The Channel in the Channel Islands

The view from breakfast, Mother's Day 2011

It’s May 8, Mother’s Day, and I’m sharing breakfast with DeeAnn and Kathryn Tubbs at Malibu’s Paradise Cove. It has not been a good paddling year so far for me. I fractured my left arm’s radial head on April 15 and I’m not yet back on my paddleboard. Kathryn isn’t much better off, as she’s had more than one health challenge. So neither of us got to paddle the Malibu Downwinder (it was epic out there). 

But breakfast was great, as it always is at Paradise Cove.  Kathryn is ever optimistic, and only her determination exceeds that optimism. She mentioned that the Island to Island relay will be held for the first time in six years and suggested I join her. What an idea. I immediately and enthusiastically agreed.

So it was that I drove from Carmel to San Pedro on a Thursday afternoon in October to meet Kathryn and four others: Reno Caldwell who rounded out our relay team, Captain Jon Duff, and his two crew members, Jeff and Mark.

The reality set in as I arrived at the harbor just after 9 pm on that Thursday: I was about to spend three nights and three days on a boat in waters exposed to changing and unpredictable conditions with four total strangers. My comfort and, more importantly, my personal safety were in the hands of three of the four.

It wasn’t a complete leap of faith. Kathryn had apparently done a good job of checking these guys out. They had plenty of experience as a chase and support boat in three Catalina Classics, one Rock-2-Rock, and one Island to Island.  But it remained to be seen how we would all get along.

The “Raiatea,” named after the Island in Tahiti, was built in 1965 in San Diego. As Jon said in an e-mail: “Yes she’s a classic K-43.” Raiatea has been (and is still being) lovingly and beautifully restored.

Raiatea

Jon settled us in for the night, announced we would be awakened around 5 am for an early departure, and left. There was little conversation: we retreated into our respective sleeping arrangements. Mine was the bench by the dining table. Reno was just across the aisle, and Kathryn got the only private quarters, in the bow.

It was a nice night, and the passage from the deck to the galley was left open. Our slumber ended with a cheery greeting from Jeff, not to mention the bright LED lights attached to his cap. Preparations for our departure were made, but before we left, a freshly-lettered flag was raised, sporting our team name: Sea Cruisers.

Captain Jon, raising the Team Cruisers standard.

San Pedro Harbor's iconic Angel's Gate is being lovingly restored to her former glory.

Hopes of sailing were left wanting. We motored upwind the whole way, but Jon raised the sail anyway. Reno asked if flying fish had been sighted lately. Not for years, and more than that was missing these days, according to Jon. But we did see blue whales and dolphins.

Captain Jon hoists the sail.

We began to get acquainted. There was a great deal to like about every person there. There were three aspects to each person that were all above and beyond: competent, interesting, and fun -- pretty much in ideal proportions. And it’s not like there weren’t differences. It’s just that they each were dedicated to making it all work out, so everything did work out.

Kathryn and Reno, on the lookout for sailfish.

Around 4:30 pm, we  arrived and set anchor at Santa Barbara Island. It’s a barren, wind-swept rock. A row of barren sticks braves life upon its crest, but that’s about all that’s there. The island’s only resident is a park ranger. You can hike it, but you’ll have to leave at sunset.

Approaching Santa Barbara Island

One of our neighbors. The boat is the vessel on the bottom.

The winds kicked up waves that rocked the boat side-to-side from the moment we arrived until we awoke the next morning. It wasn’t so bad as to stop the crew from treating us (and themselves) to a nice dinner.

The “committee boat” paid us a visit and acquainted us with the racing procedures for the following morning.  They announced the race would start promptly at 7:30 am. All paddlers were to meet somewhere in front of the Ranger’s house, form up a line, and go.

Among those aboard was Mike Eaton. There’s a competition between the size of Mike’s mustache and his smile. One accentuates the other, so you can’t tell which is more prominent. Mike was a big part of getting me into paddling and is mentor to many. The mere sight of him lit me up.

Mike Eaton. Fit.

