The Journey, Not the Destination

It’s 3:45 am. Our car is loaded. Both of my Bark paddleboards were lashed on last night. After the alarm goes off, I do easy yoga-based stretches, eat a light breakfast, fix coffee for DeeAnn, and we’re on the road shortly after 4. We drive to Monterey to meet Paul, who shows up only about a minute after we do. Paul had to work last night and has had little sleep. We all say ‘hi’, Paul crawls into the back seat of our car and after exchanging a few words, I suggest he might like to sleep on the way up. He has similar plans.
 

The drive to Santa Cruz is quiet. We notice some kind of event being set up in Moss Landing. That turned out to be the well-attended annual Antique Fair.

We arrive at Santa Cruz Municipal pier at 5:40 a.m. As we get our boards and ourselves ready, I see a familiar Eaton paddleboard seemingly floating in the dark across Cowell Beach. Phil Curtis is right on time. I call Mike Roberts, who has spent the night with his dad, Dale, on Mike’s boat, Sjøfugl, to let them know we have arrived. Mike lets me know he’s the furthest boat out from us, lights on.

[Click on photos to enlarge, hit <esc> to return]

A Sjøfugl, our boat's namesake

DeeAnn snaps a few shots of us, we do some stretches, and as we pick up our paddleboards, I joke this will be a Le Mans start (involves running to your race vehicle) – a stunt played on us by the organizers of the Bay Crossing in 2010.

Early. Phil's board is faintly apparent.

Paul, unzipping

Waking up. Even the boards are yawning.

Paul Wettereau, me, Phil Curtis

Paul. Ready.

As we get our boards wet, DeeAnn calls Mike to let him know we’re on our way.  He says, "I know, I can see them."

We pause at the boat to check in. Paul and Phil deliver their dry bags with dry clothes for later. Each of us has extra gear on the boat and Mike was ready to take paddleboards on the boat, “just in case.”  

We talk about our planned course, then go.

Days before, we all had a map of the 2010 Bay Crossing Course. The line from the start was straight South to the M1 Buoy near the deepest part of the Monterey Bay canyon. From there, a slight left turn to a South-Southeast heading is needed to land on Monterey’s Del Monte Beach, next to Wharf 2. The line is designed to take into account calm winds early with prevailing northwest winds later. By delaying the turn off the Southerly line, paddlers get the push from the northwest winds home. The total distance is about 28 miles.

Today, we are starting with no appreciable winds, and it gets perfectly glassy as we go. A light Southwest wind was predicted, but the small, short period northwest swell makes the planned route nearly as appealing as when northwest winds are expected.

But somehow the idea of going out south-southwest creeps into our conversation and so we head out. It doesn’t fully register with any of us early on in our paddle that we should not be able to see the Wilder Coast at any time over our right shoulders.

And while we can see coastline over our right shoulders, we can see little past Pleasure Point to our left, due to the haze.

As we paddle, we talk. I’m not the world’s greatest conversationalist, but I’m truly enjoying hearing Paul's and Phil's discussion. The paddle is turning out to be great fun in glassy conditions.

These photos show the glassy conditions, and also how gray and how limited our visibility was.

Five miles into the paddle, we take a break. Paul and Phil swallow a gel each. I gave those up, as they didn’t agree with me. I’m now using something that goes into my water bottle instead, with coconut milk and vitamin C added.  I have already done two 27-mile paddles with this solution in the last months, and it works for me all day long.

The sea life we spot include a whale and a few albatross. Later, we see a sizable flock and watch the awkward ballet that is the albatross’s way of getting to flight. The feet are “running” the whole time, and it seems to take forever to gain enough altitude to make redundant the takeoff and landing gear.

Everything is gray, yet there is contrast. Each of us in turn remarks how deep the water feels. Somebody remarks that Frosty Hesson's character in the Chasing Maverick's movie was right when he called this a "deep blue abyss".  We all agree. I also feel the isolation, the distance from everything familiar. There is a quiet power. This is a whole ‘nother world that seems benign now, but each of us knows better.

Some of our chatter involves calling out headings by three of us. There is a compass mounted on the Sjøfugl, one on Phil’s paddleboard and a page on my GPS.

