A couple of days ago, I dropped out of the kayak race that I was planning for months because I was afraid I’d get my ass kicked.
Weirdly, I don’t regret signing up for the race, nor do I regret the obsessive cycles of planning going into the race or the extra gear that I bought so that I could survive. There was also the mental energy that went into worrying about the weather and how it might turn on me.
The Race to Alaska starts in Port Townsend, Washington and goes to Ketchikan, Alaska. It is a race for sails, oars, paddles and even pedals — any kind of non-motorized boat. I was competing in a 40 mile “proving ground” section that goes from Port Townsend to Victoria, British Columbia, a large open water crossing via the eastern Strait of Juan de Fuca. This happens to be the largest open-water crossing on the way to Alaska on a route that mostly stays to lee of various islands that create the Inside Passage.
Team Tom’s On The Move dropped out .29 percent of the way to Alaska.
There was a big weather system moving in, and I was thinking I could beat it. But if I didn’t beat the weather, I could be in for some rough stuff, rough as in 30 knot winds and seas breaking across my boat while I was 10 miles offshore. A lot of kayakers and stand up paddlers were planning to camp somewhere along the way to avoid the coming conflagration. It was a luxury I didn’t have because I planned to be at work the next day and didn’t want to flake out.
I drove into Port Townsend with my friend Vanessa, a friend from the ski hill where I worked this winter. She was going to drive my car back to Port Angeles the next day so that it would be waiting for me when I took the ferry back from Victoria.
I had to get my boat and gear safety inspected before my race entry could be official. For an idea of all the stuff that I brought along, you should check out the end of this post.*
The skippers meeting included a Coast Guard speaker who let us know about the dangers of crossing shipping lanes. The enormous container ships going to and from Seattle and Tacoma wouldn’t stop for us, he said. In fact, some of the captains would close their eyes when they saw small boats going across their paths.
I met up with several paddlers and got to learn their strategies.
Some planned to go out fast with the ebbing tidal current so that they were just north of Victoria and then catch the flood tide the rest of the way into the harbor. Others were going to go straight for Victoria and beat the winds that were supposed to pick up slightly after noon. There was going to be a tailwind behind us as well as tidal current.
We were going to fly over the water. But the clock would be ticking. It was not a comfortable thought.
Some had planned to wait overnight in Port Townsend and take advantage of the clear weather for a crossing to Victoria. My personal plan was to try for the eastern tip of Vancouver Island so that I would gain shelter from the wind and catch back-currents once the tide switched around against me. The plan could have worked, but if I didn’t paddle fast enough, the wind would likely send me west toward the San Juan Islands or the current would take me into the Haro Strait.
I thought about all these possible outcomes as I made last minute changes to my boat, and when my kayak buddy Jarrett showed up at the campsite in town to help me make last minute preparations. Juggling all the gear was stressing me out as was the juggling of all the permutations and possible outcome of future events. All of these possibilities were stretching at the inside of my skull. I may have even seemed a little irritable to those around me.
It was almost midnight when I went to sleep. It was some of the weirdest sleep of my life. I was totally strung out and woke up several times, thinking that I’d been asleep for hours, and found that only minutes had gone by. My bowels felt as tumultuous as the tumbling seas.
When I woke up, there was a light rain falling. I went to look at the sea, which was mild, then turned into the camp bathroom to get the day moving.
I made a couple last minute changes to my boat by headlamp. Then I heard Jarrett call out from inside the tent.
“It’s not looking good, Man.”
He was puling up a report from his phone, which indicated that there would be a westerly going against me to start with. My plan for flying across the strait on the wind was toasted.
Decision time.
I decided that it would at least be instructional to participate in the start. We drove through the dark streets to the Maritime Center where the boats were going to hit the water. There were about 60 teams out there, floating on the dawn-lit waters, swirling around on the tidal flow between the mainland and Whidbey Island. I turned the marine radio onto Channel 68 where there was a flow of chatter between the race organizers and different watercraft. I waited for a gap and pushed the talk button: “This is Team Tom’s On The Move signing in.
It is hard to describe the energy, I felt with all those vessels wheeling around in the currents and eddys with a full moon tide ready to launch us out into the open water. The excitement of all the voices on the radio made me feel part of something big and awesome.
It was only two more miles to the beach at Fort Worden where I planned to drop out.
The race started with a horn blast. As soon as my paddle hit the water, I was ripping down the current. I would have been hard-pressed to keep up with myself at a full run. Fort Worden hit soon — too soon. And then I was watching the other boats go to duke it out with the elements as I turned onto the beach.
I spent a half an hour at the campsite agonizing with the thought of going for a bivuac and calling into work to say I needed another day off, but I was also through with the hell of anxious waiting. Being in limbo was no fun.
The boats retreated into the foggy unknown. That wasn’t fun either. I called in on the radio to let them know I was dropping off. Then it was time for an exciting journey into the land of self-doubt and recrimination.