We paddlers eventually went off to our respective sleeping places, and the crew set up to sleep above, two aft on the seating located forward of the wheel and one on the foredeck. Except they didn’t go off to sleep. They closed the hatch and partied out there for quite some time. I couldn’t hear every word, but it was so fun to hear all their laughter and verbal jousting. I soon acclimated myself to the ship’s rolling and their cajoling, and drifted off to sleep.

We asked to be awakened about 6, and were. Jon immediately informed us this was our day, he and his crew were there to serve us, and we were to make clear what we wanted to see happen from that point on.  I was impressed and delighted.

Being the paddler domiciled furthest north of the three of us, I got chosen to brave the cold for the race start. I had suggested it and my offer met no resistance. So, when the radio confirmed the start time on Saturday morning, Reno’s 14-foot Bark CT was tossed overboard about 7:20 am and I, in fullsuit, jumped in after it. 

It was obvious where to go. I spotted Tony Hotchkiss and paddled to his boat to say hi. Tony had only one paddling partner and no boat captain (due to illnesses of each), so they resigned themselves to operating the boat themselves while competing in the race. Talk about hard core. Fortunately, that was noticed by someone on another boat who could be spared to help out captaining the boat.

I no sooner got to the lineup when the start signal sounded. For all the waves and wind the previous night, it was quite glassy when the race began. And it stayed that way for most of the race. It was no downwinder. But at least the Santa Ana winds weren’t blowing at us sideways.

The experience of our crew in these waters was long, and they knew how to help. We worked out how transitions would occur and where each paddler wanted the boat to be relative to the paddler. Jon and Jeff knew well how to set the heading, how to negotiate the waters, and how to communicate all that to us.  They were not only capable guides, but enthusiastic cheerleaders. We were six, not three, people out for a day of intense paddling with a heaping dose of fun thrown in. We could not have asked for better, and they made a great paddle happen.

L to R: Captain Jon, Mark, Jeff

We paddled 20 minute segments. The boat was outfitted with a set of swim steps to facilitate changeovers. The entire race was pure pleasure. I love Reno’s board. I have a Bark CT, but his is narrower. Narrower is speedier, but tippier. Nevertheless, I was able to get to my knees.

Kathryn

Reno

Ready ...

The handoff

Mount

Up ...

... and running.

How did we do? Quite well. But let’s just say the race was populated almost entirely with some of the fastest paddlers the Catalina Classic has seen. That took the pressure off us, but after a few hours, there wasn’t much company! We did trade positions with another team. In the end, they got the better of us. It was good to get our blood moving like that.

The race was 32.7 miles. The unlimited division was won in 5:41:16, an average pace of 5.75 miles per hour, by George Loren, George Plsek and Jackson English. Tony and George Kabris were in the lead for some of that time, and finished quite close behind, in 5:54:43, an average pace of 5.53 mph .

Jack Bark, Matt Becker, and Shane Scoggins took the stock division in 6:10:56, an average pace of 5.29 mph.

And we completed it in 7:03:14, an average pace of 4.63 mph.  By comparison, I paddled slower than that in this year’s Jay Race and finished respectably in the field.

The race was hardly the end of the day's events. There was a luau, music and entertainment, and awards, all first class. It was a chance to visit and revel in the day. It was there that I got the biggest prize of the year: Mike Eaton signed my poster.

Sunday morning we motored back to San Pedro. We never did get to sail. No matter. It was a beautiful day, there was more sea life to enjoy, and the great company of five others, no longer strangers, but friends.

Paddling is like that.

So long, Catalina!

Happy landings. Thanks everyone, this will be with me always.

2011 Tahoe Fall Classic

DeeAnn and I arrived on Thursday afternoon, greeted by south winds. Quite a contrast to both of the last two years. I've gained more interest in downwinders lately, so I didn't mind heading out for an evening upwind/downind paddle.

For the second year in a row, we stayed at Holiday House in Tahoe Vista. Offering slightly rustic lakefront charm and SUP rentals (the owner is enthusiastic), it's located just steps away from Captain Jon's Restaurant launch ramp. Our hostess is full of life, outspoken, charming, and, by the way, is  quite the athlete. Alvina proudly displays more than a few alpine ski trophies and just this year paddled in the Tahoe Nalu 5-mile race. She beat a couple of my friends. Possibly in her seventies, where, for her at least, the number doesn't mean a thing. A woman like this could be the mother of, say Chuck Patterson. In fact, we found out she IS Patterson's dear ol' mom!

