From Tacoma to Port Townsend
A Seventy Mile Race Along a Stretch of Unrivaled Beauty
A Seventy Mile Race Along a Stretch of Unrivaled Beauty
SEVENTY48
An Experience of a Lifetime and Grand Celebration of 3,000 Miles Paddled.
It was about as perfect a race as one could hope for. Exceptional location, route, event organizers and volunteers, entrants, fans, well-wishers, and weather.
When I first heard about SEVENTY48, I was all in. Paddling 70 miles in one of the most beautiful areas and with many of the most avid and skilled paddlers in the country, count me in. The only problem is I register too late and don’t have a kayak.
An Experience of a Lifetime and Grand Celebration of 3,000 Miles Paddled.
It was about as perfect a race as one could hope for. Exceptional location, route, event organizers and volunteers, entrants, fans, well-wishers, and weather.
When I first heard about SEVENTY48, I was all in. Paddling 70 miles in one of the most beautiful areas and with many of the most avid and skilled paddlers in the country, count me in. The only problem is I register too late and don’t have a kayak.
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When I asked SEVENTY48 if they would allow a late entry, they politely tell me they can’t. But they suggest, “Go rogue. Who will ever know?
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I reach out to NCKayaks, my kayak manufacturer, to see if they can help me find a 17’2” NC Quest. The company’s owner, Travis Goldman, offers to see what he can do. He delivers!
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I fly in Thursday to take in the area the day before the race.
After getting misdirected, I end up and enjoy trendy West Seattle and take in stunning views and the sunset.
For a late dinner I drive to Tacoma to the area where tomorrow's race begins. I land at The Social Bar and Grill overlooking the Thea Foss Waterway. My server raves about their menu and I select the recommended Mahi Tacos, her favorite. The service was great, food delicious, the location amazing.
After getting misdirected, I end up and enjoy trendy West Seattle and take in stunning views and the sunset.
For a late dinner I drive to Tacoma to the area where tomorrow's race begins. I land at The Social Bar and Grill overlooking the Thea Foss Waterway. My server raves about their menu and I select the recommended Mahi Tacos, her favorite. The service was great, food delicious, the location amazing.
Seattle Skyline.
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Seattle - Bremerton Ferry.
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West Seattle Sunset.
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Tacoma's Thea Foss Waterway.
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Its Friday morning and it's race day!
I roll out of bed way too early due to someone with a chainsaw eager to get an early start on the day. As forecasted, the day is sunny and nearly cloudless, with a pleasant cooling breeze. The conditions are perfect for the start of the SEVENTY48 race.
I arrive at the organizer’s event tent around noon, seven hours before starting time. It happens to be in front of Social’s, the same restaurant where I had dinner last night. SEVENTY48 organizers are busy setting up so I go over to the merchandise tent where I purchase my event hat, T-shirt and sticker. I’m their first customer!
I roll out of bed way too early due to someone with a chainsaw eager to get an early start on the day. As forecasted, the day is sunny and nearly cloudless, with a pleasant cooling breeze. The conditions are perfect for the start of the SEVENTY48 race.
I arrive at the organizer’s event tent around noon, seven hours before starting time. It happens to be in front of Social’s, the same restaurant where I had dinner last night. SEVENTY48 organizers are busy setting up so I go over to the merchandise tent where I purchase my event hat, T-shirt and sticker. I’m their first customer!
Event racers begin to show up with their sleek, polished, and bright colored vessels of all types. Their support teams typically consist of a wife or husband, or older children. Each approaches the event organizer’s tent to officially sign in. You can’t help but notice their smiles, sense of pride and excitement to be a part of such a grand event.
Travis and his wife arrive right on time with their four showcase NCKayaks on top of their car. The bright green one is mine and it looks gorgeous.
Travis and his wife arrive right on time with their four showcase NCKayaks on top of their car. The bright green one is mine and it looks gorgeous.
Four seasons ago I decided to pick up kayaking for recreation and sport.
Kayaking is an incredible sport. It combines the best of all, including; fitness and health, outdoors and water, recreation and sport, adventure and personal challenge, serenity and my growing passion for photography. I did extensive research on open sea kayaks and came across NCKayaks, coincidentally headquartered out of Tacoma, WA. Wanting to be sure about my selection, I called the company to learn more about them and their products. Shortly afterward I placed my order for a custom made, bright red 17’2” NC Quest.
Kayaking is an incredible sport. It combines the best of all, including; fitness and health, outdoors and water, recreation and sport, adventure and personal challenge, serenity and my growing passion for photography. I did extensive research on open sea kayaks and came across NCKayaks, coincidentally headquartered out of Tacoma, WA. Wanting to be sure about my selection, I called the company to learn more about them and their products. Shortly afterward I placed my order for a custom made, bright red 17’2” NC Quest.
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Since then I have paddled many Minnesota rivers and lakes, crossed Great Lakes Michigan, Huron and Superior, the Straits of Mackinac, and now raced on Puget Sound from Tacoma to Port Townsend. The 3,022 miles paddled is equivalent to my paddling from the Twin Cities to; beyond Alaska and into Russia, well north of Greenland, nearly to the west shores of Ireland, into South America as far as the northwest border of Brazil.
