Saturday, June 5, 2010, Portsmouth, RI

The days ticked off on my calendar leading up to Wesley Echol’s Sakonnet River Race…a hard, but oh so fun 14 mile course out the tidal river starting at McCorrie Beach and out past third rock. You are assured of some fun rides as well as some into the wind slogging. I was looking forward to this. This year’s running it would be me, Steve Del, and Hoff (Jim), making the road trip up to RI. We missed Tommy Kahuna, who unfortunately lost a family member and was paying respects. Our condolences. It was to be a unique day as Sean Milano and I were giving my new Fenn Mako XT double a go (Thanks, Susan and Kathy!), in preparation for our eventual plan to pilot it in the Mayor’s Cup, and possibly even the Blackburn. It’s nice to have a partner along for the really long events to help pass the miles, and Sean is a big motor who’s never at a loss for words. Steve and Jim decided to take Jim’s Fenn Elite carbon tandem as well, so we’d have two doubles in the race-a first! Coupled to the fact that the weather forecast was less than promising, this would be interesting.

I met the boys at Trader Joe’s in Westport, CT, in a light mist, and we hoisted my tomato orange/lime green Fenn Mako XT (Sean would later comment that it looked ‘tropical’.) up alongside the crisp, vanilla white Fenn Elite up on Jim’s truck rack. Along the highway, they had picked up the company of none other but Roger Gocking, positively resplendent in his white Under Armour (“Children, shield your eyes!”) and orange Nikes. (Roger, welcome to the fold of friendly abuse-you are part of the ‘inner circle’ now. Wink.) Jimmy, having had only about two hours sleep the night before (the man works like no one human), immediately sacked out in the back, while Steve drove. Up around Stonington, the skies darkened, and all hell broke loose. We passed through cell after cell of thunder and lightning storms, accompanied by rain so violent at times that you could barely see twenty feet in front of you, and after exiting in RI, turned the drainage ditches to muddy Class IV whitewater runs. Through it all, Jim slept in the back like a cinderblock.

It looked bad. After numerous calls back and forth to Sean and Wesley, it seemed likely this year’s Sakonnet Race would be a ‘no go’. Since a number of racers had already arrived, and we were almost there anyway, onward we pressed. At best, we figured, we could get out for a short paddle and try one another’s boats and paddles, an impromptu demo day. Of course, I had my two real goals in mind; a stop at Fatulli’s Gourmet Bakery in Middletown for the most sinful concoctions ever, and perhaps a fried calamari salad at Fieldstone’s, made Rhode Island style with those little sliced cherry peppers and drizzled with a balsamic glaze. Unbeknownst to us, prior to our arrival, Wesley had called the race off, after consulting with Timo and looking at radar patterns. The job of a race promoter is a tough one, made immeasurably so faced with inclement, and potentially life-threatening, conditions. No one in good conscience would send competitors out on the water with the thunderstorm forecasts-we all understood. Time to hit Fatulli’s, Jimmy still comatose in the back.

Pulling into Wesley’s, we were greeted by Betsy and Sean; everyone else was already down the street at the beach, so away we went to meet them. Down at McCorrie Point, Steve piloted us, throwing a small wake, through a flooded area to get to the start location. Awaiting our arrival in the light rain, was a cluster of folks huddled under a Stellar Kayaks tent, the promo banner flapping in the wind, and the shiny, new boats lined up alongside for demo purposes. Friendly, familiar faces: Wesley, Chris and Leslie Chappell, Tim Dwyer, Bob Capellini, Mike McDonough, Dave Grainger, Jay Appleton and Nancy the marathon OC-6 paddler, Timmy Shields and Ashley, Bill the rower… The latest up-to-the-minute forecast showed the cells moving out and clearing; we’d wait it out for a bit and then attempt to have a go at a slightly shortened and revised course that had us staying closer to land, just in case. Whoohoo! We’d be racing after all! Wesley was furiously working his Blackberry, responding to paddlers who had messaged and checking the continually changing Nexrad radar updates. True to the forecast, within fifteen minutes, the rain stopped altogether and Wesley and Betsy scurried into action preparing for the event. Boats were unloaded, and pre race rituals commenced.

