Find a gratuitously comfy chair, because this is an obscenely lengthy story, broken into two parts for your reading convenience.
PART 1: THE CATALINA CROSSING RACE
The finale to the
Ka Nai’a outrigger canoe racing season could not have been more unexpected or adventurous. I was already in love with my teammates, who are some of the most diverse, laid back, caring, tough, generous, and fun people I have had the pleasure of knowing. We have been looking forward to and preparing for the National Championship
Catalina Crossing for a long time; a race which begins in
Newport Harbor and ends in Avalon, Catalina. It’s a 27 mile race across the open ocean with a team of 9; 6 in the canoe at a time with 3 paddlers in a support boat that
change places during the race.
Saturday morning the women and co-ed crews paddled out to Catalina, and then Sunday morning the men’s crews paddled back. We are a small club, and happily able to tweak our logistics out so that we could have 2 co-ed crews paddle out, leaving the team free to relax and celebrate as a group Saturday night.
The race itself was delightful, and in many ways everything we had all been hoping for. In the prior two change races, we had gone gender since the numbers worked best that way. Our co-ed line-up, however, was very strong. We jokingly referred to one match-up as “the beast boat” which felt like we had grease lightening beneath the canoe. I was deeply honored to be a part of that starting line-up, and our expectations were high that morning.
"Ka Nai'a, Ka Nai'a, Ka Nai'a, do it, do it, do it!" We roared from our boats.
The women’s boats left 20 minutes before co-ed, leaving us time to chomp our bits and paw the ground at the starting line in eager anticipation. It was incredibly difficult to keep my excitement in check; I dare say sitting in the canoe stretching my neck and feeling bolts of energy run through my skin was a special kind of torture. We were like a pack of chained wolfhounds catching the scent of live game, nearly twitching to dive into the task at hand, for this was it: the race we had all been training for. Not only was I feeling confident that morning in my own ability and conditioning, I was even more confident in the abilities of my team.
The start played out like a dream.
Not the kind of dream where you’re quaffing a stack of buttery pancakes, but rather the daylight variety that dance through your mind the week prior over and over again and make you sigh thinking, “Now wouldn’t that be nice?” When the flag waved, we shot out instantly to lead the pack off the line snarling and grinning, reaching out into the vast blue wasteland before us with unforgettable spirit. It was a long road ahead, but the conditions were ideal. We were caught by another team who is well known for their excellence, and paced them for the first couple of hours. Feeling energized and invigorated, tongues lolling with the thrill of the chase. The wind was actually whistling in my ears as we charged across the water, a sensation I won't soon forget.
As fatigue began to set in over the third hour, we lost some ground and began fighting with two other canoes who were steadily gaining. It was a hard battle, and I can’t express how proud I was of our men who were left in the canoe for more than their fair share of time. When at last we could make out the form of Catalina Island in the distant fog, the bulk of the pack was miles behind us, but we began to wane and slid into 4th as we caught and passed the majority of the women’s boats who had left before us.
In the end, we placed
4th overall in the co-ed open division, an accomplishment of which we are all incredibly proud; not to mention the fact that this qualified us for a pretty take-home trophy!
(Though awesome, I must note that nothing will ever compare to The Rig Run, which I think is etched forever in history as my favorite race. 4/6 of that novice crew was a part of the top Catalina crew.) The other co-ed boat also did very well, and once everyone found land we hoisted our gear to a rented house where we would be staying for the evening.
I had not been to Catalina since I was very young, and I dare say the place is nothing like I remember. Shops left and right, food everywhere, implanted sandy beaches and an eclectic pile of tourists were suddenly overwhelmed by an onslaught of outrigger teams high on post-race euphoria. Outside nearly every café were rows of wooden paddles, swimming gear, and the atmosphere was buzzing with energy.
We proudly accepted our medals at the award ceremony, and quickly our thoughts had turned to more important things: FOOD. The team gathered at a small pizzeria restaurant and crowded together merrily to celebrate the conclusion of the season. We raised our glasses and toasted everything from coach’s dog to the large stuffed buffalo head on the wall and delightfully recounted stories of races past and histories of the club.
