2008 Sakonnet River Race by Mark Ceconi

Sakonnet River Race Recap: The Winds of Wampanoag

Glancing up through the moonroof at my ski strapped firmly to the saddles of my Thule, the sky was phasing from that ‘crack of dark’ hue to diffused sunshine, as the sunny Saturday morning of May 24th opened. I was making my way up to Monroe, CT to pick up Tom and his Mako Pro, my two road trip companions for the Sakonnet River Race in Portsmouth, RI, run by the infamous ambassador of our sport and dedicated accruer of all things surf ski, Wesley Echols. Jim and Steve were traveling a similar route from NY, and somewhere, Roger and nephew were winding their way as well, to round out the lower contingent of ‘representatives’ from the CT/NY locales. Race day.

Despite a GPS system with that was somehow convinced we were a bicycle and was frantically trying to route us off I95 at every opportunity, the 3 hour drive up was a pleasure. Crossing over the water on the bridge into Newport, the water appeared flat and calm, and nary a ruffle of the wind we were to encounter later marred the water’s surface. It was to be a great day, thanks to the efforts of Wesley and Betsy, and the host of surf ski and kayak paddlers who turned out.

After a quick pit stop at the Echols for a bathroom break and caffeine download courtesy of Betsy and her sister, Susan, we rolled down the hill to the beach at McCorrie Point, to find small whitecaps and wind driven fetch at 10-15 mph from the north. “This is going to be interesting (continue, continue)…“ commented Tom, although I don’t remember what was being said after that; visions of sugarplums danced in my head, already lost in the prospect of downwind rides (minus the reality of the return trip back). Lots of familiar faces and names from the NESurfski site and other surf ski race results listings were arriving, and soon the beach was populated by the slender and colorful, built for speed, carbon/Kevlar conveyances, and their fit and skilled pilots; almost 20 skis and 3 fast sea kayaks were present. Betsy and Susan had set up shop registering folks from the back of a vehicle, furnishing numbers and the warmest of smiles; two more gracious and cheerful registrars could not be found!

Wesley was juiced; this was his baby and he was rushing about like a mother hen. His preparation was obvious, as every element had been clearly and concisely thought out. He knew each subtle nuance of the course, given his over 200 meticulously logged training runs. Thanks go out to Murray Lord for dropping the turnaround buoys the day before-all was in place for ‘Lights, camera, Action!’ At the requisite Captain’s meeting, it was announced that due to the wind, the executive decision was made to shorten the race slightly, subtracting the short buoy section to bring the total distance from fourteen miles down to approximately twelve. It was a mass start at Wesley’s signal. He gave the one minute warning, then ten second intervals down from thirty, and we were off!

Immediately the fast runners from the Salem League leapt into the lead, with a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude. Cory, Tim, Ken, Wesley, et al, fluidly worked the wind driven waves, as the field sorted out into mini surfing battles of our own. I picked out the practiced stroke of Jim in his Mako 6 up with the front runners, and could hear my heart roaring in my ears sprint after mini sprint, catching and dropping in on the consistent 1-2 foot swells that carried us downwind. The first five miles were sheer delight, ride after ride, and I never wanted it to end. I could see Kathy peripherally off to the side, zinging along. Ken L and I were engaging in a game of cat and mouse; he’d shoot ahead on a well chosen wave, then I’d pick one up that buried my S1-R’s bow past the flames and gain it back. This was the essence of surf skiing. Steve in his EFT was off to my left, hunkered down in his familiar powerful stance. Somewhere, the tiny seed of energy conservation for the turnaround was planted in the deepest recesses of my brain, and promptly shoveled over by the waves of endorphins that matched the literal ones that spurred us along.

Almost to the halfway, approaching the spire of third rock, the rides diminished, and that seed took purchase and began to grow, with the prospect of an ‘into the wind’s teeth’ return. As the buoy came into sight, there was Cory in the orange and white S1-X Special, back straight and moving machine-like, hotly pursued by Tim and Ken in their Epics, and then Mike in his Mako 6, doubling back on the field for the return. Rounding the buoy, thoughts of Dorothy from ‘The Wizard of Oz’ flooded my head as the wind hit. “Auntie Em! Auntie Em! We aren’t in Kansas anymore!” The wind was not so much violent as relentless, and soon the rhythmic slap of the bow punctuated my ragged breaths. I came up on Jim, and was reeling in Wesley and Mike, in his blue-striped S1-X, only to find that Steve had rallied and was on the train as well. Suddenly, as if fired from a cannon, Roger shot by in his 18X like we standing still. This spurred Steve into action: “Get back here, you old man, you!! Aaaargh!!” and he was off as well, his shouts lost to the wind in hot pursuit, causing Jim and me to momentarily lose focus in fits of laughter. They were gone, attempting to bridge and gaining on Wesley and Mike, who were steadily pulling away again. Wesley was working the shore, with Mike further out toward the center of the river.

The world was my oyster-felt fantastic-then it all went bad. The last three miles seemed endless, and by now I had adopted a modified low angle Greenland stroke. My lats and abs had long since hung up ‘Gone Fishing’ signs and I was demonstrating the technique of ‘Arm Paddling 101.’ Eventually, Betsy appeared on the shore, waiting with the clipboard to cheer us in and account for everyone on the course. She seemed to me like the Holy Grail, replete with rays of heavenly light emanating about her, and choirs of angels singing in chorus.

As each racer was welcomed home, and boats and gear loaded, the venue was moved up the street to Casa de Echols, where every chair and spot on the deck railing was filled, and a ravenous crowd fell upon the sumptuous buffet of sandwiches and wraps, salads, sodas, and frosty beverages provided courtesy of our generous hosts. Chatter turned to recaps of the race events that had just unfolded, paddle lengths and feather angles, and the delightful equipment esoterica that cap off a superb day. Wesley took the deck (literally) to award the prizes courtesy of Wesley, and schwag from EMS, and thank all for their attendance. Cory brought home the proverbial bacon, including the combined ‘hot spot/first around the buoy’ cash prize. Tim and Ken followed to round out the top three, and the finishers’ field unfolded after that. As the initial results were shared via email, there was already talk of ‘next year.’ Many warm thanks to Wesley and Betsy, to Susan, to Murray, and to all my compadres that turned out this day. A great day it certainly was, indeed.

Results:

SurfSki:
Cory Lancaster               Huki S1-X S       1:50:20
Tim Dwyer Epic              V10L 1:53:01
Ken Cooper                      Epic V10    1:53:03
Mike Tracey                     Mako 6                 1:55:40
Wesley Echols                 Mako 6 1:57:28
Mike McDonough Huki S1-X       1:57:35
Mark Ceconi                     Huki S1-R           2:00:13
Jim Hoffman                    Mako 6                 2:00:48
Bill Stafford                      Huki S1-R            2:00:53
Ken Larson                       Epic V10 2:01:47
Kathy Manizza    Huki S1-R            2:02:05
Bill Kuklinski     Think Evo            2:07:14
Dave Grainger                Mohican               2:09:40
Murray Lord                   Huki S1-R             2:20:32
Tom Kerr                          Mako                      2:21:06
Tom Walek                       Think Evo             2:23:03
Doug Manfred                 Mako XT               2:23:53
Bill LeConte                      Think Evo           2:28:29