Reconnaissance Day

Today, one week from the Jay race, Nick Bryson, Mike McDaniel and I decided to paddle the course from New Brighton Beach to the Santa Cruz Pier, out to the one-mile buoy and back to the start. No big deal.

Lots more happened.

Shortly after I pulled into the New Brighton Beach State Park parking lot, I saw kayaks and boats fishing everywhere I looked, from just off the shoreline to way outside the kelp bed. I was told, “Stripers and Halibut.” It was sunny and the winds were calm. Mike and Nick showed up and we were all up for this paddle.

Dave King pulled in to the lot. Hadn’t seen him in a while. He lit me up, and that’s Big DK all over!  And just as we got to the water’s edge, several others we know showed up – having started at around six plus miles off, at Steamer Lane. Their plan was to take a short rest and reverse course. We all said hi, and then we left when they did.

Once we got in the water, several other paddlers showed up along the course. So, lots of us who will be in the race next Saturday were out there today. I joked we should just line up and get this over with now, and at least one other readily agreed -- with a big grin.

I’m amazed at the variety of conditions we were in. It started out smooth, and we got the usual backwash between Paradise Point and the Muni pier. But the West wind came up as we headed out to the mile buoy, so that made that segment a challenge. Rounding the buoy, we had respectable downwind conditions and some nice bumps to ride – including some whitecapping. Once we got back to Pleasure Point we decided on the calmer waters inside the kelp bed. The downwinder was fun, but it’ll take something off you.

Mike McDaniel was supposed to group up with us at Pleasure Point (he sent me off to catch Nick earlier) but we didn’t see him. We surfed a few waves on our way to Capitola pier, then paddled back into to New Brighton Beach, where Mike was waiting for us.

It just doesn’t get much more fun then it was today. But then, there’s the race to look forward to next week. I hope I see you there!

27TH Annual Bay-2-Bay: 6/12/10

Nick Bryson Readies for Battle (my board's on left)

Wellll, I took the plunge on my recently acquired 17’6” Bark and entered us in a race. It’s not a new board, but “used” isn’t the right word, either, as it has so much life in it. I’m inclined to call it an “experienced” board because it was thoughtfully designed and built, paddled by one of the best, and well cared for. I feel more than a little privileged to call myself its present paddler.

Evidently, the board has friends. As it lay on the grass before the race, another paddler said, “that looks a lot like Tony Hotchkiss’s board.” I said, “That’s because it IS Tony’s board. I bought it off him really recently.” Tony said the prone paddlers are a tight community, and here was proof. The guy knew it was custom made, too.

Props to Peninsula Family YMCA peninsula@ymca.org for the 2010 chapter in an ongoing paddling legend. But where were all you prone paddleboarders? Saving it for Rock-2-Rock? Out of some 100 entrants in the 20-mile course, there were all of 16 prone paddleboarders: four in stock class, four in fourteen-foot class, and eight in unlimited class (including yours truly). Among the stock class was my training partner and good friend, Nick Bryson. We trained out to 20 miles and both wanted to do this race, which begins at Santa Clara Point in Mission Bay, out to open water, south to Point Loma, into San Diego Bay and finishes at Tidelands Park on Coronado. We were first-timers.

Nick and I agreed weeks beforehand we would treat this as a training paddle on the lead up to the Jay race (two weeks off).

The race started oddly. For reasons I won’t go into, I uncharacteristically got to the starting line at least a minute late. OK, I’m a middle-aged guy, and you can no doubt figure out the rest. Nick, who was in the water five minutes early, didn’t start the race from the “starting line” because he was never instructed to head out there, “there” being two buoys about a quarter mile out. And so we were both immediately playing catch-up. Nick got out closer to the starting time and it took me about a half hour to catch up. He went out hard; I was feeling like going strong without sprinting to get decent positioning.

See the orange buoy? Lots of paddlers have gone while others aren't there yet.

The pace showing on my GPS was discouraging, but I knew we were in Mission Bay, paddling up-current against an incoming tide. Fighting that would be a losing battle. Oh, and the wind was in our face. The prevailing north to northwest winds had uncooperatively turned south. We were in for an upwind race. Fortunately, the winds were moderate, but there’s nothing like headwinds to keep you off your knees and down into your prone game.

