Maiden Voyage

Bark Art

 
This morning, I launched my brand-spanking-new Bark 14 foot CT, from Casa Malibu to Paradise Cove, returning to Surfrider beach. The hill on the other side of PCH was enshrouded in fog.  I’m definitely keeping the Bark, hopefully for a very long time. And I plan to follow Joe’s specific instructions:  don't leave it out on the dock for any and all to use! 

If you ever get the chance to visit with Joe Bark, you will be a lucky person. He's generous, positive, great to talk to, and he's passionate about sharing paddleboard and paddling information. This was hardly "just a sale" for Joe -- it was more like a mentoring session appropriate to passing on a highly prized creation. And when it's over, if you understood what he was doing, it becomes your most prized possession, and your appreciation for his masterwork is probably just as (if not more) important than the sale. 'Nuf said.

So when my new board touched the water this morning, I was definitely feelin' the love!

Conditions were ideal: glassy with a small south swell. The board paddles well and really surfs well. It'll be fun to do a downwinder soon.

Here are some pictures of the board and the launch (Thanks for those, DeeAnn!).

Joe graciously lifted his face mask for this shot.

Then, he got more into it.

Prepping.

Prepping, again.

Checking the fog just across PCH and up the hill.

Going ...

Going ...

Going ,,,

See ya in about 3 hours!

Inaugural 2009 Nine Mile Carmel Dolphin Race

Carmel Point and Point Lobos

Martin Hollmann was beaming. An experienced waterman and former lifeguard on Oahu’s North Shore, the 68-years young Martin had just completed the 2-mile course on his longboard. Les Zehm may have been first in, but Martin was just as stoked as Les, or anyone else for that matter. Martin later remarked that the ocean is the only psychotherapist you ever need. (I agree. It’ll not only stoke you out, it will surely unapologetically put you in your place and you always feel thanks and appreciation in the end for whatever she dishes out.) I don’t know what I went home with more of: sand from the beach or inspiration from Martin and everything else that happened that day. Of course, sand washes off, but not so the memories.

It was a day for paddlers of all ages to shine, and shine they did. The day featured parent-child tandem paddles, kids short paddles, the two-mile course around the 4th Avenue rock, and the nine-mile course that included a trip to Point Lobos.

But while the sun shone all day on Carmel Beach, not so on the nine-mile course. Here’s how the day went for this paddler, on that nine-mile course.

The Sunday before the race, Brian Mullen, Mike McDaniel and I took a paddle through the intended course. Conditions were easy, the weather and the light inspiringly perfect. We saw sea life, including dolphins, grey whales, a pod of orcas (thankfully headed away) and a wide range of jellies. We considered the course, and we simplified, reducing 6 required turns to just four. That reduced risks and increased simplicity.

The night before a race, I don’t stress and I usually sleep well. But not this time. I wasn’t dreaming about jellies, orcas, or even “The Landlord”. But there was an air of danger. Still, when I woke up, I was easily able to shake it off.

Race day came early, as my wife, DeeAnn, and I started hauling kayaks and other things needed for the race down to the beach. Concerns about fog arrived even before sunrise. Checking the Monterey Bay buoy, there was swell in the water from the south and the northwest.

The course is potentially demanding. The 2.5 mile stretch between Pescadero Point and Point Lobos is open ocean, and crosses the depths of the Carmel marine canyon. But there are a few other hazards, particularly around Carmel Point.

Here’s the description I used when I gave prerace instructions:

There are FOUR required turns. 
 
The FIRST required turn is just short of a mile North up the beach. Look for the large rock – there will be a yellow kayak there. Keep the rock on your LEFT shoulder as you turn left or West.  Stay will clear of the rock because the submerged parts around it are very shallow.

Proceed west, more than a mile to the red buoy, off of Pescadero Point. There’s a kayak at that buoy. From here on this beach you can see it out there as the point farthest out to sea on your right.  Keep the buoy on your LEFT shoulder as you turn left and head for Point Lobos – From here on this beach you can see it out there as the point farthest out to sea on your left.  Remember: LEFT TURN, LEFT SHOULDER.

Point Lobos is about 2.5 miles South-Southwest from Pescadero Point.  There is a boat sitting at the next buoy at Point Lobos. You’re going to go around that boat, keeping the bout on your LEFT shoulder as you make a left turn.  

There is water on that boat if you need it.  If you’re not there by two hours into the race, you could be pulled from the course based on the judgment of our course marshals.

At this point, you will be headed for Monastery Beach. You can see the monetary up the hill from the beach. At the left side of the beach is a large stand of eucalyptus. Aim just to the right of the eucalyptus.

