Donner Lake: A Paddler's Jewel, Hidden In Plain Sight

The Tahoe Cup is a series of three paddleboard races, open to a variety of arm-powered watercraft. Standup Paddleboards (SUP) is the most popular class, but a few prone paddleboards and still fewer single or double seat outrigger canoes (OC1, OC2) will also appear (OC6’s have even participated in the Tahoe Fall Classic).

The races are: Donner Lake in May (5 miles), Waterman’s Paddle Jam in June (6 miles on Lake Tahoe’s west shore), and the Tahoe Fall Classic in September (22 miles from El Dorado Beach to King’s Beach).

I have only paddled the Fall Classic. Until now.

Mike McDaniel races Donner Lake every year, and I finally decided to join him. As I considered this, his reports of last year’s snowy race conditions were dampening my enthusiasm. But, lightning never strikes twice, right?

Wrong. We arrived on Thursday to forecasts of strong winds and light snow. The winds greeted us and persisted through Friday, until late afternoon.  

The north shore -- of Lake Tahoe.

The Donner Lake webcam was, encouragingly, showing more serene surface conditions. So, although I wasn’t going to get time to acclimate to padding at altitude, it looked as though the race itself was likely going to be okay.

But, nothing stayed the same. On Friday evening, even as McDaniel made his way to Sacramento, those flurries turned to something more ominous. California Department of Transportation closed Interstate 80 in both directions over Donner Pass (elevation 7,239) for a couple of hours, due to heavy snows and high winds. Mike was able to head out quite late, but, thanks to the traffic jam the closure caused, he got to Truckee about an hour later than planned, around midnight.

I had a lesser problem to deal with: my 16 ½-foot Bark unlimited paddleboard’s fin wasn’t tightly attached to the rudder. In other words, I’ve been dealing with a loose fin, unable to either fix the problem myself or quickly obtain a suitable replacement part (through no fault of Joe Bark’s).

Between the cold, snowy weather and the fin problem, I started doubting whether I’d go. I went so far as to text Mike just after 3 a.m., saying I was out.

I woke up without an alarm about 6:30 am. Mike had texted a single word at 6:15 -- “No?”

I thought hard and responded: “Ummmmm …. See you there.”

Mike: Yeah! What were you doing up at 3 AM?

Me: Worrying … NOT. I’m 62, ok?

With that, I was committed. By 7:30 am, the car was loaded and the Bark was secured on its rack.  I was off to Donner Lake.

The view from our room in Tahoe Vista and the drive to Donner Lake could only be described as a winter wonderland. The white blanket was everywhere. Light snow it was not.

I then reminded myself I had spent nearly 25 wonderful years in Minnesota. This was nothing compared to some things I lived through there.  And, I didn’t even think twice about wearing sandals instead of shoes. This paddle was going to be fun, even if odd.

I exited I-80 too early, driving Donner Lake Road the length of the lake from its east end to its west end, to the site of the race start. The water appeared, thankfully, nearly calm.  

I found a parking spot right next to Mike. I pulled on my wetsuit, booties and hood. Then, I went for the gloves. First, I pulled on the right glove. And … oh no, another right glove! Mike and I had a good laugh over that one, and Mike said he’d brought none. So, I gave him my other right glove and joked we were right-handed Michael Jackson impersonators.

The scene in the staging area lit me up. The sun was out, the snow was brilliant and so was the lake’s blue surface.

Phil Segal’s greeting added another dimension of warmth. The volunteers who checked us in and passed us our timing chips were cheery and friendly.

The pre-race meeting was held, we hopped down a short slope into the water, and, even as we started paddling to line up, the horn sounded. So, it was a running start.

Donner Lake is about 2.7 miles long, west to east, and about half-a-mile wide.  The shape of the course is therefore a long rectangle. This day, our course distance was to be 4.7 miles. 

The first long leg featured a light tailwind and small wind waves. The water was warmer than I guessed it would be, so my bare left hand didn’t suffer at all.  The beauty around me increased my enjoyment of being out there.

At the east end of the lake, rounding the buoy on my left shoulder, I turned north into a short crosswind leg. The lead SUPs beat me to the turn.  Observing them gave me a good lesson in how to approach it. There’s always more to be learned.

