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Kayak
Swimmer Support
Alcatraz Challenge Bi-Athalon Swim, Run Sunday, July 6, 2003 -aka- 35 Huckleberry Finn's Whitewash Marc "Twain's Alcatraz Fence 400 succulent swimmers, 36 krunchy kayakers, and about a hundred starving sharks. Oh, and don't forget 4 foot chop (really!) and heavy winds to make things interesting. |
| "Part 1: The Chase" aka Marc's Whitewash Fence (read Dean's story to find out what I'm talking about). [click any picture to zoom in] |
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| "Part 2: After the Race" Unfortunately, we didn't get any "Water Shots" this trip. The 4+ foot surge made it kinda tuff to get pictures. Did anybody have a camera? If so, please lemme know... ...So....Cutting to the "End of the Chase"... [click any picture to zoom in] |
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From
the Front of the
Back of the Front Line byline: LaRhee Webster What:
Alcatraz Challenge
When: July 6, 2003, very early in the morning Where: Aquatic Park to Alcatraz island to Crissy Field, San Francisco Who: bunches of WSKers and BASKers I know by name, some only by sight. I had to ask myself as I was getting up at 4 in the morning, why I was doing this...again. I just just been one of the kayak escort corps for the Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon, and here I was doing the same thing over again. It wasn't like it was going to be a new, novel experience. But just as life is dynamic, so is kayaking. Go today, go again tomorrow, it's always different, sometimes subtly, sometimes hugely. This time, the sky was darker, the fog lower, the wind stronger, the waves higher. There were less swimmers and less safety boaters, but still the same familiar faces to greet each other for the 6:50 am muster at Aquatic Park. "I've done both these races for 12 years," said one paddler. "And I'll be here next year too." There is something here that draws us over and over, I thought. More than just an early morning romp on the Bay. We formed into pods and on Marc Paulsen's signal, we headed out. As we rounded the corner from the breakwater into the bay, we were met with the usual bay winds and building swells. As we paddled toward Alcatraz, it was apparent this was not going to be easy going for the swimmers. The opposing wind and currents had kicked up some big waves. The paddler next to me shouted over the wind as he disappeared down into a trough, "We'll be rescuing each other if it gets worse than this!" Yes indeed, I thought, we will. Somehow, being unfamiliar with the area, I picked a spot to hang out waiting for the swimmers to launch that was like being in Yellow Bluff when it is going off. Back to the wind, bow into the current, I was surfing wave after wave with a very short period, not at all like a beach break. I could hear them break on my tail accompanied by the constant hiss of falling white water, as my bow plunged downward, narrowly missing the backside of the wave in front of me. I was working hard and the day hadn't even started. Then I noticed a big eddy close to the island. Quickly I scooted over there. I saw the eddy line, saw the rips outside of it, and felt for the swimmers who would soon be negotiating that nasty stretch of water. Soon the swimmers were off and we assumed out positions. It's always a little chaotic at the race beginning. Swimmers follow the lead boat, if they can see it. Then they follow each other if they can see another swimmer. But on this day, the waves were big and swimmer after swimmer said they couldn't see where they were going at all. They were swimming blindly and trusting us to guide them. Unlike before, I was on the down current side of the swimmers, the Gate side. "Swim left, swim left!" quickly become my mantra, but the swimmers can't hear you. They have tight caps, their ears get filled with water, and it's noisy out there with the wind and waves. Immediately I was back in the rips marveling at the swimmers tying to swim through four foot waves. Quickly one grabbed my bow. "I can't do this," he said. "You want out?" I asked. "Yes," he replied. I blew my whistle and stuck up my paddle, the signal for a rescue zodiac to come. The wind whipped the paddle out of my hands. I grabbed it back by its leash. I tried again, turning the highest blade into the wind. It helped, but I needed my paddle for bracing. The swimmer was lunging over my front hatch trying to hang on as the rips threw us up and down. "The bow," I shouted. "Just hang on to the bow." He tried to change position and lost hold of the boat entirely. I maneuvered to him and he grabbed on. Soon, the zodiac arrived and he was gone. It was hard work, constantly maneuvering in all directions to look after the swimmers...upwind, downwind and sideways to the waves, constantly turning, sprinting, back paddling. Even