In spite of our vigilant attention to our indicators, and partly because we can no longer see land, we wind up pretty far west. The only active map we have is my GPS with its tiny screen and roughly drawn map.

I had learned on a previous paddle to be wary of hand-held GPS maps. When approaching Santa Cruz Island on the way to the 2011 Island-to-Island paddle, our boat's crew member with the greatest sense of humor was at the helm when he stopped all forward progress about nine miles before reaching our objective, which was in full sight. When questioned by the captain, the mischievous mate responded: “The GPS says we’ve arrived.”

21 miles into our paddle, I am able to zoom in the GPS map so that I can begin to judge our position relative to Monterey Bay’s southern terminus, Point Piños. I know from many paddles that it’s four miles between Point Piños and Del Monte Beach. At about 21 miles into the paddle, I am getting the sense that the remaining portion of our paddle to Point Piños is significantly greater than that 4-mile final stretch. And we still are not seeing land. And we have seen zero fishing boats. All clues.

Still a little unsure of what I’m seeing, I call Paul and Phil over to the boat. We sit on our paddleboards, Mike stands above on the Sjøfugl.  I show them the map and tell them what I think I’m seeing.  My own vision of stepping onto Del Monte sand begins quickly fading. We agree that, yes, it looks from the GPS map like it’s going to be longer than we have time for, and a south wind is beginning to make the course a little rough.

We all agree to hand two of our paddleboards up to Mike and attach a rope to Phil’s to drag it home. But Paul kiddingly says he’s just paddling back. We all climb in the boat and busy ourselves pulling on dry shirts and coats for the trip home. Mike lashes down the paddleboards on the deck.  Dale moves forward to make sure the front of the paddleboards don’t hit anything.

Our paddle is over at 22 miles.

Next, Paul calls DeeAnn to let her and Lindsay (Paul’s wife) know when to expect us. He reassures her everyone is safe.

“Just in case” has happened. But our friendly chatter never stops. We talk about how we might have gotten so far west. The stories continue to flow. The most impressive part is how positive everyone stays.  The south wind strengthens some. The paddle would have increased in difficulty, but not beyond our abilities. Paul asks if I’m going to blog. I say I don’t know for sure if I will, but deadpan that I might call it “Don’t Go West, Young Man.”

Paul is mindful of Dale and relieves him up front.

Finally, we spot land – the Monterey Peninsula stretching from Point Piños to Pescadero Point. After we pass the Point Piños buoy, a whale breaches near a whale-watch boat. Surface conditions mostly smooth out. We pass Lover’s Point, Hopkins Marine Station, Cannery Row, San Carlos Beach, and round the Coast Guard Jetty. We’re home.

Once alongside Wharf 2, Mike spots a ladder Paul can use for his exit. It’s not an easy approach. Phil’s board wanders into the outboard as the boat comes about. Ouch. Then a commercial fishing boat approaches to unload, possibly needing to take up the space in front of the ladder Mike was aiming for. Mike moves well out of its way and spots another ladder, and has to call off some fishermen with lines in the water standing on the pier above. Then the first ladder becomes available after all, so Mike swings around and heads back. Mike approaches, then he and Phil grab the ladder.

Approaching Wharf 2, Monterey

L to R: Phil Curtis, Captain Mike Roberts, Paul Wettereau

First Mate, Dale Roberts

About 14 miles and 2 ½ hours after we had all boarded the Slöfugl, Paul disembarks by way of that ladder attached to the pier.   He collects his wallet, keys & phone from Lindsay and sprints up the wharf, conscious of getting to work on time.

Had we paddled the whole way, it would have added up to 36 miles – a distance that would keep us out much longer than we had time for today.  And while we didn’t accomplish our intended Bay crossing, we have paddled the waters outside Monterey Bay, an unforgettable blue water paddle.

Now it’s time to head into the harbor for the ramp. After tying up and offloading paddleboards and gear, Mike begins the process of trailering the boat, along with Dale and Kay (Mike’s mom) – no small amount of work.

Kay Roberts. So long!

I walk past Phil on the way to my car with my board. I am inspired to offer: “Phil, I only have one thing to say:” followed by uncontrollable laughter. He joins in.

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.