Tahoe Classic 2013

After getting sternly schooled at this year's Catalina Classic, I turned my attention to my fifth Tahoe Classic.

Interstate 5, paddleboard's view.

For the fourth year in a row, we booked our room at the Holiday House in Tahoe Vista (tahoeholidayhouse.com), owned and operated by Alvina Patterson. To say Alvina is delightful would fall short of the mark. A German immigrant with a colorful background, she's among the most positive and interesting people DeeAnn and I have met. And she has enough alpine skiing trophies to turn nearly any aspiring competitor green with envy. You may have heard of her son. His name is Chuck. Yeah, THAT Chuck Patterson. (No, we haven't met.)

The Tahoe Classic is a 22-mile paddle from Camp Richardson on the south shore to Kings Beach on the north.

DeeAnn and I arrived Friday evening. Winds were light. I put in about five easy miles on a round trip between Captain Jon's landing and Brockway Point.

Saturday was spent admiring the lake. Tahoe was in a serene mood. From our north shore location, Camp Richardson (the race's start) can't be seen. It's beyond the horizon for a person standing on the lake's northernmost shore.

Throughout the day, I couldn't help thinking: on Sunday, I'll be out there. The vastness of that is something to contemplate. Lake Tahoe commands great respect. Besides the distance, conditions can change quickly. Then there's the history of the place and its indigenous people.

Tahoe's beauty is incomparable in any light.

Also on Saturday, I readied my trusty 17' 6" Bark for battle. I always wax the bottom of my board. I have no idea if it helps. Go ahead, laugh, but the finish looks so ... well ... shiny, that it makes the board look new. What paddler wouldn't love a new paddleboard, after all? That look also inspires confidence. Alvina commented, admiringly: "It looks like a piano!"

At DeeAnn’s request, I brought a second paddleboard, my fourteen-foot Bark, so she could give it a go. It went well. Standing in the shallow water at Captain Jon’s landing, I could supply stability. It occurred to me that the butterfly stroke would be more stable than the crawl stroke, and it was. After a few supported short stretches, we moved to the beach west of Captain Jon’s. It was there that DeeAnn did herself proud. When I first started paddling, I needed to extend my feet out, on either side of the board for stability. DeeAnn needed none of that. As you may already know, I’m so proud of her first paddle. She completed roughly half a mile.  But don’t ask when her first race will be. And no, there weren’t any photos.

Saturday night, I went online to make sure I knew the race's start time. One web page I looked at seemed to say 7 a.m. DeeAnn remembered it as being 8 am. But just to be certain, we planned on arriving around 6 a.m.

It turned out DeeAnn was correct. We were one of the first two or three cars in the lot.  There was no hint of dawn's first light. I set my phone's alarm, we tilted back our car seats and ... zzzzzzzzzzzzzz'd.

After around 45 minutes, we woke up and got going.

Few were around yet, but I ran into race organizer Phil Segal, who was already busy with the morning set up.

Phil then began checking all of us in.

The morning light and the sunrise are ever-inspiring. The air was warmer than in past years, nearly 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Five years ago was the coldest, under 40 degrees (rising to around 87 degrees by noon).

By the time the sun peeked over the eastern mountains, a kids' class had assembled to practice martial arts on the beach, east of the pier.

As the light grew, so did the parking lot population, filling with paddleboard-laden vehicles. My energy level rose as the number of boards lying on the beach multiplied and Phil's check-in line lengthened.

As DeeAnn and I looked around the beach on "our" side of the pier, it was apparent that both the prone and stand-up paddleboard fields were smaller this year compared to last year. Through last year, the SUP number had been steadily rising. It turned out there were at least six events in California that weekend including the Tahoe Classic, which no doubt thinned the field at all of them. Frankly, I like the smaller feel.

I always get asked how to line up our destination. I have been miserable at describing this, but Phil always takes care of that. After five years, I finally get it. The mountain to the right of Brockway is crowned by an enormous bald spot. We're aiming for the left end of that. OK, I'm a little slow!

