddles at the top levels of the sport, and I’m some schlub who can barely manage a not-quite-last-place finish at these events. So anyway, Ryan was telling me that somebody (sorry, I forgot his name even though it was one I recognized) had a better forecast that said that things were going to build by race time and we should have two to three footers at least. He also told me that the tide would be going into the channel instead of out like it was last year, so we won’t have to avoid the tongue of water coming out of the channel like we did last year. Cool.

Driving up at 9am to drop off the boat at Porteau Cove, Howe Sound wasn’t just flat, it was glassy. You could see the reflection of the mountains in the water, and there wasn’t even a boat wake on it. Oh oh, am I going to regret my boat choice? Well, not if Ryan’s prediction was right, but based on what I was seeing? Hell, I could have paddled my V12 in that.

After dropping off the boat, I went down to the O’Siem pavilion to pick up my goodie bag and formally register. I’d already gotten my boat number (applied by Deep Cove staff) and race shirt when I’d picked up my boat on Thursday. They gave me a choice of number (actually, they said “pretty much anything bigger than 41 is still available”) so I picked 042, the answer to life, the universe and everything. The goodie bag had some food stuff (a couple of pieces of chocolate, a protein bar, a bottle of Muscle Milk, etc) in it, and a few other things, including a combination bottle opener and knife that I’ll have to make sure stays in my checked bags when I fly home. I went back to my hotel room to change and wait for closer to race time. Most of the food stuff didn’t survive this delay. At 11:30 I went back to the pavilion and had to park literally a kilometer away because there were multiple activities happening in downtown Squamish including a farmer’s market and every street was parked up. At 12:00 we jumped on the bus back to Porteau. On the drive back to Porteau, we could see that the wind had picked up a bit and there were some whitecaps out in the Sound. Good news!

At Porteau Cove, we milled around for a while making sure our boats were set up for the race, talking to other paddlers, admiring other people’s race setups, and getting nervous. At 1-ish, Bob Putnam and Ian Lowe did a paddler’s roll call, a safety briefing, and then we launched and paddled up to the actual cove where the race started.

Paddling out to the start, it was obvious that while the conditions were not as big as last year, they were still big enough to provide a challenge. The side waves on the way to the hotspot buoy weren’t going to be the problem they were last year, but I was still not going to be going full speed on them. But it did look like I was going to be catching some waves on the way down the Sound. The hotspot buoy looked literally on the other side of the Sound (it wasn’t) and many people expressed disbelief that that was actually the buoy we were seeing. We knew it was supposed to be 1 to 1.5 kilometers to it, but it looked two or three times that distance away.

The start horn went off, and once again my typical slow start ensured that I’d be practically in last place by the time I got up to speed. Have you ever paddled in nearly 100 surfski wakes? I have now, and it’s pretty amazing what a mess of reinforcing waves they make. Early on, a guy I’d met at the hotel, Billy, was just in front of me and I tried to get on his stern wake, but he slowly pulled away. Then I was behind two women paddlers, one in a purple Huki ski and I tried to stay with them, but they had a few boat lengths on me by the turn. I went a bit high on the turn and came in sharp, and my stern got clonked by somebody who obviously stayed low and turned wider, so I knew I wasn’t completely alone.

After you make the turn, it’s a sight to behold as some paddlers veer sharply to the right back towards the shore, others go far left out further into the middle of the sound, and some go straight downwind. So from my position near the back, you see this amazing sight of more surf ski paddlers than I’ve ever seen in my life all spread out in front of me filling the Sound from left to right.

As I’d expected, once I turned I was getting some rides. Not like last year where you’d get on the wave and just put on a slight brace and enjoy the ride, like the classic view you have of a surf skier on a wave, but more the type where you continue paddling but with very little effort behind it so as you feel the wave starting to fade you can put on some effort and either get over it onto the one that’s building in front of you, or you can put on a little less speed but be ready to handle the next one coming up from behind. I was getting some good linked runs. There was a guy I keep seeing off to my right who was keeping pace with me. Every time I put a good set of runs together and I thought “surely I’m pulling away now”, I’d look over and he’d also be putting in a good set of linked runs. Fortunately when I stalled out on the back of a wave and didn’t link runs, he’d still be there. But other than him, I was pretty much alone. The woman with the purple Huki was nowhere to be found, nor the other woman who’d been with her at the hotspot.