The water was up the ramp, unlike the past two years. Nice to see the lake level up. It's protected on two sides by the structure on which the restaurant rests. Once out, the waves were on. I had a fun time out there.

Road repair was a definite theme this year. Lakeshore was ground down for resurfacing and two of four lanes were closed. Friday morning, that made it easy to go for a run through Kings Beach to Brockway and back.

We otherwise pretty much hung out Thursday, Friday and Saturday (okay, we brought some work with us).  We stopped in on race organizer Phil Segal at Tahoe Paddle & Oar and had a good visit.

Here are some views from our lodgings...

Saturday night, DeeAnn and I dined at Wild Goose to celebrate our 22nd anniversary (no connection intended with that 22-mile paddle!).

If you get the opportunity, get yourself to the Wild Goose. The architecture is elegant; the food and service are up to the location.

The wind did lie down on Saturday. Race day promised to be another flawlessly glassy paddle.

Mike McDaniel and Lisa stopped by so we could organize our cars for the next morning. Lisa's SUP went on our car. My Bark prone paddleboard went on Mike's. We shared a glass and they headed for Incline Village, where they were staying.

So all that was left was to get a good night's sleep, rise early, and get to the South Shore's Camp Richardson.

Remember that road repair? The road repair gods, in their infinite wisdom, chose Saturday night to lay asphalt. It wasn't just noisy, it was a Meredith Monk concert. Never heard of Monk? You DON'T wanna know. Fingernails on chalkboard. Asphalt trucks with loud beeping. Same things. Our bedroom windows faced the parking lot and the road.

A "charming" feature of this year's room suddenly became an attractive alternative to a sleepless night. The Murphy bed that graced the front room (and nearly blocks the entry) came down, and we crawled in.

All went like clockwork from our 5 am rise until all four of us drove into Camp Richadrson just after 7 am. The board prep began, we got checked in (whoops -- the timers forgot to bring the high-tech timing chips!), visited, took a few pics, and hopped into the lake, ready to glide.

I mounted my Garmin 301 on board so I could get the splits this year -- an idea I got from Kanesa Duncan Seraphin.

The field numbered about 105, prone paddlers accounting for 17. In the men's division were two stock, four fourteen, and four unlimited (including yours truly). The women's division boasted three -- one fourteen and two stock.

Two friends were missing: Mike Roberts and Nick Bryson. Family first, in both cases (joy, not sadness). But both certainly missed on Tahoe's shores.

Around 6:45 am

104 of my closest friends.

Digging in

This year, a new rule was instituted and vigorously enforced: all paddlers were required to have a USCG-approved personal flotation device. It was widely advertised. I found one that could be worn over the low back that inflates by yanking on a tab (a CO2 canister does the job). We lovingly called it my "fanny floater." It did pretty much stay out of the way. But really: What a ridiculous idea, at least for prone paddlers.

We all went out fast. I was really surprised at the splits for the first five to seven miles. Then things slowed down and there was no way to compensate. There had to have been a current against us.  The water did get a bit faster late in the race, but the paddlers I talked to were all slower than last year. The same applied to me.

My trajectory

Whatever the times, Tahoe dished up yet another glorious day, but with a light sidewind at the end to add interest.

My goal was to enjoy this paddle to the fullest and not necessarily push to redline. So when the sidewinds came up, well, that was all right, too. I found the mind to enjoy what was on offer.

Me, arriving.

Mike McDaniel, heading in.

Mike McDaniel and I celebrate our third crossing.

This year's food offerings were worlds better than last year's Really Awful Pizza: choice of grilled chicken, burger or veggie, with good side dishes.  The awards ceremony was crisply run, and raffle tickets were passed out to all the paddlers -- and only the paddlers. So, whenever there was a lull in the awards stream, a few tickets were pulled.

Alert readers will recall Lisa's (Mike McDaniel's companion's) SUP. She took it for a spin with a borrowed paddle at Kings Beach. I was secretly hoping Mike or I would win a paddle in the raffle. It happened. A beautiful carbon shaft with a wood blade, by Sawyer. That was such a great feeling to get it, and I turned my prize over to Lisa without any hesitation. She lit up, which was way better than owning something I'm not very likely to use.

