by Jim Kakuk
Arriving at TSUNAMI RANGER headquarters in Half Moon Bay for the start of the 15th Sea Gypsy race, I saw the usual assortment of suspects and spectators; what was different was the weather. In addition to the normal wind and seas we also had cross chop, rain and fog. "A storm front is moving in" the weatherman said. The buoy offshore reported seas of 8’ at 17 seconds. Well at least the waves were not "huge" or I would have been looking for a way to bag out. But this year it was my turn to make a "showing" at least, as Eric had goaded. Rebekah and I were going to double it. Of course the boat we had planned for the race was not finished yet, so we were on the lookout for a loaner, another "normal" for me.
After some discussion we got Scott Becklund (who finished second in the sprint) to loan us his white X-2 Starship. Good contrast to Eric and his wife Nancy who will be in a black Starship, I thought. So we took a position on the beach in the middle of the pack. Soon, however, I found out that Eric now had Gordon Brown as a partner. Huh, the old "bait and switch" I mused. Well Rebekah and I were now the only couple. After the sprint competition, won by Kenny Howell and John Dye, we acclimated by swimming into the breakers and floating "dead man" in the chop, looking into the sky for inspiration. From the bank above Debra Volturno noted that we looked just like the "Bob" that landed in front of her under the Golden Gate Bridge the weekend before.
During the pre-race lecture Eric was delivering, I noticed how everyone was paying more attention to the cameras than to what he was saying. Hey, what’s more important, hearing what kind of dangers lay ahead or getting your picture in the paper? I stepped in closer and put on my best confident smile for the camera.
For the start of the race Michael Powers had come up with a new signal, a flaming arrow shot into the sky was the "get set" and when it hit the water was "go"! Somehow, he talked Paul McHugh into being the archer. Looking at the bundle of firecrackers tied together with a gas soaked rag and wired to the arrowhead I wondered if Michael had tested this device. "Of course not" Eric said. I motioned to Rebekah that we should move a little farther back.
After Braveheart shot the flaming arrow to the heavens that signaled the start, we dragged our boat to the all mighty and started powering through the breakers. Vince Darwood crossed in front of us and we paused to buckle our seatbelts and survey the pack. Making our break for it we cleared the last set of waves with a relief and looked back to see who we were ahead of. We saw Tim Sullivan and Michael in "Old Red", the battered X-2 flagship of the Fighting Irish. They were sprinting as if they were off to Scottie’s Pub for pints of ale. Close behind was John Lull. Then came Eric and Gordon; this was going to be a classic battle between the white and black boats, of good and evil, I told Rebekah. They passed us, Eric talking, but it would not be the last word with them.
The long stretch of water from the launch to the Pillar Point gives one time to reflect on the serenity of the ocean and to lament about the distance to go and the pearls that lay ahead. I wondered how many times my arms would have to pull my paddle through the water. I tried counting but only got to twelve before I gave up. I then took an average of one stroke per second and then tried to multiply sixty per minute for an average per hour. The math was hard to concentrate on in this surreal environment but eventually I arrived at 3,600 per hour. That would be more that 7,000 for the approximately two hours it would take to run the course. By this time, I was already tired and we still hadn’t even gotten to the unprotected Pillar Point where the "real" conditions were.
By now, the pack had spread out and some, the brave ones, (or foolhardy if they didn’t make it) were heading for the slot that cuts through the reef and avoids the long haul around Maverick’s. Looking in that direction, we saw that the white water zone that had to be crossed after the reef warned us to "go around." I did not have to convince Rebekah of this tactical move and we followed the judicious pack around the outside.
Approaching Mavericks I recalled that the Movie Jaws was having its 25th anniversary broadcast on ABC over the weekend. The scene where Roy Schieder’s eyes were poppin’ out of his head kept coming to mind as we crossed over the turbulence of the point. Not now I hoped, yet I still expected the unexpected. This is a perfect world; the attraction is not knowing what you’ll get. The ocean is a dream with imagined and real dangers.