NCKayaks has been with me all along the way. I can’t imagine there being another more supportive and genuinely interested in my personal pursuits. They’re prideful of their fine product and understand the value of customer service. After resetting the footpegs of my borrowed bright green kayak and delivering all four to water’s edge, Travis and I visit as if we’re old friends. He offers additional insights about the race, then wish each other the best of luck and a safe enjoyable race. |
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Racers from all across the country and Canada begin arriving at a more rapid pace.
The arena and waterway is beginning to fill up with self propelled vessels of all types and sizes; kayaks, sculls, SUPs, canoes, catamarans, tri-hulls, and custom creations of all kinds. Propulsion methods vary from oars, paddles, pedals, and even just hands. The energy is undeniably high.
As I walk around, complimenting others about their vessel and wanting to learn a little about each, no one seems annoyed by the inquisitive rogue racer. Each shares a little about themselves, where they’re from, and why they’ve come to compete. It is an amazing fraternity of passionate, skilled and genuinely supportive members.
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It is nearing 6:00PM and time to put my game face on.
I begin to take in all the information Travis and others have given me. It’s a little overwhelming and the top things I remember are:
My plan is to paddle straight through the night with a brief stop on Blake Island, about 22 miles from the start, to change into warmer gear for the rest of the night. I have packed only essentials; food, water and three changes of clothes. Two are needed, with an extra set in case of an unexpected spill or change in weather.
I begin to take in all the information Travis and others have given me. It’s a little overwhelming and the top things I remember are:
- Unpredictable weather and the chance of 5-6 foot waves crashing over your hull, so strong they can sting your chest and take your breath away.
- The captains of the many large ferries crossing Puget Sound will likely not see you and if they do will not be able to change course to avoid incidence.
- The dangers of the powerful surge waves from passing ocean freighters, tugs, ferries, and cruise ships is not to be taken lightly.
- The possibility of impassable currents at Portage Canal, the narrow channel just before Port Townsend Bay.
- The turbulent areas off the many points of which their names I have never heard of and have no idea where they are.
My plan is to paddle straight through the night with a brief stop on Blake Island, about 22 miles from the start, to change into warmer gear for the rest of the night. I have packed only essentials; food, water and three changes of clothes. Two are needed, with an extra set in case of an unexpected spill or change in weather.
Its about 6:30PM. I make my way to the river bank packed with vessels just like mine.
Like a spring hatch of sea turtles we begin to clumsily make our way to the river's edge, then jockey for the best position in the starting area. Here we anxiously wait for the starter’s signal to begin the race.
Like a spring hatch of sea turtles we begin to clumsily make our way to the river's edge, then jockey for the best position in the starting area. Here we anxiously wait for the starter’s signal to begin the race.
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I seek a spot behind the group of elite competitive racers. You can tell which ones they are by the make of their vessels, their matching team shirts and hats displaying their sponsors’ logos. They’re also much younger and leaner, with deep tans burned into their skin. I will watch them take off with no pretense of being able to keep up.
I take a mental inventory of my foodstuff and drinks. I have apples, bananas, beef jerky, granola and protein bar. All is good, I think. Then I realize my purchase of 6-20 oz. bottles of Gatorade is woefully too few. |
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If I typically consume 8 ounces per hour and it takes me 22 hours to finish, I will need 11 bottles. I know Gatorade bottles are a little larger 16 ounces, but I’m too frustrated to do the math in my head and there is no time to get more. My plan is ration my drinking to one-third of a bottle per hour and worry about the shortfall later. I’m upset with myself. But, I quickly shelf those emotions as there is no benefit on dwelling on my obvious mistake now.
It’s 6:45PM and the race will soon begin. The energy is high and everyone is in good spirit.
I look around and take in the impressive variety of self propelled vessels. To my left is the team of teachers and students from Colorado who will be racing their school project, a tri-hull carrying around 20 persons. To my right there appears to be a bicycle atop a make shift catamaran, and another who will paddle the entire way using only his hands while laying face down (no kidding).
Positioned intermittently are sleek racings vessels carrying one, two or three persons, with some facing forward and others backward.
I look around and take in the impressive variety of self propelled vessels. To my left is the team of teachers and students from Colorado who will be racing their school project, a tri-hull carrying around 20 persons. To my right there appears to be a bicycle atop a make shift catamaran, and another who will paddle the entire way using only his hands while laying face down (no kidding).
Positioned intermittently are sleek racings vessels carrying one, two or three persons, with some facing forward and others backward.
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It is 7:00PM. With the drop of the flag racing fans and supporters cheer and shout out their support.
The boats in their slips honk their horns. The drone above catches the racers as they jockey for position as they make their way out of Thea Foss Waterway. Those in front leave the rest of us in their wake. As I cross the starting line, surrounded by other paddlers whose pace I hope to match, I think about how lucky I am to have good health, the opportunity, and great support.
A short distance later in the open waters of Commencement Bay I am greeted by a Pacific Harbor Seal! Excited about my sighting I am about to shout out to tell all the others of my discovery. Just before I embarrass myself, I realize the sight of these beautiful mammals is commonplace around here.
The pack begins to thin out due to varying speeds and choice of route. Most racers choose to paddle near shore while a few like me gravitate toward the center. There is only one other paddler further to my right. I wonder what all the others know that we don’t. I don’t know, but I prefer the serenity of the open water rather than being crowded near shore.
I am often asked how I feel when I paddle in the middle, or across large bodies of water like our Great Lakes. My rationalization is, if it’s deeper than 8 feet it doesn’t matter if it is 80 or 800 feet deep, because I can’t touch bottom anyway. So the natural fear of the much deeper water is mitigated. Well, it works for me.
