Cape Cod Downwind: Instant Classic

Say what you may about Chris Sherwood, you have to credit his Prospero-like powers to bend tempests to his will. After an impressive inaugural effort in 2014, this year’s rollicking Cape Cod Downwind cements him as New England’s preeminent Weathermage. With an unseasonable northeast wind (a bit of showing off there) cracking at 15 to 20 mph, the 10 mile Buzzards Bay course from Megansatt Harbor to Stony Beach was the best regional downwind race in years.

After a grueling season in the SurfskiRacing.com point series, we had arrived at its winner-take-all conclusion. While Jan Lupinski had dominated in the early races, I had rallied to pull ahead in the point total. A win on the Cape, however, would be enough for Jan to wrest the crown from my head (I wasn’t being presumptuous – just didn’t want it to get lost). Several paddlers offered to help, uh, nudge the outcome of the day’s race to my benefit. It was satisfying to know that my fellow racers were pulling for me – at least until I figured out they were looking for a little something to compensate them for their troubles. This is a respectable sport, gentlemen! Remember that the next time you’re tempted to renege on a contract.

For some of the hipper paddlers, the “chill session” was a welcome addition to the Cape Cod Downwind. (Photo courtesy of Peter Traykovski)

Although I attended Sean Rice’s clinic in Jamestown this summer, he neglected to cover a critical topic – perhaps because it’s a skill so ingrained into South African surfski culture that he couldn’t imagine anyone would actually require instruction to master it. I’m referring, of course, to dry land boat maneuvering. I’ve seen countless videos of paddlers tackling Miller’s Run in 35 knot winds, but I’ve yet to see a clip showing the more impressive feat of muscling the boat from the car to the water in those gales.

While most of us can handle wind once we’re afloat, the beach portion of the Cape Cod Downwind was a slapstick comedy of skis swinging into signposts, cars, people, and other boats. I’m proud to say we didn’t lose a single soul navigating the perils of Megansett Beach that day, although I heard the commissioner will be making helmets mandatory next season. Safely on the water, we wandered aimlessly in search of the starting line until Patty (race timer, chase boat liaison, after-party co-host, good sport extraordinaire) counted us down to the kick-off.

Despite protests, Chris was insistent that taking an overland route would result in immediate disqualification.

Attempting to cram a 10 mile race into its first half-mile, Jan, Eric Constanzo, Matt Drayer, Mike Dostal, Ben Pigott, and Andrius Zinkevichus launched off the line with breath-taking fervor. After weaving through the moored boats behind the breakwater, they led the field of 23 boats out of the inner harbor. I thought I had started strong, but I still had to claw past Jim Hoffman, Wesley, Tim Dwyer, and Joe Shaw before I could throw myself into pursuit of the Sprinting Six. Hasty Hexad? Slippery Sextet? Whatever you called those half-dozen hellions, you had to both respect their audacity in going out so fast and hope that they’d suffer dearly for it.

Jan’s traditional pre-race interpretive dance fails to draw much of a crowd these days. (Photo courtesy of Peter Traykovski)

We had a mile and a half of fetchless downwind before we cleared into the open water of Buzzards Bay. My game-plan was to take the lead before we hit bigger conditions, then nobly hold on as Eric and Jan tried to shamelessly exploit the power of the waves and wind to overtake me. It might have worked, too, had I only been a much better paddler.

By the time we reached the true downwind portion of the course, I was in third place behind Mike and Jan. Off my plan a bit, sure, but perhaps I could bend a little. Given that there was no clear landmark to identify the finish and considerable pre-race debate about the optimal wind-wave-current trade-off, it was no surprise the the field was already starting to fan out. The two leaders headed offshore. Vowing to maintain contact with Jan at all costs, I followed their outside line from a half-dozen boat lengths back.

As Mike and Jan veered further away from shore over the next mile, however, I gradually started to shake free of that restrictive resolution. Surely we were sacrificing too much straight-line distance by chasing the wind and waves into the bay. The veering continued. Eventually, I lost my nerve and broke off pursuit to follow a more moderate line.