After the next left turn to the west, into the final long upwind leg, the SUPs again showed me the way, sticking close to the north shore. That line afforded some protection from headwinds.  Despite the wind in my face, that last leg seemed shorter, even though it was just as long as the first leg. Like the horse running home to the barn, you know.

Crossing the finish line was great. But, once on shore, I wished I’d had more time on this beautiful course.

Fun to be on top! (Note the "winter" foot gear I thought to bring.)

One thing I love about paddle races is that everyone cheers on everyone else, and there’s always great interest in exchanging experiences. Some stories come out later. Mike, whom I’ve never seen don neoprene for paddling until this event, commented that he felt like he was wearing “three coats”.

The last paddler arrived. Awards were announced and tendered.  Mike and I headed for our cars, having agreed to a late breakfast in Truckee.

On our way to our cars, Mike thought to ask: “Shall we load the boards?” We had to turn around to go and get them.

5th Annual Davenport Downwinder (May 2014)

Huge stretches of California’s spectacular coastline can’t be seen from the road. Much of Central California’s Wilder Coast falls into that category. But hop onto an ocean-going vessel and Wilder Coast’s glory stands in full view. Of course, being on the ocean, she makes the call about what that experience is like. Mother Ocean, in all her elements, was in a particularly playful mood on this day.

The mood on Davenport Landing’s beach was pretty good, too. Ghostryders Santa Cruz organizes this race to help put wind in the sails of Junior Lifeguards. Their largest Davenport race to date was about to break all previous records for delivering the goods. This event is fast becoming a premiere downwinder, rivaling any. And the vibe is at once mellow and all about the fun.

Ghostryders' central office for the day

Readying for battle. Friendly battle, but battle nonetheless

John Alexiou and daughter Kali'a conferring about the line.
Kali'a killed it in the 14-foot SUP Women's class

No matter who you are or what you may do to fund your lifestyle, you’re only one thing here: a paddler. All equal. All facing the same challenge. All smiling about all of that.

Today, the challenge is 14 miles in 20-knot winds whipping the ocean into rideable wind waves punctuated by occasional cotton balls. Leashes are highly recommended. There were a few hair-raising lost paddleboard stories that appeared on the internet in the last few months. It happens before there’s time to react. And on the Wilder Coast, there’s no “civilization” to swim to.

Friend and training partner Mike McDaniel signed his company, Mile 22, on as a sponsor. Mike generously invited me to go up with him. I trust Mike's Fat Straps for the best transport hold, with no pressure marks.  

Mile 22 Debut

It was a bit odd knowing Mike wouldn’t be in the water. Also missing was Mike Roberts, who got called to the San Diego fires. Shane Scoggins was at work. So, I was the lone Carmel-Monterey paddler (that I know of). They weren’t the only Davenport regulars in absence: Joe Beek, Joe & Jack Bark, we missed you, too.

As the starting time approached, I exhibited my usual touches of disorganization. I almost forgot to tape gels on the board. And Mike thoughtfully offered me my two water bottles. I scanned the starting line for paddleboards, spotted a group of them and inserted mine – it’s not fun to go out among SUPs waving and thrashing oars about.

Today, I was paddling a sparkling, brand-new Bark custom14-foot CT. In the two weeks prior, I was hoping to try it in downwind conditions, but that didn’t happen. On this day, it performed remarkably well. I’m already calling it a magic board.

Due to the conditions, as well as to the board, I spent less time paddling and more time riding bumps. The great paddlers connect the bumps, levering from one wave to another. When connecting happens to me, it’s not entirely intentional, but it’s a thrill every time. There were lined-up northwest swells that tend to take paddlers towards shore, and there were waves reflecting off the shore heading back outside. That made an easy job of staying outside the kelp.  And it all lined up even better near the end.