I did catch up to the pack and Nick, who I distinctly recall saying “Go, Mike” as I passed, which I took to mean I was free to change our plan to stay together.  After a good-natured reminder, Nick said, “reel ‘em in” and, shortly after that,  “there are nine paddlers in front of you,” all of which I took as a green light. It’s not that I was smelling blood, but I was in the mood to see what I could do. Of course, that’s a mood I’m usually in!

Once we got outside Mission Bay, a couple of OC-6 (six-man outrigger canoes) approached the required turn. (Why weren’t these faster craft sent out in an earlier wave than paddleboarders?)  Out in the open water, I could already see Point Loma in the distance. I knew that point was seven miles off, so I knew not to think I was going to be there anytime soon.

I caught up to a stock and a fourteen and these turned out to be who I was closest to the rest of the race. The open water was fairly clean, with some west and northwest swell.  The wind stayed moderate, and the kelp kept the surface mostly glassy, at least until Point Loma was a couple of miles off.

Eventually, Point Loma actually “arrived.” I was suddenly in a crowd of craft at the boat with the orange flag we were required to round … including two OC 6’s. Huh?  How could they and I be there after all that ocean?

For me, Point Loma was the biggest challenge. While I was prepared for how long the approach was from Mission Bay, I was anything but prepared for the seemingly endless slog around the point I was about to undergo. The UL I had been trading positions with caught two waves and opened up a lead I never closed after that. I found myself in massively confused currents, grunting, powering, fighting, and really frustrated. My lack of local knowledge was biting pretty hard. Just after I finally got around all that, I spotted two women with their OC-2 overturned (Hawaiians shout “HULI!” when that happens). I paddled by feeling great respect for these waters and these two brave athletes in the process of righting their craft. At least the water here is warm.

Roughly the last eight miles of the race takes place after rounding Point Loma, most of that in San Diego Bay. And the five-mile course starts in that Bay (both the 20-mile and the five-mile course finish at Coronado’s Tidelands Park).

San Diego Bay has its own challenges for paddleborders. Boaters are not required to limit their speed, meaning we were attacked by wake crossings often. The bay has its own currents, and the man-made structures create reflection and refraction.

The five-milers included paddleboarders, kayaks, and OCs, all of whom were fresh and cheery. I really enjoyed their company.

I approached the finish to the throb of Polynesian drums. And I was greeted by Hula dancers who conferred a Hawaiian Lei on each arriving paddler. I was touched. OK, it was plastic, but the thought was nice.  And there was DeeAnn, greeting me, along with Nick’s family.

It’s exhilarating to finish a race of any length. It just feels good to go hard, then arrive. Nick got 3rd in the stock class; I got 5th in the unlimited class. I realized the frustrations of this race – late start, headwinds, incoming tide, Point Loma’s turbulence– all taught me valuable lessons and made me a better and stronger paddler.

And I’m certainly glad for every stroke. I appreciate deeply what has just been, and, as always, I so look forward to what’s next. I hope I see you at the Jay Moriarity race in Santa Cruz on June 26.

 

Nearly Screwed

Today’s lessons for paddlers:

1.    Check all parts of your equipment before you go out. Read on for an example you might not be thinking about.

2.    Help may be closer than you think.

Yesterday was warm. In Carmel, where Nick Bryson and I planned to paddle today, a warm, sunny day typically leads to fog the next. When I got up this morning, there was some threat, but it turned out to be a warm, sunny paddle.

I had just gotten my unlimited board repaired, the one I plan to use it in next weekend’s San Diego Bay 2 Bay race, so I picked it for today. Good thing. It turned out to be a very useful shake-down.

We had to wait for a break in the waves to get out. Carmel’s beach break was 4 – 6 feet. But we got out.

Then, on the way to Stillwater Cove, I started doing involuntary circles. (No, I haven’t been using any substances and I wasn’t attached to any kelp.) I tried kicking the tiller over harder and harder to correct my heading, but nothing happened. Finally, my vocabulary seriously degenerated, I got off my board and into the water, flipped the board over, and found the rudder fully rotated to one side. Good thing I didn’t take this board and do the 15-mile inaugural Davenport Downwinder today, where there’s nowhere to get to the beach for miles! So, I tried a few temporary fixes. None helped for long.

Problem was that the rudder was freely rotating. The current against the rudder created by my forward motion forced it all the way to one side, and there it stayed. The tiller was useless.

