2011 Nahant Race Summary by Greg Lesher. This weekend, August 18, 2012, Mike McDonough, Race Director, along with his daughter Katie will be presenting the awards. Race starts at 10am. All details can be found in the race section of this site.
Katie McDonough with the Trophies for Nahant
This past weekend, a pack of paddlers (16 skis, 3 kayaks, and one OC-1) participated in the newly christened Nahant Bay Cup in Swampscott. This was to be the 4th annual race starting in Nahant Bay, but race director Mike McDonough tweaked the course to provide a better chance of downwind runs and more challenging open water conditions. The 9.25 mile course would be roughly triangular. From Fisherman’s Beach we would head across Nahant Bay, around East Point to a the turn-around channel marker, then back across the mouth of the bay outside of Egg Rock, hitting the coast at Off Rock, then returning along the coast through Dread Ledge to a beach finish. Those of us unfamiliar with the area were taken by Mike on a field trip out to Dread Ledge, from where we could see the Off Rock turn-around. The weather was fine, but the hoped-for downwind conditions unfortunately didn’t materialize. When they do in the future, this will be a humdinger of a course, with a largely protected upwind leg and a straight downwind shot.
Greg Lesher
During the captain’s meeting on the beach, a curious seal surfaced just behind a knee-deep Mike – doubtless wondering whether we would be coming out to play. Well, kind of. Are you supposed to be concerned about your heart exploding while playing? Once the meeting was concluded, we hopped in our boats for the short paddle to the starting line. When the 30 second call was given, I dunderheadedly realized that I had forgotten to eat anything before the race so I scrambled to scarf down a gelpak while I had a chance. With the sound of an airhorn, we were off.
It quickly became apparent that Eric McNett and Joe Glickman (a surprise, but welcome, visitor from outside New England) would be fighting it out for the win – as most of us probably expected. As the second tier arranged themselves into a 9 or 10 boat train, the leaders pulled inexorably away. I settled into the fourth position in the show-or-worse line, behind Francisco Urena, Wesley Echols, and Graeme Rockett. A mile and a half into the race, or so, Graeme dropped off Wesley’s wash and I decided that I better make an attempt to catch Wesley and Francisco before they slipped too far away.
As I moved outside of Graeme’s wash and into undisturbed water I was again struck by the toll that drafting takes (at least, on me). Though I’m saving that X% effort (I’ve seen all kinds of estimates – insert the X you feel most comfortable with), the need to constantly be alert to changes in the draftee’s speed or direction is a real drain. Even if I feel like I’m maxed out in the draft, once I make a move to pass I’m reinvigorated by the open water in front of me. Of course, I have the opposite feeling when the open water in front of me is because I’ve fallen off the back of a draft – as I would experience a couple of times later in the race.
Once past Graeme, I set to the task of reeling Francisco and Wesley back in to the fold. Nobody briefed them on this plan, however, and they remained frustratingly heretical. As the miles passed and I remained a half-dozen boat lengths back, I adjusted my goal to remain “in contact”. As I understand it, this term means that should both paddlers decide to stop for a quick game of pinochle, I might have a chance of catching them.
Periodic checks of my six during this time revealed an omnipresent red-nosed V12 Ultra that I discovered later was actually two semipresent red-nosed V12 Ultras – although Graeme had initially been on my wash, Tim Dwyer substituted himself without me noticing. At one point I heard an unidentifiable voice yell out something like “Keep it up, Greg” from further back than 21 feet (but what I hoped wasn’t further back than 42, 63, or 84 feet), so I knew that there was at least one additional boat behind the V12. I kept expecting someone to slide past me, but no such boat materialized.
As we approached the turn-around buoy, I saw Joe and Eric battling away coming back towards us. Wesley and Francisco in their Stellar SES and SE made the turn, with Francisco seeming to have fallen off by a boat length or two. When I rounded the nun five or six lengths behind, I was anxious to see who was still with me. Had I managed to drop all but the V12 immediately behind me? Ah, to return to that state of blissful naïveté! But alas, as I turned I saw a veritable armada on my tail, looking to bury me at sea. My heart and hopes sank as I counted off Tim, Mike, Graeme, Chris Chappell, and Kirk Olsen in a neat line.