The next buoy is at Monastery Beach. There will be NO kayak at that buoy. Turn LEFT, with the buoy on your LEFT shoulder.

After your turn, you will be looking at Carmel Point and a very large kelp bed. You can take any line back to that first rock where you made your first required turn. HOWEVER, YOU ARE REQUIRED TO STAY OUTSIDE OF THE KELP BED for safety reasons, until you are about even with the middle of this beach.

When you get back to the rock that first rock where you made your first required turn, you will be keeping it on your RIGHT shoulder as you make a RIGHT turn.  Again, stay well away from the rock as the submerged parts are very shallow.

There are no more required turns. Return here to the same place you started to finish the race.

The finish is between the cones you see on the beach.
 
The trip to the rock was the easy part. Turning to the west, the fog cloaked the buoy marking next required turn. It helped that I had some idea where the buoy would be, but it turned out to be farther away from Pescadero (south) and farther out to sea (west). But I found it. So far, so good.

Now, heading south-southwest for Point Lobos, the entirety of Point Lobos state park was shrouded in fog. I considered turning back -- a DNF (“did not finish”) would be far better than, say, being lost at sea. I thought about the risk, I thought about having been around the course only once before, and I thought about the safety team Brian had assembled.  I headed straight for the fog bank, for reasons I can’t fully explain. Bottom line: my feelings were that I would be just fine, thanks, based on my abilities.

I could see the mountains above the mouth of Carmel Valley. Fortunately, I had seen this view with Point Lobos in full view so many times that I could mentally fill in the blanks and feel my way there.  So I headed for what I strongly felt was the point.  But I made a choice that was a bit uncomfortable. The others I met at the buoy were headed on a line inside of where I thought we all needed to go. I chose the more solitary line I thought correct.

The trip across to Point Lobos was where the waves of the open ocean really started to show. Some came at me straight from the side, but just as many had enough north in them to help me out. That they weren’t lined up with Point Lobos made holding my line only slightly difficult – I really only needed to pay attention.

At what turned out to be more than a half mile before the Point Lobos turn, there was just enough sun getting through to put a silver patina on the water. I saw the shadow of at least one paddler when we both were on crests. That paddler turned out to be Brian Mullen. He started angling towards me and asked me if I was on the right line. I said I thought so – had checked my compass and it looked right, but I hoped not too far outside.  Too far west would mean missing Point Lobos all together, then you’re either lost or headed for an area aptly named “Devil’s Cauldron” well past the point.  Brian stayed further inside.

I caught sight of  the boat, and I heard Brian call out he had as well. I was wide maybe 50 to 80 yards. I knew the risk of getting lost out there was over, and I was suitably relieved.  I headed east and started feeling the backwash off the point. After I passed the boat, I was surprised when the rocky promontory jumped out of the fog, closer than I wanted to be, but not so it felt risky.

Soon after that, some crossed up waves turned my board over – there was simply no way to counterbalance the force.  I hung on to my board as it happened and thankfully recovered right away.

I later heard one highly experienced paddler call it “big water out there” after the race was over. Agreed. And yes, I know there’s even bigger water, as in Moloka‘i to Oahu, but I haven’t been there.

On my way east from Point Lobos, I saw a standup paddler fall a couple times, pick himself up, and go on. Admirable.

I couldn’t see Monastery Beach (the next required turn) until I was nearly there, and after making that turn, I found myself guessing where Carmel Point was (it was further away than I thought). The large kelp bed was the way to circumnavigate around Carmel Point, keeping us safely off of the reefs around it.

After passing Carmel Point, the welcome sight of a sun-soaked Carmel Beach came into full view. I let out a private cheer. I had preselected lineups for where to come in through a channel in the kelp and how to approach the rock we had first rounded and had to return to now, and I happily followed that plan.

As I approached the rock, my good friend and competitive nemesis, Brian, was already around it and approaching me, about twenty yards to my right.  He had sewn up first place in the fourteen-foot class. I was genuinely happy for him, and gave him a shout. Now the pressure was off, conditions were ideal, and it was going to be pure fun from here.

I stroked home, adding a bit more power. At the end, I just missed catching a wave in and the paddler ahead. Brian grabbed my board, I checked to see if I had legs, and ran up the beach to the finish.

My first words were: “I’ve never been so glad to be home.”

And I meant it. Not just because I had safely made it through the challenges that were new for me, but also because I was proud to be a part of this all-new contest in my home waters. And because this contest has intensified the love I have for this place and the people I hang with day to day.