At first I thought maybe the rudder wasn’t attached to its shaft, but then I found the problem topside, where a sleeve attached to the tiller holds the rudder shaft. That sleeve has a screw that tightens the sleeve around the rudder shaft until the shaft can't rotate. The sleeve wasn’t tight enough to do its job. And an allen wrench is needed to tighten that screw.

It wasn’t looking good to finish our paddle. I had visions of constantly flipping the board over for temporary fixes good for 200 yards at best. That wasn’t going to add up to 15 miles very fast!

Nick made the suggestion we might find a Pebble Beach engineer at Stillwater Cove. The Beach and Tennis Club is there, and there’s a pier. I figured this could take a while, if it even happened at all.  I thought we’d come up empty handed. But Nick pulled a miracle and found an engineer in seconds. The guy disappeared on his golf cart (is this happening for real????) and came back shortly with a full toolkit.

I got it fixed within a minute and told the engineer he had made my day, which he certainly had. We went on, and I got to introduce Nick to Whaler’s Cove in Point Lobos State Park. The view of the park is spectacular from the water.

And no waves took me out when I returned to the beach.

 All in all, a good day! We got to paddle, and I learned something I should know about my unlimited.

Unforgettable

 It’s July 25, 2009.

Nick Bryson and I stood on the sand, admiring a perfect, peeling, wide-open left-hand sand-bar barrel, both thinking the same thing: we brought the wrong equipment. Us and about 50 others. Nope, the paddleboards weren’t going to fit the curve of that wave. 

It’s surprising most of us didn’t ditch the race for the waves, but we lined up for the annual Pier-to-Pier picture anyway, stroked out, and raced.

The big factors in this race were:

#1: a solid South swell,

#2: a massive kelp bloom, and

#3: zero tide.

The combination all but ruled out the inside line. Surfers were sitting well into the kelp waiting for the bombs to come through. And come through they did. Only one or two paddlers went that way, Nick being one of them. And going outside the kelp made the course longer than advertised.

And there was also the sea life. The bait fish were especially abundant this summer, causing a feeding frenzy that lasted for weeks. For us, it meant there was no paddling a straight line without dodging seals, sea lions, and sea otters.

The race went well any way.  Not much wind. This race always comes with a great vibe. It’s totally informal. There’s no tee shirt, there’s no fee, there’s no prize money, there are no sponsors, and it’s heavily popular with the locals. Hell, I’d show up just to hear Dave King recite the only rule (“No head butts allowed below the water line”).

So, I went into this race without a leash, sporting only boardies and a neoprene tank top. What could go wrong?

Only two things went other than as planned. I cramped not far from the end of the race. That was nothing compared to the beach bombs that awaited us at the finish. Waves don’t break at the Capitola pier. Except today. They were feathering at the end of the pier.

I tried to time it. I failed. I had to ditch the board or get trashed while holding onto my board. I owe Tony Mueller, who picked mine up and did the same for many others. Tony collectively saved racers well over a thousand dollars. Mike McDaniel got in unscathed. The paddling gods were smiling on Mike, for sure.

So there I stood in the backwash, kelp all around, waiting for the current to switch so I could charge in. So ended my race. And this picture says it all:

All hail to the Kelp God!

The Bet

As I write this, it is raining steadily. Yesterday, it was predicted to start not long after sunrise. But when I checked at 6 am, the ETA had been moved to after 11 am. Winds were already in the southeast and a few gusts told me not to go.

But I had promised myself I would load up the paddleboard and take DeeAnn to Monterey for her Sunday run.  I ran late yesterday on the chance I could paddle today because it had been windy all day -- too windy for me, anyway.

Yesterday morning started with a 50-minute drive to New Brighton State Beach. I pulled into the lot just before 7 and right behind Nick, my paddling partner. We took one look at the blown out conditions and we were over it. Then we took a second look and quickly agreed to head for Capitola and Zelda’s for coffee. I was disappointed that we missed our first ten-miler of the spring. It couldn’t be helped.

So, now it’s Sunday morning, still dark, and I’m loading up on the off chance things will be different over in the bay.

They were. The Southeaster stayed light for the whole paddle, and the conditions north of the wharfs were clean. The paddle back to San Carlos Beach featured a tailwind. As I loaded up the board, a few odd drops of rain fell. It held off until we got home. Then the storm blew in convincingly while we enjoyed homecooked scrambled eggs, French toast strada with mango, bacon and coffee.

Now and then, it’s nice to win a bet!

Up for Koko Head?

