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| Catalina Classic Race Course: The stuff of legends. |
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I: Plans Evolve
“If you do that race, I’ll divorce you.” That clear and
unprecedented warning issued from DeeAnn’s lips reflexively the first time she
heard about the Catalina race from one of my paddling buddies. Catalina isn’t
just any race. On the West Coast, it is THE race.
I have no memory of who first mentioned the Catalina Classic to me or
when, but it was very likely Mike Eaton, about the time I acquired my first
paddleboard from him in 2005.
Not that it was an ambition. By the time DeeAnn's shot was
fired across the bow (do paddleboards have a bow?), I had been paddling only about three years and had just worked up to the
12-mile Jay race. Paddling was becoming a significant time commitment. But I had no intention of training out to do a
32-mile paddle. It seemed as ridiculous to me as it did to her.
Things evolve. Not only did I do the race, but DeeAnn
supported me in every conceivable way.
In June 2009, I was privileged to meet
eight-time Molokai-2-Oahu women’s champion Kanesa Duncan Seraphin. We were
introduced by Brian Mullen (where else?) at the beginning of a paddle. As we
made our way from Pebble Beach’s Stillwater Clove towards Point Lobos over oil
glass and laconic swells, Kanesa mentioned to us that anyone considering the
Molo or Catalina races should do, say, the 22-mile Lake Tahoe Classic, “to see
how you feel about that distance.”
That’s how I got interested in the Tahoe race. I liked it quite
well, thank you very much. In fact, it was over four hours of total stoke. But
paddling Tahoe’s early morning placid waters didn’t make me want to run right
out and do one of those open ocean 32-mile runs.
A few conversations and paddles with Kanesa over the next couple
of years tipped my hand. DeeAnn could
see the progression, only by this time she wasn’t about to stop me.
I set my sights on the 2011 Molo race, mostly because Kanesa
was supportive. I got only part way down
the road of dealing with the race’s complex and potentially overwhelming
logistics when I fractured a bone in my left arm (note to all 58-year-old men:
skip the skateboarding – only 14-year-olds bounce off the pavement).
I recovered in time to train for and paddle the Jay Race,
Kaui’s 17-mile Napali Coast (thanks again to Kanesa), and my third Tahoe
crossing. I also got to relay-paddle the Santa Barbara Island to Catalina race
with Kathryn Tubbs and Reno Caldwell. Not a bad year, all told! That last race
was also my first experience with a chase boat, and I could not have asked for
better with Captain Jon Duff and his oh-so-merry crew. But that’s another
story.
As I eased into my 2013 training season, I became attracted
to Catalina as a way to see how I felt about 32 miles without the Molo race’s
notoriously rough seas. Kanesa’s take was: the two races are just two different
kinds of pain. Fine.
Catalina thus won out over Molo. It’s far from logistically
simple, but doesn’t involve packing and shipping a paddleboard to Hawai‘i,
acclimating to paddling in Hawai‘i’s heat (ideally over a period of three
weeks), getting me and my equipment to O‘ahu, then Moloka‘i, etc. etc.
But I did need a chase boat, preferably one I could sleep on
(I’m so over sleeping on the ground!). Jon Duff was already committed, but was kind
enough to introduce me to Mike Debreceni. Mike, captain of the Orient, accepted my request.
Now, I just had to train out so I could complete the course.
I decided to train to 27 miles, back off the following week, paddle a second 27,
then taper over the three week lead-up to race day.
I intended to paddle the race course’s last segment at least
once before race day. I’d heard of the trip around the R-10 buoy long before I
seriously thought about participating. I asked Reno Caldwell if he’d take me
out there. He agreed, but it never happened. Instead, we did a short race from
Cabrillo Beach. I never got to the R-10 until the day of the crossing. Perhaps
it was just as well.
