I wasn't sure about the protocol for writing a race summary when you technically didn't paddle in the race. So I consulted the handbook. And as stated clearly in the Surfski Blogger Union (Local 214) Bylaws, Section 5, Subsection B, Paragraph 6: "Members may only write about races in which they officially competed." I remember all too well what befell Jimmy "Paddle Prattle" Flaherty when he suggested that closed cockpit kayaks had their advantages (a blatant violation of union rules), and I didn't want to end up sleeping with the fishes. It took Jimmy a month to get the mackerel scent out of his linens. I consulted my rep and he assured me that because a household member did actually compete, that the board would probably look the other way.
I had suspected for some time that my body was out to get me. You can only wake up gasping so many times with your own hands around your throat before putting two and two together. A week prior to the Blackburn I was minding my own business paddling on Chebacco Lake when my mutinous body (torso division) jammed a monkey wrench into my race plans. Strained oblique. And this after all I had done for myself.
Once I established that I wasn't going to race, I directed my usual anticipatory energy to more useful tasks. Namely, working tirelessly on my finish order predictions. For those competitors I wasn't personally familiar with, I consulted a splendid new site, Surfski America, to compare their performances. I figured Borys - snakebit the last couple of years - would probably get his first Blackburn win, with Brian Kummer from Southern California a strong candidate for 2nd place. Third place looked wide open. Seemed like Eric McNett (two-time top 5 finisher), Jack Van Dorp (5th last year), Brian Heath (ten top 5s), and Craig Impens (2010 champion), and Jim Mallory (first ocean race of any kind, but deadly fast on flats) all had legitimate podium chances. Oscar Chalupsky and Joe Glickman were a virtual lock to take the doubles title.
Speaking of Joe... It's no secret that beating Joe has been a particular focus of mine. And by "focus" I mean "pathological obsession". I thought I had beat his personal best in the CRASH-B indoor rowing competition this year, only to be crushed to find afterwards that he had a much better time that I hadn't been aware of (an unassailable 6:20.3 - come on). This was going to be my year on the water though. I was trained up and had already brainstormed some humiliating quips to shout over my shoulder as I pulled away from Joe in the Blackburn. I must have had him running scared since he (needlessly, as it turns out!) jumped over to doubles. All inappropriate joking aside (OMJFG!), I'm going to need you to race a single next year, Joe.
Without the gnawing anxiety that usually casts a pall over my Blackburn race morning, I was finally able to actually enjoy the gnawing anxiety of everyone else at Gloucester High School. As word of my imminent DNS got around (that is, as I cornered paddler after paddler and forced upon them my tale of woe), I was touched at people's genuine displays of disappointment for me. Except Bill Kuklinski, who couldn't stop laughing - apparently a little bitter about all those PFD jokes.
Before the race, I met Brian Kummer. I was disappointed to find that he wasn't a strapping lad whose speed I could attribute to the vigor of youth, but a mustachioed gentleman perhaps a few years older than me (and I don't care what Local 214 has to say about the use of the term "mustachioed"). Still strapping, to be sure. If I was a captain in a game of Shirts versus Skins versus Zombie Hordes, Brian would be my first pick. Then maybe Joe Shaw - that guy is indestructible. I'd probably go for some land speed next. Let's say Matt Drayer. Then hand weapon proficiency. Gotta be Ken Cooper - I'm pretty sure he's CIA. Mary Beth would probably be pretty unhappy with me if she ended up undead, so guess I better grab her next. So after her... hold on, feel like I might be going a little off-topic here. Right. Brian. We had a nice chat before the race during which I extracted a promise from him to help me with the surf launch at the US Championships in a few weeks.
After seeing Mary Beth off from the High School (they grow up so fast), I drove up to the starting line. I got there just in time to see the doubles' start. Oscar and Joe accelerated off the line so fast that I instinctively grabbed a piling to brace myself for the resulting shock wave. After the SK and FSK classes got underway, 51 skis (and the lone racing kayak of Brian H. - I feel like maybe we should take up a collection for him) jockeyed for starting positions. A single tear of disappointment rolled down my cheek. And then they were off. I was surprised by how peaceful the start was from the dock. Sure, there was the exciting visual of blades whirring and water flying, but from afar the scene didn't betray the visceral mayhem I knew the paddlers were enveloped in - boats rubbing, paddles scraping, oaths exchanged (and not the good kind, like pledges of eternal friendship).