The boats in their slips honk their horns. The drone above catches the racers as they jockey for position as they make their way out of Thea Foss Waterway. Those in front leave the rest of us in their wake. As I cross the starting line, surrounded by other paddlers whose pace I hope to match, I think about how lucky I am to have good health, the opportunity, and great support.
A short distance later in the open waters of Commencement Bay I am greeted by a Pacific Harbor Seal! Excited about my sighting I am about to shout out to tell all the others of my discovery. Just before I embarrass myself, I realize the sight of these beautiful mammals is commonplace around here.
The pack begins to thin out due to varying speeds and choice of route. Most racers choose to paddle near shore while a few like me gravitate toward the center. There is only one other paddler further to my right. I wonder what all the others know that we don’t. I don’t know, but I prefer the serenity of the open water rather than being crowded near shore.
I am often asked how I feel when I paddle in the middle, or across large bodies of water like our Great Lakes. My rationalization is, if it’s deeper than 8 feet it doesn’t matter if it is 80 or 800 feet deep, because I can’t touch bottom anyway. So the natural fear of the much deeper water is mitigated. Well, it works for me.
About 6-miles out we approach Point Defiance where the first of two mandatory check points are.
An event boat tries to corral me in, commanding me to head toward shore for the mandatory check-in. Their pleas become stronger as they know if I don’t check in I will be disqualified.
As I shout out louder they hear my sheepish explanation, “I’m not an official entrant, I’m a rogue racer.”
They respond, “Then continue on!”
It’s nighttime and my points of reference are the racers in front and the land to my left which I am to always keep in view. The paddlers are pushing hard and my lack of quality training this season is beginning to heavily wear on my arms.
When I paddle, it is my practice to frequently pause to take pictures, send texts, make calls, and even stop to visit a riverside town to drink and eat. This is my first race and I will be pushing all the way through. There will be no stops for taking pictures and any pause for drinking or eating will be brief.
To distract myself from the growing discomfort in my arms and my sweat soaked shirt under my .5 ml neoprene top, I shift my concentration on the lights of the homes on either side and wonder what my competitors may be thinking and how they’re feeling.
An event boat tries to corral me in, commanding me to head toward shore for the mandatory check-in. Their pleas become stronger as they know if I don’t check in I will be disqualified.
As I shout out louder they hear my sheepish explanation, “I’m not an official entrant, I’m a rogue racer.”
They respond, “Then continue on!”
It’s nighttime and my points of reference are the racers in front and the land to my left which I am to always keep in view. The paddlers are pushing hard and my lack of quality training this season is beginning to heavily wear on my arms.
When I paddle, it is my practice to frequently pause to take pictures, send texts, make calls, and even stop to visit a riverside town to drink and eat. This is my first race and I will be pushing all the way through. There will be no stops for taking pictures and any pause for drinking or eating will be brief.
To distract myself from the growing discomfort in my arms and my sweat soaked shirt under my .5 ml neoprene top, I shift my concentration on the lights of the homes on either side and wonder what my competitors may be thinking and how they’re feeling.
A group of paddlers make their way to shore.
The grouping of bright small white lights on shore indicate a number of racers are already there. I can’t believe it. I have arrived at Blake Island just after midnight. I am ahead of schedule by 1 hour and 45 minutes!
Blake Island is a popular place for racers to stop. Many stop to recharge and others will camp overnight. It is my plan to stop briefly to rest, experience the camaraderie of this great race before continuing on.
My bright headlamp lights up the rocky shore in front of me. To avoid scratching the front of my borrowed kayak I approach cautiously and land with with my bow not too high on shore. If it were my own, I would have approached with much more speed and landed with the bow of my kayak well secured on shore before making my exit.
With the small group of racers gathered in front of me, I exit my kayak at a pace more rapidly than I normally would. I can feel the unsteadiness of the back of my kayak as no more than 10% is secured on land. After I release my spray skirt and remove my dry bag full of food, drink and extra gloves, placed between my legs, I lean back to remove my right leg from my cockpit to prepare for exit. I feel my kayak leaning hard to my right and I know there is no stopping this momentum.
Just before my head-first spill, my headlamp lights up the bottom of Puget Bay about one foot below the surface.
The grouping of bright small white lights on shore indicate a number of racers are already there. I can’t believe it. I have arrived at Blake Island just after midnight. I am ahead of schedule by 1 hour and 45 minutes!
Blake Island is a popular place for racers to stop. Many stop to recharge and others will camp overnight. It is my plan to stop briefly to rest, experience the camaraderie of this great race before continuing on.
My bright headlamp lights up the rocky shore in front of me. To avoid scratching the front of my borrowed kayak I approach cautiously and land with with my bow not too high on shore. If it were my own, I would have approached with much more speed and landed with the bow of my kayak well secured on shore before making my exit.
With the small group of racers gathered in front of me, I exit my kayak at a pace more rapidly than I normally would. I can feel the unsteadiness of the back of my kayak as no more than 10% is secured on land. After I release my spray skirt and remove my dry bag full of food, drink and extra gloves, placed between my legs, I lean back to remove my right leg from my cockpit to prepare for exit. I feel my kayak leaning hard to my right and I know there is no stopping this momentum.
Just before my head-first spill, my headlamp lights up the bottom of Puget Bay about one foot below the surface.
