The Blackburn Challenge. Long considered the premier race of the northeast, conditions can vary from mild to wild, although for the last several years, the former has been the case. The conditions of the icy paddle made by Howard Blackburn that set the stage for this circumnavigation of Cape Ann were difficult to fathom as temps were forecast to soar into the 90s this July day. Even with a slight breeze, a little touch of frostbite would be a welcome teaser. It would be a hot one. Along with the heat, the forecast was benign-1’-2’ seas, although we would soon find that the proliferance of working and pleasure craft boat wake would add to the mix the second half of the race.

Despite a lack of training for this approximately 20 mile distance, and a wicked chest cold/hacking cough the week preceding (Note disclaimers.), I was looking forward to my sixth running, mainly because I’d be paddling with my good friend and former high school wrestling teammate, Sean Milano. We’d be piloting a uniquely tropical looking Fenn Mako XT surfski double. Fast enough and quite stable, you couldn’t miss us in 24’ plus of boat with its orange-y deck and lime green hull. With my fluorescent orange Mocke vest and Fenn jersey, you could likely spot us clear across the Atlantic (“’Allo, Guv’nor, what IS that on the horizon?” “Blimey, it appears to be a rather large slice of watermelon adrift at sea!”). Visibility is a plus; those lobster boats and Queen Mary pleasure craft don’t slow down for anyone. The joke of the day became our plan to put on black vinyl ‘seeds’ and procure Hawaiian jerseys for the upcoming Mayor’s Cup. We were staying once again at the Peabody Marriott, along with the Hoffman clan, Steve del, and Tom ‘Tom Kahuna’ Kerr. Given my name ends in a vowel, a delicious Italian dinner at Petrillo’s the night before was perfectly fitting to fuel us for the efforts of the next morning.

Sean Milano & Mark Ceconi – 2nd Tandem

Gloucester High School cafeteria was abuzz with waterfolk of all kinds, reconnecting with familiar faces and friends. Big news was there was a new shirt design this year, courtesy of Dana Gaines, replete with an actual map of the course. I briefly considered its value as a navigational tool, should a fogbank inexplicably roll in, then dismissed it due to the heat, recognizing cotton’s limited properties as a wicking fiber. The other two thirds of surfskiracing.com, Wesley and Chris, were present, as well as a number of other strong paddlers from the single blade and rearward facing crowd, Eric McNett, Rod McLain, Ziggy, Blakey, all good folk we’ve come to know over the years and races.

Several other doubles were registered, including our good friends and infamous pranksters (Big) Jim Hoffman and Steve (I Smell the Barn) Delgaudio, in their Fenn Mako Elite Double. Fast guys, fast boat. Robin Francis and Gary Williams would be competing in their first ever Blackburn, in the Current Designs Unity double used for Team Achilles races. For the longer events, a double is a good way to go-you’re a bit more stable through the messy bits and it gives you someone to ‘support’ (a.k.a. ‘yell at’) when you’re exhausted in the final stages and every little bit of minutia is getting on your nerves.

For the want of three gelpacks, we missed our start, panicking and trying to sprint through the bridges caught behind a six person outrigger. We were two minutes down as I wove a crooked course through the HPKs and skis lining up, calling out our number; “101!!!!!” to the timing officials. “Go 101!” they confirmed, and we put the hammer down on the Annisquam to catch the others, distant specks on the horizon. We were moving the boat well on the highside of 8 mph up the river, gambling expending an early effort to try to reach the lead group with such a long race in front of us.

Just before the mouth of the river, where ‘the real race begins’ we caught the other boats, minus Jim and Steve, who we could clearly see about 500 yds. ahead. thanks to Steve’s ‘Here I am!’ orange Mocke vest. Through ‘Lobster Pot Alley’, so named for the smattering of multicolored lobster pot buoys that parallel the rocky shore, the conditions were flat, some little riffles here and there and the occasional boat wake, but nothing whatsoever to write home about. Halibut Point came and went, I think. I had one eye on my HR monitor and the other fixed on Jim and Steve, who agonizingly remained the same distance away. Finally, up ahead we could see them appear to stop and then back up. ‘Ahhhh, weeds,’ thought I, ‘Maybe we can close the gap a bit more…’ Sure enough, we reeled them in a little closer, and when they stopped again to clear the local flora, we caught up to them somewhere in the middle of Sandy Bay.

