With the addition of the 6 mile version of the Run of the Charles to the SurfskiRacing.com point series, I expected to see a robust turn-out for this early season flat-water race. A beautiful spring day may have also helped coax a few more paddlers out of their lairs. With a dozen skis, participation was double what it had been the past couple of years.
This would be my first time at the Run of the Charles. Eager to help, several race veterans reviewed the 6 mile course with me. We'd start down the Charles, go under 14 bridges, through a set of locks out into the Harbor, where we'd circumnavigate Old Ironsides before making our way back to the start. Seemed like that'd be a pinch longer than 6 miles, but it's always tough to judge distances in Boston.
Fortunately, Mary Beth managed to get proper directions from more chivalrous paddlers, and brought me up to speed. We'd go downstream 2.5 miles under 5 bridges, round a buoy and come back past the start another half a mile, then round a second buoy to finish on a downstream run. Like a traveler stranded on a desert island counting days, I planned on scoring my ski for each bridge passed. I hoped it wouldn't also come to gnawing on my own arm for sustenance, but I tucked some condiments in my vest just in case.
While I was warming up, I was surprised to look over and find myself paddling next to (for the briefest of times) Borys Markin, who was just finishing up the 19 mile race in his Nelo K-1, nearly 30 minutes ahead of the next competitor. That's three consecutive ROTC wins for Borys. Beata Cseke, also in a K-1, finished fourth overall in the 19 mile race, with the indomitable Ted Van Dusen finishing first in the unlimited kayak category. Jan Lupinski lost his K-1 rudder in the shallows, but still managed to finish 6th overall.
As the designated time for the 6 mile race approached we all hung close to the starting line, aware that last year a few paddlers were caught unawares by an unannounced pop start. With the captains' meeting scheduled for roughly 20 seconds before the race start, most of us chose to skip it, hoping that we didn't miss too many "For Pity's sake, you mustn't ..." type warnings about the course.
In keeping with the theme of capricious timing, the starter gave us a 15 second warning and then (presumably 15 seconds later, but who can be sure) yelled "Go!" Chris Chappell jumped out to an immediate lead, although Junior Prates (in a K-1) and Francisco Urena also got out quickly on different lines. When the smoke settled, it was Chris out front by himself, with Wesley Echols, Junior, Tim Dwyer, Francisco, me, and Mike McDonough, and Kam Truhn following in a pack.
By the time we went under the first bridge, Chris had opened up a lead of several boat lengths on the rest of the squad. Not wanting to let him slip too far ahead, I decided to try to make a move. My attempt to pass to the right of the group was thwarted by an irksome shoreline. Francisco and I both grazed bottom with our paddles. I fell back and adjusted my course to test the waters between Tim and Francisco, seeing if perhaps I could instead sneak through via an inner passage.
I put on my best look of "What? Me, a weasel?" innocence as I gradually wormed my way between my competitors. Then, with a sudden burst of vigor, I shot through the gap like a greased pig out of a cannon. In situations like this, it's critical that you trick both yourself and your fellow paddlers into believing you're doing something impressive. To that end, I've been working with a vocal coach on a realistic whoosh-of-speed sound (complete with Doppler effect). I've also found it helps if you splash the other guys a lot. And in the self-deception category, here's a tip. Squint really hard, and the guys who were formerly right next to you recede almost immediately into a hazy limbo.
In this manner, I got past Tim and Francisco, and, with a bit of momentum on my side, continued by Junior and Wesley. Chris remained well out in front, but I fell into one of those unexplainable rhythmic grooves that you're tickled to find yourself in, but can't figure out how exactly you got into. After one or two more bridges (who's counting?), I managed to catch the orange Mohican. I spent a couple of minutes resting on Chris' wash before trying to pass him on the right. This attempt fizzled out unceremoniously, so I recategorized it as a "feint" and started a second draft. Again, learning to delude yourself is half the battle. I marshaled my resources for a while, then threw in a respectable interval to finally get past Chris and put a few boat lengths between us.