so, occasionally there was an image that stuck in my mind. For an instant, I saw a paddler poised on the very peak of a pyramid shaped wave, bow and stern hanging in the air in perfect balance before the wave collapsed under her. Next to me a large sailboat disappeared into a trough with only the top of its cabin visible. Lumpy water the Brits call it. We were all in it. Quickly the current was building and I had been swept downstream. So had the swimmers around me. Rescues were happening all around me in the rough water. Three times more I raised my paddle and signaled for the rescue boats as exhausted swimmers realized that they would be out the Gate before they had even managed to swim halfway to land. Several other swimmers grabbed my bow for a rest, but felt strong and wanted to keep going. "Swim left!" I kept repeating. "You're being swept out! Left, left!" The swimmers were spread out all over the place. One I had just rerouted toward shore was now about 100 yards away swimming directly toward the GG bridge. I sprinted after him to cut him off. "You're going the wrong way. Left. You gotta swim left," I shouted. "Oh. Can't see. Thanks," he said, turning once again toward shore. But he was too far out in the middle of the bay and never going to make it. In fact, most of the swimmers were now barely half way to shore but almost abeam Crissy field, the exit point. They weren't going to make it. The swimmer carnage was overwhelming. A sailboat, a fishing boat, anything out there that floated was pressed into service as a rescue vessel as swimmers were rapidly being overcome by the wind, waves and current. Other paddlers and I were looking for stragglers. "Over there," we'd shout and take off after a lone swimmer. "You got those two? I'll get that guy over there." It was mop up time; search, find, reroute or retrieve. In the end, everybody made it to shore, one way or another. Some swimmers were exhausted, others continued on with the running part of the race, although they could have elected just to do the swim portion. I saw several swimmers wrapped only in a damp towel shivering almost uncontrollably, bagel clutched tightly in their hands, too cold even to eat. Even a couple kayakers were cold and shivering, now that the exertion had stopped but the wind hadn't. So we did what kayakers do best; we ate and talked. We collected in small knots and related our adventures to one another, kidding each other about potential mishaps, real or imagined. It's an old communal thing, this debriefing and bragging of the hunters returned, and it's one of the reasons we go out in the first place. Bragging rights and adventure. Later, as I was loading my boat, a stranger came over to me. "Hey, thanks," he said. "We really appreciate you guys." He was a racer. Turns out he had done the races last year, gotten hooked, and was back for more. He said today was a lot nastier than the Escape race. We chatted a bit, then he was gone. I mused over his phrase, 'gotten hooked." There is something really marvelous about being able, for even a small moment, to do something for another human being. ...something about being able to use my boat for more than just my own enjoyment ...it's about being able to really assist somebody when they really, really need it. I like that feeling, so I'll be back next year, because like he said, I've gotten hooked too. Cheers! LaRhee |
Whitewashing Marc Paulsen's
Alcatraz Fence byline: Dean McCully Starring:
Marc "Twain" Paulsen as Tom Sawyer 35 Kayakers at Huckleberry Finn As told to Dean McCully. By a little birdie. That's my schtick and I'm schticking to it! Remember Mark Twain's story about Tom Sawyer suckering Huck Finn into whitewashing the fence by claiming that "only the best people are capable of whitewashing fences?" Well, Marc Paulsen appears to have studied Mark Twain quite thoroughly.... It was about Ohh-Dark-Thirty. Well, 5:00am PST, to be exact. "Whoop Whoop Whoop" roared the nuclear submarine's klaxon as my life flashed before my eyes. I was in a leaky kayak in 5 foot seas on the San Francisco Bay. A monstrous "Nuke Missile Boomer" was bearing down on us at 25 knots. Its wide open torpedo tubes were scooping up hapless "Alcatraz Challenge" swimmers by the hundreds. What was wrong with the pilot of this marauding behemoth? Didn't he see the emergency flares we were launching? Didn't his sonar hear me banging the hull of my upside-down kayak as he opened his missile hatch to launch the nuke that would... Um, oh yeah.... It's the alarm clock. The "klaxon" was my $2.75 Costco special alarm. The "nuke boomer" was in a dream. My alarm was merely screeching at me to get out of bed. It was 5am and time drive to San Francisco and kayak-escort 400 "Alcatraz Challenge" biathletes. Throwing the clock across the room, I rolled out of bed, fell thru my front door, and stumbled into my