“Heyyyyyyy Boyz!!!” Jimmy called back, to Steve’s “Gentlemen!” After some shouted pleasantries, we tucked in to their stern wash for a brief respite, and paddled the next mile in that manner, Sean carrying on one heck of a conversation about a variety of different topics from his stoker seat. Here the water changed character, becoming a bit wobbly and jobbly, with a few little swells mixed in to entice you to increase cadence to pick up a run or two. Through the wobbles, we wondered how Ray Fusco was doing in his first go round in a surf ski, and a caffeinated V12 at that, all the while taking bets on how long it’d be before we were swallowed whole by the surfski front runners, Glicker, Impens, and the like. Cap’n Jimmy wisely picked up a couple of runners in a row, and before we knew it, they had gapped us again approaching Straitsmouth, the halfway point. The GPS read 1:20 as we crossed between the rocks, calling out our number to the checkpoint boat. Steve and Jim had dropped us like a bad habit.

Sean was miraculously still expounding on topic after topic, and I was starting to wane approaching the two hour mark, falling silent and not responding back. Every once in a while I’d be racked by a coughing fit, followed by a short bout of dizziness, imbalancing us. The water became more confused here, three times I zoned out and hung onto the blade too long, which certainly didn’t help in the stability area. I felt like we were going up and down, up and down, and later learned that several racers complained of seasickness through this area. Sean commented behind me, in an oh so formal tone tinged with mock iciness: “I take it, Mark, from your silence, that you’d prefer not to converse any longer.” That made me smile, but not enough to waste the valuable effort to reply. (Days later, Sean would email me a list of potential topics of conversation for our Mayor’s Cup entry, to ‘enhance our time together around Manhattan.’) At one point, we passed through about a fifty foot section of super refrigerated air. I kid you not, my reader, it was as if someone had trained a high powered air conditioner upon us out at sea, easily ten degrees cooler. Odd, and slightly unnerving. Where did it come from? Sean called out: “Did you FEEL that?” then, “Can we go back and do it again?”

The last crossing from Milk Bar to Eastern Point and Dog Bar seemed interminable. We had lost our rhythm and our friendly current as well; slogging along and wallowing in the troughs of pleasure boat after pleasure boat. As we moved through dory after dory from earlier starts, subconsciously following their lines, we found ourselves further out to sea than intended. Indicators of this from Sean like: “We’re really out there!” and “Jim and Steve seem to be hugging the coast!” had me wondering if perhaps I was victim to some bizarre left leg muscular malady, causing me to exert undue pressure on the left pedal. These are the things that run through your head when you’re overheated, tired, and waiting to be overtaken by a pack of wolves in skinny boats at your heels.

We were so far offshore at this juncture, I didn’t even recognize the sea wall at Dog Bar. Two big, Hawaiian outrigger canoes (smile) were sneaking slowly past us along the rocks, and Jim and Fluorescent Steve were taking a similar line. “Mark! We have to get in closer to the rocks and hook a right into the harbor!!” Sean admonished from my right shoulder. “I’m going to try to pick up some swells from further out to carry us into the harbor!” I explained, mentor-like, which really translated to: ‘I have no idea how we got so far the heck out here.’ Unfortunately, there would be no magical swells, rainbows, or unicorns to carry us as per my ‘plan,’ and studying Dana’s t shirt map later on, it’d reveal we were actually replicating a miniature Bermuda Triangle course line, adding at least a minute to our time.

