Bay Crossing

According to Google Maps, it’s a 41-mile drive from the Santa Cruz Municipal Wharf to Del Monte beach’s south end, at Wharf 2 – the REAL fisherman’s wharf in Monterey.  It’s about 26 miles as the seagull flies. Being paddlers in search of an open ocean adventure, the Ghostryders Watermen Club organized a race the “short” way across the bay. To add spice, a slight detour to MBARI’s M1 bouy, located just along Monterey Bay’s deepwater canyon, was added – lengthening the course to 28 miles and taking paddlers to a point about 12 miles from the closest shore.

The course.

I wasn’t against doing the Second Annual Monterey Bay Crossing, but I wasn’t sure I was for it, either. I knew from talking to last year’s paddlers it gets ugly out there.  The course itself is daunting in any conditions. And there are things swimming out there that deter the faint of heart, and even the not-so-faint-of-heart. Reports from last year’s paddlers were: crossed up swells washing over their boards, arresting forward progress; dense fog; wind and chop. There was pain.

Then the required chase boat was found. I was in. I would have gone solo. But I was happier to be on a relay team, at least for my first crossing. Kathryn Tubbs, Mike McDaniel, Waylon Olson and I started exchanging emails. It was quickly revealed that the logistics alone were a big commitment.

The teams were: Kathryn and Waylon; Mike and me.

Our team’s experience included Kathryn Tubbs’ several Catalina Classic solo runs; Mike McDaniel’s 22 Mile Lake Tahoe Classic completed last year (me, too); Waylon’s Jay Races, and my 20-mile Bay 2 Bay (Mission Bay to San Diego Bay) race. It was the first Monterey Bay crossing for each of us.

Kathryn didn’t want to use her stock board while, at the same time, Mike and I used his unlimited. I had already pledged my Bark unlimited to Paul Wetterau, so Kathryn called around for an unlimited and landed a good one from the shop floor of none other than Joe Bark. Some people have great connections.

We decided on 20-minute paddling intervals and matched paddlers sharing the water for similar speed during each segment. Each of us would paddle approximately 14 miles of the 28.

FRIDAY NIGHT, PRERACE MEETING
Ghostryders Watermen Club organizes this race and held a prerace meeting at the Miramar Restaurant, located on the Santa Cruz Municipal Wharf. When DeeAnn and I arrived, Craig Waltz, Zach Wormhoudt and others were checking people in, answering questions, and handing out stuff for the race.

Our two relay teams checked in as:
 
      Team Nor-So-Cal: Kathryn Tubbs and Waylon Olson
      Time Mikes: Mike McDaniel and your truly

Ghostryders renamed Team Mikes as “Team Carmel Watermen” (unbeknownst to us), giving recognition to the club on our side of the Bay of the same name.

Kathryn, Mike, Waylon and I met with Dennis, our boat captain. New to paddleboarding but experienced with outrigger canoes, he turned out to be fully engaged in our mission and clearly wanted to do everything possible to make this crossing a smashing success. He was experienced, knowledgeable, articulate, and likeable. What more could we ask! We worked out how stuff would get on and off the boat and how the paddlers not on the beach at the start or the finish would get on or off the boat. We parked three cars in three different locations before it was over.

Things got sorted out, and DeeAnn and I left early enough to get some sleep.

SATURDAY, JULY 17, 2010, SHORTLY BEFORE 5:20 A.M.
I get a text message from Mike: “I am at the beach. Where are you?” I am mere minutes away. Mike and I were the first to arrive of anyone connected with the race. I would do that again, even if not a rookie. Santa Cruz, still and dark, at the beach, by the Wharf. Air saturated with fog and possibility. Yes, I would do that again.

Soon, Kathryn and Waylon show up. Everyone is in a good mood, even though it’s already obvious there is fog allowing us to see only so far past the pier.

We organized the stuff destined for our boat, DeeAnn took a group shot, and Waylon and I stayed on the beach to start the race, connecting with the other paddlers, warming up, waiting.

Mike, Waylon, Kathryn, me

Bay Crossing's Class of 2010

6:30 AM
 

My favorite way to start a paddleboard race is … in the water. After all, it’s a paddling race. Starting on the beach is a pain. Ever try running at full speed with an 18-foot paddleboard? They’re light compared to 20 years ago, but they’re not that light.

