Unforgettable

 It’s July 25, 2009.

Nick Bryson and I stood on the sand, admiring a perfect, peeling, wide-open left-hand sand-bar barrel, both thinking the same thing: we brought the wrong equipment. Us and about 50 others. Nope, the paddleboards weren’t going to fit the curve of that wave. 

It’s surprising most of us didn’t ditch the race for the waves, but we lined up for the annual Pier-to-Pier picture anyway, stroked out, and raced.

The big factors in this race were:

#1: a solid South swell,

#2: a massive kelp bloom, and

#3: zero tide.

The combination all but ruled out the inside line. Surfers were sitting well into the kelp waiting for the bombs to come through. And come through they did. Only one or two paddlers went that way, Nick being one of them. And going outside the kelp made the course longer than advertised.

And there was also the sea life. The bait fish were especially abundant this summer, causing a feeding frenzy that lasted for weeks. For us, it meant there was no paddling a straight line without dodging seals, sea lions, and sea otters.

The race went well any way.  Not much wind. This race always comes with a great vibe. It’s totally informal. There’s no tee shirt, there’s no fee, there’s no prize money, there are no sponsors, and it’s heavily popular with the locals. Hell, I’d show up just to hear Dave King recite the only rule (“No head butts allowed below the water line”).

So, I went into this race without a leash, sporting only boardies and a neoprene tank top. What could go wrong?

Only two things went other than as planned. I cramped not far from the end of the race. That was nothing compared to the beach bombs that awaited us at the finish. Waves don’t break at the Capitola pier. Except today. They were feathering at the end of the pier.

I tried to time it. I failed. I had to ditch the board or get trashed while holding onto my board. I owe Tony Mueller, who picked mine up and did the same for many others. Tony collectively saved racers well over a thousand dollars. Mike McDaniel got in unscathed. The paddling gods were smiling on Mike, for sure.

So there I stood in the backwash, kelp all around, waiting for the current to switch so I could charge in. So ended my race. And this picture says it all:

All hail to the Kelp God!

The Bet

As I write this, it is raining steadily. Yesterday, it was predicted to start not long after sunrise. But when I checked at 6 am, the ETA had been moved to after 11 am. Winds were already in the southeast and a few gusts told me not to go.

But I had promised myself I would load up the paddleboard and take DeeAnn to Monterey for her Sunday run.  I ran late yesterday on the chance I could paddle today because it had been windy all day -- too windy for me, anyway.

Yesterday morning started with a 50-minute drive to New Brighton State Beach. I pulled into the lot just before 7 and right behind Nick, my paddling partner. We took one look at the blown out conditions and we were over it. Then we took a second look and quickly agreed to head for Capitola and Zelda’s for coffee. I was disappointed that we missed our first ten-miler of the spring. It couldn’t be helped.

So, now it’s Sunday morning, still dark, and I’m loading up on the off chance things will be different over in the bay.

They were. The Southeaster stayed light for the whole paddle, and the conditions north of the wharfs were clean. The paddle back to San Carlos Beach featured a tailwind. As I loaded up the board, a few odd drops of rain fell. It held off until we got home. Then the storm blew in convincingly while we enjoyed homecooked scrambled eggs, French toast strada with mango, bacon and coffee.

Now and then, it’s nice to win a bet!