Gloucester Harbor. There’s a scene from ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’ where John Cleese as Sir Lancelot comes charging across a field to rescue a ‘damsel’ in distress at the castle. The camera cuts away and returns several times, and each time he is exactly back where he started from, then he is suddenly there. This is how the harbor feels-the white building and the greasy pole get no closer for what seems like hours. Mix in some of the most confused boat wake you’ve come across to date, and the fact that you just want it all to be DONE, back at the beer and food tent in line for your free massage, and you have a very tough final thrust to the finish buoys.

I was spent at this point. Where I should be sprinting, I couldn’t get my heart rate (one of the proposed topics for the Mayor’s Cup) to climb much over 165. Sean kept reminding me; “Greasy pole, greasy pole, greasy pole…” to keep me on course. It seemed like he was perched with little wings, a halo, and harp on my right shoulder. Over to the left was a HUGE fishing trawler almost vertical in the water, throwing a bow wake high into the air. ‘Uh oh,’ I thought, then immediately my feeble mind concocted an ill conceived plan: ‘When that one hits, I’ll swing around and we’ll use it to make up some ground on Jim and Steve (who were no longer visible anywhere) in a Cinderella story, inspiring movie type finish.’ When it hit, I was reminded of why ‘The Perfect Storm’ was filmed here; we bobbed helplessly, completely awash in its wake, but miraculously did not go for a swim in the midst of the harbor.

Suddenly, the pale yellow boat and finish buoy were right in front of us, and we managed a ‘photo op’ surge across the line for the benefit of the paparazzi-sic. This is the best part of all…as you coast to the beach, people are cheering, friends and family are snapping pics, and finished racers are lounging in the water waiting to welcome you home. So very validating. The Hoffmans were jumping up and down; the Chappells, the Dwyers, Betsy Echols, Linda Capellini…what a fantastic feeling, being greeted by so many smiling faces and camera lenses. Helpful hands whisk your boat away to the beach, as you flop into what has to be the most refreshing water on the planet, shaking hands and knuckle bumping fellow competitors. This is the Blackburn Challenge. Jim and Steve paddled an awesome race, serving up a great big, heaping helping of whupass, and we congratulated them soundly on their victory.

Steve Delgaudio & Jim Hoffman – 1st Tandem

Not long after, we witnessed the HPK’s finish. Craig ‘The Jersey Hammer’ Impens had taken it, followed by that hard charging Maine lad, Eric McNett, and then Brian Heath from Canada, paddling the only closed boat in the top finishers, a Westside T-Bolt, and everyone’s favorite boy from Brooklyn, Joe ‘Glicker’ Glickman. Always a front runner, Craig has been coming on exceptionally strong this year, putting together a string of wins in northeast races. Eyes are on him for a solid performance in the Surfski Champs in San Fran. Our very own Tim ‘Timo’ Dwyer had an outstanding race, slotting into fifth, followed by Rowan Sampson, and none other but Wesley ‘Mr. Surfskiracing.com’ Echols. Racer after racer came across the line to the cheers of the crowd. The beach was hopping, and the Ipswich beer taps and Vitamin Waters were flowing.

After a rinsedown and change (It feels phenomenal to slide into some real clothes.), the beachfront barbeque really kicked into gear, with a jammin’ band belting out some bluesy tunes, and competitors reliving their own personal successes with one another. The massage tent has to be the best idea since the invention of cheese in aerosol cans; my masseuse worked out every kink and creak that had settled in around the Cape (Thank you, Lauren!). Yes, this is the Blackburn. The awards ceremony was great fun-applauding for friends and competitors as they ‘medaled’. How inspiring that folks like Roger Gocking (1st place, Sea Kayak)come back year after year to reclaim their crowns. I was proud to get one this year, and considered wearing my hardware like Mr. t. for the rest of the weekend-smile.

Many thanks to all the organizers, volunteers, and others associated with this ‘jewel in the crown’ of northeast racing. Gratitude also to the families and friends who come out to support those that choose to make their way around via water and human propulsion. Finally, a huge round of applause to those who ‘tested their mettle’ by making it ‘round. See you next year, my friends. ~ Mark