GOLDEN’S PADDLING ADVENTURE
July 30, 2021
The weather report in the L.A. Times reads: Friday July 30, 2021. Wind finder 16 mph NW. Skies clear.
I think it sounds reasonably calm. Nothing we haven't experienced before. But later, as we traveled north into the wind toward the Channel Islands, it isn't as calm as I remembered the last time. Nevertheless, it was clear as we towed our 45ft racing canoe behind the75 ft boat Born to be Wild. The crew is made up of thirteen longtime friends and competitors in the sport of outrigger racing. We hail from Lanakila and Dana Canoe clubs. During a normal racing season, we compete fiercely against each other. However, at the end of each season, we consolidate our talents and train to form one solid team. We then fly to Hawaii to compete in the World Championship across the 42.5-mile Molokai to Oahu Outrigger race. This is what we do annually. Registered in the Golden Master division, everyone must be 65 years or older. According to Captain Jerry Marcil's recall, the Goldens have medaled between 1st through 3rd place in their first 12 or so years. However, in the last 10 years, they have finished second five times and won it five times, not in that particular order. Coincidentally, the team goes by the name of California Gold. During the off season, we occasionally come together for fun and sometimes take long adventurous trips aboard our mother boat, Born to be Wild, owned by teammate Jerry Marcil. We are a motley crew from vastly different backgrounds, but there is a trust in each other formed from years of training and competing often experiencing dire situations at sea. I recall several times Jerry would say to me as we're finally returning home from such situations, "Well we cheated death one more time,” then we'd burst out laughing. It was more truthful than funny. As the engines throb, we drone ever northward. There is no rhythm in maneuvering over wave after wave aboard a boat. Just when you think you've figured out the rhythmic side to side roll of the boat, suddenly it lifts up and slams you down, throwing you completely off balance. All you can do is always have one hand on a rail or be constantly aware that at any second you could be thrown off balance. As the miles pass under our hull, we idly talk and watch our canoe tow gracefully over each wave and surf down the face into a trough before climbing up another wave again. It's beautiful to watch, but we are always fearfully anxious of something happening, such as a white cap hitting the canoe and flipping it over. It has never happened before and we are hopeful it won't ever happen. Eventually we arrive at Santa Rosa Island. Our goal is to fish, relax and paddle.
As we near the island our attention turns to the beautiful dry grassy shoreline, rolling mountains and green shimmering bays.Captain Jerry scans the bay looking for an anchorage for the night; we are admiring the beauty of nature and no one is paying attention to the canoe. All of a sudden, a loud cry of urgency cuts through the air joined by yelling and confusion. Our attention turns back to the canoe. To our horror the canoe is dragging underwater, still in the upright position filled with water and partially submerged. We quickly stop the engines and reverse. Everyone is yelling instructions at once. "Watch the towline." "Don't let it tangle the props." "We need to dive in and bail the canoe." "Where are the bailing buckets." "No get the five-gallon buckets." It is clear everyone has a plan, but not the same plan and the din grows in volume until it is too much. We have been in these situations before and soon everyone's excitement begins to settle down. We quickly decide to continue towing the canoe slowly to calmer waters inside the bay of nearby Santa Rosa Island. The tow line had moved out of position causing the canoe tow to slightly askew. We reach the bay. It's still a little rough to bail the canoe, but we stop to do it anyway.
As we slow to a stop amidst all the talking, Walter Wright, affectionately known as Junior, strips down to his speedo and immediately dives in like Tarzan and attempts to bail water out of the canoe. Small waves wash over the gunnels as fast as he bails, leaving the canoe awash again.