Once the skis had cleared the first bend, I raced up the long dock and back to my car, hoping to catch the leaders in Annisquam as they left the river for the open sea. There's no public access to the shore in Annisquam (a neighborhood so protective of its privacy that Tim Dwyer has to be blind-folded to visit his in-laws there - and not just when arriving or leaving), but I managed to find a stretch of road from which I could see a narrow wedge of ocean. Sitting in my car with a pair of binoculars, I suspected I might be drawing some suspicion, but I had to stay true to my mission.
Within seconds of my arrival, a black and yellow blur swept across my binocular lenses. NASA may have some optical tracking equipment capable of keeping a with-the-tide Borys in frame, but it was pointless for me to try. Several moments later (solid moments - like enough time to really feel the burrowing stares of the locals), a glorious squadron of skis appeared, skimming by in precision formation. The draft was so tight that I had trouble identifying the individual pilots, but I think it was Brian K, Jack (whom you may remember better as Floppy Hat), Craig, Jim, and Eric. Brian H and Kurt Kuehnel might also have been in the mix - or at least very close behind.
A short while after that, other knots and clusters of skis sailed through my viewport - Peter Kahn, Joe Shaw, Tom Buzzell, Chris Laughlin, Wesley Echols, Todd Furstoss, Beata Cseke, and Tim Dwyer (although not necessarily in that order). I couldn't afford to wait for the rest of the field. I needed the time to transfer over to Halibut Point, where I'd be able to see the racers up close as they turned to head down the south side of Cape Ann. Plus the Annisquam natives were arming themselves with torches and garden tools while throwing me increasingly hostile looks (as well as what I think was an over-ripe kumquat).
I arrived at the Halibut Point overlook just in time to see Borys flash by, 48 minutes and 7 miles from the start. That's an average speed of, let me see... freakishly fast. Or 8.75 mph if you're the quantitative type. I hustled down from the overlook to the actual point, where I discovered an uncomfortable Chris Chappell videotaping the passing paddlers. Perhaps, like me, your senses have recently been overloaded by the resulting 53 autoplaying video snippets in your Facebook feed. You can disable that feature, by the way.
With several miles elapsed since my last snapshot of the race, I figured the field would be a little more strung out. Sure enough, Brian K had opened up a 30 second lead on his former squad mates. Craig and Jim were drafting off of Jack, with Eric rejoining them after taking a tight turn around Halibut Point. Brian H pulled by less than a minute later, with Kurt not far behind. Peter & Joe, Tom, Chris & Wesley, Todd & Tim & Beata, and Matt Drayer followed to flesh out the all-important top 17. In the SS20+ category, Ken Cooper had a dozen boat length lead on a chasing pack of Dana Gaines, Jay Appleton, and Bill Kuklinski.
Chris and I cheered on the remaining ski paddlers, singing a particular rousing fight song to spur on Mary Beth on her quest to beat Timmy Shields ("On to victory Mary Beth! Timmy's run clean out of breath." and so on). I'm not saying Chris was flat, but that's the only reason I can think of to explain MB's ultimate defeat in the home stretch. Once the last ski had passed, I hightailed it for Loblolly Point - 11.5 miles into the course, opposite the twin lights of Thatcher Island. The authorities neglected to clear the roads as I had (wink, wink) requested (two dollar bills don't grow on trees, you know), meaning I spent most of the trip stuck behind tourists looking for non-existent parking in Rockport. By the time I arrived at Loblolly, the top 20 skis had already gone by. Rather than panic, I did a little vexation jig, and then reassessed my viewing plan.