Photos: DeeAnn Thompson & Mike Jones

October 24, 2009

As a traveler, faced with many choices about what to do, DeeAnn and I nearly always opt for the beach. We’re both oceanfront addicts, total beach bums. But we have been known to venture inland, especially if the views of the ocean are stunning. You get the theme.

It was for that reason that DeeAnn and I jumped at the suggestion to ascend O‘ahu’s Koko Head. It also helped that the idea came from a trusted source: the daughter and son-in-law of a long-time friend who live on-island. And the views of the ocean promised to be stunning.

It started with dinner at a local’s favorite, the Side Street Inn. We had our first opportunity to get acquainted there. Cattie, DeeAnn and I share professional interests, and Ira and I started talking about the water right away. Ira surfs, but he also has an impressive background paddling outrigger canoes (OC1, OC3 and OC6). For one thing, he’s paddled the Moloka‘i crossing many times. I was all ears.

So, we got asked if we had ever climbed Koko Head. No. How about tomorrow morning? Yeah, we’re down for that. We got a full and honest description of what we were agreeing to: a long, steep climb up railroad ties not in the best shape, sometimes treacherous. Not a cakewalk. No hesitation from our end, so, what time? The temperature will be more tolerable if we meet in Waikiki at 5:30 am, according to Cattie. Ira countered, “So, around 7:30, then?” Ira likes his sleep, just like us.

5:30 won out, and Ira was right on time picking us up.

The rails rising up Koko Head’s face are an artifact of World War II. The line was built to fortify its peak, thought to be a strategic target. Now it has been left in disrepair, though some of the ties are being maintained to reduce (somewhat) the risk for climbers.

Looking down at our feet, one tie bears the count: only 1048 to the top. Looking up, it’s obvious this gets progressively steeper. We put our quads straight to work. Best not to think about these things too much.

This is not your climb up the steps of your favorite skyscraper’s emergency stairwell.  The ties are irregularly spaced, some are worn or rotted, there are some deep holes between ties, and many of the steps are thigh-high. And there’s a trestle, where there’s nothing below or between the ties.

To encourage the climber, each one hundred steps is marked on the rail (100, 200, 300, etc.). So, for example, you will know when you have gone 400 steps and you aren’t even halfway -- and then notice it’s still a lot steeper up ahead.

Koko Head has its regulars. This was obvious from the practiced confidence of some of the climbers. And they were helpful, especially in pointing out that there’s a way to avoid the trestle (and “don’t look down” isn’t even an option), a path around that isn’t too obvious to novices (us).

I had no idea it was going to hit my quads so hard, and I had very recently trained up to run 20 miles. In fact, I was scheduled to run that distance the very next day. (Not. I did 19 two days later and I wasn’t about to push.)

Resting became regular by necessity, but that meant looking around. The view was inspiring us and spurred us on.

It rained a little and that kept us guessing whether the climb might become treacherous, especially the descent.  Thankfully, it was light rain and there was no thunder. It kept us cooler. It made the views more mysterious. It felt more Hawaiian.

At the top are remnants of bunkers, hardened shelters with vents, lookouts, gun mounts, cranes, and more. It is at once a dominating and vulnerable place. These war remnants carry forward that time’s sense of urgency, uncertainty, grit. It elicits respect. It added to the experience of visiting the Arizona Memorial, something we did in the 65th anniversary year.

Taggers and other artists have repurposed some of the concrete structures:

Then there were the views from 1,200 feet: 

The cauldron of the extinct volcano upon which we stood ...

Makapu‘u point ...

Hanauma Bay...

Waikiki ...

And there’s also a paddler’s connection to this vantage point: a full view of the Moloka‘i crossing. The finish is not far away.  You can sometimes see Moloka‘i. That day, it was mostly obscured in haze and mist, but we caught a glimpse (but not in the picture below!). 

Confronted with the vastness of the channel, I felt smaller; yet I also felt a sense of what it must be like to conquer that expanse.  Paddlers do rise to that challenge and the thought of their accomplishment is empowering.

But our next challenge was the descent back to our car. 

 It looks worse than it is, but that got our quads and hamstrings, too.


Thanks, Cattie and Ira. It was worth every step. We’ll go back there together soon.

© 2009 Michael J. Jones. All rights reserved in all media.

