Lessons in the basics from a master

Just a quick update so this blog does not get shut off...

The local kayak club was able to arrange for Wayne Horodovich to teach two sessions of his "The Art of Staying Upright" class at Chatfield SP on July 15th & 22nd. I made it to the class on the 22nd.

Three hours on the water with one of my idols of sea kayaking was worth every penny paid.

Lessons Learned:

1. Looking at the paddle blade really does help enforce torso rotation.

2. Rescues, in real life, are done a bit differently. Pulling up along side a capsized paddler is an amazingly simple and effective rescue when practiced.

3. Moving the paddle blade forward or back during the brace, rather than slapping it, is way more effective. This was reinforcement of what I learned at my first Lumpy Waters during the surf classes.

Paddling the California Central Coast - starting small.

My wife, kids, our small dog, and I just finished up a vacation on the central coast of California with family in Los Osos. We drove out from Colorado, so I brought my boat and gear. I paddled 5 times, three of those on dynamic water. I even had a private lesson/tour with Vince at Avila Beach Paddlesports scheduled for Tuesday the 3rd, but that was cancelled after Lance cut one of his hands up pretty bad.

Paddle #1 - Sunset paddle on Morro Bay at the State Park. Goal: Shake out the cobwebs & get over forgetting my GP. Distance: ~1 Mile An easy paddle at low tide, slack water.

Paddle #2 - Sunrise paddle on Morro Bay from Pasadena Point to Shark Inlet and other points of interest. Goal: loosen up, see some new territory, and get past the fear of salt water creatures. Used the height of the flooding Spring tide to make a 5-mile loop around the bottom end of the bay. I switched between my low-angle Skagit and high-angle Tybee several times to keep myself aware of my paddling technique. The real difference in power, speed, the nuances of the stroke, and the impact on my body become more than words for me each time I switched. I think I’m developing a non-sucky forward stroke.

Paddle #3 - Afternoon and sunset at Avila Beach. Goal: light surf play (side surfing, launching, landing, bracing) , conquer fear of paddling alone < 1 mile offshore, conquer fear of salt water creatures. Conditions: 1' to 3' swell, light wind, knee to waist high breakers that are a bit dumpy. Distance: ~3 miles. I spent the afternoon practicing punching out and landing, edging & turning, zigzagging between the piers, maintaining awareness of the surf zone & other beach-goers, rolling, failing to roll, and scrambling/pumping. I eventually convinced myself a great white was not going to launch me skyward, especially after blowing a few rolls and having to scramble back in to my boat. What is this irrational fear I have that a shark going after my boat is really a likely possibility?

Paddle #4 - Morning on Morro Bay Harbor. Distance: ~4 miles. I launched from Coleman’s, played in the little 1' to 2' waves at the North tip of the sand spit between buoy 4 and 5, explored the harbor and the North sand spit. Saw the typical wildlife, other paddlers, and even and a guy paddling a Gull-wing. I used the ebb to rush back to the takeout as my paddling time ran out. At the takeout I donated a spare youth PFD with whistle that I had in my cargo box to a fellow paddler. He was taking his GF and her 10 y/o out for their first time on his SOT. I noticed no PFDs, so I offered the one I had for the kid. It fit perfect. Hopefully it gets passed on as needed.

Paddle #5 - Morning on Morro Strand Beach. Goal: PUSH MYSELF = More surf zone/soup practice in bigger conditions, focus on bracing and edging, MAYBE punch out and land if conditions are small enough. Distance: ~2 miles.

Surfline predictions: 3' to 5' NW swell at 9 seconds, light winds from NW, waist to head high breaks.

I parked in the free lot of the Strand state park, geared up, and sat on the beach watching the surf for 15 minutes. It looked a little bigger than Surfline’ s forecast, but not much. My only company is surfers, sparsely spread out North and South of me.

I stretch. I watch. I warm up. I watch. I finally launch into the soup at 8:30am. I practice holding position facing in and out, turning around, letting the broken waves hit me broadside, side-surfing, edging and low braces. I landed a few times intentionally and a few after blowing a brace and bailing out – bad technique trumps good intentions. Then I would turn around, watch for a few minutes more, and launch again, always into the soup. Nothing was higher than my shoulders. After half an hour in the water I am relaxed and noticing the details of my paddling. I notice mistakes and make corrections. I improve in small increments. I notice obvious areas for improvement.

Seeing the porpoises swimming playfully in the large wave bodies before they broke was the visual highlight of the day.

It was going well. I noticed swells getting a little bigger and an occasional larger swell from the NNW – where is that coming from? I landed and watched for 20 minutes. Were those 8' faces? Maybe. It is hard for my novice eye to tell.

I convinced myself I finally saw the pattern and launched into the soup again. I did some more side-surfing on larger broken waves and focused on using the training I got at Lumpy Waters. I found I was still leaning more than edging when the waves were hitting me so I made a conscious effort to edge more, lean less, and maintain good arm position in that low brace.

I saw the breaks calm down, worked up the nerve and punched out. If the surfers could, I could, right? I thought I was in the beginning of the sets - wrong. Then I am zig-zagging out frantically, avoiding the broken crests, riding up 6' faces and skating down the backs and then I'm outside. I just used everything I learned at Lumpy Waters: proper edging, active low bracing, hard paddling before the wave. I start turning south and one of those occasional NNW swells is coming fast from the right. It is close to breaking, but not, so I relax and it rides quietly under me. It’s true what they say: Loose hips save ships.