Everyone spreads out quickly. That makes it difficult to know where you are in the pack. It also means if there’s trouble, you’re likely on your own. Although the conditions were the best I’ve seen, I still got pitched off my board four or five times. The first spill was early in the race. I lost a water bottle. I had only filled the second bottle halfway, and now I was just going to have to make do with that. Each time I came unglued, I was able to keep both hands on the board. The wind immediately turned the board broadside to the swell and, now blowing crossbeam, wanted to blow the board over.  But I managed never to lose contact with the board, keeping recovery time to a minimum.

Paul Ban caught up to me in the second half of the course. I was glad to have his company, but with earplugs covered by my neoprene hoodie, I couldn’t hear everything he was saying.

As busy as I was out there, I had the presence of mind to take in the coastline. The light was perfect, the view entirely inspiring. I took no camera because I was hoping to have my best course time in these great conditions (I did).

I was surprised at how fast it felt like I got to the last part of the course, even with all the bumps I racked up.  Natural Bridges came into view, then the West side, then the lighthouse. The bumps followed us around the land’s bend eastward, not flattening until Steamer Lane.  I had plenty of gas in the tank to get around the Municipal Pier and take the final stretch.

Coming home. This day marked the 90th "birthday" of Santa Cruz Boardwalk's Giant Dipper
(the roller coaster, top of photo) Photo: John Bostwick

There were loads of boards on the beach ahead of me, but I had both my best result and the best time I’ve ever had at this event (my third). And here's my favorite results posting ever: my age was listed as "60 going on 50".

After hanging on the beach, Mike, John Bostwick and I headed up to the wharf. I loaded my paddleboard, John drove off, and Mike headed for the Ideal Bar & Grill. Before I caught up with Mike, I witnessed a scene that could only happen in Santa Cruz (or maybe Redondo Beach):

 It was very temporary parking. The owner swooped up his ride shortly after I snapped the shot.

The after party was like a homecoming to all. Of the races I have ever gone to, this one reliably features constant conversation at lofty decibel levels lasting for hours. So much so, that Zack Wourmhoudt always has a tough time getting the awards announced.  

Friendly pandemonium

I’m going to remember and savor this one for a long time to come.

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!

12th Annual Jay Race - Not Business As Usual

The paddleboard race with the sunniest vibe anywhere has to be the Surftech Jay Moriarity Memorial Paddleboard Race, aka the Jay Race. And indeed, the sun greeted us as we arrived in Capitola.

My first clue this day wouldn’t be business as usual came when DeeAnn and I learned an entire parking lot was being held off-limits to most of us. I later discovered the size of this event had nearly tripled. But we were there so early, it didn’t matter.

Next, our brilliant sun disappeared: fog moved in rather suddenly and for the first time in the six years I’ve been here, the race was delayed. We couldn’t see the first turn buoy from shore, and word came from the harbor that visibility wasn’t adequate to start the race at 8:30 a.m., as planned.  

Thanks to DeeAnn for the photos ... and soooo much loving support. Click on any photo on enlarge, hit <Esc> to return to the blog.

There goes the visibility ...

Privates may as well be, well, ... private.

No matter. There was plenty of sunshine supplied by organizers, the Santa Cruz paddling community, and visiting paddlers alike -- and none more than Kim Moriarity. There was good reason to smile. We were around 350 strong, diverse in both age and equipment, and ready for fun.  I don’t think I’m going too far out on a limb to say the Jay Race now ranks on par with any in the world in challenge, venue and vibe. Indeed, the field includes regulars from the Catalina Classic, Molokai-2-Oahu, and many others (it’s also a qualifying race for the Catalina Classic).

The late start wasn’t the only difference in this year’s conditions. We were told there wasn’t going to be much wind, if any.  That meant the leg normally supplying a nice push home wasn’t going to live up to its reputation. And the incoming tide would be going against us as we headed out to the Mile Buoy.

Knowing there’d be a wait, but not knowing how long, I opted for a warm-up paddle. When I got back to shore, I spotted Reno Caldwell and his board. I ran up the beach and nearly succeeded in spearing him before he noticed me. My war shout might have gotten his attention. All in good fun, of course! We talked a while, then I headed up the beach to hang with DeeAnn. Then I took a jog on the beach to the volleyball net and back.

We waited and waited. The fog was in charge at this point.

But Mike McDaniel and Liza Ortiz knew there are ways to stay warm.