Did I mention the trophies were awesome? (Brian made them himself.)

 

Navigating Around the Monterey Peninsula

For me, San Carlos Beach is the best attraction on Monterey’s Cannery Row.  It’s an easy place to launch a paddle, no matter the swell. There could be a pounding shorebreak in Carmel, but San Carlos Beach will nevertheless deliver. The diving community knows this: it’s a popular weekend splash, year round. 

Smile, and pretend to not be nervous.

Speaking of diving, Mike McDaniel made the comparison depicted with captions below:

Paddling: minimal equipment

 Diving: WAAAAY too much equipment!

I have paddled with friends from this beach up to Lover’s Point and surfed the bumps all the way back. And several years ago, I paddled with Paul Wetterau from Carmel Beach to Spanish Bay – a paddle we both enjoyed immensely but have not actively sought to repeat. Today, we were going to go the whole distance around the Monterey Peninsula and into Carmel Beach, about 14 miles.
Predictions for conditions were promising: light northwest winds, modest 2-4 foot northwest swell, incoming tide.  In the small park overlooking the beach, Mike McDaniel, Nick Bryson and I readied our paddleboards amid the divers and their carefully laid-out equipment. We took a few extra precautions, including cellphones packed in drybags. Our launch occurred around 7:15 a.m. in glassy waters under gray skies.

"Let's do this!"

And they're off ...

Hey, what are those dorks doing?

And that was the last we saw of them, officer....

Well, that's the end of the photos. Mike didn't take the camera on board, and DeeAnn understandably left the scene.

It turned into a rough water paddle, and it got more challenging as we pressed on.  I had been hopeful that we would be catching swell after rounding Point Piños (Monterey Bay’s southernmost tip), but instead we were going cross-swell rather than downswell much of the way.

No matter. I’d do it again tomorrow in the right conditions and with the right paddlers. It was magnificent.  I have often run this entire route on land, through Pebble Beach, Asilomar, Pacific Grove, all the way into Cannery Row. I have run the Big Sur Half Marathon (Monterey through Pacific Grove and Asilomar) six years in a row. I have surfed out there, too. It’s one thing to see this spectacular coastline from roads and trails, but quite another from sea. It was very interesting to sort out familiar landmarks from the perspective of being in the water. And all of the sea creatures were benign, at least the ones we could see.

That modest northwest swell interacted with the bays and points in ways that caused cross-chop and currents. We got our first real taste as we approached Point Piños. There’s a buoy out in front of the point, and it’s a good idea to stay outside of that – inside, there’s no telling where a rock will jump up out of the water. I found myself imagining that, with very little research effort, any number of documented shipwrecks through the remainder of our route could be found. (check http://shipwrecks.slc.ca.gov/ShipwrecksDatabase/Shipwrecks_Database.asp) Whatever is down there was interacting with waves and currents in ways that slowed forward progress.

I was expecting Point Joe to be the worst. Pebble Beach Company has thoughtfully constructed and maintained a lookout there. A sign describes: “the restless sea.” That’s poetic, but, on most days, a brief glance in the direction of the actual ocean at Point Joe will reveal its very dark mood. The reef is shallow, it extends very far out, and it magnifies swell and backwash from what must be something very close to 300° on the compass. In other words, it’s a mess. But today, its mood was more favorable than usual.

It was Cypress Point that dished up the worst. Nick noticed a large circular current. I noticed that I needed to sit up for a moment to ward off seasickness. I also got bucked off my board, but was able to maintain hand contact until I could climb back on.

Once beyond Cypress Point, the swell began to line up for us. But by then, I wasn’t quite up to surfing it. As we progressed, the surface improved. Pescadero Point came into sight, and as we rounded it, things really smoothed out. Our last two miles turned into an easy and fun ending, and the sun even broke through.  Finally, we could knee-paddle again.

In the end, we didn't go fast, but I felt this one for days afterward. I have a whole new appreciation for my home waters, Carmel Bay.

Thanks to DeeAnn for the pictures and to Mike McDaniel for those great captions! 

Pier-2-Pier 2010

Phil Curtiss, working diligently at his desk

The extended family that is the Santa Cruz paddling community was very much in evidence at the 17th annual Pier-2-Pier (an unofficial race). It wasn’t just the number (65 paddlers, plus family and friends); there were at least three generations present, ranging in ages from under 10 to over 60. And I can’t imagine another family of any size that could get along with each other so well. One scene that sticks with me is Dave King calling paddlers from eight to eleven years old for what I guessed was an orientation talk, and them lining up for their own picture. Then there were the many familiar faces (this is my sixth Pier-2-Pier) whose names I am slowly learning.

