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Dana Race

Aloha Paddlers

This year has been both a sad and yet rewarding year.   I lost my wife to cancer a month before the year began, which saddened the entire family.  Then I snapped my Achilles tendon, and inflamed my opposite knee from hobbling.  “Oh well, might as well get it all over at once.”  Not one to mull around, I paddled with my teammates all winter.  If it weren’t for paddling it would have been far more difficult to cope with the mental and physical aspect of it all.  It soothed my mind, bonded friendships and revitalized my health.

As spring went by the healing process improved slowly, but surely.  Just the fact that you want to improve your performance, gives you a purpose and a goal to strive for.  That is the best healing process anyone can ask for.  Because of my state of mind, I actually worked harder this year than any other.  Who said, “One should grow old gracefully.”   I say, “You should go down swinging.” 

Good things happen to those who work hard. That is as true a statement as I’ve ever heard.  Our coaches Danny Ching and Josh Crayton have made sure of that. Josh drives a long way to coach, so when he shows up, everyone knows it’s going to be a hard workout.  As someone mentioned, he doesn’t know the difference between daylight and darkness, meaning he will work you till the assignment is done.  Darkness is not an excuse. But the results are outstanding. One of my team mates said, “I joined the team five years ago and thought it couldn’t get any better.  And it keeps getting better.” 

Oceanside race

The Oceanside race was the mother of all wild races.   Normally it is a very placid race with little plastic kayaks way out at sea reflecting its happy colors. But this day, it was angry, windy and choppy.   As we drove along the coast, wind-driven white caps extended for miles toward the horizon.   I knew it was going to be a long day.   The women’s race was turned around not long after it started.  It was so rough, approximately 14 canoes flipped or swamped.  It was the most I’ve ever heard of in any race.  Those that made it back were very lucky.  Those that didn’t were very cold.

For the men’s race, the officials decided to start the race in the harbor, but it only compressed everyone together and made it difficult to stay apart.  The wind and chop banged boats together as crews tried in vain to untangle.   After the start, we raced out of the harbor only to be tossed around so violently at times we were hard pressed to hold a straight course. Fortunately I brought my new large steering blade, which worked out well, but it still needed to be larger.  Being large it was a bear to paddle and felt like I was pulling the whole boat by myself.  At times the ama was almost at a 45 degree above us, but still floating, while the body of the canoe was buried in a trough.  The wind-whipped ocean threw two main swells at us, one from the northwest and one from the southwest.  When they criss- crossed under us, it swept the canoe sideways then instantly shoved it back to the other side.   It was a steersman’s nightmare.  Turning at the down-wind turn, we anticipated a great ride home. However it didn’t turn out as we had thought.  We were slapped around and missed swells because it was difficult to keep the canoes pointed straight. Every few seconds the canoes were lifted and turned sideways, even while surfing.  Even with all my experience, I was relieved to make it to the harbor. 

Kona

Ah beautiful Kona.  It is my favorite place.  When you step off the plane at Kona, you feel like you’ve stepped back many years.  The air smells clean and the atmosphere is relaxed, everyone has a genuine smile inside and out.  Even the act of waiting is something different. When you wait in the L.A. airport, you drum your fingers and look at your watch.  When you wait at Kona airport, you seem to say, “Who cares.  I’m in Kona.” 

If you miss a ride to town, you know somehow, someone will give you a ride.  If you wait long enough the friendly security guards will ask you, “Uncle you have a ride?”  Like the Marines, they make sure no one is left behind.

That’s why they call it fishing 

The day before the Kona race, my Senior Masters team went fishing on a chartered boat.  We had a great skipper who put us right on the fish. The problem was we kept losing the fish.  We only caught one small tuna, “Aku,” but lost three others and two marlins. The real kicker happened when we were about a quarter mile from the harbor.  We had already accepted defeat and reeled in all the lines.  There was only one line left trolling, while our skipper told us a story about how he caught a fish coming into the harbor after being skunked all day.  Well low and behold as he reeled in the last line, we had a hook up.  Here was our last chance.  Everyone jumped with glee as Jerry Marcil fought the fish.  We were high-fiving each other and joking about how at last we got one more fish for sashimi and poke’ tonight.   The skipper was finally proud. As the fish got closer to the boat, it made a run when it saw the scoop net.  Jerry reeled it in again; we became so nervous that we started yelling advice and even threats if it got away.   As the deck-hand closed in with the net for the second time, the fish gave one last lunge… and got away.   The line went limp.  For a moment you could hear a pin drop.  Then there was a loud chorus of wailing and cussing and gnashing of teeth.  If you’ve never seen grown men cry in their beer, it’s a pitiful sight.   