Checking in with Reno Caldwell. Reno is about to smoke the field of fourteens.

Bill Jones, Monterey Legend who still travels and rips.

Paul Wettereau, uncharacteristically (haha) stoked.
He probably worked until after 1 am (Paul's a sommelier), slept a few minutes, and still got here on time.

Ed Guzman (Club Ed surfschool). Nuthin' but sunshine. Fog? What fog??

I never get tired of seeing all my paddling friends so lit up.

Finally, nearly an hour after the intended start time, we were cleared to go.

Next, another change was announced: we’d have a beach start, the first in my six years in this event.

The Carmel Surfabout distance paddle is a beach start. That race is for surfboards only, and it’s about a 1.5 mile sprint paddle. At that race, I had fun sprinting for the water, board under my arm.

For me, an endurance-length paddleboard race is different.  I have a 14-foot paddleboard under my arm that’s rigged with mounted water bottles and taped-on gels. I’d like those things to be on my board for the whole race. And in a race as packed as this one, it wouldn’t be hard to bang into another Bark board (cost: over $2,000 new). Nope, no sprinting for me!

Some run harder than others.

But we all made into the water. Now to business: 12 miles to go.

Right out of the gates, Reno, aka "Redondo Rocket," was living up to his nickname. He didn’t give a second thought to running into the water at full speed. I managed to pull up behind him, showed myself I could keep up for a few dozen yards, then decided it would be a bad idea for me to go out that fast. So much for bragging rights. Reno went on to take the 14-foot division.

It was a little spooky paddling towards the lead boat and into the fog. I could see (and smell) the boat even as we rounded the first orange buoy and headed towards the not-yet-visible green buoy sitting outside Pleasure Point.  Somewhere not far past the orange buoy sat a familiar local greeter on his longboard: Brian Spear. With full fishing gear. I wished Brian luck and advised against taking anything over ten feet.

Since there’s no sprinting in a race this long, it’s not hard to exchange conversation with other paddlers – although no more than a sentence or two in turn. It makes the race more fun and it’s a reality check on whether I’m staying within my abilities. Somewhere between Pleasure Point and the Municipal Pier, Joe Bark caught up with me. Joe paddles a 15’ 6” unlimited. We said hi and Joe told me that prone paddleboards are getting more popular (he should know!). I’m very happy to hear that. I had imagined that stand-up paddling was edging out prone paddling. But Joe said our SUP counterparts are crossing over, and others are adopting prone paddling for cross training. I thought of Joel Parkinson, who team paddled the Molokai-2-Oahu race last year. That same year, Joel finally was crowned ASP’s world champion. After all those seconds, it seems to me that paddling Molo must have helped make a difference in some way. Or so I’d like to believe.

Neither Joe nor I could spot the Municipal Pier until we were within about a mile. It looked to me as though we, and the paddlers in front of us, had gone wide. Joe agreed.  It was now a straight shot to the next turn buoy sitting beyond and inside the pier’s end. About then, Matt Becker sped past us both on his SUP. He and Joe exchanged a sentence or two, I chimed in with my cheer, and off he went.

Passing the pier and rounding our next turn, we were now headed for deep water and the Mile Buoy. I say “we” loosely; Joe has now passed me and I won’t be chatting with him any further. Nor with anyone else.

The paddle out to the Mile Buoy is smooth, unlike any other year. It’s normally a battle against crosswind chop. Today, it’s near-glass, but we’re paddling into a rising tide, slowing us down. I can hear the buoy’s low, throaty organ-like note, but can’t see it. The direction of that sound suggests to me that the SUPs I can see are wide. I decide to stay with my line as there’s no crosswind to carry me to my left.

I’m now used to the idea that it’s a long paddle out to the buoy. Even so, it’s a long paddle out to the buoy. I finally see it when I’m less than half a mile away. Some time after that I hear a sea lion barking.  I look up and find I’m nearly there.

Rounding the buoy on my left shoulder, I’m now headed back to the Pleasure Point green buoy. But visibility is still low. I can see neither the next buoy nor Pleasure Point. Because I have no way to visually gauge my progress and because there’s no tailwind, this segment feels considerably longer than in any past race. What I see ahead is a long line of silent, slender, surreal sentinels -- silhouetted stand up paddlers doing battle all the way into foggy oblivion.