Not that everyone is local. Phil Segal came from his paddle shop in King’s Beach, Lake Tahoe, and someone who must have been from New York was passing out flyers for a paddle around the Big Apple.

Dave is always there, always a force for fun, always taking an active part. This year, he said he had been to the finish line in Capitola already, “planting trees.” How green of him! I guessed this had something to do with setting the finish line. He had also been threatening to blow a conch shell to start the race, but ultimately decided on one of those small, bright red, shrill emergency whistles you can get at any marine supply.

The diversity of paddling equipment appropriately matched the large number of racers and variety in ages. These included paddleboards (12-foot stock, 14-foot and unlimited); stand-up paddleboards (also stock, fourteen and unlimited), and longboards of various descriptions. Tony Mueller notably paddles a homemade SUP, and he can kill.

Phil Curtiss paddles a classic Eaton 14-foot sporting a blue design on the deck; I have a later model, same size and make, sporting red. Two other boards that could be mistaken for mine were present in the race, but there’s no mistaking Phil’s board.

It took roughly an hour for everyone to arrive, sign in, and get their assigned number magic-markered onto the left hand. I got cold. I went for a little jog to warm up, thinking back fondly (sort of) on the “Le Mans” start to the Bay Crossing just one week ago.

When Phil gave the prerace talk, he felt obligated to mention the unconfirmed shark sighting just days ago, and the reports were it was a 20-foot great white. The Junior Lifeguards had stayed out of the water a few days, and would probably do likewise for several more. But, he helpfully pointed out, there are shark reports every summer. And, when asked, he let on that he himself was going.

The course was described, including the choice whether to paddle on the outside line (beyond the kelp bed) or the inside line (inside the kelp line is shorter, but you might get swept off the course by a wave.) Basically, you head towards Paradise Point and either go outside or take a left and go inside.

But if you go inside, your first hazard is a reef that focuses waves into a bowl and can break quite far out from the point, say around 30th Ave. The wave gets steep fast and pitches over.

It’s not hard to avoid this hazard. There are almost always a few surfers sitting on the break. Just go wide around them and you will not only avoid those sneaker sets that can rob you of your vehicle but also avoid blank stares from those surfers. In fact, the rest of the course is littered with surf spots and surfers waiting for the bigger sets.

So we all lined up against the Santa Cruz Municipal for the annual photo, paddled out and, without any forewarning, TWEEET! We were off.

The lineup

Headed for Paradise Point.

We had perfect, glassy conditions all the way with few waves. The tide was already over a foot high and rising, making the inside line an easy call.

I also chose an inside line for the first part of the race, meaning I would paddle up Pleasure Point. As I approached, I noticed there were waves breaking out there, just on the other side of the point, as described in our prerace briefing. Once I got past the point, there was still a good way to go out before I would be beyond the reef and the surfers sitting over it so I could turn left and cruise past the many breaks of Santa Cruz’s East Side.

And as I was paddling up the point, I could see an SUP heading straight into the bowl, rather than in the deeper channel next to the bowl, as a wave approached. The wave pitched over right in front of her. She tried to punch through, but lost the board. I heard later that the next wave took the board in before she could swim to it and recover it. Ouch!

My first clue about who was behind me, and I mean right behind me, came as I paddled through the lineups. The surfers who bothered to look my way seemed almost to stare through me (other years, some were friendly or cheered). But many yelled “GO PHIL.” So I knew he was there.

Without actually surfing any of the waves, I did get a push from them. I almost got too far inside: a wave broke after it had barely passed under me. Those little pushes must have been just enough. As I reached the pier, I was inside of Phil. I just needed to round the pier, turn left, and paddle straight in to the beach. But knowing you can’t ever count Phil out, I gave what I had left. Phil looked strong and he was smiling.

However much of a surprise it was to me that I held my position as I got to the bamboo goalposts Dave had planted, I never expected that only one unlimited paddleboard (belonging to Zach Wormhoudt) would be on the beach and that Tony Mueller would be the only other with his SUP. This has never happened to me at the Pier-2-Pier. 

Dave's plantings

Jody and Mike, all done and smilin'.

That said, I could easily name many paddlers who could have gotten there first, but that gets back to the family-and-friends feeling of this event. An obvious example is Craig Waltz (unlimited winner of several of this year’s epic races, including the Jay and the Bay Crossing). Craig took an easy paddle, choosing to hang with others. (I don’t even see Craig’s name on the results sheet.)  Many paddlers of all ages and abilities did likewise. Mike McDaniel and Jody Roberts paddled her first Pier-2-Pier together, and Jody came in all smiles. Winning doesn’t always matter, at least not at the Pier-2-Pier.