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As I spill out of my water filled kayak and gather my balance and thoughts, I look at the group of elite paddlers on shore watching my pathetic performance. All I can say is, “Now that was a gracious exit.” Everyone laughs and one says, “That only happens when there is a large group of people around.”
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With the help of others we pull my kayak up on shore. I open both hatches and begin searching through my dry bags for warm weather clothes to change in. My layers of shirts are soaked from my first five and half hours of paddling.
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At about the same time I hear behind me the team of rowers making their way in. I think it is a crew of three women, maybe more. They’re in good spirit and making light jokes about each other and themselves. They approach the island with their scull sideways along shore. I wish I had approached that way.
A moment later there is the loud shriek and shout for help.
A rogue wave comes crashing in, lifting their scull to their hips and knocking down those pinned between their boat and shore. The next wave comes in stronger and even higher, lifting their lightweight scull with ease above their waist, possibly higher. The women are knocked down again and try to brace themselves against the next set of crashing waves, while at the same time trying to make sense of what’s happening around them.
A moment later there is the loud shriek and shout for help.
A rogue wave comes crashing in, lifting their scull to their hips and knocking down those pinned between their boat and shore. The next wave comes in stronger and even higher, lifting their lightweight scull with ease above their waist, possibly higher. The women are knocked down again and try to brace themselves against the next set of crashing waves, while at the same time trying to make sense of what’s happening around them.
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Everyone near shore is hurrying to secure their kayaks, gear, and footing. Those that can, rush to give aid to the women. As quickly as the waves came in, they’re gone.
I later learn that the source of the rogue waves was from a passing freighter, out in the distant shipping lanes. Vertical Divider
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The women take inventory of their health, belongings and condition of their scull. It’s not good. One of the women reports there is a crack in the rowing shell and their race is over. Another tells of their personal belongings thought to be missing in Puget Sound.
I’m surprised and thankful no one got seriously injured. |
As things calm down, I am told by one of the racers that there is a restroom down the path a little ways on the right. Here I will change into dry clothes and dry my hands under the hot air blower.
Soaked from sweat during the first five hours of paddling and my accidental spill into the bay, I am looking forward to getting into dry clothes. The restroom is clean, spacious and I notice the two hand blowers to the left of the sinks. The hot air feels good on my cold, wet and tired hands. It feels real good.
Hmmm. I wonder. Sure enough, the blower nozzles are adjustable. I turn both toward the middle and stand in between to dry myself from my waist to chest. This feels even better. I could stay here all night. But, it’s time to continue on as I have another 50 miles to go.
Soaked from sweat during the first five hours of paddling and my accidental spill into the bay, I am looking forward to getting into dry clothes. The restroom is clean, spacious and I notice the two hand blowers to the left of the sinks. The hot air feels good on my cold, wet and tired hands. It feels real good.
Hmmm. I wonder. Sure enough, the blower nozzles are adjustable. I turn both toward the middle and stand in between to dry myself from my waist to chest. This feels even better. I could stay here all night. But, it’s time to continue on as I have another 50 miles to go.
As I paddle past the Seattle-Bremerton Ferry route, on my right the Seattle skyline lights up.
It’s a beautiful sight and wish I could stop to take pictures. But, I know the distance is too far for a quality shot from my smartphone. Plus, I can’t afford the lost time it takes to deal with my thick neoprene gloves.
It must be past 3AM now. I am exhausted and my senses are dulled. This is the time when accidents are most likely to occur.
It’s a beautiful sight and wish I could stop to take pictures. But, I know the distance is too far for a quality shot from my smartphone. Plus, I can’t afford the lost time it takes to deal with my thick neoprene gloves.
It must be past 3AM now. I am exhausted and my senses are dulled. This is the time when accidents are most likely to occur.
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I continue to study my map with land always in sight on my left, and compass in front positioned between two bottles of Gatorade. It’s just not making sense. My compass is giving me a N-NW reading, and the land is on my left which I am sure is East.
I am reminded of the advice of others, never doubt your compass. But, something is wrong and I am just too tired to make sense of it. I’ll just continue on keeping the land on my left in sight. Vertical Divider
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I look around to take everything in.
It is an incredible race and journey. The occasional sighting of a Pacific Harbor Seal and passing pod of porpoises, the sound of Puget Sound lapping against the bow of my kayak, smell of the fresh ocean air, crossing paths of the many brightly lit ferries, the camaraderie among the racers, the serenity, all mixed with the excitement of something new. |
I look up to the sky and notice the starlit night. Among the mass of stars the only constellation I notice is Cassiopeia, my favorite. It reminds my of my first solo crossing of a Great Lake, when in the middle of Lake Michigan and when doubt began to set in, I looked up in a clear night and the ‘only’ stars visible was Cassiopeia. Now, as it did then, a sense of calm comes over me and I am assured everything is going to be alright.
I look above, say a few quick prayers, then push on.
I look above, say a few quick prayers, then push on.
The sky is becoming brighter with the early signs of a new day.
I wonder what time it is and how far I have paddled. I don’t look at my watch, because when I do it seems as if time stands still. With my map in front of me, I guess which bay or point is to my left. Then it dawns on me, my sense of direction returns. My compass has been correct all along, of course. When traveling north, to your left is west, not east. My mind is now clear and calibrated with my compass. With it being light out, when I come across a notable landmark I will know exactly where I am and how much further I must paddle.
