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.
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| Around 6:45 am |
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| 104 of my closest friends. |
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Me, arriving. |
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| Mike McDaniel, heading in. |
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| 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.
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| For now ... |
Thanks to DeeAnn for many of the pictures and priceless moments.
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