I was wondering what that sound was. (Photo courtesy of Peter Traykovski)

I could periodically make out Eric’s black boat well inside of me. I also caught fleeting glimpses of another distant paddler on a similar line that was unmistakably Jim (mustache gave him away). Given that every time I turned to look for them I would come heart-stoppingly close to swimming, I decided to concentrate on my own boat. And Jan’s, of course. Although Mike had been in front the last time I checked the outsiders, Jan now seemed to have promoted himself to squadron leader. According to the man himself, at about this point he entered into that rarefied zone where every decision you make is the right one, every stroke perfectly executed. I’m not personally familiar with this zone, although I’ve spent a fair amount of time exploring its antipode. When I checked back again a few moments later, Jan had opened up a significant gap. Five minutes further on, I could no longer even locate him.

I’d like to return, for a moment, to an important topic raised in a previous post. I’m referring, of course, to the dream I had of flying squirrels the eve of the Peconic Bay Race. I need to clarify a point that’s caused a lot of confusion. While there are “flying squirrels” with membranes between their legs that allow them to glide (you know, like Glaucomys sabrinus), these lovable critters aren’t the rodents that now infest my nightmares. No, I’m talking about eastern gray squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis) who, though lacking any visible means of flight, are still able to dart through the sky. Let that sink in. Until further notice, I’m off sleep.

Picking back up where we left off… You may remember that I was coasting in to the finish with a commanding lead. If so, you probably got smacked in the melon with a wind-blown surfski back on the beach. You should probably avoid falling asleep too. In reality, even though I was having a blast in the thrilling downwind conditions, I was still losing ground to the leaders. Although I was able to link together two or three nice runs at a time, I couldn’t quite keep the chain growing. All too often, I found myself fighting the waves rather than working together with them for the common good (i.e., Jan’s downfall).

Up ahead, Mike Dostal was making fools of us who speculated that “once that guy gets some rough water experience, he’s going to be a real threat!” Or maybe we had just grossly overestimated exactly how much experience he needed – perhaps the first ten minutes in Buzzards Bay were enough. In any event, as our lines merged a few miles before the finish he was leading by a good dozen boat lengths. For a while I clung to the hope that I could close the distance, but the cumulative evidence of Mike’s increasing lead overwhelmed my misguided optimism.

This is why surfskis are so awesome. Even if you’re just flailing out there, 1 out of every 10,000 strokes or so you’ll end up looking vaguely cool.

So Jan and Mike would definitely finish ahead of me. Miles earlier I had seen both Eric and Jim on an inside line slightly behind me, but hadn’t seen them since. I had no choice but to assume the best – that they had foundered on the rocks that Chris had warned us about off the entrance to West Falmouth Harbor. So it’d have to be third place. Just as I came to grips with this, through some kind of sixth sense (in the northern hemisphere it goes: smell, hearing, heebie jeebies, taste, touch, sight), I discovered that Tim had hunted me down and was moving in to drain me of any lingering hopes I had of a podium finish. The joke was on him, of course – we were actually battling for fourth place. Sucker.

Let’s have a brief photographic interlude, brought to you with limited caption interruption…

(Photo courtesy of Peter Traykovski)

From our thrilling Dwyer’s Run earlier this season (Point Judith to Jamestown, express), it was clear that Tim had the superior downwind skills. I’d gotten all-too-familiar with his receding stern that day, and here he was, about to rub my face in it again. I had no choice but to paddle more aggressively. I had literally been on the edge for the past half-hour as I struggled to make the most out of each runner, but this move increased the likelihood of an irrecoverable mistake from “inevitable” to “imminent”.

Tim and I see-sawed for several minutes, all the while exchanging baseless theories about the location of the finish. He hypothesized that it might be the low-lying shoreline somewhat to our left, while I speculated that perhaps Chris had designed the course as a metaphysical lesson – we could only finish once we’d embraced the ambiguity of life. Or hit Martha’s Vineyard. Tim was ultimately proven right, but I think we missed a real opportunity for personal growth and/or cocktails with a Kennedy.