pre-loaded monster van. It was off to San Francisco for a 6:50am muster and safety briefing from Marc Paulsen. Still in a fog from my dreamtime nuclear submarine attack, I careened the monster van into the Van Ness parking area for Aquatic Park. It was about 6am. I had 50 minutes to unload, deal with bodily fluids, slither into a stinky wetsuit that was still slimy from our 4th of July paddle 2 days before, and hit the beach. "Skylady" LaRhee was already parked. Great. She'd be razzing the heck out of me for arriving there before I did. Hmmmm, her purple loaner boat from Riptides & Rapids was on the beach. But no LaRhee. Where could she be? Suddenly from behind her minivan's tinted windows appeared LaRhee's apparition. Holy smoke, had she spent the night in San Fran just to beat me to the launch point? Nice. LaRhee had just earned the right to razz me and make my life a living hell today. Michael Powers, Doug, and a cast of dozens were already assembling. Both Doug and Michael had brought along their hand-built wooden boats, both were donning battle gear and wooden paddles, and both were preparing for war with Mother Nature. "Heh, get your ASS in GEAR, Boy! You're LATE!" screeched LaRhee. So I quickly dug through the back of my monster van and threw on my Mysterioso and neoprene. Bleh, that stuff smells like a WET DOG after a couple of days. I sure would have liked to have sweet smelling under things to put on. No such luck today: wet dog it'd have to be. "HURRY UP or I'll PADDLE YOU!" shouted LaRhee (I LOVE it when she talks dirty to me but that motherly screech grates on the skull ;-) Kaboom, as my oldest and most beat up SOT slips out of my grasp and slams the pavement from the top of my van. It's a LONG way down from my monster van's roof rack to pavement. But that's the nice thing about plastic boats: they take a licking and, well, keep on floating. LaRhee grabbed my stern (oooh, baby....), I grabbed the bow, we snatched up paddles as we could, and we shuttled my boat to Aquatic Park. It was precisely 6:50am. Just in time for roll call. This race, Marc was hell-bent determined to beat the slow paced "Kayaker Time" and launch early. In his most commanding voice, Marc bellowed, "Fall In!" Aye aye, mon Admiral, we replied in fear as Marc threatened to whack us with his clipboard. "This is going to be a safe trip. No bunching up, no socializing, safety safety safety." 40 of us stood, intimidated by "Da Man of Swimmer Escorts." We knew better than to mess with Marc as he began dividing us into 4 "Pods" of kayaks. "Pod 1 is the 'point pod' and will consist of the fastest, most elite, and most accomplished paddlers," bellowed Marc. "Only the best of the best should stand in line for Pod 1!" Hmmm, shades of Tom Sawyer and his whitewashed fence, wouldn't you say? Nonetheless, being the slowest and least Huck Finn-like paddler in attendance, I slunk away from Pod 1. Pod 1 was the "Golden Gate Side" pod, tasked with herding the "ebbing swimmers" away from the Gate. If any of the swimmers escaped our notice and drifted too far to the west, they'd be lost in the Farallon Feeding Frenzy awaiting them out the Gate. A dozen or so "Huck Finn's" fell in line to be counted among the "elite". Not me! "Pod 2 is the most elite rock-avoidance pod. Pod 2's job will be to herd swimmers away from the rocky shores of San Francisco. Only the best need stand in line to join Pod 2." Geez, Marc was GOOD. I couldn't wait for Marc to hand out whitewash brushes! But, again, I slunk away. No Huck Finn was I. "Pod 3 is, perhaps, the most important Pod," Marc intoned. "Pod 3 will launch 10 minutes behind Pod #1 and act as "sweep" for Pod 1's escapees. The slower swimmers will be caught in the rising ebb tide out the Gate, and it is Pod 3's job to watch for the slow 'Sunday-Driver Swimmers'. Only the best need stand in line to join Pod 3. Fall in!." With 40 kayakers falling in, we'd get Marc's fence whitewashed in no time.! But, again, I slunk away. No third Pod elite Huck Finn was I. "But I've saved the best for last. Pod 4 is the most important Pod of all!" Sure, Marc. Pass the whitewash buckets already, wouldja. "Pod 4 will follow Pod 2 by 10 minutes. All of the slowest and injured swimmers will probably be helped by Pod 4. We'll be fishin 'em out by the boatload and it's gonna be HARD work! Who's man enough for the Pod 4 challenge?" Um, LaRhee and I snuck into the back of Pod 3. No sense being the MOST heroic whitewashers in the fleet! We'll stick with 3rd most heroic. "Oh, one more thing. I do NOT want to see you kayakers socializing and BUNCHING UP! NO WAY! I want to see all kayakers STRUNG OUT! I want you SPACED OUT! I want you ZONED OUT!" Dontcha just love San Francisco! Even KAYAKERS in San Fran are told to get Strung/Spaced/Zoned Out! Marc, you DEFINITELY missed your calling as a comedian! Like, far out Groovy, Man. "And