Later that evening we invited our other teammates and friends to dinner.  But before they arrived, I announced to my fishing mates, “Because of the amount of money and effort spent catching this lone fish, if our guests were to ask, what kind of fish is this?  Tell them it’s called Gold fish,”

Catalina’s 50^th anniversary.

Congratulations NAC women for winning the race.  They brought in their guns and they fired hard and fast.  Good job.  It was a good race for a while, but eventually they wore out second place finisher Lanakila and broke free to a commanding lead all the way to the finish.  The race times were surprisingly very fast.  Many spectators were caught by off guard how quickly the field came in.  Congratulations to all. 

In the men’s race, Outrigger Hawaii defeated Lanakila by 40 seconds.  It was close, but Outrigger held the lead most of the way.  Lanakila closed several times but couldn’t quite catch Outrigger.  Good job Outrigger and Lanakila.   

Actually this is the 50^th crossing for the men.  Originally they raced out of Cherry street Long Beach.  The race was from Long Beach’s sand to Avalon’s sand.  However, the men caused such a ruckus at Catalina, that the city banned us from racing there.  Interestingly, when I met my wife, she recalled her first experience with outriggers.   She and her sisters were teenagers.  They were peacefully sunning on the beach at Avalon Catalina.  Suddenly the outrigger men began landing on the beach around them as they gleefully watched.  The men in full glory, boisterously paddled their canoes full speed ahead right up on the sand.  Her father gathered up all his curious teenage daughters and hustled them away. 

The women didn’t race to Catalina until a number of years later.  Their first long race was to Anacapa Island and back.  The water was very cold and there were many shark sightings along the way.  Making a water change was not a popular idea.

Later after negotiating to have the women race to Avalon and the men race back, the City of Avalon allowed us to resume racing there.  In an unusual start, the women once began their race at the Queen Mary at Long Beach.  They were required to race with more than the usual compliment of nine.  However the rules were slowly relaxed to allow them to race with nine.  After several adjustments, the start line was moved to its present location at Newport. The phenomenal growth of the sport has changed our thinking. In order to be more efficient, we now have to plan every logistical move to accommodate the large numbers of entries. 

Diving for glory

During the men’s race, a boat full of spectators watched the men as they raced.   Stopping to cool off several paddlers were allowed to take a swim break.  Leah Beebe of Lanakila did a beautiful swan dive high off the boat.  Hitting the water, her bikini slid off down to her ankles.  Underwater she panicked as she tried to kick while her bikini tangled her ankles.  She also had to pull it up before surfacing.  Pulling everything back in place, she finally broke the surface and smiled red- faced waving at her friends. 

What a gas

Following my team, the large spectator boat Born 2B Wild, followed along to cheer us on.  It was great and we enjoyed their company, but they were positioned on our windy side and the diesel fumes were blowing right on our crew.  We started gasping and inhaling a steady cloud carbon monoxide.  The faster we tried to paddle, the faster the boat followed and the cloud hung with us, until we couldn’t take it any longer.   We angrily yelled and waved to them to fall back.  Then they suddenly disappeared over the horizon.  We were happy, yet bummed.  Later I talked to the skipper Andy Lietz.  I said, “Andy we just wanted you to fall back a little, not leave us.”  He laughed and said, “Oh we thought you were telling us to go away.” 

Honoring our past

At the awards after the Catalina race, SCORA honored four old timers.  Three of which I had known personally.   The fourth, Tom Johnson’s son, I hadn’t met before. As I watched them sitting in front of us, I recalled each of them slowly but surely.