Not today. The intended tradition is a “Le Mans” start. This is French for tiring you out early. Here’s how that works.  A line is drawn in the sand not far from, and parallel to, the water line. All paddleboards are lined up to the beach side of the line, noses to the water. All paddlers stand on the beach side of their respective paddleboards. On “go,” all paddlers run away from the ocean, touch the wall on the far side of the beach, run back to the paddleboard, grab, run into the ocean, and begin paddling. 28 miles. Across the Bay. At least I’m a runner. There are a few of us with bad knees who don’t like this great tradition too well. But there it is: you wanna race, you do it by the rules. So I ran. OK, I ran at, like, 80 percent so I wouldn’t be sucking in air through my ears before I even started paddling. But run I did. 

Le Mans Start: Running Away

And you know what? I liked it. There’s something kind of fun about running in the sand, probably because I did that so much as a kid. I was warmed up going into the ocean. And it helped me deal with the adrenaline hit. The one I got while staring into fog and darkness, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into this time.

Waylon and I ran about the same pace, and I got in the water just behind him. Although we were the best match in our two-relay-team paddle, behind him is where I found myself for the rest of the race. He’s not just thirty years younger than I am, he’s really fast. It was fun watching him having a great time in his first Bay Crossing, just as we all were.

So off we went, boldly paddling where no man/woman should go!

We learned as we went. The first time Mike McDaniel turned it back over to me, he gave me a good shove to get me going. That was a rush! We got better and better at changeovers each time.

Twenty minutes came and went quickly every time. It never got old. It’s a good choice for relay. All four of us maintained something close to our best pace very consistently.

On the boat, Captain Dennis was vigilant about our course, monitored conditions, scouted sea life, constantly fed us useful information, took pictures for us, told us when we were close to our changeover time, and shared great stories. His skill and his engagement with us was remarkable. We were truly a team of five.

Mike McDaniel Looks on as Waylon (right) and I (left) take our turn churning it out.

The fog lifted, but the marine layer stayed. While that made the sky and the water different shades of gray, it was certainly easy on the eyes. As we ventured out, we settled into our work, paddling through smooth water across swells, as we patiently awaited our arrival at the M1 Buoy. The swell was quite tame, a small south and a slightly larger northwest. It wasn’t until well after we had rounded the buoy, turning slightly east, that a light northwest wind came up.

The hand plunks in (the catch), pulls through to power the stroke (the pull) and releases at the end. The paddleboard accelerates and glides, and that’s the ride. On a glassy day like this, it was a very smooth ride, pure pleasure in motion. The water was a little cold this day.

Gliding forward through the water, our starting point at our backs, all we could see was the water ahead. Land disappeared, if not from view, certainly from my awareness. It’s the sense of leaving land behind that shifts all perspective. I suspect it’s a big part of what we all came for. There’s also the awareness that comes from being on the open ocean, in deep water.

There were the usual seals and sea lions, I spotted a dolphin that ran toward the boat from Kathryn, whales (blue, gray, orca), basking sharks, it’s all out there.

The time on the boat was also fun, hooting for our team mates, getting to know Waylon and Dennis, chowing as needed, taking in the ocean sites, stretching to stay loose, and taking pictures with Mike’s and Kathryn’s cameras. I was surprised I never got cold, but if we did, Dennis offered the heated cabin.

The M1 buoy, Buoy 46042, is located along the Monterey Meander of the Soquel Canyon and is a clean looking data collector – a round yellow platform and tower clad with solar panels. According to the National Data Buoy Center, M1 sits in 1,574 meters (5,162 feet) of water. Dennis said it is anchored by a chain so long that it will drift by up to a half mile. That’s to allow for winds and storm conditions, so the chain won’t break when it gets rough. The buoy has provided data continuously for over 20 years.

More than three hours into our paddle, Mike and Kathryn got to be the ones to round the buoy. As they approached it, Waylon shouted out: “There are Krispy Kremes on the Buoy.” After that, he couldn’t stop thinking about Krispy Kremes.  We may have been feeling giddy, but we were all nevertheless in awe. Days later, I saw a photo of one our finest paddlers taking his break there. As in, he climbed on the buoy and stood on it, apparently contemplating the place and taking it in. Truly admirable to fully experience that moment in that place!

Mike and Kathryn, and a milestone

I was pleasantly surprised that several boats and their paddlers were behind us. One started to gain on us, and eventually Josh Pederson passed us. Josh bested Waylon in the Jay Race, just weeks before. Now Waylon wanted to turn the tables. I said, “we should do something about that.” Waylon agreed. We played tag, and when Josh gained on us, his boat’s siren sounded. That rivalry (though hardly unfriendly) brought out the best in all of us.