Sunday night was dinner with Mike and Lisa on the Holiday House's expansive guest deck -- lakefront, of course. We watched the sun set on our dream day and partied about the all-day party we just enjoyed.

Monday, we headed home, but not before visiting a dear friend in Grass Valley.

This memorable year will surely mean we'll return. Maybe that'll turn out be a 22-mile downwinder. But glass gliding is always a blast.

For now ...

Thanks to DeeAnn for many of the pictures and priceless moments.

Bella’s Travels

Granddaughter Bella embarked on a diplomatic goodwill tour of the U.S. West Coast, spanning Seattle to L.A.

Beginning with her grandmother in Sacramento (it was a surprise appearance), Bella sent a strong message to all of California’s gridlocked politicians: visit your grandma.

Taking a historical perspective next, Bella trekked to Monterey, which was California’s first state capitol. She pieced together one of the great puzzles (it has about forty pieces – pretty amazing feat at age 2 ½) and tasted miniature pita bread (“I’ll have one bite of this one, and then this one, and then this one ….”). She bravely explored our vast residence (all 1,550 square feet of it) in search of our three cats.

A fashion show (see photo above) was followed by a graceful display of ballet improvised to Mozart’s Symphony No. 4 in G minor (when she was slated to munch dinner instead).

Next day saw Bella dipping her toe into Carmel Bay, taking caution to avoid its epic beach break.   

Silly grandpa tried to teach her to roll down the sandy hill near the volleyball courts, but it was her own dad who gave her a rolling, downhill, full-on giggling ride-of-her-life.

Bella topped off her peninsula tour with a walk on Fisherman’s Wharf and a visit to the offices of Thompson Jones LLP (she seemed rather unimpressed with the professional environs).

We’re not sure yet what transpired in LA (no doubt she transformed that town for the better as well), but she left a deep impression on us all, and left behind many valuable lessons: enjoy your food, dance often, play at the beach, and sleep can always wait just a little longer.  Also, listening to your elders is way overrated. 

Bella's laughter and leg-hugging ways will be long remembered here, fondly. Must get to Seattle soon!

Na Pali Race Update

UPDATE: 8/14/11, the race results were posted. I was right, there were only three of us in the men's unlimited prone class, BUT...I GOT SECOND (upgraded from third). Now I'm REALLY shocked! And stoked. Of course, it doesn't mean I actually paddled any faster than I did. Good times, for sure.

Na Pali Coast, Kaua'i

A poster and an invitation appeared on my Facebook page. Here’s the poster:

The invitation was from Kanesa Duncan Seraphin. She was letting everyone she could know about this.

I took one look and I was done. I had goosebumps for twenty minutes. I had to do this. DeeAnn and I visited the Na Pali Coast on a catamaran tour over 20 years ago. It’s unforgettable. It’s magical. It’s imposing in its dimension. It’s deeply revered and it exudes Hawaiian culture and ancestral history. The place is both timeless and alive. In short, nothing on earth could be more sacred. The idea of paddling it was to take part in all of that, to feel what it was, is, and is becoming. (Google “Na Pali coast” and you’ll see many sites with great pictures of this stunning coastline. Even these can’t do it justice.)

But the dream flickered for a few weeks. When I saw Kanesa at the Jay Race, it wasn’t looking so good. She really encouraged me. Thanks to her extra effort, and an alignment of things happening in our lives, it came together: DeeAnn and I made it to Kaua‘i.

My impressions of this place have come from being an observer. I was about to be taken in by Na Pali, to become a participant instead. 

My day began with this (click on pictures to enlarge):

We ate, we loaded up, and we headed for the end of the road.

Entering Hanalei

If you're a guy and you're gonna paddle a pink board, it helps
if the board has made multiple crossings from Molokai to Oahu under a proven champion.

West side of Hanalei Bay

The check-in

The starting line.