Mike Debrecini and I planned to meet for the first time the
day of the Cabrillo Beach event, as his boat is docked a short distance from
there. We arranged to meet in the parking lot around six a.m., so he could
point out how I could paddle over to his slip. The morning we met, I drove from
Malibu, where DeeAnn and I were staying that weekend. When I arrived, there
wasn’t a car anywhere in the lot (it was
six a.m., after all). But Mike pulled through the gate immediately behind me,
followed me in, and parked practically nose-to-nose. We both popped out of our
cars simultaneously, looking at each other and saying, “Mike?” Our timing with
each other has been equally spot-on from that moment forward.
It was fun arriving at Mike’s slip by paddleboard. I got a good
look at the
Orient, a 36-foot Taira.
[Click on photos to enlarge, hit <esc> to return]
At 14 feet wide, it has the feel of a much larger boat. The slip next to Mike’s
was empty, so I pulled in. I just might be the only prone paddleboard ever to
tie up at that dock! I would be staying overnight on this boat the night before
the race. I got a tour, then left Mike and the
Orient feeling this was going to go really, really well.
The race at Cabrillo Beach was fun. A small group of us
paddled about 6.5 miles. Casey Annis won the race (unlimited class). Reno
introduced us. I learned Casey was headed up to Carmel for Pebble Beach’s
annual Concourse d’Elegance (among
the most highly respected classic car shows) and offered to host a Saturday
paddle, loaning Casey a paddleboard. He took me up on that and so I got to know
him a bit. It was an easy paddle the week before Catalina, and conditions were
pure glass.
II: What Makes The Catalina Classic "Classic"
A race with this much history deserves to be called Classic.
It’s a fair bet that every paddleboarder has heard of the Catalina
Classic 32-mile crossing from Catalina’s isthmus to the Manahattan Beach pier.
Surely most, if not all, have considered it.
Its history is filled with legendary watermen. Here’s a summary from the event’s website:
1928: Tom Blake wins first mainland
surfing/paddleboard race on 120 pound board and [proceeds] to break every
paddleboard record that previously existed.
1932: Tom Blake makes first ever
Catalina Crossing and beats out paddlers Pete Peterson and Wally Burton, going
29 miles in just under 6 hours.
Early 1950s: enters a new era of
paddlers. Surfboard shapers Dale Velzy, Greg [Noll] and Hobie [Alter] refine
paddleboard design and begin to stage the legendary Taplin races between city
and country lifeguards[.]
1955: Bob Hogan founds
international Paddleboard Competition from Catalina to Manhattan Beach Pier.
1961: The Catalina event is
cancelled due to dangerous conditions and the sport hibernates for over 20
years, save [for] a few like Dale Velzy who kept building boards during that
time.
1982: Gibby Gibson and Buddy Bohn
revive the Catalina Race for a field of 10 competitors.
1982 – 2006: Buddy and Gibby yearly
bring more competitors to the Catalina Classic and raise the awareness and
demand for the sport and equipment.
Tommy Zahn is another legend who, at age 59, took third
place, reportedly just yards from claiming second. I have thought of Zahn’s
feat often. If he could do that, there are no age-based excuses. So, here I am,
age 59, doing my first Catalina Classic. Not that I had illusions about a
podium finish!
III: GETTING THERE
The Catalina Classic is so much more than a 32-mile paddle. There’s
a lot that goes on to arrange it all and to get to the starting line. I’m going
to go on about that for a bit to provide a sense of the larger journey that the
race is but a part of.
You don’t just sign up for the CC. You must have a chase
boat to register for the race (Check, I had that one). Even after you have registered, slots go to
previous CC finishers first, then to applicants who have completed a qualifying
race. Mine was the Jay Race. I was very happy when I learned that I had been accepted.
Days before the CC, Mike and I cleared up some details about
our adventure. I had made a good list of what to bring and started putting
things in order.
I also got the chance to visit with Reno a few times, who
talked me through many practical aspects. Reno’s experience and willingness to
help was huge for me.