All 65 finished. Earlier this year, at the Jay Race, announcer Brent Allen remarked that the last paddler in is the biggest hero. Today, that biggest hero was Sean McIntyre, whose boyhood reach into the water extended only as deep as his wrists. The crowd blew up for Sean. He has a lot to look forward to.

And now, for brunch! 

 Mike McDaniel, Jody Roberts, me.

Thanks, DeeAnn Thompson, for the photos!

Bay Crossing

According to Google Maps, it’s a 41-mile drive from the Santa Cruz Municipal Wharf to Del Monte beach’s south end, at Wharf 2 – the REAL fisherman’s wharf in Monterey.  It’s about 26 miles as the seagull flies. Being paddlers in search of an open ocean adventure, the Ghostryders Watermen Club organized a race the “short” way across the bay. To add spice, a slight detour to MBARI’s M1 bouy, located just along Monterey Bay’s deepwater canyon, was added – lengthening the course to 28 miles and taking paddlers to a point about 12 miles from the closest shore.

The course.

I wasn’t against doing the Second Annual Monterey Bay Crossing, but I wasn’t sure I was for it, either. I knew from talking to last year’s paddlers it gets ugly out there.  The course itself is daunting in any conditions. And there are things swimming out there that deter the faint of heart, and even the not-so-faint-of-heart. Reports from last year’s paddlers were: crossed up swells washing over their boards, arresting forward progress; dense fog; wind and chop. There was pain.

Then the required chase boat was found. I was in. I would have gone solo. But I was happier to be on a relay team, at least for my first crossing. Kathryn Tubbs, Mike McDaniel, Waylon Olson and I started exchanging emails. It was quickly revealed that the logistics alone were a big commitment.

The teams were: Kathryn and Waylon; Mike and me.

Our team’s experience included Kathryn Tubbs’ several Catalina Classic solo runs; Mike McDaniel’s 22 Mile Lake Tahoe Classic completed last year (me, too); Waylon’s Jay Races, and my 20-mile Bay 2 Bay (Mission Bay to San Diego Bay) race. It was the first Monterey Bay crossing for each of us.

Kathryn didn’t want to use her stock board while, at the same time, Mike and I used his unlimited. I had already pledged my Bark unlimited to Paul Wetterau, so Kathryn called around for an unlimited and landed a good one from the shop floor of none other than Joe Bark. Some people have great connections.

We decided on 20-minute paddling intervals and matched paddlers sharing the water for similar speed during each segment. Each of us would paddle approximately 14 miles of the 28.

FRIDAY NIGHT, PRERACE MEETING
Ghostryders Watermen Club organizes this race and held a prerace meeting at the Miramar Restaurant, located on the Santa Cruz Municipal Wharf. When DeeAnn and I arrived, Craig Waltz, Zach Wormhoudt and others were checking people in, answering questions, and handing out stuff for the race.

Our two relay teams checked in as:
 
      Team Nor-So-Cal: Kathryn Tubbs and Waylon Olson
      Time Mikes: Mike McDaniel and your truly

Ghostryders renamed Team Mikes as “Team Carmel Watermen” (unbeknownst to us), giving recognition to the club on our side of the Bay of the same name.

Kathryn, Mike, Waylon and I met with Dennis, our boat captain. New to paddleboarding but experienced with outrigger canoes, he turned out to be fully engaged in our mission and clearly wanted to do everything possible to make this crossing a smashing success. He was experienced, knowledgeable, articulate, and likeable. What more could we ask! We worked out how stuff would get on and off the boat and how the paddlers not on the beach at the start or the finish would get on or off the boat. We parked three cars in three different locations before it was over.

Things got sorted out, and DeeAnn and I left early enough to get some sleep.

SATURDAY, JULY 17, 2010, SHORTLY BEFORE 5:20 A.M.
I get a text message from Mike: “I am at the beach. Where are you?” I am mere minutes away. Mike and I were the first to arrive of anyone connected with the race. I would do that again, even if not a rookie. Santa Cruz, still and dark, at the beach, by the Wharf. Air saturated with fog and possibility. Yes, I would do that again.

Soon, Kathryn and Waylon show up. Everyone is in a good mood, even though it’s already obvious there is fog allowing us to see only so far past the pier.

We organized the stuff destined for our boat, DeeAnn took a group shot, and Waylon and I stayed on the beach to start the race, connecting with the other paddlers, warming up, waiting.