Eventually, I hooked into a couple of good runs and put a little daylight between us. Although it had looked like Tim and I might be gaining slightly on Mike, he was now nowhere to be seen. After the race, I found out that he had capsized, remounted, recapsized, and then become so inextricably tangled in his leash that, had he had a knife, he would have used it to put himself out of his misery. He had run 85% of the race splendidly, but this extended struggle would cost him 8 places in the finishing order.

I’m filing this one under “learning experience”, although there’s precious little rationale for that.

I needed to stay ahead of Tim at all costs. Lacking the skills to maneuver gracefully through the undulating sea, I continued to throw myself recklessly down every wave within paddle’s reach. This was a thrill ride, and what’s a thrill ride without a corkscrew inversion? I was just hoping to avoid the loop-the-loop (and the at-least-we-found-his-watch). I managed to fend off destiny for a while with some well-placed braces and foxhole prayers, but fate is, by definition, unavoidable. I over-corrected on a run and suddenly found myself watching Tim pass by from my new underwater home.

I can’t wait for the day when Tim and I start mis-remembering this as the time we dueled for the Cape Cod win. What a battle for the gold! (Photo courtesy of Peter Traykovski)

With a mile left to the finish, perhaps I still had time to recover from my near-fatal enthusiasm. I clambered back into the bucket and set off after Tim, working hard but keeping the thrills to a manageable level (halfway between “titillating” and “hair-raising”). My more measured approach paid off. With a quarter mile left, I was again even with Tim. As we approached the finish, a crazed kite-boarder buzzed by us, threatening to disembowel us if we didn’t clear off his line. At least, that was my in-the-moment interpretation of what turned out to be his enthusiastic cheering. This was Peter Traykovski, a multi-talented friend of Chris (you should hear him on the pan flute) who had taken some spectacular drone footage at the start of the race.

I’ve never been involved in a finish as close at that with Tim in the steepening waves near the shore. I’d catch a run to momentarily seize the lead, only to have it yanked out from under me as I wallowed back over the crest and he rode by on the subsequent wave. The flip of a wave decided the winner, and I ended up ahead. There may have been some minor technical infractions committed as I struggled to control my boat in close quarters in the final dash, but Tim graciously declined to file a protest. His wounds were mostly superficial.

I may have watched that video of the kayaker fighting off a hammerhead once too often.

Jan had taken first, with Eric and Jim (apparently having survived being dashed on the rocks) respectfully close on his heels. Tim and I were a full three minutes behind Jim, but everyone gamely pretended we were close. The top ten was rounded out by Matt, Bruce Deltorchio, Joe Shaw, Wesley, and Ben. Leslie Chappell scored her first series win ever, with Mary Beth taking second (and swearing that never again would she lose to that blankety-blank).

Mary Beth requests that I clarify that this was a wholly fabricated “joke”. She also insisted on the quote marks.

After the race we retired to Chris and Patty’s house for lunch, beers, and awards. In addition to winning the race, Jan was crowned the newest SurfskiRacing.com series champion. He’s had a spectacular year in the series, capped with a convincing Downwind victory. For the fourth consecutive year, I was relegated to second place (or as I like to think of it – first place, native-born division). Eric finished a strong season by taking third. Mary Beth is the new women series champion, which I’m sure won’t come up at all this winter at home.

The new SurfskiRacing.com series king with his court jesters. (Photo courtesy of Peter Traykovski)

Thanks to Chris, Patty, and eagle-eyed Rita for hosting the race, Rich Carl and Lu Ann Burgess for manning the chase boat, and Wesley for piloting another SurfskiRacing.com series safely into harbor. Speaking of which… Eric’s New England Surfski series finishes up next weekend in Maine with the recently renamed Glicker Downwinder. It’s another winner-take-all battle with Jan, so let me know what it’ll take to secure your (ahem) loyalty.