DeeAnn and I arranged to meet Mike and Cindy (Mike’s wife)
at 7:00 am Saturday. We pulled into the parking lot at the end of Whaler’s Walk. I got out of the
car and called Mike’s cellphone while looking down the walkway adjacent to the
docks. Mike answered, we said hi, and the Mike said: “Is that you?” just as I
spotted him at the far end of the walkway. There was that timing thing again.
Mike told us where to park. The paddleboard came off the
car. When we got to the
Orient, Mike
got on board. Without saying much, we lowered my paddleboard on the ‘foredeck
and lodged it between the rail and the wheelhouse. The rail acted like a
spring-loaded docking system made expressly for the purpose of securing a
paddleboard of exactly the dimension of my Bark. We marveled at our instant
success together and finished loading everything else on the boat.
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| Nicely nestled paddleboard. |
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DeeAnn joined us for the trip over to Catalina’s isthmus,
also known as Twin Harbors. We spotted whales and dolphins. Mike slowed to a
speed he said the dolphins like, but we got no takers.
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| The Lane Victory. |
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| The original Port Angeles Lighthouse, restored to its former glory. |
Just as we neared the
harbor, the sky began clearing. The harbormaster directed us to buoy M-23, and
we tied in for the night.
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| On the approach to Catalina's Isthmus Cove. |
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| View from our mooring: a competitor loosening up. |
All four of us hopped into the dinghy and motored to the
dock. Mike checked in, and I headed up to the restaurant, where I looked for
and found Jeff, who, with Jon Duff and Mark, were manning the
Raiatea for paddler Don Bates.
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| One of the locals, too preoccupied to greet me. |
I suggested to Mike, Cindy, and DeeAnn that we take the walk
to the outer (west-facing) harbor. It’s a surprisingly short walk and now the
sun was out.
Mike and Cindy treated us to a great lunch on the boat, then
DeeAnn had to catch the ferry back to San Pedro Harbor.
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| Cindy, Captain Mike, DeeAnn |
Hanging out on the
Orient
for the afternoon was one of the best parts of the two-day race experience. The
day was perfect and sunny. Boaters with varying skills came and went, paddlers
went for paddles, swimmers plied the waters, and our friends from
Raiatea came for a visit. The humor was
pretty fast and furious, as in hard-hitting. It’s a good thing these guys are
friends.
I went for an easy paddle, just because it was simply
irresistible.
That evening, a race-sponsored dinner, mandatory check-in
and meeting took us back on land. Race rules were announced. There aren’t too many rules.
Two are
memorable. One is that anyone arriving at the R-10 buoy in six hours or more
will be assessed as to whether completion of the race will be permitted. The
other is my favorite: “Your chase boat must be longer than your
paddleboard.” (so, for example, an 18-foot
paddleboard may not be accompanied by a 14-foot boat).
It was inspiring to watch so many paddlers connect with each
other over dinner. This year, a special trophy was handed to Joe Bark,
commemorating his many, many crossings. Joe won the race back-to-back in 1888
and 1989 and hardly (if ever) has missed a race. For many years, Joe has made
nearly every paddleboard that will be under nearly every paddler in this 2013
race.
It was at the check-in that I was handed a sticker for my
board and a banner for the boat, each being yellow and bearing the number “66.”
So, now I had my first Catalina Classic
race sticker in hand. Holding that number was like sealing the deal. To me, it
underscored that I’m really here, and I’m about to become part of paddling’s
greatest, longest-running tradition – and it will become a part of me.
We all spent the night somewhere on the island. The only hotel nearby is never available. Otherwise, Twin Harbors' accommodations are rustic:
I felt fortunate to be settling down on the
Orient for the night. I began thinking about the distance. And the
challenges of this channel I had never paddled before. I calmed myself
with the thoughts that excellent conditions were expected, that I had come well
prepared (except for no R-10 paddle), and that everyone has a first time.
IV: RACE DAY
My iPhone woke me, about two hours ahead of race time. I
had a little food, did some stretching, got my water bottles and race nutrition
ready, talked with Mike and Cindy, dropped my paddleboard into the water and
paddled to shore in the dark. There was just enough light to navigate through
the tied-up boats, although I did bang into one buoy!