The final downstream stretch was into a mild zephyr. I wasn't sure what exactly was going on behind me until I came around the first buoy to head back upstream. Chris seemed to be a little under a minute back, with Wesley 7 or 8 boat lengths behind him. They were followed in a drawn-out string by Tim, Francisco, Mike, Junior and Kam.
A combination of the winding route of the Charles and a fickle breeze meant that 90% of the round-trip race was into the wind. I had been planning on doing some aerodynamic testing on my gear anyway, so the wind-tunnel effect under each of the low, arched bridges wasn't entirely without benefit. Regardless of whether it was the wind, the sluggish current, or an over-fast initial pace, the distance between the bridges on the upstream leg accordioned out to such an extent that I began to wonder if I had missed the second turn-around and would soon find myself doing the portages of the longer races in reverse.
Fortunately, the final bridge made a surprise appearance and I re-established my bearings enough to realize that only another mile of pain separated me from a well-deserved coma. I struggled to the turn-around, after which I saw Chris and Wesley abreast
of one another a couple of minutes back, with a similar battle between
Tim and Francisco 30 seconds behind them. I focused on one of the canoes
from the 24 mile race that was 7 or 8 lengths ahead of me, using it as motivation to
keep pushing through the finish a quarter mile away.
Chris managed to hold off Wesley for second place, with Tim similarly holding off Francisco for fourth. Mike pulled in next, followed by Junior (not in a ski), then Kam. Rounding out the field of a dozen were Bob Capellini (who has worn a groove between his Long Island home and the Boston area), Chris Sherwood (who is more than ready for a faster boat), Mike Herrera (more below on Mike), Caroline Pierce (who I didn't get a chance to meet, but didn't look mean), and Mary Beth Gangloff (who also could use a faster boat and also doesn't look mean).
Mike, a seasoned whitewater and sea kayak paddler made his surfski debut in impressive fashion. His finish time of 1:02:08 put him at 10th place, but he did the entire race with a pretty severe handicap. Within a few feet of the start, Mike's rudder cable broke. Instead of abandoning all hope, he discarded the rudder completely and soldiered on through what, for most of us, would have been a Hell of drunken meandering (4th ring, rudderless skis).
Although he didn't race, Eric McNett made the trek down from Maine to demo the new Epic V14, which a few of us tried. Although I found it slightly less stable than my V12, the snugger fit of the seat provided a more secure connection to the boat. With a higher seating position and razor thin bow, I felt like I was skating on the water. I'd certainly struggle with the V14 in ocean conditions, but on flat water it's a very attractive vessel.
After packing up our skis the racers gathered at the hospitable NECKRA tent to swap war stories, to catch up with paddlers from the other races, and - most importantly - to cram as much of Bob's pulled pork into our faces as we could manage. It's less than two weeks until the Essex River Race - always one of the biggest and most exciting competitions of the season, and the last to offer a likelihood of flat water.
This would be my first time at the Run of the Charles. Eager to help, several race veterans reviewed the 6 mile course with me. We'd start down the Charles, go under 14 bridges, through a set of locks out into the Harbor, where we'd circumnavigate Old Ironsides before making our way back to the start. Seemed like that'd be a pinch longer than 6 miles, but it's always tough to judge distances in Boston.
 |
| Ah, the blooming colors of spring... |
While I was warming up, I was surprised to look over and find myself paddling next to (for the briefest of times) Borys Markin, who was just finishing up the 19 mile race in his Nelo K-1, nearly 30 minutes ahead of the next competitor. That's three consecutive ROTC wins for Borys. Beata Cseke, also in a K-1, finished fourth overall in the 19 mile race, with the indomitable Ted Van Dusen finishing first in the unlimited kayak category. Jan Lupinski lost his K-1 rudder in the shallows, but still managed to finish 6th overall.
As the designated time for the 6 mile race approached we all hung close to the starting line, aware that last year a few paddlers were caught unawares by an unannounced pop start. With the captains' meeting scheduled for roughly 20 seconds before the race start, most of us chose to skip it, hoping that we didn't miss too many "For Pity's sake, you mustn't ..." type warnings about the course.