Dennis quipped that things were getting a little boring. We all understood this kind of boring is a very welcome thing!

As we approached the Monterey Peninsula, the tide came in, it’s favorable push towards shore augmented by light winds and a few runners to catch and ride.
 
In spite of that, a current slowed us down, but we were soon past it and on our way to the finish. The sun broke through and the sky turned blue, along with the water.

Mike McDaniel, on the approach to the finish.

Sticking to our regimen of 20 minute changeovers, it fell to Waylon and me to finish the race. I was hoping it would be Mike and Kathryn, since Waylon and I got to start the race. But this gave Waylon the final say over Josh, and he didn’t hesitate to open up a convincing lead.

As for Josh, keep in mind he paddled the 28 miles solo.  I sprinted through the now placid waters by the wharf and got to the beach ahead of him, but barely. Remembering that the official rules allowed me to leave the board on the beach and run to the finish, I did just that. Unfortunately for Josh, and unbeknownst to me, I parked right in Josh’s path. As I crossed the finish, Waylon quipped: “Nice move!” I plead innocent. I had no idea where he was behind me, just that he wasn’t in front of me. 

Gassing it ...

... blocking, cluelessly ...

... and running with all I have left.

I passed the flags on the beach and received a very warm Ghostryders welcome. I told Dave King it’s nice to be in the club. He looked at me like there was never a question, smiled and said, “You’re in the club!”

Our official finish times:

    Team Nor-So-Cal: 6 hours, 6 minutes
    Team Carmel Watermen: 6 hours, 7 minutes

The sixth member of the Team was, of course, DeeAnn. No race could be half as good without her encouragement and support, but her constant presence and help made this day especially a true joy.  And she takes some very nice pictures! Here's a favorite:

DeeAnn also brought lots of food, as did the race organizers. Everyone on the beach was partying over finishing the crossing and hooting in the next finisher. I took the liberty of announcing Paul Wetterau’s arrival at the top of my lungs and a smile broke over his face as he stood up for the run up the beach. Paul took very good care of my board and finished in 6 hours, 22 minutes, a triumph.

Paul Wetterau, believing it.

So we stuck three paddleboards on our car, dropping Mike's Bark and Kathryn's borrowed Bark at Mike's, and went home to clean up and nap. My rack required adaptation to a third board, and we had to get creative.

It was secure. REALLY!

I got a call from Brian Mullen while  on the way home from dropping off the boards at Mike's. Brian wanted to hear it all. I willingly obliged. Brian asked, “So, are you thinking about going solo next year?”  I replied, “Brian, right now, I’m thinking about a nap.” I took the nap, we’ll see about the other!

6:00 PM
The final tradition (all of two years) in this race is the dinner gathering back at Miramar, where we had seen everyone the night before. We had our own room. It’s something to witness these watermen connecting with each other, bringing their families and mates, and keeping it all real. Kathryn got recognition and a trophy for being the first woman to participate – winning the women’s division. 

And, on a cellphone call from the Miramar, Waylon bought the Bark. Joe knew exactly what he was doing!

Thank you, Mike, Kathryn, Waylon, Dennis, and DeeAnn. I couldn't have spent such a special day with better.

Jay Race 2010

This year’s prerace tribute to Jay Moriarity was especially inspiring for me.  My favorite part was Grant Washburn telling us how he was stressing over how to approach big water he was about to enter, when Jay walked up and said something like: “Just look at that beautiful sky!” All of this was to say that Jay, first and foremost, stood in appreciation of all that surrounded him and just knew everything would work out well, even in big water.  Of course, his well-honed waterman skills backed that up. 

Listening to Jay's stories, inspiring as ever.

My own intention that I had set for this race was simply to experience fully the joy in paddling, and this story got me off to the perfect start.

This was my third annual Jay race, so by now, I’m starting to get to know a few fellow paddlers from the Santa Cruz area. At the top of that list is Nick Bryson, who’s become a great training partner this year (Nick not only became a contender in the stock class, he learned how to keep a water bottle attached to his board!). But there are many others, and having all of us in one place is amazing.

Monterey’s representation included Mike McDaniel, Mike Roberts, Paul Wetterau, John Alexiou, and yours truly. Among the So Cal contingent was Catalina Classic veteran Kathryn Tubbs, whom I met through Mike McDaniel.