Phil announced it was time for us to paddle out to the start, just off the end of the pier.

 A novel feature of this year's experience was a camera mounted on a drone. Phil let us know he would count down and say "go." Before he did, a siren similar to the Catalina Classic's sounded and a few racers went. Phil quickly pulled them back. What is it with the false starts this year (we had one at Catalina)?????

Within the first few miles, the entire field went pretty far east, except for me. I went slightly west. I felt good going out and was holding a good position. The thought crept into my mind that maybe this would be my day. Maybe.  I just took it as a fun thought, nothing to get stressed over.

Halfway through the course, I started gently angling east. I knew this posed a risk, as a southwest wind was predicted.  But I like to approach the King's Beach finish from Brockway Point (slightly east) and let the current carry me west.  As I crossed the lake from slightly west to slightly east, the rest of the field did the opposite, probably in anticipation of that southwest wind. I wasn't convinced.

It was around the middle of the paddle when I realized I was greatly enjoying this paddle on this day in this place. Although it certainly was a stunning, sunny Lake Tahoe day, I can't say why my sense of enjoyment was so high. But when I became aware of my feeling that this day, this paddle, was special, I set my goal: to enjoy the rest of this paddle so much that when I got to the end, I would want more. What I did not do was slow down in an effort to meet that goal. The pace felt challenging but sustainable. Speed is fun.

Well past three hours into the race, a coast guard boat approached from the rear. I was asked if I was heading straight to shore. I said yes, I was headed straight to King's Beach. I was told that was good, as high winds were expected before long. It occurred to me these guys had no idea what the Davenport Downwinder was all about! A 25- to 30-knot tailwind would have been more than I could've hoped for! I held my tongue. Had the wind started to build gradually, I would have crossed back to the west. But all remained calm and glassy.

However, just as I approached Brockway Point, that southwest wind machine suddenly switched on. There was nothing gradual about its appearance. It came on moderately strong from the beginning. I was within my last two miles.

The finish was a giant red inflatable archway planted around the midpoint of the beach. Because the wind was blowing southwest to northeast, I now had the risk that I would get pushed into the east corner of Kings Beach, nowhere near the finish.  To compensate, I paddled crosswind until I was west of the archway, and the archway was downwind. When it was, I allowed the windswell to nudge my board into a right turn. I started catching fun bumps, riding the windswell "downhill" straight towards the finish.  I was soon to turn my board over to the young kids providing caddy service.

I achieved my goal of wishing there had been more, and I had kept my pace steady. I approached the finish happy.

On my approach, I began to hear the announcer. He was saying, here comes a prone paddler, pointing out this was where it all started (SUP's popularity came along much more recently). It was a joy to hear my chosen sport spotlighted like that.

Then, just before I stood up to wade to shore, came a surprise. It was announced that I was the first prone paddler to cross the finish line. They also announced my age. I wondered, where were the fast guys? Then I realized, hey it IS my day. Drop all other thoughts and just party about that!

Mike McDaniel and Lisa Ortiz were there with DeeAnn to turn it into a real celebration. Mike had just completed hosting the first SUP with Nicole adventure on this lake (http://www.supwithnicole.com/), a mere two weeks after Lisa and Mike celebrated their marriage at Bernardus Lodge. Mike intended to race SUP, but, unfortunately, was unable to secure an acceptable racing board.

Total strangers were eager to shake my hand and congratulate me. It was such a thrill and so much fun to get to be "the guy" that day. I have no illusions: there are faster. But there's also no denying: it really was my day. What made me happiest was knowing that I got to be the carrier of a message about the irrelevancy of age.

And yes, it was very nice to accept that trophy - it will always serve as a reminder of how special Tahoe has been to me in each of the Tahoe races I have been in.

Back at Holiday House, our hostess, Alvina, was beside herself with joy over the news. After all, she knows how it feels. It's nice to have become a member of her club.

See you next year!

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.