Mike, Waylon, Kathryn, me

Bay Crossing's Class of 2010

6:30 AM
 

My favorite way to start a paddleboard race is … in the water. After all, it’s a paddling race. Starting on the beach is a pain. Ever try running at full speed with an 18-foot paddleboard? They’re light compared to 20 years ago, but they’re not that light.

Not today. The intended tradition is a “Le Mans” start. This is French for tiring you out early. Here’s how that works.  A line is drawn in the sand not far from, and parallel to, the water line. All paddleboards are lined up to the beach side of the line, noses to the water. All paddlers stand on the beach side of their respective paddleboards. On “go,” all paddlers run away from the ocean, touch the wall on the far side of the beach, run back to the paddleboard, grab, run into the ocean, and begin paddling. 28 miles. Across the Bay. At least I’m a runner. There are a few of us with bad knees who don’t like this great tradition too well. But there it is: you wanna race, you do it by the rules. So I ran. OK, I ran at, like, 80 percent so I wouldn’t be sucking in air through my ears before I even started paddling. But run I did. 

Le Mans Start: Running Away

And you know what? I liked it. There’s something kind of fun about running in the sand, probably because I did that so much as a kid. I was warmed up going into the ocean. And it helped me deal with the adrenaline hit. The one I got while staring into fog and darkness, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into this time.

Waylon and I ran about the same pace, and I got in the water just behind him. Although we were the best match in our two-relay-team paddle, behind him is where I found myself for the rest of the race. He’s not just thirty years younger than I am, he’s really fast. It was fun watching him having a great time in his first Bay Crossing, just as we all were.

So off we went, boldly paddling where no man/woman should go!

We learned as we went. The first time Mike McDaniel turned it back over to me, he gave me a good shove to get me going. That was a rush! We got better and better at changeovers each time.

Twenty minutes came and went quickly every time. It never got old. It’s a good choice for relay. All four of us maintained something close to our best pace very consistently.

On the boat, Captain Dennis was vigilant about our course, monitored conditions, scouted sea life, constantly fed us useful information, took pictures for us, told us when we were close to our changeover time, and shared great stories. His skill and his engagement with us was remarkable. We were truly a team of five.

Mike McDaniel Looks on as Waylon (right) and I (left) take our turn churning it out.

The fog lifted, but the marine layer stayed. While that made the sky and the water different shades of gray, it was certainly easy on the eyes. As we ventured out, we settled into our work, paddling through smooth water across swells, as we patiently awaited our arrival at the M1 Buoy. The swell was quite tame, a small south and a slightly larger northwest. It wasn’t until well after we had rounded the buoy, turning slightly east, that a light northwest wind came up.

The hand plunks in (the catch), pulls through to power the stroke (the pull) and releases at the end. The paddleboard accelerates and glides, and that’s the ride. On a glassy day like this, it was a very smooth ride, pure pleasure in motion. The water was a little cold this day.

Gliding forward through the water, our starting point at our backs, all we could see was the water ahead. Land disappeared, if not from view, certainly from my awareness. It’s the sense of leaving land behind that shifts all perspective. I suspect it’s a big part of what we all came for. There’s also the awareness that comes from being on the open ocean, in deep water.

There were the usual seals and sea lions, I spotted a dolphin that ran toward the boat from Kathryn, whales (blue, gray, orca), basking sharks, it’s all out there.

The time on the boat was also fun, hooting for our team mates, getting to know Waylon and Dennis, chowing as needed, taking in the ocean sites, stretching to stay loose, and taking pictures with Mike’s and Kathryn’s cameras. I was surprised I never got cold, but if we did, Dennis offered the heated cabin.

The M1 buoy, Buoy 46042, is located along the Monterey Meander of the Soquel Canyon and is a clean looking data collector – a round yellow platform and tower clad with solar panels. According to the National Data Buoy Center, M1 sits in 1,574 meters (5,162 feet) of water. Dennis said it is anchored by a chain so long that it will drift by up to a half mile. That’s to allow for winds and storm conditions, so the chain won’t break when it gets rough. The buoy has provided data continuously for over 20 years.

More than three hours into our paddle, Mike and Kathryn got to be the ones to round the buoy. As they approached it, Waylon shouted out: “There are Krispy Kremes on the Buoy.” After that, he couldn’t stop thinking about Krispy Kremes.  We may have been feeling giddy, but we were all nevertheless in awe. Days later, I saw a photo of one our finest paddlers taking his break there. As in, he climbed on the buoy and stood on it, apparently contemplating the place and taking it in. Truly admirable to fully experience that moment in that place!