As we approached Watts Point, which is where Howe Sound makes about a 45 degree bend and the wind and wave conditions change abruptly, I noticed three things:

• The guy who’d been on my right was now way over to the right, almost to the shore.
• There were a lot of people who looked like they were almost under the cliffs at Watts Point.
• The waves were trying to push me directly to those cliffs.

I didn’t want any part of that – I didn’t want to get near cliffs, and the rebound waves from those cliffs were already bad enough as far out as I was. So I was using the techniques I’d learned in Tarifa to use the waves, but redirect to the direction I wanted to go. I ended up passing a little closer to Watt’s Point than I probably should have, and I ended up in the calm water past the tip of the point. Probably not where I wanted to be in this boat – if I’d stayed further out I might have gotten more rides, but it seemed like everybody still out on the course was in tight.

As I got closer to the confused water in front of the river delta, I was thinking that it was much rougher than last year, but also I seemed to be handling it much better – to the point where I was catching waves and getting the occasional ride. There was one guy ahead of me who was the picture of me last year – he was going brace, brace, brace, brace, tentative little paddle stroke, brace, brace, brace. I passed him. Then there was a guy doing a remount who had a safety boat alongside. He managed to get upright again and was paddling with his feet still in the water for stability when I suddenly caught a really big wave and whizzed by. Three people with cameras in the safety boat turned my way and started taking pictures, so I gave them a big smile and a bit of a whoop. Unfortunately just after the wave petered out, I got caught by a couple of cross waves and had to put in one of the only safety braces I’d done the whole race. But I got paddling again and headed up the channel.

The confused water lasted further into the channel than I remembered it from last year, and at one point I was worried that the waves were going to carry me into the log booms on the right of the channel until I managed to get to the hard left where it was more sheltered. I put on what little speed I had left to make sure neither of the two guys I had passed passed me back. I didn’t know if anybody else was behind me, but as far as I was concerned those two were my insurance that I didn’t come last. I was disappointed to see the purple Huki was already in the grass on shore, but I looked back and could see a few people finishing behind me.

They use WebScorer for this event, so the results were online almost as soon as I finished. And while I was a not very respectable 93rd out of 108, I felt pretty good about it. I was 10 minutes faster than last year, and it was a big field of people most of whom spend a lot more time on the ocean than I do. A couple of things I noticed looking at the results though – the guy who was dead last last year was 25 minutes faster this year. I find it amusing that they call the class for V8s and similar surf skis “18 foot male”. Those guys aren’t that tall. Speaking of V8s, last year there was a guy who I passed not long after the hotspot in a V8 who every time he caught a wave, he’d whoop with joy. In spite of my remount last year, he finished a minute behind me. This year he finished 3.5 minutes ahead of me. So I’m not the only one who improved.

An aside about WebScorer. Over the winter of 2014-2015, I was thinking that I should write an app/web site to do registration, timing and results for kayak and other races (I was thinking mainly of orienteering, because I’d meet directed and run registration, timing and results at many orienteering meets in the past). I wrote about 3 pages of requirements for what I wanted this app to do and diagrams of how it would do scoring, etc. And then when it came time to register for the Canadian Surfski Championships, I saw they were using this thing called WebScorer. So I had a look at WebScorer’s web site, and looked at their capabilities. And checked off about 80% of the things I’d had on my list. The only thing I didn’t see on their site that I had on my list were the ones I wasn’t sure anybody would care about, like social sharing, multirace leader boards, and the ability to do timing with devices that were not connected to the internet but which would sync up after they got back into coverage (so you could do split times at a remote location with no cell coverage, for instance). And I also found out about another web site that does the almost exactly the same stuff WebScorer does, only very specifically for water sports, called PaddleGuru. I put my idea back in the drawer of forgotten dreams, along with the other million ideas I’ve had that were either not practical or where I’d been beaten to the punch. Oh well, maybe idea one million and one will pan out.

Another Armond Bassett race has passed into the history books. I first did this race in 2009, and I don’t think I’ve enjoyed it ever. It’s a race to survive, not to enjoy. But it’s local, so you don’t have to drive a long distance or even make up your mind if you’re going to do it until race day. And you get to hang out with your paddling buddies and some paddlers for further afield before and after, so why not?

Why is this race so unenjoyable, you might ask? Well, there are one two weather conditions for this race: torrential downpours in a thunderstorm, or hot and humid and airless. This year it was hot and humid, although there was a breeze. Unfortunately the breeze was completely saturated, so it didn’t seem to evaporate your sweat. Even after a fairly easy warm up paddle I was soaked.