In keeping with the theme of capricious timing, the starter gave us a 15 second warning and then (presumably 15 seconds later, but who can be sure) yelled "Go!" Chris Chappell jumped out to an immediate lead, although Junior Prates (in a K-1) and Francisco Urena also got out quickly on different lines. When the smoke settled, it was Chris out front by himself, with Wesley Echols, Junior, Tim Dwyer, Francisco, me, and Mike McDonough, and Kam Truhn following in a pack.
By the time we went under the first bridge, Chris had opened up a lead of several boat lengths on the rest of the squad. Not wanting to let him slip too far ahead, I decided to try to make a move. My attempt to pass to the right of the group was thwarted by an irksome shoreline. Francisco and I both grazed bottom with our paddles. I fell back and adjusted my course to test the waters between Tim and Francisco, seeing if perhaps I could instead sneak through via an inner passage.
I put on my best look of "What? Me, a weasel?" innocence as I gradually wormed my way between my competitors. Then, with a sudden burst of vigor, I shot through the gap like a greased pig out of a cannon. In situations like this, it's critical that you trick both yourself and your fellow paddlers into believing you're doing something impressive. To that end, I've been working with a vocal coach on a realistic whoosh-of-speed sound (complete with Doppler effect). I've also found it helps if you splash the other guys a lot. And in the self-deception category, here's a tip. Squint really hard, and the guys who were formerly right next to you recede almost immediately into a hazy limbo.
In this manner, I got past Tim and Francisco, and, with a bit of momentum on my side, continued by Junior and Wesley. Chris remained well out in front, but I fell into one of those unexplainable rhythmic grooves that you're tickled to find yourself in, but can't figure out how exactly you got into. After one or two more bridges (who's counting?), I managed to catch the orange Mohican. I spent a couple of minutes resting on Chris' wash before trying to pass him on the right. This attempt fizzled out unceremoniously, so I recategorized it as a "feint" and started a second draft. Again, learning to delude yourself is half the battle. I marshaled my resources for a while, then threw in a respectable interval to finally get past Chris and put a few boat lengths between us.
The final downstream stretch was into a mild zephyr. I wasn't sure what exactly was going on behind me until I came around the first buoy to head back upstream. Chris seemed to be a little under a minute back, with Wesley 7 or 8 boat lengths behind him. They were followed in a drawn-out string by Tim, Francisco, Mike, Junior and Kam.
A combination of the winding route of the Charles and a fickle breeze meant that 90% of the round-trip race was into the wind. I had been planning on doing some aerodynamic testing on my gear anyway, so the wind-tunnel effect under each of the low, arched bridges wasn't entirely without benefit. Regardless of whether it was the wind, the sluggish current, or an over-fast initial pace, the distance between the bridges on the upstream leg accordioned out to such an extent that I began to wonder if I had missed the second turn-around and would soon find myself doing the portages of the longer races in reverse.
 |
| The five top paddlers from the 6 mile race. Yep. I'm napping. |
Chris managed to hold off Wesley for second place, with Tim similarly holding off Francisco for fourth. Mike pulled in next, followed by Junior (not in a ski), then Kam. Rounding out the field of a dozen were Bob Capellini (who has worn a groove between his Long Island home and the Boston area), Chris Sherwood (who is more than ready for a faster boat), Mike Herrera (more below on Mike), Caroline Pierce (who I didn't get a chance to meet, but didn't look mean), and Mary Beth Gangloff (who also could use a faster boat and also doesn't look mean).
Mike, a seasoned whitewater and sea kayak paddler made his surfski debut in impressive fashion. His finish time of 1:02:08 put him at 10th place, but he did the entire race with a pretty severe handicap. Within a few feet of the start, Mike's rudder cable broke. Instead of abandoning all hope, he discarded the rudder completely and soldiered on through what, for most of us, would have been a Hell of drunken meandering (4th ring, rudderless skis).
After packing up our skis the racers gathered at the hospitable NECKRA tent to swap war stories, to catch up with paddlers from the other races, and - most importantly - to cram as much of Bob's pulled pork into our faces as we could manage. It's less than two weeks until the Essex River Race - always one of the biggest and most exciting competitions of the season, and the last to offer a likelihood of flat water.
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