With the sun lifting, I spot a beautiful thick fog bank in the distance. It reminds me of New England. So thick, it looks like a solid wall has formed above the water and it will consume anything that attempts to pass through it. Not yet sure where I am, I pick up my pace in hopes of not losing sight of the kayakers well ahead and at the edge of this hovering gray mass. They soon disappear.
Not sure where I am, I keep the shore on my left as my guide.
A while later, I see ahead of me the large tri-hull with the 12+ students and teachers from a small town in Colorado. As I approach from the left one of the students spots me from the corner of his eye and alerts the others of their approaching guest. As I make my way around to the their other side I look to see if I can spot one of the teachers I met before the race. She was so proud of her students, fellow teachers, and community for making this race possible. As I look over the group they look wet and well worn. Many have their heads down so it’s hard to tell the difference between the teachers and students, guys and girls.
As I swing around back to their left side and begin pulling ahead, I ask their captain how many miles are left. He responds, “About 30 miles!” I laugh aloud as I am sure he’s joking, then wave good bye as I pull out in front.
I wonder what time it is and how far I have paddled. I don’t look at my watch, because when I do it seems as if time stands still. With my map in front of me, I guess which bay or point is to my left. Then it dawns on me, my sense of direction returns. My compass has been correct all along, of course. When traveling north, to your left is west, not east. My mind is now clear and calibrated with my compass. With it being light out, when I come across a notable landmark I will know exactly where I am and how much further I must paddle.
With the sun lifting, I spot a beautiful thick fog bank in the distance. It reminds me of New England. So thick, it looks like a solid wall has formed above the water and it will consume anything that attempts to pass through it. Not yet sure where I am, I pick up my pace in hopes of not losing sight of the kayakers well ahead and at the edge of this hovering gray mass. They soon disappear.
Not sure where I am, I keep the shore on my left as my guide.
A while later, I see ahead of me the large tri-hull with the 12+ students and teachers from a small town in Colorado. As I approach from the left one of the students spots me from the corner of his eye and alerts the others of their approaching guest. As I make my way around to the their other side I look to see if I can spot one of the teachers I met before the race. She was so proud of her students, fellow teachers, and community for making this race possible. As I look over the group they look wet and well worn. Many have their heads down so it’s hard to tell the difference between the teachers and students, guys and girls.
As I swing around back to their left side and begin pulling ahead, I ask their captain how many miles are left. He responds, “About 30 miles!” I laugh aloud as I am sure he’s joking, then wave good bye as I pull out in front.
A short distance later I connect with a familiar yellow kayak.
We have been exchanging positions along the route. I ask how he is doing. He explains how he got lost in the morning’s thick fog bank and got caught well of course in the shipping lanes. This misdirection cost him five miles, considerable time, and a near collision with one of two passing and towering cruises ships.
Before he pulls away I ask him, “How many more miles do we have to go?” He responds, “I just talked to my wife and she says we have about 28 more miles.” My stomach turns as I thought we were much closer to the end. I don’t want to do the math to calculate how many more hours I must paddle, as my arms are hurting, my hands are numb, and the sleep deprived night is takings its toll.
As he races ahead I admire his fluid motion. His strides are long and deep, his momentum swift and smooth, and his hands loosely grip his paddle. In comparison, my strides are much shorter, I have a near death grip on my paddle, and with every stroke the distance between the two of us noticeably increases. I'm jealous of his superior skill.
To my surprise he takes a sudden turn toward shore to take a break. As he exits his kayak, I can tell by his unsteadiness this area of shoreline is made of large slippery rocks that require your full attention.
We have been exchanging positions along the route. I ask how he is doing. He explains how he got lost in the morning’s thick fog bank and got caught well of course in the shipping lanes. This misdirection cost him five miles, considerable time, and a near collision with one of two passing and towering cruises ships.
Before he pulls away I ask him, “How many more miles do we have to go?” He responds, “I just talked to my wife and she says we have about 28 more miles.” My stomach turns as I thought we were much closer to the end. I don’t want to do the math to calculate how many more hours I must paddle, as my arms are hurting, my hands are numb, and the sleep deprived night is takings its toll.
As he races ahead I admire his fluid motion. His strides are long and deep, his momentum swift and smooth, and his hands loosely grip his paddle. In comparison, my strides are much shorter, I have a near death grip on my paddle, and with every stroke the distance between the two of us noticeably increases. I'm jealous of his superior skill.
To my surprise he takes a sudden turn toward shore to take a break. As he exits his kayak, I can tell by his unsteadiness this area of shoreline is made of large slippery rocks that require your full attention.
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With his back toward Puget Sound he hasn’t noticed the fully loaded transpacific freighter having just passed by. I just felt the larger rollers make their way under my kayak and I know they’re headed his way. Too far off shore to alert him of what's coming, I fear this may be a repeat of what happened to the all female crew back on Blake Island.
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Out of the corner of my eye I catch the rollers that had just passed underneath crashing on shore. The first wave lifts the yellow sea kayak well above the racer’s chins, the next wave pushes it much higher and above his waist. I can tell he is fighting to remain upright while trying to maintain control of his kayak. If he loses hold of his kayak, it will crash freely and far on the rocky shore and risk irreparable damage.
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As I continue on he is now out of sight. I wonder if this set of unexpected rollers has taken another racer out.
The sun is well above the horizon, the temperature is quickly rising, and I am fatigued and in a deep uncomfortable sweat.