Jim and I had paddled a part of the course yesterday, and a couple of times we’d stopped relative to the water and looked at our GPSes and it had said 0.0km/hr. I tried it while warming up, and it was reading 3.2km/hr, mostly caused by the wind rather than any current. So obviously getting out of the wind would be the priority when paddling upstream. That was going to be tricky, because it’s not something you can practice the way you can practice staying out of the current, because every day’s breeze is different.

The kayaks started in the third wave, 10 minutes after the C-1s and 5 minutes after the C-2s. There was also a guide boat in one of the early waves, but I don’t know which one. When they called 4 minutes to go, Jim Phillips was already on the line, but everybody else was hanging out 5 or so boat lengths behind. Nobody wanted to pull up to the line because with the wind pushing us downstream, you’d have to keep back-paddling to stay on the line. I went up earlier than most people, meaning that other people were keying on my position on the line rather than me making the decision who I lined up next to. Probably a mistake, but since I ended up with Roger Gocking on one side of me and John Hair on the other, it worked out perfectly.

At the siren, Roger took off fast. I grabbed his side wake and resolved to stay there. John was on my side wake. I couldn’t risk a glimpse back, but I assumed that Pete Gugel was close behind, and maybe Scott Stenberg. Mike Finear started as well, but he’s coming back from an injury and hasn’t had a lot of time to train, so there was little hope of him keeping up with us so I wasn’t looking for him – his job today was to paddle smart and not hurt himself (and it looked like that’s what he did).

Roger obviously didn’t want a reverse of the Old Forge race because he tried several times to scrape me off. At least twice and possibly more times he aimed me directly at a channel marker or dead head so I could either drop behind him or swing out around the other side of the marker. Fortunately John was paying attention so when I swung out around the marker he gave me the room I needed.

John is weird to paddle with – he is evidently so fit that he can carry on a conversation in the middle of a race. I’ve got barely enough breath for the task at hand, but he’s asking me about my trip out west and stuff. And his attitude is contagious – after Roger tried to run me into another channel marker I said to John “he’s a cagey one, he is” or something similar.

On the way down to the first turn, we ran into some real suck water. I had to reluctantly leave Roger’s wake and try to get back out to deeper water. I told John what I was doing, again being more talkative than is normal for me in a race. But it worked, after a fashion. I just started getting some real glide and speed back when Roger came angling out towards us and and I latched back onto his side wake.

As we approached the downstream turn buoy, I was quite concerned about this large power boat coming upstream. Jim and Todd turned safely in front of him, but if he continued his speed he would arrive at the buoy almost exactly the same time as us. There was a C-2 that overshot the turn – I’m not sure if he was going up to talk to the boat or if he thought he was going to turn behind the boat. But the power boat slowed down, and we actually had room to get around in front of him. I powered ahead of Roger on the approach because I wanted to be able to take my own line and not be forced wider – at some previous races like Long Lake I’ve seen Roger take a much wider arc around buoys and since I was outside him rather than behind him I wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.

After the turn, I glanced back and I seemed to have gapped Roger. I started heading to the wall, for the dubious shelter from the wind, but John was coming up to me and he was more in the center. I moved back and grabbed his side wake. We stayed in our echelon for a minute or two, but we started to get into the suck water and I told him to move out more towards the center of the channel. And as we did, John said “I’m going to pull for a while to get a bigger gap on Roger”. He went, and I tried to follow. But I only managed to hang on for a couple of minutes. Within minutes he was several boat lengths ahead and he continued to pull away for most of the race. I found my good pace and just tried to stay there for the rest of the race without blowing up.

Once past the shallow stuff and under the former railway bridge at Bausch and Lomb Park (University of Rochester campus), it was now time to try and find shelter from the breeze, and tucking in as close to the edge as you can get without getting into suck water. At the second pedestrian bridge, there are a few weed beds to look out for, and I passed the race’s sole guide boat around there. As I passed them, I risked a glance back and I couldn’t see Roger or Pete anywhere.

By this time we were passing a lot of canoes. Usually I’d come up through their stern wake, then just as I reached their stern I’d pull off to one side or the other and blast past. Once in awhile I’d pause in a C-2’s stern wake to grab my drink hose and suck down some electrolyte drink. Generally I’d do that when I was near an even number of kilometers from the start, using the lap indicator on the GPS to remind me to drink.

