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!