Once at shore, I parked my board in a starting place and headed
for the morning check-in. I did a bit more stretching in the dark, away from
the bonfire. A few of my stretches are yoga positions. One other paddler waked
by me and chanted: “Oooohmmmmmm.” Then I headed for my paddleboard, checked
things over and waited for the start.
As dark as it was, there was no difficulty feeling the
excitement and high spirits of the racers. So many know one another and were
saying ‘hi.’ This was going to have a fun side. The harbor was pure glass, and
hopefully we’d see more of that as we crossed.
The race started in the dark, with dawn barely in evidence,
at the sound of a siren. It’s a standing start, meaning all paddlers stand in
shallow water next to their paddleboards. Seventy-seven paddlers on
seventy-seven prone paddleboards lurched onto their boards, sliced through the
waters and slid between tied-up boats.
Our chase boats awaited our arrival about two miles into the race, beyond Ship Rock.
I had the pleasure, privilege, and advantage of paddling out
of the harbor with Joe Bark. He’s great company and always helpful. And if you
pass Joe, he’s rooting for you. I figured if I passed him today, I’d be going
hard too early and would bonk. I fully expected Joe to pull away in the first
few miles. He did.
As I approached the waiting flotilla, I wondered how long it
might take Mike and the Orient to
find me. The answer was: almost immediately. I thought: "We really do have something
uncanny going on."
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| Sunrise. It just doesn't get better. (Photo: Mike Debrecini) |
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| Under way. (Photo: Mike Debrecini) |
The race course runs North-Northwest from Catalina, and the
prevailing winds are westerly. It’s never a downwind race. But it can be a
miserable crosswind race. We had glassy conditions and a following south swell
– a rare and fortunate combination.
As we all settled into the crossing, we were bound on
either side by two lines formed by our chase boats. The boats made a wide
corridor with all of us inside their lines. It lowered my sense of risk. But I
also didn’t see that much sea life, such as dolphins.
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| Photo: Mike Debrecini |
No matter. We got sunshine not far into the day. Sunshine on glassy water was plenty inspiring, at
least for me.
I could see the north end of Palos Verdes peninsula, and
figured that had to be the general direction of the R-10 buoy. With clean
conditions, it was easy to set and hold a sustainable pace, mostly prone
paddling with some knee paddling thrown in to stay a little looser. I don’t
normally use a chin rest, but this time I took it along – and used it.
Part way through the channel, I
had drifted from the Orient’s course and
Raitaea pulled between us. I said, “Déjà vu!” Raitaea
replied: “Wrong paddler!” When Orient
and I reunited, Mike said I was on a course that would take me about half a
mile wide of R-10; I needed to turn ever so slightly to my right. I did, and
after that took the Orient’s bow as my compass.
Some time after that, I signaled
for a break. Cindy placed a fresh water bottle, a fresh nutrition bottle, and a
snack in a shallow net. I swapped out the bottles on my paddleboard, took the
short snack break, and headed back out. Race rules dictate no more than two
minutes next to the boat, and not more than twice during the race.
As I approached the R-10, I was surprised at my average
speed, no doubt enhanced by the favorable following swell and excellent surface
conditions.
Things were about to change.
First, I suddenly felt sick and I knew what was next. As I sat up on my
board to deal with the inevitable, a woman on are red stock board started
yelling at me: “PADDLE. KEEP THOSE ARMS MOVING. DON’T STOP.” I just looked at
her and said, “Honey, I’m about to lose my lunch.”
What was next was like being in a whole different place.
This first 23 miles was pure glass. The last 8-plus was like pure hell:
crosswinds whipping up windswell coming from my left, rebounding off the
shore to take a second swipe at me from my right. This produced an occasional
combo that bucked hard and several times spun my board under me to the point
that I was now lying across my board sideways. I told Mike I’d be taking a
short break after each mile, and we were going to finish this race.