Mike and Kathryn, and a milestone

I was pleasantly surprised that several boats and their paddlers were behind us. One started to gain on us, and eventually Josh Pederson passed us. Josh bested Waylon in the Jay Race, just weeks before. Now Waylon wanted to turn the tables. I said, “we should do something about that.” Waylon agreed. We played tag, and when Josh gained on us, his boat’s siren sounded. That rivalry (though hardly unfriendly) brought out the best in all of us.

Dennis quipped that things were getting a little boring. We all understood this kind of boring is a very welcome thing!

As we approached the Monterey Peninsula, the tide came in, it’s favorable push towards shore augmented by light winds and a few runners to catch and ride.
 
In spite of that, a current slowed us down, but we were soon past it and on our way to the finish. The sun broke through and the sky turned blue, along with the water.

Mike McDaniel, on the approach to the finish.

Sticking to our regimen of 20 minute changeovers, it fell to Waylon and me to finish the race. I was hoping it would be Mike and Kathryn, since Waylon and I got to start the race. But this gave Waylon the final say over Josh, and he didn’t hesitate to open up a convincing lead.

As for Josh, keep in mind he paddled the 28 miles solo.  I sprinted through the now placid waters by the wharf and got to the beach ahead of him, but barely. Remembering that the official rules allowed me to leave the board on the beach and run to the finish, I did just that. Unfortunately for Josh, and unbeknownst to me, I parked right in Josh’s path. As I crossed the finish, Waylon quipped: “Nice move!” I plead innocent. I had no idea where he was behind me, just that he wasn’t in front of me. 

Gassing it ...

... blocking, cluelessly ...

... and running with all I have left.

I passed the flags on the beach and received a very warm Ghostryders welcome. I told Dave King it’s nice to be in the club. He looked at me like there was never a question, smiled and said, “You’re in the club!”

Our official finish times:

    Team Nor-So-Cal: 6 hours, 6 minutes
    Team Carmel Watermen: 6 hours, 7 minutes

The sixth member of the Team was, of course, DeeAnn. No race could be half as good without her encouragement and support, but her constant presence and help made this day especially a true joy.  And she takes some very nice pictures! Here's a favorite:

DeeAnn also brought lots of food, as did the race organizers. Everyone on the beach was partying over finishing the crossing and hooting in the next finisher. I took the liberty of announcing Paul Wetterau’s arrival at the top of my lungs and a smile broke over his face as he stood up for the run up the beach. Paul took very good care of my board and finished in 6 hours, 22 minutes, a triumph.

Paul Wetterau, believing it.

So we stuck three paddleboards on our car, dropping Mike's Bark and Kathryn's borrowed Bark at Mike's, and went home to clean up and nap. My rack required adaptation to a third board, and we had to get creative.

It was secure. REALLY!

I got a call from Brian Mullen while  on the way home from dropping off the boards at Mike's. Brian wanted to hear it all. I willingly obliged. Brian asked, “So, are you thinking about going solo next year?”  I replied, “Brian, right now, I’m thinking about a nap.” I took the nap, we’ll see about the other!

6:00 PM
The final tradition (all of two years) in this race is the dinner gathering back at Miramar, where we had seen everyone the night before. We had our own room. It’s something to witness these watermen connecting with each other, bringing their families and mates, and keeping it all real. Kathryn got recognition and a trophy for being the first woman to participate – winning the women’s division. 

And, on a cellphone call from the Miramar, Waylon bought the Bark. Joe knew exactly what he was doing!

Thank you, Mike, Kathryn, Waylon, Dennis, and DeeAnn. I couldn't have spent such a special day with better.

Jay Race 2010

This year’s prerace tribute to Jay Moriarity was especially inspiring for me.  My favorite part was Grant Washburn telling us how he was stressing over how to approach big water he was about to enter, when Jay walked up and said something like: “Just look at that beautiful sky!” All of this was to say that Jay, first and foremost, stood in appreciation of all that surrounded him and just knew everything would work out well, even in big water.  Of course, his well-honed waterman skills backed that up. 

Listening to Jay's stories, inspiring as ever.

My own intention that I had set for this race was simply to experience fully the joy in paddling, and this story got me off to the perfect start.

This was my third annual Jay race, so by now, I’m starting to get to know a few fellow paddlers from the Santa Cruz area. At the top of that list is Nick Bryson, who’s become a great training partner this year (Nick not only became a contender in the stock class, he learned how to keep a water bottle attached to his board!). But there are many others, and having all of us in one place is amazing.