He stands up inside the canoe and uses a dragline trailing from the ama to pull the ama up in the air until it is vertical. The canoe floats on its side precariously controlled by Junior as he adjusts tension on the line. The idea is to float it vertically hoping water will slosh in and out of the partially submerged hull, before letting it back down. It is difficult but can be done, but usually in calm water. After several unsuccessful attempts, the canoe repeatedly ends up full of water. It is not working. Things are not looking good. Everyone’s apprehensive. At this point, Junior told me later, he decided to flip the canoe upside down and start all over again. Sure enough, Junior flips the canoe upside down and prepares to pull it vertical once again. Determined, he climbs on the canoe, balancing and standing tall, he repeats the now familiar maneuver and pulls the line taught lifting the ama out of the water. But this time, as the line becomes taught, Junior leans his body backward as a counterweight to apply more leverage causing the ama to lift easier out of the water. As the ama reaches its zenith the canoe begins to float on its side. Junior does his best to hold it in position for a few precious seconds. Mesmerized, the crew watches in silence. Several insignificant swells pass under the canoe. The canoe is barely affected as it floats over the swells apparently allowing some water to spill out. A slight murmur runs through the crew. Junior doggedly hangs on while allowing the canoe to rotate back down. Then the heavy canoe falls and lands right side up partially filled with water. It is barely floating… but it floats. Everyone is ecstatic. Dancing like children, yelling and screaming, we voice our approval to the gods of the sea, to Junior, to everything and anything. Gary Weber and John Edwards and others already swimming nearby quickly bail the canoe free of water before the ocean can reclaim it. More people with buckets dive in and help. While Junior sits on the ama, Gary Weber and John Edward bail water furiously. Soon we discover the reason why the canoe sank while undertow. There is a hole in the canoe about the size of a grapefruit under seat four. What could have caused it? How could it have happen? The canoe is made of sheets of honeycomb foam core resin sandwiched by two layers of carbon fiber. Although the canoe flexes, carbon fiber is extremely tough to penetrate. It would take many blows from a sledge hammer aimed at one particular spot to create a hole that size. Something floating by in the ocean could not have impacted that particular spot to make a hole that large. It would be a glancing blow leaving scrapes and scuffs around the edges of the hole. There were no signs of scuffs at all. If it was a large heavy log or something floating just under the surface, our big boat would have certainly run over it first and received the initial blow, as the canoe was towed directly behind our boat. There was no way of us knowing it was filling with water as we towed it until it suddenly sank. We think a patch could have slowly come apart for most of the trip and as the force of the water opened it wider, it suddenly ripped open.
We quickly pick a strong crew to paddle the canoe to the beach. Someone has to keep one foot on the hole to prevent water from flooding in. They carry it up past the high-water mark and leave it there for the night. Meanwhile, the few of us who have had experience in fiberglass repairing form a plan to repair the canoe in the morning. We need to gather all the resources we can from the Born to Be Wild. Rummaging around in his tool compartments, Captain Jerry can only find a small can of resin about the size of an 8oz measuring cup and a can of white Gel Coat of similar size, but no fiberglass at all. It’s an inadequate supply to repair a hole that size, but we have to make do with what we have. We are near the northernmost turn-around point of our journey. My biggest concern is to get the canoe home safely. We gather every tool we can think of, sandpaper, scissors, kitchen knife, anything for the next day's repair. We stuff it in Ziplock bags. The plan is to start work early the next morning, so the resin can cure as many hours as possible in the sun. My experience from helping build Shearwater Surf skis, OC6 canoes and repairing broken canoes for Lanakila will come in handy. I remember it takes resin approximately a day to harden on the outside, but about 5 days to cure 95% throughout. But in this situation, we do not have the resources nor the time. So, the patch over the hole in the canoe must work or else… But without fiberglass, it will take a miracle. That night no one sleeps well, especially me.
I kept waking up to the sound of water slapping against the hull under my bed. Not a good sound to wake up to…
At 5:30am I wake up to go over plans for the repairs in my mind. Gary Weber of Dana Canoe Club, Wayne Hess, Dana Canoe Club and cook, John Edwards of Florida and Junior of Okalani Northern Cali, eventually become my main helpers. We hit the beach like a Marine Recon group, dropping off the side of the rubber raft as it cruises into the surf then quickly motors away to clear the impact. With our gear stuffed in waterproof baggies, we hurriedly stagger through the surf in waist deep water.