Wesley hailed us over for a Captain’s Meeting to debrief the group on the revised course, one of three he had devised in preparation for such a scenario. The wind was blowing pretty steadily at about 12-15 mph from the northeast, which would mean some nice wind driven fetch to accompany the swell. We’d start off the Point and travel into the wind towards the mouth of the river, 2.75 miles to a turn buoy (which may or may not have been the first or the fourth, or white with a red point, flag, or cherry on top (?) of it). We’d then shoot back downwind, approximately six miles to make another turn at some sort of boat (a dinghy, sailboat, fishing boat or ocean liner (?) moored close to shore), and battle the wind back for a grand total of approximately twelve miles. At the fifteen minutes to start call, racers were on the water warming up, while Sean and I adjusted the boat for us, given that we’d never paddled this one together before. I’d have the controls as Captain (“Oh Captain, my Captain…”) at the front, and Sean would have basically zero control as Stoker at the back. Given his propensity to scream like a little girl at what amounted to a duck’s wake, no way I was giving him the steering. One last minute run to the truck and Port a Potty and we’d be ready to race!

With five minutes to start, we hauled the mucho grande XT double to the water and jumped in. I immediately noted my drinking tube was coiled and knotted like a nest of snakes. Hmmm…I knew I had laid it out neatly for clipping on to my vest. Wasting valuable time, I unsnarled it. We leaped in, I took a right paddle stroke, went to take a left and …. “WHOA!!!!!!” almost ended up swimming. Somehow my Epic mid wing wound up at a 203 cm. length, left feather at 12 degrees! Steve!!! Jim!!! Those weasels had sabotaged us! With wet hands I couldn’t work the collar to readjust, so I had to jump out, rub some sand on my palms to afford the friction I needed and readjust the paddle quickly. We clambered in and paddled out, only to see those two bearing down at us at ‘ramming speed’. As they went by, we furiously splashed one another with our wing blades. Such children they are. (Later they shared they were trying to work the mouthpiece off my Camelbak, but I had taped it on. 🙂

We lined up on the start line, and at Wesley’s call, we were off! The wind was in our teeth, spray in our eyes, as we made headway against the current. The pace set was high, although the speeds struggled to go much over 6 mph. Wesley, Steve/Jim, and Tim were pushing it. Chris in his new Stellar was somewhere off to our left, Roger and Jay to our right. The lead group gapped us by about fifty feet as Sean and I worked to find our rhythm. The XT double is an amazingly stable boat that has a decent turn of speed. As a double, we had a distinct advantage into the wind, punching the hole of one with the power of two. Slicing into the tight 1’-2’ fetch was confidence inspiring. I could feel Sean’s surges of power in the back, and despite some twitchiness every now and again, we were finding our groove.

Sean, always Mr. Sociable, was chattering away back there. (Sean: “So THIS is what it feels like to be out front!!! Chatter,chatter,chatter…”) As we approached the series of buoys for the turnaround (Which was which again?), we could see Steve and Jim slowing slightly as Wesley yelled directions up ahead as to which one to spin around. Their big tandem started for one, then spun quickly at the last second like a bird dog nosing out a trail, as Wesley barked at them. We followed their lead around the buoy and then the fun began. We surfski types live for a downwind run, and there would be six miles of nothing but ahead of us, wind at our backs and current with us. Life was very, very good.

A following sea lures you into taking every run to be had, and we fell prey to its siren call, along with Timo in his V12, whom we had passed shortly before the turn buoy. Jim /Steve and Wesley angled far out to the center of the channel, the smarter move, we would soon find out. Sean, doing a great job, was still talking away back there (Sean: “It’s awful quiet out here. Why aren’t you talking to me?”), as I watched my HR hovering at the 168 mark, then shooting into the 170s, sprinting to drop into run after run. I knew Jim to be very good at this, and expected that they’d widen their gap further, which they did. What was not expected was to see Jay sneak by and pass us; he was masterfully working his S1-X to his advantage. Tim and Sean were holding some sort of conversation about world politics as swell and fetch converged in some really decent sized waves. (Me: “Focus, Sean! Focus!!” Sean, caught unaware in the midst of his conversation: “Hey! Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?!”) Funny how timing the runs in your single is ever so slightly, but importantly, off in a big double. When I thought we’d have one, Sean would yell at me from the back that he was underwater. swamped. Eventually I figured out that the best way to take a ride was at an angle. Try to go too perpendicular though, and 24.5’ of boat can broach fairly quickly when hit beamside, as we found out once, and chose not to repeat again.

Speeds went from 6-6.5 into the wind into a ripping 8-9.5 mph on the downwind leg. Steve/Jim, Wesley. and Jay were increasing their lead. (Sean, shouting over the wind: “Mark!!! Isn’t this Wesley’s home course?” Me (heartrate at 170+): “YES!!” Sean: “And hasn’t Wesley paddled this something like 4,000 times??!” Me (dawning realization): “YES!!” Sean: “Then why aren’t we following Wesley??!!” Me: “Um… Because I’m driving, and I’m stupid??!”) So we angled back out to the center channel and followed Wesley.