My lightweight down and thick neoprene gloves served me well during the cool night when the temperature was in the low-to-mid 50s. But, now I am paying the price. I need to get off Puget Sound to change into something dry and more comfortable, and find water as my rations of Gatorade are nearly depleted.
It is about 9AM. There appears to be a lighthouse ahead of me. I remember being told to be careful, that there could be some rough waters off this point. I take note and paddle closer toward shore in the event of dangerous conditions and an unplanned spill.
This area is absolutely gorgeous. The sun is bright, the water calm and an incredible blue. In front of me another pod of porpoises make their way through. It is such a beautiful area I decide to pause to take a few pictures, my first and only during the race. As I study the water ahead, I notice beyond flat calm water is the beginning of chop. I was pre-warned of this potentially dangerous area so I approach with apprehension.
My lightweight down and thick neoprene gloves served me well during the cool night when the temperature was in the low-to-mid 50s. But, now I am paying the price. I need to get off Puget Sound to change into something dry and more comfortable, and find water as my rations of Gatorade are nearly depleted.
It is about 9AM. There appears to be a lighthouse ahead of me. I remember being told to be careful, that there could be some rough waters off this point. I take note and paddle closer toward shore in the event of dangerous conditions and an unplanned spill.
This area is absolutely gorgeous. The sun is bright, the water calm and an incredible blue. In front of me another pod of porpoises make their way through. It is such a beautiful area I decide to pause to take a few pictures, my first and only during the race. As I study the water ahead, I notice beyond flat calm water is the beginning of chop. I was pre-warned of this potentially dangerous area so I approach with apprehension.
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As I near the lighthouse, which I later learn is named Point No Point Lighthouse, several families with children are taking in the views. They wave and shout out their support. “How cool is this?!” I pick up my pace and shout back, “What a beautiful day!”
They didn’t hear me. Oh well.
They didn’t hear me. Oh well.
I am burning up and can no longer delay getting off the water.
Scanning the shoreline, I spot what appears to be a racer coming from a park area. I am hoping to land on a sandy beach, find a place to change, find fresh water to quench my thirst, and maybe even a place to wash my face.
From a good half mile out I turn toward shore. As I near the small park I notice it will be a gradual and rocky entry. The racer preparing to leave is getting assistance from what must be a local, they’re carrying his kayak quite a distance to water’s edge. Apparently, the tide has moved out since he first arrived.
To my dismay there is no sandy beach. I will need to get out in the water to avoid scratching the bottom of my borrowed kayak, then carry it a way on shore. Getting out should not be a problem as the water is shallow and only when there is a large crowd do I spill from my kayak.
Scanning the shoreline, I spot what appears to be a racer coming from a park area. I am hoping to land on a sandy beach, find a place to change, find fresh water to quench my thirst, and maybe even a place to wash my face.
From a good half mile out I turn toward shore. As I near the small park I notice it will be a gradual and rocky entry. The racer preparing to leave is getting assistance from what must be a local, they’re carrying his kayak quite a distance to water’s edge. Apparently, the tide has moved out since he first arrived.
To my dismay there is no sandy beach. I will need to get out in the water to avoid scratching the bottom of my borrowed kayak, then carry it a way on shore. Getting out should not be a problem as the water is shallow and only when there is a large crowd do I spill from my kayak.
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After searching through my dry bags for warm weather gear and taking inventory of remaining Gatorade, I walk toward the grassy shore about 20 yards away. As I cross paths with the other racer we exchange pleasantries and wish each other good luck with the rest of the race.
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I believe this park along Puget Sound’s west shore is called Norwegian Point County Park. I walk toward the structures to the right of the parking lot to learn neither building is for changing, nor did I find any fresh running water to wash my face or quench my thirst. Aargh!
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I measure my remaining Gatorade and calculate I have enough for four more quality quenches. If all goes well, my last drink will be at the beginning of Portage Channel, the narrow channel leading to the finish at Port Townsend Bay. To help with my thirst, I have two remaining Golden Delicious apples.
I am cutting it close.
I am cutting it close.
About an hour later and after crossing the last large body of open water, I follow three racers.
I don’t believe I have seen these teams before. Two appear to be in open sea kayaks similar to mine, while the other is the prone paddle boarder. I haven't seen the pone paddler since the start of the race when he was just off to my right. I was impressed by his commitment then, I am in awe of his effort now. He must have paddled all night long, skipping Blake Island to gain his generous lead.
The three appear unsure of their route as they’re zig zagging across this open area. Two are heading due west toward Mats Mats Bay, where a few power boaters have come and gone since our arrival. The other has pealed off and is now heading in the correct direction according to my understanding. In the distance, a few miles northwest, I can see the bridge connecting the mainland to Indian and Marrowstone Islands. I am sure this is the right direction based on a rower’s story I read on the SEVENTY48 website.
As tired, sore and thirsty as I am, it appears the prone paddler has hit a wall. It looks as if he has stopped paddling and is taking a well deserved break. I can’t imagine powering the 70 miles course in a prone position, using only your two arms. A special shout out and congratulations to this extraordinary racer!
I don’t believe I have seen these teams before. Two appear to be in open sea kayaks similar to mine, while the other is the prone paddle boarder. I haven't seen the pone paddler since the start of the race when he was just off to my right. I was impressed by his commitment then, I am in awe of his effort now. He must have paddled all night long, skipping Blake Island to gain his generous lead.