2nd Annual Lake Tahoe Fall Classic - Part 2

Sunday, I rose to a perfectly clear and rather cold morning. Up at 5:15 am, I went out to strap the board onto the car while there was yet no hint of dawn. All the stars were as you can only see them at over six thousand feet. Runners seemingly floated past in reflective night gear, on their way to finishing their 72-mile overnight ultra around Lake Tahoe. I know some ultra runners and I knew it wasn’t as pretty as it looked! It made what I was about to do seem outright reasonable!

Our car had demanded coolant the night before, but I had to wait for a cool engine. So besides loading up, I now had to pour the liquid in the dark with the help of a small flashlight, guessing at the level. That done, and with the car loaded up, DeeAnn, Cookie and I headed south.

The drive down the east side of the lake at dawn continued the previous evening’s unhurried revelation of Tahoe’s many beautiful faces. But the piers we could see from the road were just too tall. Steps leading downward from the piers’ decks weren’t submerged, an unmistakable measure of California’s drought conditions. Rain and snow are needed; the lake is being slowly drained to keep the Truckee River flowing.

We gradually snaked our way around Emerald Bay to the South end of the lake. Then we overshot Camp Richardson, our destination, and got our clue was when we arrived at Pope Beach. I called Mike McDaniel. His opener (at 7:25 a.m.): “We’re about to start the race, WHERE ARE YOU????” Count on Mike for and edgy but good-natured jab. Of course, I was fully aware the race was scheduled to start at eight.

Mike was one of my training partners for this race, along with Nick Bryson. We pulled into the lot next to them, unloaded boards and equipment, exchanged a few comments. At the beach, we mostly gave our attention to prepping our boards and getting checked in, helping each other out here and there.

The sunlight seemed fresh like morning. The air temperature was in the high 30’s (Fahrenheit), expected to rise to at least 80 by noon. I, who almost always train in a wetsuit, opted for only boardies and the race’s official yellow tank-top rash guard. And a lot of sunblock.

I looked north, to the other side of the lake and considered: I’ve never paddled this distance in a race – 12 miles was the longest. How would this go for me? I had trained out to 22 miles, but how would it feel to paddle for 5 hours without my usual breaks along the way? Would I bonk? Would it get grueling? Boring? Neck pain? Or might it go easily and feel kind of fun? When I stepped up to my first twelve-mile race, I was surprised how much I enjoyed it. I hoped this would be like that.

Shortly after 8 am, with gels taped to our boards, plenty of water (I duct-taped an extra bottle on top of the one in my single-bottle cage), wearing sunblock thick as armor, protected by pretty stupid looking hats, and all wearing bright yellow race jerseys like uniforms, we all casually strode into the water with varying degrees of confidence, purpose, and anticipation.

An onlooker could find a kind of absurd humor in the sight. An onlooker could legitimately ask: What’s the point? Why go?

My answer: For the glide. For the glide. For the sheer pleasure of feeling the motion. For the glide.

The paddlers were directed to divide: stand-up-paddlers stay right; prone paddlers, stay left. This race is for mono hulls only, we were told. No catamarans, trimarans, stand-a-marans, whatever! MONO HULLS ONLY!!!!!

Over 50 paddlers made their way to the end of the pier and milled about while waiting for pictures to be taken, and then the race could start. Only eight were prone paddlers, me among them. The rest were SUPs of all shapes and sizes.

Among us prone paddlers, there were three unlimited class (usually around 18 feet), three fourteen-foot class (me one of them), and two stock class (twelve feet).

We floated out, waiting for something to happen. Something did. PLOP! A paddle broke and the blade hit the poor guy’s deck. I have no idea how he got through the race. But great justice was done at the awards ceremony that afternoon when his name was drawn to win … a beautifully crafted wooden paddle – a real work of art.

Pictures were taken, we all tightened up for the start and … I could almost tell when the race started!

From then on, I never noticed the air temperature, and it was scheduled to rise quickly anyway.

My race strategy was to find a pace I could hold and not go out too fast. So it surprised me when I saw my pace on my GPS, even after three or four miles. Maybe I was fooling myself, and I would pay a price later, but I didn’t feel like paddling slower would be better. I focused on keeping my turnover down, just striving for an even pull through the whole stroke.

The view from the water was spectacular. After all, it’s Lake Tahoe on a perfect morning with glassy conditions. I even looked at it once in a while. The SUPs have a big advantage when it came to enjoying the scenery: they’re standing up. From my prone position, the view I could most easily see was my board, the water, and the distant shoreline we all aimed for, in that order.