Before the race began, Frosty Hesson said it’s important to go inside yourself and see what you’re really capable of doing. With no ability to see Pleasure Point approach and no one to talk with, it was time to do that now.

There was no need to feel discouraged. I reminded myself to trust my training. If this was going to be a grind, I was ready. I focused on my paddling mechanics, my breathing, and the sea. There were some bumps to catch if I paid attention. Each ride felt like a small triumph earned. All other ways to distract myself from the work to be done were, quite literally, out of sight and out of reach. I settled in and got myself to the green buoy.

Finally, I could see Pleasure Point. Once there, only about 2½ miles is left. I wasn’t feeling fast, but I was feeling capable and I was still enjoying this paddle.

Meanwhile ...

Reno, laughing while killing.

Paul Wettereau, job well done.

 And now it's my turn ...

On the approach ...

Able to walk and run ...

And done.

Mike McDaniel, strong and over the line.

And in case I took myself too seriously, the first thing anyone said to me after I crossed the finish line was something like: “Could you please move aside, a lot of kids will be coming through soon.”

And in case I thought I had maybe worked even somewhat hard, Joe Bark joined a few other elites to do the the Waterman Challenge: 500m Swim, 1000m Stock Prone Paddleboard and 1500m 12’6″ SUP.

Nick and Jody Bryson.
Nick ate 'em alive and won the stock class on the 2-mile course.

The sun is finally out, at least in Capitola. I’m elated that I have accomplished the paddle and that I’m part of this great event, the 12^th Annual Jay Race. There’s no such thing as just another 12 miles, and there’s no such thing as business as usual when we come to the ocean. And thank God for that!

So, thank you Capitola for welcoming us and permitting us to overrun your beach, and to all the locals who are so genuinely friendly and who contribute everything from smiles to sponsorship, to setup, to raffle prizes, to safety. Total strangers took the time to introduce themselves to me. In Hawai'i, all of this is called "Aloha." This event was so great that Gerry Lopez said he'd be back next year. How good is that?

The after-party rocked, too: great outdoor setup, perfect weather, rockin’ band, great food, loads of time to visit with friends, and a truly well-run awards ceremony. From the groms on up, all honors were well-deserved. If we lived a little closer it would’ve been nice to have stayed for the screening of Chasing Mavericks. But it was time for us to go home, and for me to start dreaming about next year’s 13^th Annual Jay Moriarity Paddleboard Race.

4th Annual Santa Cruz Downwind Ryders Cup Paddleboard Race - May 18, 2013

 The Davenport Downwinder is a 14-mile romp down central California wilderness coastline, for serious paddlers only. It will toss you, spank you, and serve up the best runners you’ll ever get. You’ll swear you’re over it and won’t go near it again. But you’ll be back. When you do come back, don’t forget your leash.

Props to Ghostryder Waterman’s Club for hosting a world-class race with local hospitality, all in support of Santa Cruz’s Junior Lifeguards program.  And thanks to all of the event’s sponsors, too. Just to help raise a little more, Joe Bark donated one of his beautiful longboards for a raffle. Isn’t that just like Joe.

There was nearly as much paddling energy in the water as there was wind energy on it. The field really grew this year, from under 70 last year to over 100 this time. And the participation was international. I don’t have the registration information, but I know for sure we had at least one New Zealander and two Frenchmen. And it’s no small deal for anyone to come over from Hawai‘i.

The race goes from Davenport landing, a rather lonely spot north of town. The tiny access road filled with paddleboard-bearing vehicles of all sizes.  Here's ours (thanks to DeeAnn for all the photos):

 (Click photos to enlarge, to return, hit <esc>)

It's great to get to the cove, check in, say hi to friends. Joe Bark's truck is impossible to miss, and it's great to check in with him. He takes one look at my board and comments on my choice of weapon. I remark who Joe made this board for and that it surfs. Joe looks and says, yeah, he sees it.

