Jamestown Double Beaver: Overjoyed

The Jamestown Double Beaver is the longest-running surfski race in New England, with several competitors from the 2013 event still trying to get back to shore.  For the 13th consecutive year, race organizer Tim Dwyer scrambled to the top of Beavertail Lighthouse, raised a conch to his lips, and issued the mighty blast that call forth paddlers from across the land.  I told him just to use Facebook, but you know Tim - not the best guy with technology.

Although the field was intimate (at 10 paddlers), it felt top-heavy.  Looking to parlay his Ride the Bull humiliation (of everyone else) into a deeper annihilation of the locals' self-confidence, Ed Joy was back in town.  Jan Lupinski was making his first appearance of the season, although commuting bi-weekly to Portugal has really interfered with his training schedule.  We'd also be joined by recent NJ immigrant Andrii Monastyrskyi.  It's been over five years since we put in our application for an international-caliber Ukrainian sprinter to replace Borys Markin, but our patience finally paid off.  Given that our region is considered a paddling backwater by Eastern Europeans, I was afraid they might send us a dilapidated old hand-me-down, but based on his youth and carved-from-marble torso, I think we got the real deal.  The only question was how quickly he could adapt to ocean paddling.

Tim insisted on continuing to refer to us a "throng", but eventually conceded that he get could get by without his megaphone.

We'd paddle the semi-standard course.  Starting from the Conanicut Yacht Club dock, we'd proceed across Jamestown Harbor to the House on the Rock, then round Bull Point and head across open water to the Beavertail Point bell buoy.  Observant racers will note the tell-tale scrapes in the buoy paint where paddlers from tempestuous past years desperately tried to claw their way onto the heaving structure after abandoning their shattered skis.  With only a light zephyr forecast for this year, however, we expected that the majority of the field would be able to retrace their 5 mile path back to the Yacht Club, fingernails intact.

Since we have a vested interest in being seen on the water, we're seldom accused of dressing inconspicuously.  Some have argued that this just makes us easier targets for boaters, but at least it also facilitates recovery of the bodies.  At this race, Wesley pretty much guaranteed that he'd never be "presumed lost".  He was debuting his experimental Dazzler™ high-visibility ensemble - orange boat, fluorescent yellow shirt/hat combo, and blazing orange PFD.  Those of us who accidentally looked directly at him are still haunted by Echols after-images when we close our eyes.  He may have gone too far, though - the Coast Guard repeatedly swarmed him mid-race in response to "flare fired" reports over VHF.

Luckily, I still had the camera filter I bought for that solar eclipse a few years back.

Once we had assembled off the dock, Tim gave us a one minute warning, impatiently shaved off a few seconds, and sent us on our way.  We got off to a typical Jamestown start - weaving through moored boats while discovering (inevitably at the last moment) that about a quarter of those boats aren't actually moored, but are instead slowly prowling the harbor in search of kayaks to yell at while shaking their fists menacingly.  Ed and Andrii took an immediate lead, with Tim, Jan, Wesley and me in the second wave.  As I was trying to pass him, Tim stuck stubbornly on my side wash.  After several attempts, I finally managed to dislodge the pesky barnacle, but knew from the last couple of races that I'd need to keep careful track of the ol' crustacean.

Ed was pulling Andrii across the harbor several lengths ahead, both paddling with frustratingly calm and measured cadences.  With decidedly less composure, I windmilled desperately in an attempt to join the leaders.  In retrospect, it's hard to believe I couldn't have dug just a little deeper to close the gap, but after the race I found a hastily scribbled note in my PFD pocket that read "Dear Future Self.  Bite me."  So maybe I had already bottomed out.  In any event, I managed to make it to the House on the Rock without falling any further back.  Unhappy with the status quo, I decided to mix things up...  by gradually letting the leaders slip away.  By the time we cleared the headlands of Fort Wetherill, I was perhaps a dozen boat lengths behind the lead pair.

The key to his success?  Before each race, Ed always practices being alone out front.

Despite the ravings of the malicious pranksters who convinced me otherwise before buying my Cinco, the difference in stability between an ICF sprint boat and an elite-level ski is dramatic.  Equivalent to the difference between balancing on an elite-level ski and, say, a La-Z-Boy recliner.  As we've seen in the past, however, the unpredictable ocean is the great leveler.  It abhors a high center of mass.  I have fond memories of flatwater stalwarts like Jan and Mike Dostal bobbing beside their boats in these very waters before getting their ski legs.  Andrii's ocean experience can be counted in days, and here he was braving the wake-chopped waters in a V14 - by many accounts, the highest numbered Epic ski available.  And also quite tippy.  I had hoped that instability would counterbalance his natural abilities.  As we moved into less protected waters, however, I realized this was a pipe dream.  At times I noticed a certain tentativeness, but Andrii never seemed in danger of toppling.