I watched the weather from Port Angeles throughout the day. The light marine fog made it hard to see what was going on the sea. But the report in the Peninsula Daily News showed it didn’t get bad until the afternoon. At that point, I was able to look out over the Strait and see big white rollers stampeding out of the west. Much of the race field pulled into Victoria ahead of time. I’d like to think I could have made it in under the wire, but hey, dropouts can’t judge. When the weather did hit, many of the racers ended up bivouacking on outlying islands, or on the Dungeness Spit halfway between Port Angeles and Port Townsend. One boat flipped and had to be rescued and another needed a rescue tow.
The article noted that one team, Tom’s On The Move, decided to drop out early.
Both Jarrett and Vanessa told me they respected the decision. I got some reassuring phone calls and messages from family and friends that I’d done the right thing.
My kayaking friend John had been looking at the weather before the race. “I’m really glad to hear you’re not out there,” he told me. “It shows your skills as a guide that you knew to back out.”
“Too often we lionize fearless competitors who press on regardless of conditions/health issues/etc.,” wrote my Dad. “And just as often, it seems, we mourn those who tried to beat the odds and lost disastrously.”
I suppose there is no way to really know whether it would have worked for me or not. I am not entirely at peace with my decision, yet going back to the last couple of days will bring me no peace. As that chapter closes, it is time to find meaning in new ones.
The gear is already loaded in the boat and the weekend’s coming…
*OK, it’s the end of the post and therefore time to write about all the gear I brought.
I’m not really writing this down for your entertainment. I’m proving the point that I had a lot of stuff to juggle and worry about. Also also, I’m creating a reference point that I can look to for future expeditions. This is for me.
You can stop reading now. I have to do this.
Tom’s Hardcore Kayak Gear:
Kayak: I am the new, proud owner of a 16-foot fiberglass Mariner Express, that I bought used for a great price. There is no skeg or rudder, but there is a very nifty sliding seat that allows me to shift my weight around according to what conditions demand.
Drysuit I finally bought a new drysuit. The first one was leaking too much despite my efforts to repair it. My conclusion is that the material is simply too worn down after its almost 20 years of existence.
Kokatat has a Hydrus line, which is not made from Gore-Tex but their in-house material. The new one came at a discount from the kayak guiding business were I work part time. I was excited that it came with dry socks, which meant that I could keep my feet dry after going in the water. I’m glad that it is bright orange because it is important for people to see you. It also has a special waist-belt to help seal up the waist of my spray skirt.
Sprayskirt: I’ve still got my neoprene skirt that I bought while living in Minnesota. It has some Aquaseal repairs at the front, but otherwise continues to hold well.
Paddle: Don’t go paddling without one! I have a whitewater paddle, that is a little heavy and a little short for sea kayaking, but I appreciate its sturdiness. I improved upon my paddle by spray painting one blade green and the other red to indicate my port and starboard sides to other ships. I also added some reflective duct tape on the shaft to improve visibility. This could also make for a quick source of duct tape in an emergency.
Extra Paddle: If a paddle got lost to the waves, or broke out there (I have had this happen before) it would certainly be nice to have an extra paddle! I have a cheap break-apart paddle that I stashed under the deck lines of my kayak.
Life Vest: It’s not just a life vest, it’s a rescue vest, with a ring on the back that can be attached to rope. I got this as a gift from the kayak business where I work and am still grateful for its utility and for the paddler cred that it imbues me with.
There was a lot of stuff attached to my life vest so that I can access it quickly in the event of an emergency. One hazard of kayaking in large, open water conditions is that boat and paddler could become separated, leaving the paddler thrashing alone in the waves, nowhere near any of the vital first aid and communication stuff that could save their life. Putting a bunch of stuff on the life vest mitigates this risk, but it also weighs the jacket down (It’s supposed to float, remember?) and also limits mobility for paddling or kayak rolling. Attached to my life vest I had one massive bag containing:
Cellphone: On, available to receive communications from the race organizers.
Radio: Also on, tuned to Channel 68 to listen for updates from the race, including weird weather conditions and news about any large container ship coming around the corner to cream me. The distress frequency, and the frequency used for hailing boats is Channel 16.
Signal Flares and gun. This is only supposed to be used after rescuers start looking for me, and I can see the aircraft/rescue boat.
First Aid Kit: (the usual suspects: bandaids, gauze, gloves, antibiotic ointment etc.)
Passport and Wallet: Help getting into Canada and paying for Canada.
Whew! All that stuff made for a heavy little dry bag.
Also on my life vest:
Homemade throw-bag with 15 feet of floating rope: More useful if I ever needed to tow somebody else’s ass, but if my rescuers needed to rescue me. The rope has two release clips at either end so that I can break the tow easily.
SPOT Tracker: This little device lived inside of a small dry bag clipped onto my live-vest. It used my G.P.S. coordinates to tell the race directors where my craft was at all times. It was on loan from the race.
A knife: If, for some reason I got tangled up in said rope, I could cut myself free with the slick new Spyderco knife that the race provided entrants. The knife clips nicely into the little holster on my life vest. I’ll confess that it’s kind of cool to have an excuse to carry a dangerous weapon around, looking like a crusty sea dude.
Small waterproof light: Good for visibility if I got stuck out at sea.