The three appear unsure of their route as they’re zig zagging across this open area. Two are heading due west toward Mats Mats Bay, where a few power boaters have come and gone since our arrival. The other has pealed off and is now heading in the correct direction according to my understanding. In the distance, a few miles northwest, I can see the bridge connecting the mainland to Indian and Marrowstone Islands. I am sure this is the right direction based on a rower’s story I read on the SEVENTY48 website.
As tired, sore and thirsty as I am, it appears the prone paddler has hit a wall. It looks as if he has stopped paddling and is taking a well deserved break. I can’t imagine powering the 70 miles course in a prone position, using only your two arms. A special shout out and congratulations to this extraordinary racer!
I make my way to Portage Channel around 12:30PM, the final approach to the end of the race.
I think of all those who told me of the challenging current I will face if my timing is bad. On Blake Island, a racer said that the current will be pushing its way through between 9:30AM - 2:30PM. Well, my timing is not good.
Portage Channel is a short narrow stretch, less than a mile long. To make my way through during strong tidal periods I have been given a few suggestions:
I choose option four. Without much of a challenge I make my way through with ease. Those on shore wave and shout out cheers of support. Children preoccupied with throwing stones in the water are warned by their parents to be careful of the passing kayaker.
Then there is the enthusiastic event organizer who is cheering everyone on. She yells, "You're looking good! Keep up the great work!" I foolishly believe her and with a sense of pride I straighten my slumping back and pick up my pace. Then I think to myself, "This is her job. She tells every passing team how great they're doing and wishes them a speedy and successful finish."
I recognize her from before the race. She was helpful in my finding my lost rental car keys about an hour and half before race time, and averting near disaster.
I think of all those who told me of the challenging current I will face if my timing is bad. On Blake Island, a racer said that the current will be pushing its way through between 9:30AM - 2:30PM. Well, my timing is not good.
Portage Channel is a short narrow stretch, less than a mile long. To make my way through during strong tidal periods I have been given a few suggestions:
- Power your way through it.
- Pull your kayak through.
- Carry your vessel over shore.
- Paddle on either side near shore where the current is weakest.
- Wait on the beach until it passes through.
I choose option four. Without much of a challenge I make my way through with ease. Those on shore wave and shout out cheers of support. Children preoccupied with throwing stones in the water are warned by their parents to be careful of the passing kayaker.
Then there is the enthusiastic event organizer who is cheering everyone on. She yells, "You're looking good! Keep up the great work!" I foolishly believe her and with a sense of pride I straighten my slumping back and pick up my pace. Then I think to myself, "This is her job. She tells every passing team how great they're doing and wishes them a speedy and successful finish."
I recognize her from before the race. She was helpful in my finding my lost rental car keys about an hour and half before race time, and averting near disaster.
As I enter Port Townsend Bay the wind suddenly picks up.
I was warned by a fisherman a few miles before Point No Point Lighthouse that the winds were forecasted to pick up later in the day. He was correct and the perfect conditions I have enjoyed all along the way have suddenly turned worse. The waves begin to crash over the front and right (starboard) side of my kayak. I pick up my pace to improve my control. No longer do I feel tired as my concentration is on only two things; remaining upright and finding the finish line.
The sudden strong winds and heavy chop remind me of my final leg when I solo paddled across Lake Superior. Just as the sun began to peak above the horizon, Lake Superior decided to throw me her last and strongest challenge of the trip which spanned three days. There the winds picked up to well above 20 MPH and the waves crashing over my kayak were three feet and possibly greater, making for a harrowing final couple of miles.
The pace of the winds and chop in Port Townsend Bay continues to strengthen. I wonder, "How much taller will the waves grow? Will I be facing the 4, 5 and 6 foot crashing waves that I had been told about that pound and sting your chest?"
I hope not.
I was warned by a fisherman a few miles before Point No Point Lighthouse that the winds were forecasted to pick up later in the day. He was correct and the perfect conditions I have enjoyed all along the way have suddenly turned worse. The waves begin to crash over the front and right (starboard) side of my kayak. I pick up my pace to improve my control. No longer do I feel tired as my concentration is on only two things; remaining upright and finding the finish line.
The sudden strong winds and heavy chop remind me of my final leg when I solo paddled across Lake Superior. Just as the sun began to peak above the horizon, Lake Superior decided to throw me her last and strongest challenge of the trip which spanned three days. There the winds picked up to well above 20 MPH and the waves crashing over my kayak were three feet and possibly greater, making for a harrowing final couple of miles.
The pace of the winds and chop in Port Townsend Bay continues to strengthen. I wonder, "How much taller will the waves grow? Will I be facing the 4, 5 and 6 foot crashing waves that I had been told about that pound and sting your chest?"
I hope not.
To my left I spot a large cruiser racing straight toward me.
I can see it’s an older couple and they’re looking right at me, but they seem disinterested in moving off course. It appears their speed is picking up and I worry they may not see me, but I swear they’re staring right at me. I raise my paddle overhead and begin to wave it from side to side. They don’t acknowledge seeing me and there is no change in their direction. As they keep their eyes on me they pass in front by no more than 20’ - 30.’ They leave a large wake as a reminder that they disapprove of my being there, for whatever reason. Aargh.
As I face the onslaught of their large wakes, compounded by the strong wind and chop, I concentrate on each stroke. I plow through with surprising ease and without incident. Phew.