everybody who's not officially signed up, you're sweep! Let's go!" Aye Aye, Sir, Mister Sawyer -er-er- Mister Paulsen. We hit the water and paddled like heck into the Bay. Conditions sucked as we hit the waves. I've been in surf zone classes with smaller waves. Double overhead "morning sickness monsters" bore down on us from every which way. As we fought our way out, the monsters fought back. Those poor swimmers were going to have a SUCKO swim! Reaching Alcatraz, I sidled my beat up boat into the calmer waters of the island-sized slip stream. The water at the boundary layer was cappuccino, the waters on the outside were "lumpy", but the waters inside the boundary were smooth as silk. Kayakers started yelling "COWABUNGA" and surfed the Island-sized eddy as we waited for the swimmer-laden ferry boat. Nasty stuff, but fun to goof around in! The swimmer's ferry boat appeared and headed to the north of Alcatraz. They were supposed to launch on the SOUTH end of Alcatraz but they took a little detour. I stayed put in my calm water "eddy-hammock", but most kayakers pursued the ferry around the Oakland side of Alcatraz, to the North side of the island. Psych! The kayakers should have stayed put. Reaching the north end of the island, the ferry turned and came back to the South end. Suddenly, 400 screaming swimmers "Geronimo-ed" into the water. All 400 of them wore canary-yellow swim caps. All 400 of them were hell-bent for victory. All 400 of them were INSANE for jumping out of a perfectly good ferry boat into frozen, shark infested waters. We kayakers were mesmerized by the scene. But the spell was broken when Heir Uber Furher Paulsen started screaming, "Stop your goldarned gawking and Get Strung Out, dagnabbit!" Dontcha LOVE San Francisco?! Like, um, pass the Doobie, Marc! As usual, I hung toward the back of the swimming pack. I've never been particularly athletically competitive, so I've always empathized with the stragglers. There were stragglers a plenty. As the last swimmers came out of the ferry, it was obvious that the rising winds and 4+ foot seas were going to sink more than a few. The pontoon power boats bobbed and gyred on the waves as us kayakers tried to remain, "Strung Out" and herd the swimmers. As the swimmers entered the cappuccino froth of the boundary layer around Alcatraz, many simply gave up, bunched up, and had to be hauled out. This was not a good way to start a race. Yellow swim caps bobbed away from us by the hundreds as splashing swimmers made their way thru the churn. Arms and legs threshed the water like Kansas wheat harvesters. The sharks must have been stunned by the smorgasbord above their heads. But no sharks appeared: only jet skis to help blued and exhausted swimmers out of the water. We kayakers circled and twisted, shouting encouragement to the last of the swimmers to jump ship. At one point,a very pregnant lady jumped out of the ferry. She was one of the last to bail out and she IMMEDIATELY swam for the gunwales of a nearby safety boat. They hauled her out immediately. Heh, at least "unborn junior" had a few minute's exposure to San Fran Bay's frigidity. I wonder what stories he'll mom will tell when he's old enough to remember their short swim near Alcatraz. The already ferocious currents were intensifying as the swimmers threshed. The rising ebb tide was pulling swimmers toward the Gate and into jaws of death just beyond. Our concentration turned to the blue-est swimmers and we began increasing our pull-out rate. One struggling swimmer looked sortof like a frozen blue-fish stick. I asked her how she was doing and her answer was something like, "Mummmmasmffmfm." Up went my paddle to summon the rescue boat. This one was done. I told her, "Hang onto my boat for a minute." So she lurched forward with an adrenaline-induced spurt of vigor and nearly leapt onto my deck. It took every bit of bracing skill I could muster to keep from being flipped by our instant instability. But I held on, she held on, and the rescue boats soon arrived to pluck her out of the water. The ebb continued increasing, the winds picked up, and the waves were in the 4-ish foot range. Swimmers were being blown every which way, and us kayakers were having a hard time "herding" them. Marc kept yelling from his twin 454 engine pontoon race/rescue boat, "Get Spaced Out!" Sure, Marc. Just TRY lighting a Doob in waters like these. Another swimmer grabbed my stern when I wasn't looking. "Can you tow me?" he begged with blue lips and purple cheeks. "Sure, hang on for a second." I responded by waving my paddle to summon another rescue boat. The rescue pontoon motorboat snatched this guy from the frigid waters by the scruff of his neck. He was done. One after another. Dozens after dozens gave up and had to be hauled out. Conditions were nasty and getting worse. This was FUN. We herded the last cluster of struggling