It was off to the Back Shore along Atlantic Road - about 15.5 miles into the race. As I arrived I caught the barest hint of Borys in the distance - a mythical paddling beast you only ever see out of the corner of your eye. I joined a crowd of anxious spectators scanning the heartless sea for loved ones, as generations have done before on these storied shores. Maybe with slightly less at stake now, sure, but racers have been known to cramp up something fierce. I spoke briefly with the crowd, who was searching for her husband in the SK division.
I ticked off the rest of the leaders as they went by. Brian K. I definitely picked the right guy for my zombie-fighting team. Craig. Apparently his bionic spine is now fully operational. Jack. Even without his floppy hat, he's a Canadian to be reckoned with. Brian H. Even in a skirt, he's a Canadian to be reckoned with. Given their spacing, it seemed pretty likely that these guys would remain in the same order at the Greasy Pole (the structure at the finish, not the notorious Gloucester bar of the 70's). The next 8 places... not so clear. The order from my vantage point looked like Eric, Peter, Tim, Wesley, Kurt, Chris, Matt, and Beata. Chris and Matt, working together on an inside line, seemed to be gaining quickly on the group in front of them.
I waited for a few more paddlers before hopping back in the car to head to the finish line. Cue the montage of me yelling at morons, double parkers, stray dogs, and nuns ("Hey! The Good Lord invented crosswalks for a reason, Sisters!") while crawling through Gloucester summer weekend traffic. I arrived at the finish just in time to wonder how long before I got there Borys had finished. He's always been fast, but now he's added elusive to his repertoire. I spotted Brian Kummer well out in Gloucester Harbor, but Borys had already cleared off the water and was well into his second Mai Tai. As I had expected given my Back Shore sightings, Brian K took a commanding second, followed by Craig, Jack, and Brian H. It would be more than 3 minutes before the next paddler finished. Great job, guys.
The group finishing in 6th through 8th were separated by only 32 seconds, with Eric holding off Peter, who in turn beat back a rejuvenated Tim. Chris and Matt took the last of the top 10 spots, showing off their power by paddling intermediate skis. Beata took the women's trophy at 13th overall. Dana Gaines just missed the 3 hour mark in winning the SS20+ division. Oscar and Joe scooted around Cape Ann to win the doubles crown in record time, which speaks volumes about the abilities of both paddlers.
This was a particularly fast Blackburn - probably the fastest average times ever, at least for skis. Twenty-one single skis broke the 3 hour mark. Borys had the 4th fastest ski time ever (2:25:43), while Beata (2:52:25) broke the old women's record by more than 5 minutes. Oscar and Joe nabbed the new doubles record (2:29:38), with Jan Lupinski and Alex Ambotas putting up the 3rd fastest doubles time ever (2:32:08). Compared to last year's race (calm, but hot with unfavorable tides), most paddlers in comparable boats shaved off 11 to 14 minutes. Particular standouts in this regard were Todd Furstoss (25 minute improvement), Caroline Pierre (26 minutes - yet another Canadian with whom we must reckon), Bill Kuklinski (26 minutes), and our very own Mary Beth Gangloff (28 minutes).
The wrap party was more than usually festive, with the city-mandated beer fences having the welcome side effect of ensuring you were never more than twelve feet from anyone you wanted to talk with (provided that person was drinking a beer - and why would you want to talk to someone who wasn't?). Before the marathon award ceremony got started, Mr. Joe Glickman was inducted into the Blackburn Hall of Fame - the first surfski paddler to join the ranks. His acceptance speech was no less than I expected from him, which is to say amazing - sincere and funny and moving. We all admire Joe and wish him the best. That being said, next year I'm going to beat the bum.
Congratulations to all competitors and thanks to the many people who organized this monster of a race.
I had suspected for some time that my body was out to get me. You can only wake up gasping so many times with your own hands around your throat before putting two and two together. A week prior to the Blackburn I was minding my own business paddling on Chebacco Lake when my mutinous body (torso division) jammed a monkey wrench into my race plans. Strained oblique. And this after all I had done for myself.