This near collision and spill reminds me of another Great Lake solo paddle, this time across Lake Michigan.
After crossing Lake Michigan, I made my way along Lake Michigan’s shoreline from Big Sable Lighthouse to Ludington to catch the evening ferry back to Wisconsin. Just as I was about to head in toward Stearns Park and Beach, I spot a similarly large cruiser behind me to my left. As I kept an eye on him, it seemed as if he was picking up speed. I was in a precarious position, uncertain about what to do. I wondered, do I pick up my pace and get in front or pause to see which route he takes?
I can see it’s an older couple and they’re looking right at me, but they seem disinterested in moving off course. It appears their speed is picking up and I worry they may not see me, but I swear they’re staring right at me. I raise my paddle overhead and begin to wave it from side to side. They don’t acknowledge seeing me and there is no change in their direction. As they keep their eyes on me they pass in front by no more than 20’ - 30.’ They leave a large wake as a reminder that they disapprove of my being there, for whatever reason. Aargh.
As I face the onslaught of their large wakes, compounded by the strong wind and chop, I concentrate on each stroke. I plow through with surprising ease and without incident. Phew.
This near collision and spill reminds me of another Great Lake solo paddle, this time across Lake Michigan.
After crossing Lake Michigan, I made my way along Lake Michigan’s shoreline from Big Sable Lighthouse to Ludington to catch the evening ferry back to Wisconsin. Just as I was about to head in toward Stearns Park and Beach, I spot a similarly large cruiser behind me to my left. As I kept an eye on him, it seemed as if he was picking up speed. I was in a precarious position, uncertain about what to do. I wondered, do I pick up my pace and get in front or pause to see which route he takes?
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I decided to pause. I watched as he certainly picked up his speed and it seemed as if he had his aim on me. He was looking right at me while purposely creating the biggest wake possible.
That would be an embarrassment, having just crossed Lake Michigan to spill in front of the large crowds gathered on Ludington’s pier and sandy beach. Vertical Divider
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Despite his looking straight at me he didn't change course nor his expression. I watched as he passed in front by no more than 20’ - 30.’ I prepared for the onslaught of his large wake and plowed through with surprising ease. Those on the pier let out a cheer, knowing that I had just averted certain disaster.
As I looked to my right, the sole captain looked back to see if he took me down. Sorry, not this time… jerk! |
As I look ahead, I have lost sight of the racer that I had been trailing.
I have no idea where the end of the race is and I am on my own.
With Port Towsend’s shoreline in sight, I watch several sailing races taking advantage of this afternoon’s winds. If the finish of this race is on the other side, I will have to pace myself and be careful as I paddle my way through. It reminds me of my times paddling on Lake Minnetonka. This will be interesting.
The wind begins to die down. This is good for me, not for the sailors. As I paddle near a sailboat with its large crew, they shout out a few cheers of support. It isn’t long before they realize that I am struggling to find the finish. One asks, “Are you looking for the finish line?” I sheepishly say, “Yes.” He points and tells me the end of he race is at the large yellow building to my right.
With the end in sight, I watch a sole paddler in her rowboat coming from my left. It is tempting to pick up my pace to finish ahead of her. But, I decide not to, and let her finish before me as I am sure she is an official entrant, not a rogue racer like me.
As we approach, I see the crowd collected at the end of the pier. They’re waving, cheering and shouting encouragement for a strong finish and end of a great race… to her, not me. As she makes her turn, a race organizer calls over the bullhorn and directs her to the edge of the floating barge attached to the pier. Here they give the racers their well deserved personal tribute.
I have no idea where the end of the race is and I am on my own.
With Port Towsend’s shoreline in sight, I watch several sailing races taking advantage of this afternoon’s winds. If the finish of this race is on the other side, I will have to pace myself and be careful as I paddle my way through. It reminds me of my times paddling on Lake Minnetonka. This will be interesting.
The wind begins to die down. This is good for me, not for the sailors. As I paddle near a sailboat with its large crew, they shout out a few cheers of support. It isn’t long before they realize that I am struggling to find the finish. One asks, “Are you looking for the finish line?” I sheepishly say, “Yes.” He points and tells me the end of he race is at the large yellow building to my right.
With the end in sight, I watch a sole paddler in her rowboat coming from my left. It is tempting to pick up my pace to finish ahead of her. But, I decide not to, and let her finish before me as I am sure she is an official entrant, not a rogue racer like me.
As we approach, I see the crowd collected at the end of the pier. They’re waving, cheering and shouting encouragement for a strong finish and end of a great race… to her, not me. As she makes her turn, a race organizer calls over the bullhorn and directs her to the edge of the floating barge attached to the pier. Here they give the racers their well deserved personal tribute.
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As I go wide right and run my kayak up on the sandy beach I am greeted by eager and helpful event volunteers. They attempt to direct me to the proper finish line for my proper recognition. When I sheepishly explain that I am a rogue racer they respond, “That’s O.K. We welcome everyone. Congratulations and let us help you.”
That is the spirit of SEVENTY48. Event staff and their team of volunteers are incredibly gracious, generous, supportive, and encouraging hosts. Event racers are elite, passionate, genuinely interested in the others, and eager to assist when help is needed. |
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Although I am a rogue racer, my first race is an event of a lifetime. I complete the 48 hour race in 19.25 hours and beat my personal goal by 2 hours and 25 minutes!