Backup Compass: This is useful for calculating my heading while looking at nautical charts.
Whistle: It can be tough to muster the energy to shout for help after an extended float in freezing water. A whistle can help with making noise necessary to signal rescue.
Magical hood The slick new drysuit that I bought does not come with a hood (few drysuits do.) Fortunately, I recently had the presence of mind to decapitate one of my old windbreakers. Now I have an extra hood to put on if I need to. It goes well with a ball cap.
Other Signaling Stuff
Radar reflecting helmet. This was my recent project that involved a ski helmet, reflective and Day-Glo duct tape and wire. I created a small flag on top of the helmet so that I would be more visible to the naked eye, as well as radar. This had a far smaller profile than the radar reflector I had built for my rear deck for my earlier Strait of Juan de Fuca crossing. The earlier iteration was more visible, but it turns out that there was too much leverage on the deck for me to execute a kayak roll, so I went with something smaller that would be less of a threat to this. My ball cap goes under it.
On Deck
Nautical Chart
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (weather service) now distributes PDF’s of all its nautical charts online. It took me some hunting and patience to find printable versions. When I did, I printed out copies at a local library, but still wasn’t satisfied, and had a large deck-cart printed out by a business in Port Angeles. How easy do you think it would be to hold a flimsy map up to the wind while sitting in a tippy boat and calculating heading according to the local magnetic declination? Exactly.
The best (and still imperfect) solution I came up with was to jam the map underneath my deck lines where it sat half-obscured by other gear.
It would tell me where to expect shipping lane crossings and where shallow banks would create rough water.
I had already written headings in permanent marker: 275 degrees to Dungeness Spit, 289 degrees to Discovery Island, 280 degrees to Victoria, straight through the Strait. That way, I can just look at the numbers, and make sure my Deck compass is lined up to them. I also marked up the map with lines indicating magnetic north (I got the idea from an instructional video put out by pro paddler Paul Caffyn), so I could have that as quick reference on the water.
Compass: The deck compass I recently purchased is a far superior for kayak navigation than my handheld one. One issue is that the fluid started leaking out of it (it took a hard knock shortly after I bought it.) Now it is leaking a smelly oil. Also, I recently learned that keeping deck compasses in the full sun exacerbates fluid loss. That’ll be good to know for next time.
Deck Lights: The LUNA solar lamps my mom has sent me are waterproof and make a great rechargeable option for this.
Bilge Pump Kayaks fill up with water sometimes.
Paddle Float: This is an important rescue tool that I can use to get back inside of a flipped kayak. It also can be used as a temporary outrigger once I am in the kayak that will stabilize the vessel while I am preoccupied with other tasks such as a leak out of the boat (the golden rainbow method) and want something to hold the boat steady.
Food Bag :One hundred percent of the food I brought went into the fanny pack that I wore around my belly above my sprayskirt. The idea was to have the food be as accessible as possible without me having to reach behind to grab it. The later clearly wasn’t going to work if there were heavy seas. I wanted to keep the deck as clear as possible so that I could use the map. Thus, putting the food over my belly seemed like the best place so I could later put it in my belly. I carried GU packs and Clif Bars as well as a couple of homemade wraps.
If the wind or tide were going to be against me, every second that I spent chewing would be a paddle stroke I’d have to make up.
I wanted food that I could wolf down as quickly as possible and then get back to the business of paddling.
Water: I put most of the water I was carrying into a small hydration bladder behind my boat. I could reach behind and get water from the tube nearby. I attached the bladder with a caribiner and kept it as accessible as possible in I also ’binered a bottle near the front deck. If some catastrophe happened to the bladder, I would still have some back up water.
Below Decks
Hypothermia dry bag: Putting new layers on while in a kayak and in a drysuit creates a unique challenge. Generally, I’ve found that I am wearing what I am wearing, so the tendency is to wear too many clothes and then splash water here and there to cool off. The system can be damn uncomfortable, but it is safe.
The hypothermia dry bag that I packed included a bunch of new layers that I could put on if I got washed up on some beach and needed to get warm. These included my puffy jacket, a windbreaker, fleece balaclava and hoody. If I capsized, and needed to get warmer, I could throw one of these over my life vest and create a soggy, semi-insulating layer. It would suck.
Bear can with civilian clothes: There was a plan to be in Victoria, British Columbia where I would drink beer, party it up and have a good time. I had a nice shirt, shorts and running flats with me in a bear canister so I could do this.
Flotation: The Mariner Express kayak that I now own is different from other sea kayaks in that it doesn’t have any bulkheads (internal walls creating chambers within the boat) One pro is that it is way easier to pack the thing than other sea kayaks. There is plenty of room for bulky stuff and there is less packing tetris. This means that there is less security in the event of a capsize. Without flotation, the whole boat could fill with water and sink. Thousands of pounds of water.
The solution is flotation bags filled with the air of my lungs. It is really important that these bags don’t leak.
The boat came with a large flotation bag to fill the front, and I repurposed two smaller float bags from my whitewater ’yak to fill out some more space. I took a bunch of empty plastic bottles from the recycling and threw them into my huge dry bag from the rafting days. More flotation.