Monterey’s representation included Mike McDaniel, Mike Roberts, Paul Wetterau, John Alexiou, and yours truly. Among the So Cal contingent was Catalina Classic veteran Kathryn Tubbs, whom I met through Mike McDaniel.

In the end, it's all about the paddle.  

A sampling of the craft 

The twelve-mile course begins and ends at New Brighton State Beach, extends past Pleasure Point to the harbor buoy near the Santa Cruz Municipal Pier, turns straight out to sea, to the “one-mile” buoy, then returns to finish.

But conditions are everything. Winds, currents and swell all play a pivotal part every year, no exceptions. The course conditions this year must have been at least as fast as last year. For example, Craig Waltz (second place in unlimited class) finished in 1:57.3, compared to his first place finish of 2:00.5 in 2009.

But that’s not to say it was the same.

Consider that unlimited class 3rd place Tod Robinson (1:58.4) reported that his GPS showed the top three were on pace to break the course record by the time they reached the harbor buoy, near the muni pier. The course record, 1:51:58, a pace of 0:9:20 per mile, was set by Chad Carvin 2008. Yet, the winner’s average pace for the 12-mile course this year was 0:9:52 per mile (Anthony Vela, 1:58.4). So, sure, there were lots of runners to surf from the one-mile buoy back to New Brighton Beach, but that should have sped them up, not slowed them down. Maybe it was the combo northwest and south swells that did it.

I found the course indeed had many faces this year, and I enjoyed each one.

This was the first time I was present for the unique pleasure of standing in hip-high water with no wetsuit while little waves washed up to our waists, the prescribed “standing start” for the race. On shore, a bagpipe's drone-and-melody performance could be heard over the many pleas from the water to start the race already.

Finally, the horn was blown and the paddlers created a great current in the direction of the first required turn. I love to ride that current, and I did so today. Then there was the smooth segment to Pleasure Point, followed by the backwashy segment to the harbor buoy with a bit of a headwind. And that run out to the mile buoy is always work. Smooth and strong was my mantra for those segments.

Rounding the buoy I managed not to attract too much attention from the resident sea lions, then I caught a few of those Northwest runners. Some went really well, others spun me out (unlike unlimited boards, I have no rudder), and twice I went dead in the water because of crossed-up swell.

Mike Roberts must have caught more runners and rode them longer, because that’s how he passed me up. I didn’t even know that was him less than a half mile further out than I was.

I next headed for Pleasure Point, to get inside the kelp line. I planned to do that before the race even started, but now it wasn’t an easy choice. Few ever do that. I wondered now if I was about to badly blow it. I started to second-guess myself. I had to think back on the reasons why I thought this was a good idea and ask myself if those reasons were valid right now. I headed in.

I found out later it was the smart call – Roberts encountered demons in the outside line’s waters.  A solid paddler in any conditions, Mike told me he fell four times. That said it all about what the outside-the-kelp line was like after passing Pleasure Point. The inside line, on the other hand, was relatively clear of kelp, and the tide was incoming. Conditions were clean, the surface like glass. So, although Mike blew past me mid-race, we approached the finish in a classic paddle battle, except that we approached the finish at nearly a right angle to each other – he aimed straight for shore from the outside, me paddling the shoreline from the inside.

Me on the approach (above); Mike Roberts looking at me and contemplating the kill (below).

I got there first. But to complete the race, there’s that stinkin’ beach finish. Gotta run up the beach, through the big red archway.

Three years of this race has taught me that my perception of where the ground is changes after the better part of 2 ½ hours with my face just inches from the water. The sudden change from prone to standing leaves me unable to judge the distance from eyeball to ground. The ground looks closer than it actually is. When that happens, I just can’t find my feet. This shouldn't be.  I’m a runner. I’ve completed a half marathon each year for the past six years. But now, here I am, about to be edged out Roberts, because I’m repeatedly falling on my face, crawling, and laughing uncontrollably.

What does Mike do? Laughing as hard as I am, he grabs me with authority under my arm and runs me through the finish. We tied for equal 5th in the fourteen foot class. The entire race had been a joy, and this just put it over the top for me.

Is this a great sport, or what!!!!!

(L to R) Nick Bryson, Jody Roberts' back, Mike Roberts, me.

Mike McDaniel, Kathryn Tubbs

Paul Wetterau, flanked by two Mikes

For me, this year’s Jay Race was the Joy Race. After this one, I find myself hoping I'll still be racing when I’m 90, and that this paddle race, this tribute to surfing’s icon of joyfully pursuing going big, will outlive us all.






Thanks to DeeAnn Thompson for the photos and so much more!