While Ed and Andrii took an inside line towards Beavertail Light, I hoped to find more favorable conditions on an outside line.  As experienced open-water racers will attest, the more lateral distance there is between you and your competitors, the smaller their lead appears.  Having few scruples, I figured I could exploit this trick of perspective to catch (nay, overtake!) Ed and Andrii.  Sure enough, the gap between us evaporated as I continued to angle out further and further into the mouth of Narragansett Bay.  I briefly considered moving so far out that they'd completely disappear from view, but some scruple residue prevented me from blinking them out of existence.  Unfortunately, geometry required that we converge again to round the buoy.  The pair angled out, I angled in, and my imaginary membership in the lead pack was revoked.

I had noticed before the race that Andrii was sportingly handicapping himself by using a surf rudder without a weed guard.  Not only would this deadly combination slow him down, but like a machete-wielding guide in the jungle, he'd also clear the vegetation for those of us following in his path.  If he also took out a few vipers or blood-thirsty monkeys in the process, so much the better.  During my off-shore passage to the turn, I had noticed Andrii swerving suddenly to avoid islands of floating weeds and making frequent rudder-clearing stops when his evasive maneuvers came too late.  This seemed to play a role in Ed breaking free around mile 3, and certainly was a key factor in my catching Andrii a mile later.  I managed to hang in his general vicinity until we reached the buoy, but perhaps by retracing his defoliated steps, he seemed to have much better luck with weeds on the return trip.  I understand that the rules committee is designing Andrii a pair of rake-like outriggers to even the field for his next race.

Despite training almost exclusively on a mill pond in central New York this season, Ed has no peers when it comes to milking every drop of momentum out of the conditions.  Sometimes I could swear he leaves a pool of lulled water in his wake, drained of its motive force.  Combine this wave-reading ability with a level of fitness, stamina, and power that none of the other over-40s can match... well, that's what earned him the affectionate (but unwieldy) nickname of "Oh For Chrissake, Ed's Made the 5 Hour Drive Again".  For most of us, there wasn't much to work with on an unnaturally calm day in Narragansett Bay.  But Ed somehow found devious ways to keep his bow pointing down.  He had an honest lead at the halfway point, but on the return leg he really exploited his foul necromancy.

Seeing Tim and Jan after taking the turn, I estimated that they were around two minutes behind.  I focused on keeping Andrii close enough that I could delude myself into thinking I was still pursuing him, as opposed to just following him.  There was no serious hope of catching up, but perhaps this self-deception could keep me motivated enough to stay ahead of my pursuers.  The delusion became increasingly difficult to maintain as Andrii progressed through the familiar blotch-splotch-chip-fleck-speck-dot-mote evolutionary sequence until inevitably disappearing altogether.  When I finally reached the House on the Rock, even the memory of him was nothing but a fuzzy tickle.  Of course, by this time all traces of... uh... that other guy... you'd know him... anyway, all traces of him had long-since faded from my brain.  I was racing for gold!  I put my head down, chose an arbitrary route through the impossible-to-gauge tidal eddies of Jamestown Harbor, and headed home.

Whaddya know?  Tim was right.  We are a throng.

I saw a couple of random guys in skis paddling lazily away from the finish line as I approached for the win.  Tim pulled in a few minutes after me for silver, with globe-trotting Jan taking bronze some moments later.  Mary Beth was the women's champ.  When I arrived back at the launch, I was flabbergasted to discover that my victory was being challenged.  After the on-site hypnotist walked me through the repressed memories of ego-crushing emotional abuse by Ed and Andrii, however, I had little choice but to gracefully concede (while looking down, muttering under my breath, and kicking petulantly at the dirt - naturally).  Ed had finished about a minute ahead of me, with Andrii close behind him.  So that settles tha... OK, OK, you quack!  Get that pocket watch away from me.  Ed finished six minutes ahead of me, with Andrii two minutes behind him.  Some experiences are are better left buried.

Thanks to Tim for keeping the Double Beaver tradition going.  Northeast paddlers have over a month retool their training plan before Wesley's Sakonnet River Race on September 19.  Register at PaddleGuru.