Once I established that I wasn't going to race, I directed my usual anticipatory energy to more useful tasks. Namely, working tirelessly on my finish order predictions. For those competitors I wasn't personally familiar with, I consulted a splendid new site, Surfski America, to compare their performances. I figured Borys - snakebit the last couple of years - would probably get his first Blackburn win, with Brian Kummer from Southern California a strong candidate for 2nd place. Third place looked wide open. Seemed like Eric McNett (two-time top 5 finisher), Jack Van Dorp (5th last year), Brian Heath (ten top 5s), and Craig Impens (2010 champion), and Jim Mallory (first ocean race of any kind, but deadly fast on flats) all had legitimate podium chances. Oscar Chalupsky and Joe Glickman were a virtual lock to take the doubles title.
Speaking of Joe... It's no secret that beating Joe has been a particular focus of mine. And by "focus" I mean "pathological obsession". I thought I had beat his personal best in the CRASH-B indoor rowing competition this year, only to be crushed to find afterwards that he had a much better time that I hadn't been aware of (an unassailable 6:20.3 - come on). This was going to be my year on the water though. I was trained up and had already brainstormed some humiliating quips to shout over my shoulder as I pulled away from Joe in the Blackburn. I must have had him running scared since he (needlessly, as it turns out!) jumped over to doubles. All inappropriate joking aside (OMJFG!), I'm going to need you to race a single next year, Joe.
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| Mary Beth, flaunting her healthiness. |
Before the race, I met Brian Kummer. I was disappointed to find that he wasn't a strapping lad whose speed I could attribute to the vigor of youth, but a mustachioed gentleman perhaps a few years older than me (and I don't care what Local 214 has to say about the use of the term "mustachioed"). Still strapping, to be sure. If I was a captain in a game of Shirts versus Skins versus Zombie Hordes, Brian would be my first pick. Then maybe Joe Shaw - that guy is indestructible. I'd probably go for some land speed next. Let's say Matt Drayer. Then hand weapon proficiency. Gotta be Ken Cooper - I'm pretty sure he's CIA. Mary Beth would probably be pretty unhappy with me if she ended up undead, so guess I better grab her next. So after her... hold on, feel like I might be going a little off-topic here. Right. Brian. We had a nice chat before the race during which I extracted a promise from him to help me with the surf launch at the US Championships in a few weeks.
After seeing Mary Beth off from the High School (they grow up so fast), I drove up to the starting line. I got there just in time to see the doubles' start. Oscar and Joe accelerated off the line so fast that I instinctively grabbed a piling to brace myself for the resulting shock wave. After the SK and FSK classes got underway, 51 skis (and the lone racing kayak of Brian H. - I feel like maybe we should take up a collection for him) jockeyed for starting positions. A single tear of disappointment rolled down my cheek. And then they were off. I was surprised by how peaceful the start was from the dock. Sure, there was the exciting visual of blades whirring and water flying, but from afar the scene didn't betray the visceral mayhem I knew the paddlers were enveloped in - boats rubbing, paddles scraping, oaths exchanged (and not the good kind, like pledges of eternal friendship).
 |
| Let's see. Ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, Brian Heath, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski, ski. |
Within seconds of my arrival, a black and yellow blur swept across my binocular lenses. NASA may have some optical tracking equipment capable of keeping a with-the-tide Borys in frame, but it was pointless for me to try. Several moments later (solid moments - like enough time to really feel the burrowing stares of the locals), a glorious squadron of skis appeared, skimming by in precision formation. The draft was so tight that I had trouble identifying the individual pilots, but I think it was Brian K, Jack (whom you may remember better as Floppy Hat), Craig, Jim, and Eric. Brian H and Kurt Kuehnel might also have been in the mix - or at least very close behind.