Somewhere near the fire training station, I came up on two C-1s who were obviously fighting neck and neck. I thought I could squeeze on the inside of them, but I misjudged it and ended up having to stop paddling for a second and I said to them “well, I misjudged that one pretty badly” to make it clear I didn’t blame them for cutting me off. The guy who was in second spot pulled out a bit and said “you’ve got room to go up between us”, and so I did. Nice little bit of sportsmanship, I thought.

Nearing the turn, there were two C-2s who were also neck and neck. One of the canoes had two guys who were my size, wearing matching team shirts, and the other canoe was two young women who had some nice silver and blue accents on their canoe. The two heavy guys were throwing out a gigantic messy wake, and the two girls were throwing out a smaller wake but it was mixing in with the other wake and making things very chaotic. It was almost impossible to find any aid from it. I was thinking about poor Pete Gugel – I didn’t know how far back he was, but he was in his Huki, which is a pretty tippy boat. That messy wake would be quite a challenge in my V12, so I was hoping Pete could handle it.

After the turn I could finally have a look back and see where I stood in relation to the people behind me. Pete was close, but not close enough that I really had to worry about him unless I really blew up. Roger was far back. I think Scott Stenberg wasn’t too far behind Roger, and Mike Finear wasn’t too far behind Scott.

When you turn down wind, it’s nice that you’re getting a bit of a push and your average speed goes up. The disadvantage is that you no longer have a cooling breeze blowing on you, and you start feeling like you’re in an oven. Psychologically you no longer feel like you’re paddling fast, although your GPS shows that you are. Also, the C-2s you’re catching are faster than the ones you were passing earlier (which probably seems obvious to you now, but that took me a minute or two to work that out in the race), so they seem to be dangling out in front of you for a long time. And just in time to increase my torment, the sun came out from behind the clouds adding sunburn to the list of discomforts. The last couple of kilometers seem to take forever and you have to keep telling yourself that you can rest when you’re done, not before.

When I crossed the line, I had to remind myself that I was wearing my head mounted camera, so I probably should resist the temptation to fall out of the boat. It was hot and I was soaked, and even that smelly green water looked inviting.

In the end, I was 4th overall, behind Jim, Todd and John. John is still under 50 years old, so I was third in the all important “Men’s 50+ Unlimited”. A couple of C-2s crossed the line ahead of me, but I don’t know if their time was better than mine because of the start waves. I heard that Jim and Todd crossed the line before any of the canoes in spite of starting 5 or 10 minutes behind them.

So – Good race, glad I did it, and I’ll be back next year.

Yesterday was the Old Forge Classic. I’ve never paddled this one before, but a few years back I paddled most of it while filming Doug and Mike starting on the 90 Miler.

I drove up alone the night before. Old Forge is certainly a lot closer than many Adirondack destinations, and I was half tempted to get up at 4am and drive up that morning. The hotel was hideously over priced and they told me that since I was booking within a week, they’d charge for for a day for a cancellation. I had plans to possibly do the Black River race the next day, so I paid for two days. When I arrived, I found out that the hotel was even more overpriced than I thought it had been (it was extremely ordinary – think “Super 8 beside an interstate”, although it had a great view) and I also found out that the Black River was really shallow this year and if I did the race I’d be risking my shoulders in 23 miles of suck water and risking my boat on rocks and stumps and snags, including at least one place where it becomes a stone riffle that you’d have to get out and carry. So forget that idea.

Race day was gorgeous, sunny, warm and no wind, which raised fears that every boater in the Adirondacks would be out making wakes, although that turned out not to be the case. The organization seemed a little disorganized, but this wasn’t a Mac’s Canoe / Adirondack Watershed Alliance event like most of the Adirondack races I go to. But they got us off at the start on time. Only one wave, but there weren’t many paddlers so that made sense. Didn’t see any obvious interference problems.

Jim Mallory and Matt Skeels renewed their rivalry from the Round The Mountain race earlier, and both were in V14s. Todd decided to paddle his 18X for some reason. I was there in my V10 Sport, and Roger was in his 18X that’s more patch and bondo than boat. Paul D was in his brand new WSBS Sleek, and Jim Phillips decided to paddle his tippy little Nelo Razor because it was so flat.