I knew the course represented a challenge for me. It was my first real downwind race. I did not know the waters – I have never paddled there before. Once you leave the shore, you’re committed. There’s no going halfway, except to accept help from support. The winds were around 15 knots. There were whitecaps. There was swell in the water from several directions. What would the currents be like? I knew I would not be on my knees much, if at all, between the paddleboard made for one much lighter and the conditions on the water.

All I could do was prepare my paddleboard, turn to positive thoughts, and trust all would work out. After all, it was a beautiful day, the kind to be hoped for. The earlier part of the week was grey and it rained off and on. Now it was all sunshine, and the wind seemed to be blowing in the best direction.

The opening ceremony was moving, acknowledging place, time, context, spirit.

Then we watched the first wave of paddlers head out, many letting the winds carry them too far to the inside, towards shallow reefs. So, the line was more straight out and let the wind correct the course.

We lined up just before noon. It was a beach start. The beach was steep and the waves were washing up the beach instead of breaking. That made the entry easy and we were on our way.

Prepped.

Kanesa has cool tape for her bottles!

Where we're going first.

Kanesa, headed for the lineup.

How'm I gonna keep this cap on????

I'll never feel sorry for myself when carrying a paddleboard.

Toes on the line ...

Head for acres of cotton balls.

DeeAnn saw us off, returned to our rental car, and began a three-hour drive around Kaua‘i to meet me at the finish. Good thing there was some scenery, because that last few miles on the dirt road was less than ideal. And when she finally arrived, it was hot and windless. All in all, this was not her favorite way to spend precious island time, to say the least.

Na Pali's west side comes into view

The board wanted to surf. It was exhilarating to catch bumps. There was also cross swell, headed more to the inside, towards Na Pali’s cliffs. That’s the swell that was sometimes whitecapping and could knock me off – only a couple times did it succeed. You have to learn not to fight it. You don’t want to do any fighting. That takes a lot of energy you don’t have to spare. There were one or two spots where there were crazy currents. How playful!

Support was superb. I saw them several times. One came by when I sat up for a gel break and checked on me. It was after he left that I got a pretty good jelly sting on the arm. I didn’t see the jelly. But I found out pretty quick that can be ignored and that continually running my arm through the water (it’s called “paddling”!) seemed to help a lot.

I’ve learned in the few short years I’ve been paddling that objects are further than they appear. At Na Pali, the perception of what’s the next corner shifts as the scenery changes. You’d have to go here a lot to know your way around.

So, at two hours, I was wondering, how far am I? Just then the jetski came, and its driver guessed halfway. But, thankfully, it turned out to be more like two-thirds.

Not so long after that, “around the next corner” turned out to be the last corner. I could see the long spit of Polihale beach in sight. I guessed I was on the last stretch. The tail wind subsided. But then it turned into a headwind. Was the last few miles going to be uphill? Luckily, that wind decided to lay down. But now there was chop: south swell, west swell, and backwash from the cliffs. From then on, it was nothing but chop and there was nowhere to hide.

I paddled up to another who lost his water bottle, so I stopped to share. He might have been dehydrated, seasick, or both. He urged me on, but I said I’m hardly gonna win this race! And stayed a few more minutes. He seemed stable enough that I went on.

Next, I found myself sitting up often.  I started dividing up the distance to the finish, using rock piles along the cliffs as my goals. I did get sick once.

But soon I rounded the buoy, picked the time between waves, and … IN. The finish was perfect. A caddy took the board, and I headed up the beach. I found my legs rather quickly and was able to trot in.

And there were DeeAnn and Karen (Kanesa's mom) .

Kanesa arrives

Me, so ready to be done!

Pleasantly surprised I can use my legs

It took a little time to stabilize, but when I did, elation set in. There was a dinner and awards. Kanesa did a great job of handling the awards. And there must have been only three in men’s unlimited prone class, cuz I got third. What a nice shock! When it all sank in, I couldn’t stop laughing. I still am. This day I will never forget.

UPDATE: 8/14 the race results were posted. I was right, there were only three of us BUT...I GOT SECOND. Now I'm REALLY shocked!

And paddlers, wear your shirt. I did, and Mariko (women's SUP winner) noticed me at Duke's Nawiliwili Harbor on Wednesday. She remembered me and said: "If you're a guy and you're gonna paddle a pink board, you better win!"