That night we danced, we ate, we laughed, we shared, we slept and we were very merry.
We had no clue what was coming.
PART 2: “THE LONGEST DAY”
I will not go into a play by play of each blow we suffered throughout the course of the next day, for in truth it would be tedious to recall and likely depressing to read, but I’ll try to keep the juicy stuff.
When my alarm chirped happily at 6 AM Sunday morning, no one could have known what kind of special hell was in store for us. Since the men’s race was leaving at 10, there was a sizable amount of work to be accomplished early in preparation. Many team members decided to beat the breakfast rush by rising with the sunlight so we could praise the incoming waffle calories with relaxed grins and cheers, laughing over events from the prior evening’s excursions and relishing the fact that we didn’t have to paddle back to the mainland.
Oh, how stupid and naive those hours had been.
As part of a deal to curry favor with the racing association, our team volunteered to assist the Sunday racers with loading their boats onto the water. Though we were happy to help, none of us had expected quite the challenge we ended up facing. Literally carrying canoe after canoe on our shoulders, fighting with wheels and straining our sore, stiff muscles, it wasn’t long before we were all thoroughly hot, sweaty, and tired. The other teams were grateful for our assistance, but by 9 AM it felt like our breakfast had already worn off.
No one could have known our next meal would be long after sunset.
The original plan heading home had been to tow the two canoes we had used in our race with us back to Newport. This number had increased to four by Saturday, which was doable. However, by the time we were done loading boats, we reluctantly agreed to take an additional two unclaimed canoes. That’s right, we were originally prepared to tow 2 canoes with our two support boats, and in reality we had 6 canoes under our care for the ride home. (3 canoes trailing each support boat.)
We had hoped to watch the start of the men’s race, but that did not happen. It took over an hour of discombobulation to rig up 3 canoes to each support boat, mostly due to the fact that only one guy, Eddie, knew how to do it all correctly. He was the super hero of the day, donning his swimming fins and giving orders to the lot of us who didn’t know the first thing about boats. He managed to exhaust himself early, but was optimistic about the set-up and remained cautiously optimistic.
The problems began early.
We were hardly a mile away from Catalina when one of the canoes lines came undone. Soon after that was fixed, another canoe flipped over and was swamped with water. Each time something went wrong, paddlers in the support boats had to jump into the ocean to see what they could do. We had packed each support boat haphazardly, which made the challenges especially tricky, since a person’s luggage wasn’t necessarily packed on their boat.
I, for example, didn’t have my duffle bag and was not wearing my swimsuit. However, when half the team was fighting sea sickness and the other half was huddled under sopping wet towels to stave off the chill from the rising winds, I was frankly happy to jump into the sea with my street clothes in order to help. This, however, posed a tricky issue for when I returned to the boat with little to nothing dry to change into.
Later in the day, a line broke completely. At one point we had to get out of the way of an enormous cargo frigate en route to Long Beach. We didn’t have much food on either boat, save a few power bars that had been gobbled up many hours before and a jar of peanut butter that had been squirreled away here and there which we ended up dipping into with our fingers.
To complicate matters further, each time we stopped it took nearly an hour before we were making forward progress again. With each bump and jolt of the sea, more and more of us became ill or queasy, and before we knew it we were losing daylight.
There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates.
-James Russell Lowell
Despite what you may think about folks who are into outrigger canoeing, a surprising majority of them become easily sea sick. If I were to guess of the top of my head, I would say at least a quarter of our team “fed the turtles” at one point or another, some many times over, while another half certainly acquired sea related headaches. The few of us who were left standing did what we could on empty stomachs and limited water as we made excruciatingly slow progress across the channel.
If you noticed the race results I linked above, you may have seen that our lead canoe raced across the channel in roughly 4 hours and 30 minutes.
Our return journey took 10 hours.
It must be remembered that the sea is a great breeder of friendship. Two men who have known each other for twenty years find that twenty days at sea bring them nearer than ever they were before, or else estrange them.