Inspecting the canoe, we scrape off sand and pick out pieces of wet honeycomb foam from the carbon fiber. We think an old patch covered the hole and may not have been properly dried before it was fiber glassed over with resin. The leading edge of the patch could have torn off while being towed. The canoe has a history of being patched after it hit the breakwater in Marina Del Rey during a race. Also, it was damaged from our trailer while being transported to and from the Annual Dam Race near Arizona. Could it be the same damage we were patching? Using a serrated kitchen knife, we act like dentists as we pick and clean the crud in the hole. We spray alcohol, found in the big boat for quick drying (No, not the drinking kind). The big question finally faces us, "What can we use in place of fiberglass? I mention to the guys, "When I was a kid, my dad shot a large bird while we were hunting. I ran to pick it up. It bit my hand and left a long bloody cut. My dad plucked some down feathers from the bird's underside and wrapped it around my bleeding cut, allowing the blood to dry with the feathers. He said the old Chinese used down feathers instead of stitches to close cuts. Sure, enough the feather dried hard and solid around my finger and held the cut together all day until we got home.
I suggest, "We can try using down feathers in place of Mat Glass mixed with Resin and apply it as the inner layer to stick to the carbon fibers inside the hole. As that hardens it will form the first layer. Then over that we'll apply long flight feathers mixed in resin to create a second layer for strength". So off went the guys, scouring the beach for down and flight feathers. Returning with a bucket full, they found the necessary feathers to start the job, but the downy feathers are so light the wind keeps blowing them away, floating up and flying out. We keep chasing after them down the beach. They are so precious; we regard them as if they were gold. Never the less we have to add more down and flight feathers to make it thicker and hopefully stronger.
But the patch needs even more thickness, so we shred a piece of cotton cloth and coat it with the last drops of resin to create a third layer. As the resin hardens, we apply a coat of sticky silicone from a tube found by Gary Weber. The silicone never did dry the entire trip, but its stickiness helped hold a protective shield cut out from a bailing bucket by Wayno. We add section of Smart and Final shopping bag and more packing tape to cover the entire kit and kaboodle patch against the hull. AND that was only half of the project. We still have more work to do on a deep crack under seat two. We repair the cracks by having John Edward and Gary Weber dig and scrape into the resin widening it with Captain Jerry's sharp kitchen scissor. (Well, it used to be sharp). Sorry Jerry. Using lots more down feathers, I mix the resin, tape it off and we press the mixture into the crevice. We smooth the Gel Coat out as best we can.
The first layer isn’t pretty, but we got better as more layers were added. Amazingly it all held together. As the next four days go by, everything hardens and becomes stronger. My only thoughts were to save the canoe. Nothing else mattered to me. I felt responsible for anything that happened to it. As we prepared to leave the island, I felt compelled to ask the guys to make sure we pick up any trash we may have made. We left the island as we found it, leaving only our footprints behind.
