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.