-Gilbert Parker
There is, I think, nothing that compares to bonding in the face of great adversity. As cheesy at it feels to say, I can’t overstate the heart, the courage, the tenacity, and the spirit of every individual on those two boats during that long sojourn home. To the souls who were fighting a war of wills with their stomachs, I salute you. I have never had motion sickness and can’t imagine what it must be to deal with, but each and every one of them were troopers. To the boys, who I think at one point or another all had to jump into the ocean for one task or another, many of them multiple times, your sacrifice did not go unnoticed. To Eddie, who at times was too tired to even fully express his frustration, summoned up an endless pit of patience and generosity, diving again and again into the frigid waters to tie knots, bark orders and yet managed to keep the safety and well being of his passengers a priority.
One of the canoes swamped again while we were still roughly 18 miles off the coast of Newport when the sun began to set in full. Bobbing up and down in the water with the fading yellow glow of the day on our faces, feeling like drowned rats and most of our teeth chattering, I wanted to hug everyone. Not once did I hear anyone lash out cruelly against another, not once did an act of kindness go without a returned gesture of gratitude. Not once did anyone start blaming someone else or fall into the pit of self pity, and not one resource went unshared. Despite feeling half starved, sun burned, and dehydrated, the company was excellent at all times.
As darkness crept over the waters, we were at long last aided by one of the race support boats who removed our sunken vessel from our tail, and left us free to make haste to the port. Pummeling over large swells, the lot of us were jostled, tossed, flounced, and beaten against the boat and against each other. We all had the look of terrified gnomes beneath our hoods and soaked sweatshirts, but that wasn’t what mattered. Everyone was safe, everyone was accounted for, and we were all going to make it home.
When we finally made it into the blessed harbor, it was fully dark. The water was black and glassy as we slowed our speed, and the tranquility that settled upon us was surreal. The lights of the city docks were dazzling, especially since the moon was a mere sliver among the stars. Passing large cruise boats filled with folks in tuxedos and fancy dresses, we began scoffing them to one another wondering what they had done that day that could possibly compare to our adventures.
We were welcomed on shore by a pair of immensely grateful race officials, who began promising us our own fiefdoms for all our hard work. Their grandiose gestures of wealth and riches were met with a simple chorus of “Please just feed us!”
In my soaking wet khaki shorts and cotton tank top, all I could think about was finding my duffle bag and putting on dry clothes. I was not alone in my sentiment, as another teammate sighed with relief as he donned his first piece of dry clothing in several hours. Others could feel still their legs and heads rocking as they took to the shore, while some seemed to struggle with simply opening their eyes. It’s amazing how the simplest things that make a world of difference.
Since it was nearly 9:30 PM by the time I made it to the car, our next challenge was indeed finding a restaurant that was still open. Good old Denny’s didn’t let us down. There were five of us at the table, but we placed an order that would have serviced an army. Pancakes, skillets, burgers, onion rings, chicken strips, hot chocolate – the scene played out like something from Hook. I could actually feel my body reacting with animated appreciation from within, and the influx of sustenance was followed by a very strong urge to sleep. The Denny's manager nearly bowed to kiss our feet as we left; not a scrap of leftovers to clean from our plates.
Satisfied and happy, the day wasn’t over, for we still had over two hours of driving to do. Though sleep took one of our passengers, I couldn’t abandon my driver and managed to keep us both entertained for the final leg back to Santa Barbara. (Kawika, you’re a rare gem indeed!)
When I at last said my goodbyes and dropped my duffle bag like a zombie in the hallway of my home, it was 1 AM. The pillowy goodness of my own bed never felt so soft, so dry, so deeply wanted. I only had five hours to sleep before rising again for work, but it was one of the deepest five hours of rest I’ve had in a long time.
The next day an email went out from the race officials to the rest of the teams singing our praises, and Ka Nai'a was awarded the "Catalina Crossing Most Inspirational Crew Award."
Damn straight.
It may not have been a "high note" on which to end the season, but it was certainly not an experience any of us will ever forget, and I personally will cherish.
Did it, did it, did it!