Not taking any chances, the next day we towed the freshly patched canoe slowly across 24 miles of channel to Santa Barbara Harbor at 10 miles per hour. It was windy, but it towed perfectly without any trouble. We kept an eagle eye on it. At Santa Barbara, we were prepared to leave it and made plans to trailer it home at a later date. We walked to town and had a wonderful dinner on State Street. Crowded into a beautiful back room, twelve men and one woman we all looked pretty damn healthy and tanned. The waitress kept asking, "Where are you guys from? How did you get here again? You paddled how far you say?” She kept shaking her head. After walking about 2 or 3 miles back to our boat, we were whipped. We tried to watch a movie, but many of us couldn't hang. We woke up the next morning eager to check the patches. To our delight, we discovered the resin and feathers had hardened properly. Neither patch leaked. That's when we decided not to leave it at Santa Barbara, but tow it home. Capt. Jerry plotted our course heading approximately west southwest towards Smuggler's Cove Santa Cruz Island. That would take us across the channel again, in order to anchor in protected Smugglers Cove overnight. In the morning from Smugglers Cove it would give us a straight shot to Anacapa Island, a 17-mile paddle. Then a straighter downwind course towards home. As we recrossed the channel, the canoe towed and performed so well we soon stopped towing and had a crew paddle the 24 miles to Smuggler's cove. Making 30-minute changes the canoe performed well and seemed to be under less duress than while being towed. I think it is because paddling propulsion is evenly spread throughout the canoe from within, instead of being stressed from a single pulling point emanating from without. As we neared Santa Cruz, the wind increased over our starboard side. The canoe was perfectly designed to handle the choppy ocean. Meanwhile as the canoe traveled unabated toward its destination, the stress on the Born to be Wild and her crew was much tougher, as the big boat endured constant rocking and rolling with a northerly wind whistling through the window screens. As long as the big boat was underway, it was fine, but as soon as we stopped for changes the boat wallowed and rocked heavily causing dishes and kitchen paraphernalia to come crashing down to the floor. It was a mental strain picking up walnuts, peanuts, pots and pans off a rocking floor. Poor Kelly Shipman was prone to being seasick. But she was a true warrior as she helped me in the kitchen, while changes were going on outside, I could see in her glazed eyes that she was fighting, enduring motion sickness without uttering a single peep or complaint. Finally, we crossed the channel and rounded the windy point at Smugglers Cove. At last, we dropped anchor, secured the canoe to the mother boat and straightened up the paraphernalia on deck and relaxed. Although the cramped kitchen was not the place to be in choppy water, every night at dinner the kitchen was the only place to be. We all sat around and toasted our good fortune. Beer flowed like water and Tequila like honey. We became our own silly entertainment. Telling stories often escalated into hilarious shouting matches. I never realized how the words, "Drunken Sailors” came about. Now I know. The people you suffer with the most are often some of your best friends and the ones you want to be with. That night the entire crew slept well.
Left to Right: Steersman Ray Shipman, Gary Weber, Karl Fjoslin, Bill Bauer, John Edwards and Junior.
Respectfully passing the famous Anacapa Arch.
The next day we saddle up and paddle 17 miles from Santa Rosa to Anacapa Island in moderate seas and had a wonderful workout. At Anacapa, we paddle next to tall ancient cliffs. Prehistoric lava wrinkled its sagging face. Cliffs drop straight down 15 to 20 stories crashing into the frothing ocean. Everything is nature. Everything is breathtakingly immense. From our big boat we gaze skyward in awe at cliffs towering over our small bright canoe bobbing like a little toy. Sea birds diving into a blue sea, after bait fish, porpoises attracted to our boat joyfully race towards us for a free ride. In the distance we watch as the tiny canoe approach the arch at the end of Anacapa Island. They stop and stare at it in reverence for long minutes. Finally, steersman Ray Shipman turns towards us and waves a hand signal. We reply similarly. They come back and sidle up to us and begin to hook up the tow line, checking and double checking everything.
Captain Jerry sets a southerly course. After five days of excitement, fishing, and 50 miles of paddling, we begin the long journey home, engines throbbing mile after mile. With the wind on our back, the patches have hardened and the canoe tows straight and true. Performing its graceful dance for us, the canoe rises and falls over swells as if happy to be going home. So are we. So ends another adventure with California Gold.
As we slowly enter our home port everyone is tired, but excited. We scramble to catch lines, let out bumpers and secure it to cleats. Captain Jerry shouts final orders. The throbbing engines finally stop.... silence is golden.
I smile to myself and say, "Well Jerry, we cheated death one more time."
Mahalo, Al