During the stretch towards Flat Rock we had time to chat. Below deck, the extra water bottle kept rolling back and forth, back and forth. "Damn it, Jim," I said, you should have secured that. "Where the hell in is Flat Rock?" I asked. "Up ahead where the water is shooting up" came the reply. "Where is Flat Rock?" I asked again. UP AHEAD WHERE ALL THE WHITE WATER IS SHOOTING UP INTO THE SKY!!! Oh, it looked like a heard of white horses with their manes flying. We both had the same thought. "If it looks like shit when we get there we're going to cheat and cut to the inside", "Of course," came the reply with no hesitation. We paddled on thinking that the low visibility would conceal our planned trick.
At Flat Rock we followed the course properly since we weren’t last and it looked doable. Except for a wave that nearly got us as we passed on the outside, our timing crossing the reef was good and we made it around to the lee of the rock. It was nice to see Dennis Kuhr covering on the inside convergence zone. "Only a few boaters behind us" we yelled, but at least we were not last. "Still time to move up in the ranks if someone else flounders," I said to Rebekah. This "hope" for us was soon to be realized. As we approached Ross’s cove we noticed Eric and Gordon cut in to the closest beach and start bailing water out of their boat. Yesss, our chance to get ahead. We went on to a "soft spot" for our landing at the deepest part of the cove. Our safe bet proved to be a good one even if a little farther. After the cove, there was only one last major decision. Do we thread the needle between the rocks or go back around Maverick’s? "Better play it safe" we agreed (i.e. no friggin’ way).
Again the water at Maverick’s groaned like a hungry dragon, but lay silent for our passing. Feeling confident now, we headed for the "round rock" at Microwave. This familiar surf spot would be the last surf zone until the landing at the end. Right at the usual take off spot for surfing the Microwave a set caught us from behind (imagine that) and after a short ride, we were broached and flipped. "Damn it, Jim" how could you be so naïve? I thought to myself. I also know that there is a shark that patrols this zone and "no matter what" we both were thinking, "I ain’t coming out of this boat until it stops moving." We quickly and efficiently jumped back in then continued. Next, we noticed that Marci Wise and Rachel Smith were assisting a rescue in the cove. We came close enough to see that they had everything under control and then quickly, gleefully, pursued our chance to get ahead. Our plan of "wait for someone else to blow it" worked and we gained a few notches on the pack. Now we just had to crank it on to the finish.
We were tired and wanting for some reserved energy. We got it when we saw the black X-2 gaining from behind. Eric and Gordon had taken the slot and made up some lost time, even though they crashed twice. We were now in a two-way challenge to beat them. The weather had really set in and I could not see the landmarks of Miramar to guide us. This was seat of the pants navigation. "You’re drifting too far to the left," Rebekah kept repeating. I finally realized she was correct when I saw the headlights of the cars that Bill Collins and Mitch Powers had turned on to guide us to the landing. My correction came to late as Eric had taken the more direct line and was now in a position to pass us, which they did shortly before the landing. Well now, only one thing left and that is not to blow it at the landing in front of everybody. Timing is everything. We backed off at the right moment but stalled in the wash; we were now in the "crunch" zone. "Paddle!" I yelled, and we started up again but to late, the next wave broached and flipped us, so it was to be a fish finish.
Our time was one hour fifty-nine minutes and fifty-six seconds. We were only 40 minutes behind race winner Mitch Powers who zoomed through the course in 1:20:05, and John Dixon, who came in a minute behind Mitch, and Kenny Howell and John Dye, who landed a couple of minutes behind Dixon.
I didn’t even think much about the rain until I noticed that all the spectators had raincoats on or were wet. On the water, the weather is secondary to the ocean. We actually liked the coolness; it kept us from overheating. As we stood on the bank, drums, bells, chanting and warm greetings embraced us as we applauded the last few boats to arrive. Mingled in with the cheers and drumming was a gift from the sea, a pod of dolphins circled and jumped as the sea gypsies danced and the last kayak came in safely.
Text copyright © 2000 by Jim Kakuk
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