Kevin Seid came over from O'ahu. I met him at the 2009 Lake Tahoe Classic, where we paddled and joked together much of the first half of that race. Kevin owns and operates Everpaddle out of Haleiwa (http://www.everpaddle.com/).

Next, check conditions, ready the equipment ... and crank up the courage. These are some conditions. Yeeeew!! There are whitecaps everywhere. And this cove is just gorgeous.

My ride this year wasn't my 14-foot Bark CT. My fin touched a rock, and the CT was still draining out.  But I figured my 17'6" could be a fun ride. Joe Bark made it for Tony Hotchkiss as a combo flat water/downwind board. It has just enough rocker to surf, and it really turned on for me during this race.

And speaking of the Bark family, Jack showed up. This is the last I saw of him until I got to the finish line ... about an hour after Jack! What a talent.

I always love shots of the stickyard ...

The prerace meeting:

OK, let's get down to it.

Oh, but check out that scenery:

Paddleboarding isn't really a spectator sport. Only the dedicated come to race starts.

 Joe, mid-warmup.

Outa here...

An impressionistic rendering, no?

I love how hectic the starts are. There's just so much energy and focus. I bumped rails with one or two SUPs on the way out. And there are so many of us going the same way. That moves a lot of water.

 Other paddlecraft went about 15 min. later.

This was my second Davey.  It's surprising that, once 100 paddlers are in the water, everyone spreads out. After the first 15 minutes, I mostly paddled in isolation. Others reported similar experiences.

Some things came together for me technically. More so than I suspected going into the race.

That was a little surprising for me because in this race, my focus wasn’t as much on when I’d arrive at the finish line as in past races. I left the Garmin in the car. Here’s why the shift: I have finally wakened to some simple facts: if all you think about is the finish line, the speed, the results, you miss 14 miles of thrills and only curse the spills. I’m slowly learning that enjoying the present moment is the greatest gift I can give myself. And there’s nothing to focus the mind on the present like barreling down the coast in a 20+ knot wind.

Another advantage to focusing on the moment is not thinking about how long the race is. You can just take it in short segments of a minute or less. The distance is less overwhelming when approached in that way. But more than that, I was able to look for what I could enjoy about this race right now. Like the bump ride that’s going on … and on … and on … (stroke, stroke, stroke) … and on … and on. Or the scenery -- God, what scenery.  Paddlers really spread out in this race, so much of it is just you and the ocean. So it really helps to find the things that make each moment worth the trip.

I did get tossed off once because, after a bump caught me (this thing was standing up like approaching shorebreak), I failed to pitch out my 17-foot, 6-inch paddleboard. The nose dug in, and I flew over the handlebars. So did my water bottles. The board was running away fast. If I hadn’t had my leash, I doubt I would ever have caught it. And it’s a long, sharky swim to the beach. The leash made it possible for me to recover the water bottles without fear of losing sight of the paddleboard. So, fortunately, I recovered quickly, with water bottles. And later, when another wall approached, I got it right. Like I said, focus.

I still felt good enough at the end to finish strong (a relative term). But I was ready to get that recovery drink down, and get back to feeling normal.

I’m not in the finish-in 2-hours (or so) club. I’m coming in at around 3 hours, give or take. So, it was great to get to the beach and see all that talent hanging around to welcome and visit with the rest of us.  

But I did come in on the tail of Phil Curtis. When we got to Steamer Lane, Phil took an inside line, while I stayed outside the kelp. Phil was with two SUPs. I shoulda figured they could see it was clear and joined them. At the end of the day, Phil beat me and my unlimited on his 14-foot (somewhat vintage) Eaton. Phil's clearly the better man!

The race organizers nearly all paddle the race. Here's Zach Wormoudt, who came in way ahead of me on his SUP.

Here are a couple more friends ...

Reno Caldwell, the Redondo Rocket, nailed a podium finish.

Mike Dilloughery greets Jarret Winter. Mike couldn't do this one.

The after-party was just packed, and it seemed to me no one left until the end. I caught up with friends, and left with a hoarse voice, smiling ear-to-ear.

Which is to say: this is as much about those friends we get to check in with as it is about the paddling.