swimmers toward the rescue boat. One after another, in monster seas, rescuers grabbed swimmers by the back and jerked them onto the pontoons for a ride to shore. As one exhausted swimmer-cluster was being rescued, an impatient swimmer changed his mind and decided to sprint away from the rescue boat. Not realizing that a lone swimmer had broken away from the rescue cluster, the boat driver gunned his engine to reach more swimmers. Blam, wouldn't you know it: the boat went right over the break-away swimmer's head. Good thing that the propellers didn't turn the swimmer into sushi. But the swimmer swam away, unharmed, as us kayakers yelled words of chastisement at the boat pilot. Finally, the entire "kayak posse" escorted the last 3 or 4 swimmers to shore. We screamed words of encouragement as they swam the last hundred or so yards. All 3 or 4 of the last swimmers hit the sandy shore, and stood, arms overhead, running Rocky-like, victoriously to shore. YESSSS! We were done! Time to land our boats and PARTY! Bagels, bananas, and other treats waited for us. One woman ran up to us yelling, "You guys are great, you guys are great!" I said, "Well, then, how about a hug?" Catching my 2-day-old Mysterioso stench, she replied, "Well, um, you're not THAT great" as she turned and ran away. I have GOT to remember to wash my wetsuit next time! I asked a "bagel lady" volunteer if I could have my bagel toasted and my coffee with a sprinkle of cinnamon and a dusting of froth. Her response? "No problem: Starbucks about 3 miles up the road. Get me one, too!" Everybody's a comedian this early in the morning. But Marc's bellow once again summoned us to line up and get paid for being good enough to "whitewash his fence." Congratulating us for not losing a single swimmer, Marc handed out crisp bills to the pre-registered kayakers. Woo hoo! Gas money! We felt RICH as we paddled back to our launch point at Aquatic Park! RICH, I say, as we headed into the pizza place down the street to spend our entire haul on a personal pan pizza and a well deserved beer. Ahhh, life is good..... I was so tired that, after pan pizza and beer, I spread out my Therma-Rest in the back of my monster van and shut my eyes for a few seconds. "Whoop Whoop Whoop" roared the nuclear submarine's claxon as my life flashed before my eyes. I was in a leaky kayak, I was holding a whitewash brush for a paddle, and there was a bucket of whitewash strapped to my deck. "Only the best kayakers can whitewash the submarine!" bellowed Marc Paulsen's megaphone as the "boomer" opened his torpedo tubes to blow us all to kingdom come.... See you on the next trip! Next time, I'll (white) wash my wetsuit, ok? Dean (Ok, ok, Marc never mentioned the word, "Whitewash". But I sure felt like Huck that day. Click here for Marc's REAL instructions.) |
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When
we had done our chilly chore,
The kayak possee heads for shore. With tales of pain, I will not bore. Suffice to say that we were SORE! Don't forget to check out the
pictures from the LAST Alcatraz Escort event: June 8, 2003 Escape from Alcatraz |
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The Chameleon of West Coast Sea Kayaking |
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2003 ALCATRAZ CHALLENGE KAYAK ASSIGNMENTS
There will be four pods of kayaks, plus a few on special assignments. Marc Paulsen, who is coordinating the kayak effort, will make pod assignments.
POD #1 will leave Aquatic Park early enough to take a position ont he northwest end of the starting line at 0750. After the start, flank the northwest side (Golden Gate Bridge side) of the swim pack, strongly urging swimmers on a due south course for the first part of the swim. NOTE: MANY SWIMMERS WHO ARE TOO FAR TO THE WEST ARE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT.
POD #2 will leave Aquatic Park early enough to
take a position on the southeast end of the starting line by 0750. After the start, flank the southeast side (the
Oakland side) of the swim pack, keeping swimmers from separating from the
pack. POD #3 and POD #4 will leave from Aquatic Park at 0740. POD #3 will join POD #1 to the northwest
side of the swim pack. POD #4
will join POD #2 to the southeast eand rear of the swim pack. SPECIAL KAYAK ASSIGNMENTS: 1. A lead kayak will be assigned to each pod to oversee kayak spacing. 2. Marc Paulsen will be in a whaler to oversee the kayak distribution. 3. A lead kayak will follow the lad boat, which will have two orange buoys. The lead kayak will follow and maintain a distance of about 10 yards from the lead boat, and will maintain a distance of a few yards ahead of the lead swimmer. 4. The start signal is a loud blast of the ferry horn.
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2003 Dean
McCully and LaRhee Webster
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