At the start, Jim and Matt surged out front immediately, and it looked like Todd was actually going to hold on their wakes but soon dropped off. He was just hanging there tantalizingly close, so I decided to go into the red zone to try and catch his wake. What I didn’t realize was that Roger had already grabbed onto my wake and was hanging on tenaciously. It took me nearly 1/2 a kilometer and two minutes, but I caught up to Todd, and just when I was thinking “ah, now I can recover a bit”, my paddle clonked into my boat. Todd heard it, glanced over his shoulder, and increased his speed. I didn’t have anything left to give, so I settled into my own pace to last out the race.

I have my GPS set to record a lap time every kilometer, and it beeps when it does so. At almost exactly 1.62 kilometers, I hear a familiar beep sound coming from right behind me. That’s when I realized that Roger was there – like many paddlers he uses miles instead of kilometers, so he must have his GPS set to record a lap every mile. So now I’ve got to figure out how to shake him without blowing myself up. This is not going to be easy.

We were still in the channel or river heading towards First Lake when I see Todd hasn’t gotten much distance on me, and so I decide to start cutting some corners to see if I can make up some of that gap. I quickly discovered why they have those markers in the channel when I see a gigantic rock lurking less than a rudder’s length just below the surface. I brace and try to angle the boat, but there is an almighty thud – at the time I thought I was hitting my rudder on the rock, but reviewing the video I think I managed to miss the rock and that was just Roger running into my backside. I had wondered why he’d said sorry at the time.

When we came out into First Lake there were channel markers heading slightly to my left and another slightly to my right. Jim and Matt were visible in the left channel, and Todd was on the right channel. Jim has never done this race, Matt did it once several years ago, and Todd has done it many times, so I thought I’d follow Todd. Jim and Matt actually didn’t get too far off a direct line as they quickly left the channel. However they cut right in front of us and went beyond. It looked to me like they were mistaking the tip of that island for the tip of the point they should have headed for – but then they got close enough to that there was a passage through and they cut through the same channel we were headed directly for. It hardly matters, they were so far ahead of Todd and me and my shadow that they could have gone around the island without affecting the standings.

The first actual boat traffic we saw (other than boaters anchored and fishing and/or drinking – even the “safety boats” where fishing) was in the channel between Third Lake and Forth Lake. There were two people on a jet ski and they did not look happy that I was going around turns on the inside instead of staying to the right side of the channel.

After the channel I could see the lighthouse that Todd had told me about on the left, so I knew the island up ahead was our turn point. We were nearly halfway through and Roger was still hanging on like a limpet. I don’t have a lot of tools in my basket for this, but I needed to try them all.

First trick I tried a few times – the island had a couple of points that we came near, and each time there was shallow water off the point. Each time, I tried to put in a bit of sprint to drop Roger. One time I tried to sprint across the entire shallow water and into the deeper faster water, and one time I tried waiting until I was nearly off the shallow water. Doesn’t matter, Roger matched me completely both times.

Crossing back over all the lakes, there were a few small boat wakes, and each time I tried to put in a bit of sprint, although you wouldn’t know it looking at my GPS data. Really nothing much changed or happened until the last channel. At exactly 17.75 kilometers into it (and me not knowing exactly how long the race would be, but figuring it would be about 19 km) I picked up a leaf on my bow. I tried bouncing it off a few times. Roger took advantage of my slowness to try to come past me. He was about a boat length to my left side and even with me. I put extra effort to prevent him from pulling ahead. Eventually a large tour boat came by, and I used its wake to wash the leaf off. But that extra effort had cost me. We passed Jim warming down, and he said we had 1000 meters to go. About 300 meters later, we passed Matt warming down, and he said we had 500 meters to go. Ok, I was confused. But it didn’t matter. I had no energy. I tried to drop into Roger’s wake to get some recovery, but I couldn’t hang on. I think he ended up beating me by 5 or 6 boat lengths.

After the race, he thanked me for the tow. Oh well, that’s racing, I guess.

In retrospect, I probably should have dropped into his wake when I had the leaf, and tried to recover so I could come back around after the tour boat washed it off. Who knows, maybe I would have beaten him? The problem is that people who don’t know what an unstoppable force Roger is will say “you got beaten by a 72 year old?” or ideally “so you barely beat a 72 year old?” That’s not a recipe for gaining respect.

After the race, the organizers lack of experience in organizing races really came to the fore with a really, really late awards ceremony, and once they were supposedly ready to present, they didn’t seem to understand their own organization of the piles of award certificates and post it notes and sheets of paper, so that took way longer than it should have considering only about 10 of us stuck around to pick up our awards. On the other hand, it was a really nice award certificate.