I am outside the surf zone. I'm really there. I'm outside the surfers by about 50 meters. I'm smiling. Swells pass under me. I push out a little more to be sure I’m outside. I sit and watch. I'm almost calm. I paddle South a little, remembering how I noticed the swells consistently seemed smaller there and start looking for a way back in.

Then I keep watching. I hold position, using the ranger station and bathroom building as markers, staying about 50 meters out and 50 meters South of a surfer & boogie boarder that are hanging out, watching the breakers from the back and watching over my shoulder to see what’s coming. Swells go by and occasionally push me in as they start to crest so I back paddle and breath and watch. Five minutes go by - I checked. The breakers seem HUGE from behind. I’m now scared. I talk myself down. I can swim, I can paddle, I can roll. I have a dry suit and insulation on and I’m not cold. Sharks are not a concern. I have my VHF radio and know how to use it. I have decent life insurance. I’m really OK....

I occasionally glance at the surfer and boarder – also holding position for what seems like an unusually long time. The big set of the sets is going to pass, like it always does and I’ll ride in behind it. The three of us are slowly drifting South.

A big swell, what seems like the biggest, goes by. As I slide down the back I look behind me. Next one looks small. I commit to it and paddle hard towards the back of the breaking wave. I’m heading in and feel my boat start to rise. So far so good. A second later I am looking down the face of the wave and the tip of my bow doesn’t even reach it. Oh, cool! An 8’ face?! OH CRAP!!! I start sliding forward and the boat angles North. I LEAN into the wave with a high brace - YES, I CAN DO THIS! Then, with a poorly executed high brace and poor body position, I sink into the face of the wave, stop carving sideways, lose my orientation, and endure several seconds of noise and bubbles. Then I am upside-down and the water is calm. I reach for my skirt and then stop. I’m still in my boat. Fresh water is not burning my sinuses. I have plenty of air in my lungs. I can do THIS!

I put both hands back on my paddle, wiggle it just a bit, twist, sweep, and come up laughing, water pouring over my face as my helmet drains over my face. I am now about 10 meters away from the surfers, who are turning around to face the next wave. I am at something like a 45-degree angle to the line-up, pointing North East when the next one picks me up. I skate sideways for a second or two, totally unprepared. What am I doing with my paddle? I watched the crest come down. I’m assuming my skirt popped when I felt cool pressure in the cockpit. I then learned the meaning of window-shaded, but without the benefits of intentionally rolling. I was halfway out of the cockpit and had only my right hand on my paddle after the wave passed. I slid out and quickly went to the stern of my boat.

More lessons from Lumpy Waters come back to me about how heavy a swamped boat is and how powerful waves are. I grabbed my newly built webbing strap, held my breath, bent my arms, and held on as the next few waves broke over me, pulling me back towards shore. I guess I made the straps right because they held up fine.

I keep thinking “Damn, the shore looks really, really,really, far away.” I slowly swim/drift in, letting the waves help by dragging me and the boat along, albeit quite forcefully. I stay calm, with a smile on my face, focused on keeping the boat and my paddle under control. I look back occasionally to see the surfer and boarder drop off a wave and assume it is because I am in their lane. I get a foot hold and walk it in. I let the waves do the work of carrying my boat in most of the way and finally begin emptying when it grounds in 6” of water. I’m a little tired, very embarrassed, and disappointed. I’m a few hundred meters South of my launch point.

I finish emptying the cockpit and it still weighs a ton. I check my fore compartment; It’s bone dry. I check my aft compartment; It’s dry. My bulkhead repair in November held fast. Am I that zapped after getting tossed twice in a row? I open my day hatch for my water bottle and find the compartment full of water. I also notice my cockpit is filling again. I chug some fresh water. I then make a close inspection of the middle bulkhead and find it has popped on both sides and the top. Mystery solved. More pumping. More chugging. I then walk the boat back North in the soup.

It’s now 11:40am. I take out, pack up, and then sit on the beach watching the water, snacking, reviewing what mistakes I made and what I learned. I know can do better next time out. I wish I had a mentor with me. I need days more on dynamic water to be able to trust my judgement on size/timing. I must edge more, lean less. I should find a beach with smaller swell predictions (back to Avila?). Keep those elbows high. Protect your shoulders. Relax and roll-up. Surfing long boats is damn hard. Taking breaks and reviewing is a good thing. The list goes on.

Half an hour later the boarder and surfer came trudging by. They had hoofed it up the beach from much further South than I had. I apologized for getting too close and cutting off their lane while I swam in. I know my boat is a danger to others if I lose control. They were all good with it. They said were stuck in a rip and trying to get a good wave in, but were unable to do so for a while before and after I put on the comedy show in front of them. I hope they had a good laugh at my expense because I know I did. I sat a while longer thinking and reviewing. I left feeling great. I made many mistakes that morning, but made efforts to mitigate many risks. I gained valuable experience. I’ll be back in Summer for more lessons on my own and from Vince - if he doesn’t cut up his hand again.