A stand up paddler stopped to pull a camera from his boardies and snap a shot. As I passed, he said he just had to do that. Of course he did. He then drafted me all the way past mile 11. I learned he lives in Hawai‘i, and he complained (lightheartedly) about the flatwater conditions – no bumps to surf. I acknowledged: “Wear and tear on the motor!” A second SUP joined him and now I was pulling for three, but it’s no extra effort and SUPs aren’t my direct competitors anyway. The first time I took a gel break (mile 5+), the second went on but the first stayed behind me. He drafted close (it’s most effective) but asked permission (I said yes). He got a little too close. When his board bumped mine, I joked “no kissing!” I also joked “2 beers per mile.” We kept talking and joking. He was great company. When he dropped off, he said “see you at the end.” I thanked him for hanging with me. I saw him later at the awards (he offered me a big smile and, of course, a beer), and he was just really great to me. I later found out he paddled the Hennessy's San Francisco race the day before, a nine-mile loop around Angel Island through the Bay’s notoriously strong and fickle currents. Wow.

The lake occasionally offered some small runners, which must have come from boat wake. Not like open ocean swell, but it’s always fun to get those and just glide. The occasional head-on wake could be an annoyance, but, overall, we had great conditions.

It surprised me that, halfway into the race, I was maintaining an average speed of 5.1 miles per hour. It eventually dropped to 4.96. I had no idea I was going to do that; I just found a sustainable pace and stayed as consistent as I could. The day before, I had thought 4.7 mph would be optimistic over that many hours.

The biggest distance illusion was in the last part of the race, approaching Brockway Point. I thought, “I’ll be even with the point soon, then I’ll be on the last stretch.” Except I kept approaching and approaching and approaching! There were one or two currents that needed correcting for, especially after I passed Brockway Point. I heard others had a similar distance illusion experience with that Point.

As I approached our Kings Beach finish, I was feeling okay. My GPS said it wasn’t going to be 22 miles. My first 21-miler became reality when I passed through the two large red buoys, turned over the board to caddies, walked until I knew I could run, and finally ran across the finish mat (recording chip time of 4:08:02). That’s when elation set in. I was greeted by DeeAnn and Cookie. On the paddle in, I had wondered if my early arrival would mean missing them (I estimated best time of 4:30 thinking the race was 22 miles as advertised). So I was thrilled to see them. My first words, quoting George Carlin's shtick on cats (I muttered them, really): “F----n’ meow.”

It was some time later my entire right arm spazzed. The muscles weren’t all happy after all! But I worked it out rather quickly. I also felt for that spot in the right side of my back that had cramped a bit over the last quarter of the race, applied my thumb, and pressed – yesssss!

I cheered in other paddlers, especially Nick Bryson and Mike McDaniel. Mike did it in 5 hours. I was really proud of him for his consistency and for finishing. He said he felt OK – better than expected. We all trained together, and we all did it. Something to party about, for sure!

Mitch Metcalf and Suzie Lavatai (friends from Reno) met us and brought food. Lots of great food. And champagne to celebrate this momentous occasion and because, well, who doesn’t like champagne?

The awards ceremony was held at Jason’s, a local watering hole. The first paddler in was in the unlimited prone class. He blazed across the lake in 3:33:48. I did the math after I got home: he was around three miles in front of me when he crossed the finish line. I got first in the prone fourteen-foot class. That didn’t seem like a huge thing, given there were three of us in the class. But when my time was called out, the hoots felt great. That’s what I’ll remember. And I got in 13th overall (SUPs and prone paddlers included).

Still, being handed a trophy for any reason is really special, and I treasure both its beauty and what it represents. I was given a 1st place stock trophy in lieu of fourteen because they hadn’t made trophies for that class. I was told to keep it.

So the 2009 paddling season ended at what, for me, was the peak. It made it even more special for me that DeeAnn, Cookie, Mike, Nick, Mitch, Suzie and their family were there. And about 50 other paddlers with friends and family. Then there's all the contest organizers and volunteers who put on this great race -- they really deserve our appreciation and thanks for making it all happen, from fun to safety to awards to giveaways.

I can hardly wait until next year! There will be so many new possibilities. After all, the water is always a new place, always different than the last time, always presenting new challenges -- while remaining an old friend.

(Thanks to DeeAnn Thompson for the Pictures.)

© 2009 Michael J. Jones. All rights reserved in all media.