Ten minutes later, I was done. After having pulled the noose around my own neck, my lungs were burning in an attempt to keep up a reasonable pace. Tim slid by me and I latched briefly onto his wash, only to lose him after he had powered up with what I can only assume was a steroid-laced gelpak. Fortunately, by this time Mike (McDonough) had also caught me, so I latched onto his wash. I didn’t have any illusions about beating him once he got in front of me. I’ve learned from Salem League that Mike does not give up a lead while he’s still conscious, and in his own race it seemed unlikely that even knocking him out cold would stop him.
Speaking of Mikes, at this point I started wondering where Mike Tracy was. For the rest of race I was scanning the seaward horizon, obsessed with the idea that he was passing me on one of his patented “great circle” routes. Since I left the spyglass in my other boat, I doubted I’d be able to spot him though.
I knew with Mike (McDonough) navigating in his home waters, we’d take an ideal line. Wesley and Francisco were taking a wide route, while Mike and I skimmed by Egg Rock on the way to Off Rock. Tim, who also took a tight line, was opening an increasingly large gap on us and I started to wonder if he might not catch the others in his performance-enhanced state. I struggled to stay with Mike almost from the moment I got on his wash. I’d fall back a half boat length or more, feel the rising horror that I’d lose him, and dig down for what little reserve I had left to get back on his stern. This cycle of panic-pain-relief repeated itself dozens of times. Although I didn’t see anyone immediately behind us, I feared that once I fell off Mike’s wash, Graeme or Chris or Kirk (or some combination) would cruise past.
Egg Rock in the distance. Part of the course.
Eventually, the moment came when Mike and I went our separate ways. It was a teary break-up, but I suspect only on my part. My pathetic wailing did nothing to slow him down, but I still hoped he would remember me fondly. Or at least remember to send out a search party after everyone else had finished.
I struggled on alone, expecting at any moment to see the nose of another ski slide into my peripheral vision. As we approached the Off Rock turn-around, I noticed that Mike took a line that passed extremely close to the seaward side of the island. When in Swampscott… I figured. I noticed a few little waves that I thought I might catch as I attempted to mirror Mike’s maneuver. I’m not sure exactly what happened next, but it definitely involved an undignified topple from my ski and some newly coined words that expressed my dissatisfaction with the situation. I found myself swimming disturbingly close to the rocks, which added a little zing to my (successful) remount attempt. On my next stroke, however, I discovered that at some point during my maneuver I had completely knocked the feather out of my paddle. Narrowly avoiding a second swim because of this unexpected turn (pun mostly accidental, but let’s say intended), I hurried to refeather the paddle.
Once I got underway again, I completed the turn around Off Rock and saw that Graeme was right on my tail. With adrenaline from my recent adventure energizing me, I was able to get back into a groove and pull a boat length or so ahead in the next few minutes. However, as we rounded the rocky point leading into Nahant Bay, I looked back and Graeme had disappeared. Then I spotted him, taking a shorter line inside the innermost rocks of Dread Ledge. When we joined up again, he was back on my stern. In the final push, though, I managed to maintain decent form and catch a few small waves. I ended up finishing a couple of boat lengths ahead of Graeme for 7th place. Mike had finished some good distance ahead of me for 6th.
I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that all eyes were on Francisco at this race (no pressure, though). After his strong Blackburn performance and recent showings in the Salem League, we were all wondering what he could do in Nahant. With an impressive 3rd place finish, he didn’t disappoint – passing Wesley in the final couple of miles and holding off a juiced-up Tim at the finish. The top spot on the podium was claimed by Eric, with Joe taking 2nd. The down-to-the-wire battle of the day doubtless goes to Mike Chamness and Bill Kuklinski, who hit the beach within a couple of feet of one another (Mike ahead).
After the race, we all retired to a convenient beachside park to swap tales and enjoy the fine spread provided by the McDonoughs. Place and show paddlers were awarded framed certificates cleverly illustrated by Kate McDonough, while class winners (Eric and Kari Crowe)received gleaming trophies (the Nahant Bay Cups). Thanks, Mike and family, for a well-organized and successful race!
Here are some additional pics, courtesy of Mary Beth…
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