Coming past McCorrie Point, it was fairly foggy; land was difficult to make out. The wind had intensified and the waves were being channeled as the river narrowed, becoming larger. At the turnaround boat, moored about seventy-five from shore, the waves were actually breaking on the beach. Jim and Steve had already rounded it and were headed back…straight at us. “RAM THEM!!!” Steve (or Jim) was shouting, laughing hard. “HOLD ON, AND STAY SMOOTH!!!” I yelled to Sean, as we narrowly evaded our two ‘friends’ and went around the boat, lifted up by the now tightly stacked 2’-3’ waves. I do believe those two knuckleheads would have dumped us; they are certifiable, and certifiably fun.

Into the wind, I knew we’d have an advantage over the singles, and I hoped we could close the gap to Jay, and possibly even Wesley (If my fairy Godmother happened to have a wish left in her purse.), and Shake n’ Bake the ‘ever so ebullient’ Tim, who had hung around like a Hari Krishna at an airport. Things really intensified then. Spearing the waves dead on, sometimes the bow would shoot up and over, launching me up, while another one doused me face first upon smackdown. Sometimes we’d centerpunch through the middle, literally flooding my cockpit so I was completely submerged underwater in my tropical bathtub. There was so much water, I was sloshing and sliding around in the seatwell. “Pass me up my rubber duckies!!!” I yelled to Sean. Tim’s trademark labored wheezing and strange noises receded behind us. Tim has an extra gear that’s unbelievable, and it’s marked by many odd auditory signals. It was tough going, however, and the tandems rule in that kind of into the wind slog. Steve/Jim were rapidly receding into the distance, Steve having acted upon his own trademark trait and ‘smelled the barn’, Wesley hanging very, very tough in front of us.

The thing about Sean is, were I to have been alone in my single, I might entertain the fantasy of actually catching Jay, but there it would have remained, a fantasy in my own little pleasant dreamy world. All I had to do was voice my little fantasy though: “Sean, let’s try to catch Jay!” never ever expecting such a thing could happen, when I suddenly felt this unbelievable surge of power from behind. Despite talking loudly a lot, there are two redeeming tandem partner qualities about Sean: a.) He has frightening ‘rip your limbs from your body’ gorilla-like strength, and… b.) he goes to the wall and beyond (usually accompanied by no small amount of drama-smile). So, for all intents and purposes, it felt like someone had fired the afterburners for the last two miles. We came up on and passed Jay (“Go guys!!!” “Last stretch, Jay!!!”), and were closing on Mr. Echols to boot. “Let’s kick it hard when we reach that boat up ahead!!” I called back, giddily, heart rate now at a steady state red alert 184. As we came abreast of the boat signaling our final kick, emblazoned across its stern in gold leaf lettering was the single toast: ‘Slainte!’ I thought fondly of an ever so Irish friend and her oh so familiar toast, smiled widely, toasted her mentally, and kicked it as hard as I could, coasting across the line to finish third overall. Wesley toughed it out, demonstrating the speed of the Stellar, but most notably, his fitness, skill, and mental toughness.

After the everpresent knucklebumps and manhugs for a job well done with Sean and the boys, we spun around to cheer our fellow competitors in…Jay, Tim…Mike…Dave…. One by one they came across the line, the sun fittingly breaking through the clouds in the process, and the haze burning away to reveal blue skies. Perfect. Betsy and Lesley had set out a sumptuous picnic style feast of wraps and sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, and other goodies, and after bringing heart rates down again, racers amused themselves trying the two tandems and the fleet of Wesley’s demo Stellar surfskis. Once everyone had eaten, Wesley thanked all entrants and supporters, and launched the awards ceremony and raffle. Dave Grainger went home with the Max wing paddle (We would later spot Dave on our return trip home pulled over sleeping in his car on a gravel shoulder, having gone to the ‘Max’ himself. At least we hope he was sleeping…). Stopping by Fatulli’s again on the way home to appease Jim was sheer delight. I highly recommend the clam chowder and olive rosemary bread. A superb day-from every dark cloud comes a silver lining. Thanks to my treasured friends, the Echols and Chappells, Sean, Jim, and Steve, and to all my paddling compadres who helped make this day another exceptional one. ~ Mark