In the end, it's all about the paddle.  

A sampling of the craft 

The twelve-mile course begins and ends at New Brighton State Beach, extends past Pleasure Point to the harbor buoy near the Santa Cruz Municipal Pier, turns straight out to sea, to the “one-mile” buoy, then returns to finish.

But conditions are everything. Winds, currents and swell all play a pivotal part every year, no exceptions. The course conditions this year must have been at least as fast as last year. For example, Craig Waltz (second place in unlimited class) finished in 1:57.3, compared to his first place finish of 2:00.5 in 2009.

But that’s not to say it was the same.

Consider that unlimited class 3rd place Tod Robinson (1:58.4) reported that his GPS showed the top three were on pace to break the course record by the time they reached the harbor buoy, near the muni pier. The course record, 1:51:58, a pace of 0:9:20 per mile, was set by Chad Carvin 2008. Yet, the winner’s average pace for the 12-mile course this year was 0:9:52 per mile (Anthony Vela, 1:58.4). So, sure, there were lots of runners to surf from the one-mile buoy back to New Brighton Beach, but that should have sped them up, not slowed them down. Maybe it was the combo northwest and south swells that did it.

I found the course indeed had many faces this year, and I enjoyed each one.

This was the first time I was present for the unique pleasure of standing in hip-high water with no wetsuit while little waves washed up to our waists, the prescribed “standing start” for the race. On shore, a bagpipe's drone-and-melody performance could be heard over the many pleas from the water to start the race already.

Finally, the horn was blown and the paddlers created a great current in the direction of the first required turn. I love to ride that current, and I did so today. Then there was the smooth segment to Pleasure Point, followed by the backwashy segment to the harbor buoy with a bit of a headwind. And that run out to the mile buoy is always work. Smooth and strong was my mantra for those segments.

Rounding the buoy I managed not to attract too much attention from the resident sea lions, then I caught a few of those Northwest runners. Some went really well, others spun me out (unlike unlimited boards, I have no rudder), and twice I went dead in the water because of crossed-up swell.

Mike Roberts must have caught more runners and rode them longer, because that’s how he passed me up. I didn’t even know that was him less than a half mile further out than I was.

I next headed for Pleasure Point, to get inside the kelp line. I planned to do that before the race even started, but now it wasn’t an easy choice. Few ever do that. I wondered now if I was about to badly blow it. I started to second-guess myself. I had to think back on the reasons why I thought this was a good idea and ask myself if those reasons were valid right now. I headed in.

I found out later it was the smart call – Roberts encountered demons in the outside line’s waters.  A solid paddler in any conditions, Mike told me he fell four times. That said it all about what the outside-the-kelp line was like after passing Pleasure Point. The inside line, on the other hand, was relatively clear of kelp, and the tide was incoming. Conditions were clean, the surface like glass. So, although Mike blew past me mid-race, we approached the finish in a classic paddle battle, except that we approached the finish at nearly a right angle to each other – he aimed straight for shore from the outside, me paddling the shoreline from the inside.

Me on the approach (above); Mike Roberts looking at me and contemplating the kill (below).

I got there first. But to complete the race, there’s that stinkin’ beach finish. Gotta run up the beach, through the big red archway.

Three years of this race has taught me that my perception of where the ground is changes after the better part of 2 ½ hours with my face just inches from the water. The sudden change from prone to standing leaves me unable to judge the distance from eyeball to ground. The ground looks closer than it actually is. When that happens, I just can’t find my feet. This shouldn't be.  I’m a runner. I’ve completed a half marathon each year for the past six years. But now, here I am, about to be edged out Roberts, because I’m repeatedly falling on my face, crawling, and laughing uncontrollably.

What does Mike do? Laughing as hard as I am, he grabs me with authority under my arm and runs me through the finish. We tied for equal 5th in the fourteen foot class. The entire race had been a joy, and this just put it over the top for me.

Is this a great sport, or what!!!!!

(L to R) Nick Bryson, Jody Roberts' back, Mike Roberts, me.

Mike McDaniel, Kathryn Tubbs

Paul Wetterau, flanked by two Mikes

For me, this year’s Jay Race was the Joy Race. After this one, I find myself hoping I'll still be racing when I’m 90, and that this paddle race, this tribute to surfing’s icon of joyfully pursuing going big, will outlive us all.






Thanks to DeeAnn Thompson for the photos and so much more!

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!