I arrived at the Halibut Point overlook just in time to see Borys flash by, 48 minutes and 7 miles from the start. That's an average speed of, let me see... freakishly fast. Or 8.75 mph if you're the quantitative type. I hustled down from the overlook to the actual point, where I discovered an uncomfortable Chris Chappell videotaping the passing paddlers. Perhaps, like me, your senses have recently been overloaded by the resulting 53 autoplaying video snippets in your Facebook feed. You can disable that feature, by the way.
 |
| Jack Van Dorp, Craig Impens, Jim Mallory, and some poor, discouraged soul in a workboat. |
Chris and I cheered on the remaining ski paddlers, singing a particular rousing fight song to spur on Mary Beth on her quest to beat Timmy Shields ("On to victory Mary Beth! Timmy's run clean out of breath." and so on). I'm not saying Chris was flat, but that's the only reason I can think of to explain MB's ultimate defeat in the home stretch. Once the last ski had passed, I hightailed it for Loblolly Point - 11.5 miles into the course, opposite the twin lights of Thatcher Island. The authorities neglected to clear the roads as I had (wink, wink) requested (two dollar bills don't grow on trees, you know), meaning I spent most of the trip stuck behind tourists looking for non-existent parking in Rockport. By the time I arrived at Loblolly, the top 20 skis had already gone by. Rather than panic, I did a little vexation jig, and then reassessed my viewing plan.
 |
| Bruce Deltorchio, Richard Germain, Tom Kerr, and Bob Capellini. A few minutes later, these guys were the straws that finally broke the spirit of the poor soul from the previous photo. |
I ticked off the rest of the leaders as they went by. Brian K. I definitely picked the right guy for my zombie-fighting team. Craig. Apparently his bionic spine is now fully operational. Jack. Even without his floppy hat, he's a Canadian to be reckoned with. Brian H. Even in a skirt, he's a Canadian to be reckoned with. Given their spacing, it seemed pretty likely that these guys would remain in the same order at the Greasy Pole (the structure at the finish, not the notorious Gloucester bar of the 70's). The next 8 places... not so clear. The order from my vantage point looked like Eric, Peter, Tim, Wesley, Kurt, Chris, Matt, and Beata. Chris and Matt, working together on an inside line, seemed to be gaining quickly on the group in front of them.
I waited for a few more paddlers before hopping back in the car to head to the finish line. Cue the montage of me yelling at morons, double parkers, stray dogs, and nuns ("Hey! The Good Lord invented crosswalks for a reason, Sisters!") while crawling through Gloucester summer weekend traffic. I arrived at the finish just in time to wonder how long before I got there Borys had finished. He's always been fast, but now he's added elusive to his repertoire. I spotted Brian Kummer well out in Gloucester Harbor, but Borys had already cleared off the water and was well into his second Mai Tai. As I had expected given my Back Shore sightings, Brian K took a commanding second, followed by Craig, Jack, and Brian H. It would be more than 3 minutes before the next paddler finished. Great job, guys.
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| My picture: fulfilled 12, 8, 9, 2, 6, 3. Tim's picture: forlorn DNS. |
This was a particularly fast Blackburn - probably the fastest average times ever, at least for skis. Twenty-one single skis broke the 3 hour mark. Borys had the 4th fastest ski time ever (2:25:43), while Beata (2:52:25) broke the old women's record by more than 5 minutes. Oscar and Joe nabbed the new doubles record (2:29:38), with Jan Lupinski and Alex Ambotas putting up the 3rd fastest doubles time ever (2:32:08). Compared to last year's race (calm, but hot with unfavorable tides), most paddlers in comparable boats shaved off 11 to 14 minutes. Particular standouts in this regard were Todd Furstoss (25 minute improvement), Caroline Pierre (26 minutes - yet another Canadian with whom we must reckon), Bill Kuklinski (26 minutes), and our very own Mary Beth Gangloff (28 minutes).
The wrap party was more than usually festive, with the city-mandated beer fences having the welcome side effect of ensuring you were never more than twelve feet from anyone you wanted to talk with (provided that person was drinking a beer - and why would you want to talk to someone who wasn't?). Before the marathon award ceremony got started, Mr. Joe Glickman was inducted into the Blackburn Hall of Fame - the first surfski paddler to join the ranks. His acceptance speech was no less than I expected from him, which is to say amazing - sincere and funny and moving. We all admire Joe and wish him the best. That being said, next year I'm going to beat the bum.
Congratulations to all competitors and thanks to the many people who organized this monster of a race.
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