Up until a few weeks ago I was really worried about how bad my balance was in waves this spring. But then on day I was out in the “washing machine” on the canal dealing with the diamond shaped standing waves caused by boat wakes reflecting back and forth, and something just clicked. I suddenly felt relaxed and I felt my hips just loosen up and go with the flow in a way I don’t think I’ve done before. Last weekend in the washing machine the diamonds were even bigger and I was even more tired and again, I felt fine and continued to put power down through them (mostly). Then last night we were out on the bay with its usual confusion of boat wakes and swells, and my usual trepidation bordering on fear was completely gone. Gigantic boat wakes hitting from exactly on the beam didn’t faze me at all. Of course it helped that I was in a group, and we were doing intervals so I was concentrating on a task, but it felt really good. I can’t wait to see what it’s like on the bay or the “potato patch” (an area around the Genesee River outlet where a combination of boat wakes, lake swell, reflections off the pier and shoals causes mass confusion) on a hot summer day when all the power boats and jet skis are out.

I just hope that whatever has clicked in my head and my body stays clicked over the winter so I don’t have to relearn it next year.

In what is now an annual tradition, I’m at my third annual TC Surfski Immersion Weekend. It’s a bit of a long drive, but I really enjoy myself when we’re here. And as another tradition, the Saturday morning event is participating in a local race. The organizer of the race is constantly tweaking it to make it better. Two years ago it was just a straight shot 2 miles across the bay. Then last year it was a squarish course about 4 miles long for the surfskis and kayaks and a triangle course of about 3 miles for the SUPs. This year he used the same course, but added a slight wrinkle with a beach start and finish. Which means you start holding your boat on the shore, and have to run into the water and jump in and go after the start siren goes off, and then at the finish you have to jump out of your boat and run ashore to a finish line a few meters from the water line.

I’d brought all 3 video cameras but discovered before the start that my head mounted one was dead. Never mind, two should be plenty. I started them both before the warm up, so hopefully they both kept going for the whole race (I haven’t checked them yet).

At the start, I found myself beside a local paddling legend named Denis, and both of us were struggling for room to paddle on that side. Rob and Greg had their expected very fast starts, and so did Denis after he got clear of me. Even Eric was way ahead of me before I got slowly up to speed. About half way to the first bouy, Nick and his son came chugging through in the V10 Double, and it looked like Eric managed to latch onto their wake as they went chasing after Greg. Rob and Denis were lost in the distance ahead and I rarely thought about them for the rest of the race. Eric didn’t last long on Nick’s wake and I soon passed him and managed to get to Nick’s wake just before the turn. At this point I thought there was a chance of getting up to Greg’s wake because he was only a boat length past Nick, but try as I might I just couldn’t come around Nick.

On the second leg, Greg started pulling away from Nick. A couple of times Nick briefly paused and I’d try to come around him but every time I did my heart rate would climb back into the red zone so I’d drop back into his wake and recover. But about 3/4 of the way into the second leg, Nick maneuvered me into the lead and hung out on my stern wake. I could out turn him at the bouy, but it didn’t seem to amount to much gap and he was soon back on me.

The third leg was along the shore line and I tried to stay off shore enough that I wouldn’t feel suck water. We started passing SUP paddlers who had gone directly from the start to our second bouy, and I tried to get a bit of help from their wakes, not just to get a pull but also to scrape off Nick, but neither thing happened.

On the fourth leg, Nick came back into the lead about half way to the finish. I tried to recover a bit, hoping if I left my finish sprint late enough I could out accelerate his heavy Double. I came up beside him right at the very end after we turned into the little harbor, and I recklessly sprinted for the shore. I jumped out just as the last second to save my boat from crunching into the shore less than a meter behind him.

I put more into that run up the beach than any run I’ve done in thirty years, but half way between the shore and the finish line I felt something pop in my leg and I fell face first in the sand. I had to crawl over the finish line, and they didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt and stop the clock when I fell, so officially I think I was nearly a minute behind Nick. But in my heart, it was a damn close thing.

One of the other participants is a doctor and he briefly examined me, and said it looks like I tore part of my outer calf muscle (he called it the gastrocnemius? Doesn’t “gastro” mean stomach?) and I’ll need to rest it for a week or so. He said I don’t need to rush to emergency, but I should probably see my doctor on Monday. He said they may want to mri it because a severe tear might need surgery.