Rounding the R-10 also meant paddling against the California current,
which was coming at me somewhere around 1 knot. This meant my pace had to
drop dramatically. And taking breaks meant losing ground.
My average pace to the R-10 had been about 5.1 miles per
hour. My average pace after rounding the R-10 dropped to under 3.4 miles per
hour. I ceased to care about my finishing time, I just focused on finishing.
But I also knew we weren’t far from home, and that knowledge
drove me on. My anticipation grew.
The Manhattan Beach Pier isn’t hard to spot, as it sports a
unique architectural feature: the Roundhouse
Marine Studies Lab & Aquarium. It’s
a hexagonal building capped by a red tile roof. Once in view, I knew for sure I
would finish. On the pier’s deck is the crew that records each paddler’s
completion of the race and their time.
The race ends in the
water, between a red buoy and the pier. As I paddled in, I was finally going
downwind, even if only for a short distance. When the buoy was on my right
shoulder, the blast of a Freon horn burst forth to punctuate my arrival. It
surprised and delighted me. It was like being given a welcome shot of energy. I
got there in 7:00:54, placing 66th out of a field of 77.
I sat up on my
board. I pumped my fists in the air and said to myself, “I did it.”
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| Done. (Photo: Mike Debrecini) |
What came
next took me by surprise. As it sank in that I had, indeed, completed the Catalina Classic, I felt the largest range of overwhelming emotions I have ever
experienced, from relief to ecstasy. I started laughing uncontrollably and
crying, all at the same time. I just sat
there and took it in.
DeeAnn was on the
pier and watched me come in. She took this shot:
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| 7 hours, 54 seconds. |
I wanted to paddle
back to the Orient and connect with
Mike and Cindy. But I wasn’t feeling right, and knew I just couldn’t. It was pretty much all I could do to paddle
into shore.
The first face I saw
was race director Francziska Steagall's, who not only greeted me, but took my
paddleboard. I was blown away by that. Somehow, a Hawaiian lei of fresh orchids
found its way around my neck. That sent a pulse of pure, positive aloha pulsed through me. And there were hula dancers. Really. I’m pretty
sure I was not hallucinating.
DeeAnn caught up
with me. At this point all I wanted to do was give her a big, wet hug, sit down
(I was pretty gray, according to DeeAnn) and guzzle my recovery drink. It
amazed me how quickly that helped.
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| Veteran paddler Kathryn Tubbs was a key volunteer this time. |
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| But not too busy to visit for a minute. |
Then I noticed Joe Bark. Joe, who had completed yet another
Catalina crossing was standing on the beach looking seaward. Holding a
wheelchair. Its owner, Mark Matheson, arrived by
paddleboard, and Joe was there to help him out of the water and into the chair.
That’s when I realized that Joe’s always focused on what he’s doing now, and
then on the next thing that needs to be done. Sort of like taking a stroke,
then taking the next stroke, then the next, then the next.
And the next thing that happened was: we were all called to
the pier to take the annual photo. By then I had added my board to one end of
the vertical tribute to 2012’s race. I took a place in front of my board and
noted that the U.S. Marines color guard was on hand. Turns out there were Wounded Warriors in our race. The inspiration of that took me by surprise.
I reconnected with Mike and Cindy at the awards ceremony
that night, and celebrate we did! I arrived still un-showered and salty, as
DeeAnn and I shuttled down to Huntington Beach after the race to unite with our
new, exceptionally charming kitten, whom we came to call Gracie.
So, what’s next for me? Another stroke, then another …
V: EPILOGUE
DeeAnn and I are still married (24 years this Sept.
16, 2013). And quite happily, too, thank you very much!
After arriving home, I began wondering what to do with the lei, which had survived the trip from Manhattan Beach. Along Carmel Beach, near 11th Avenue, is a small monument to Ryan Field and Alex Robbins - two young surfers who died in a tragic car accident in July 2006. There I left my orchid lei.