When I first started paddling my club had only one canoe.  We needed more.  I heard the original Malia mold was up for sale.  It was owned by Tom Johnson who lived near the Kern River.   So I decided to purchase it.  After meeting with him at his home we talked for several hours on how to build a canoe from the mold.  He asked if I had ever worked with fiberglass and resin before, which I admitted, “Not really.” I could see he was skeptical, but serious and meticulous in explaining how to build the parts.  He had drawings and explanations for everything.  I paid $600 for the mold and four hours of instructions.  We eventually built 12 canoes out of the mold.  We kept the best and sold the rest.  The first canoe came out so heavy we couldn’t get it out of the mold.  It was over 500 lbs.  We should have named it the USS Planter.  One canoe out too thin, so we pulled it out and folded it like card-board and tossed it in the Dempsey dumpster.  We also made a double ended with two front ends and sold it to Hawaii. 

While I stood in the crowd waiting for the ceremony to begin, George Kopa and the other honorees waited on stage. He suddenly recognized me.   After all these years, he slowly stood up, came over and silently gave me a long, passionate hug.  An old friend of my family, Kopa and my brother Ralph Hanalei were childhood friends.  Both grew up tall and extremely athletic.  They skin-dived, raced hot-rods at the Kahuku race-track, paddled canoes and surfed together.  They took me to Waikiki as a kid to play and fish in front of Outrigger Canoe Club.  As I fished they did their usual crazy teenage stunts on surfboards and canoes, entertaining the many haole girls wanting to associate with them. 

Later in California Kopa successfully coached the Balboa Canoe club.  His teams were well trained and were the best.  Kopa had a creative mind and was very innovative in creating new designs in amas, surfboards, paddle boards and boat designs

Sitting next to Kopa was David Ane.  He too was a great athlete and played for the NFL briefly.  I met David Ane later in on, when his sons Darus and Danny paddled with me for a while. We hit it off right away and had some great conversations about life in general.   I remember watching him on a test run on the sailing canoe Hokulea in Long Beach a decade ago.  He was very recognizable from afar.  Large, dark and prominent, he silhouetted the ship like a king.  Besides paddling, my fondest memory of his two sons is when they briefly helped me work on my koa canoe Iolana in Kona. It was good to watch them as they enthusiastically helped.  I could see the connection to their past as they touched the koa wood and asked many questions.

Another lesson in humility learned

My team did as well as we could and I was happy for them.  They fought a good battle under pressure and did very well.  In Kona last week as an iron man team, we raced ahead of the escorts. The ocean was cleaner and I was able to fly with the crew.  In the Catalina Race we never completely got out of the wash. The escort boats chopped up the sea terribly and created a washing machine affect that tossed the canoe around like a coconut.  For me as a steersman, putting in many series of strokes was not to be. It was a struggle to maintain the canoe.  My advice, “Don’t fret if you’re occasionally reminded that you’re not as good, as you think.  Everyone gets reminded, which puts us all in the same boat.”

Paddle out for George

Yesterday we did a paddle out for George Walsh of Dana OCC father of Lori Long and family.  I stood within a circle of friends on the sand, each of us uneasily kicking the grains and twirling our fingers as friends spoke softly of George.  I had been invited to join their group as a friend and a fellow paddler.  The best part about it was the way each speaker gave their thoughts in unprepared sentences, live and in color.  These moments are raw and powerful.   We hung on each word and listened to each speaker with rapture.  I suppose it’s the same with nearly every ceremony.  Sometimes in death we are better than in life.  So I guess when we think of our lives as being boring, maybe we aren’t so bad after all.  

Paddling out in a double hull, it was fairly quiet, except for small talk as we reverently carried the ashes to a spot picked out by George earlier.  It was a mile marker out at sea. Joan, George’s wife said after he passed away she found his instructions where to drop the ashes in his jewelry box. As we paddled out, Coach Rich Long yelled, “We’re headed for that marker near the point. Maybe we’ll call it the G spot,” to which a female paddler yelled back, “Stop it… I can’t concentrate.” 

Arriving at the G spot, Rich turned the double-hull into the wind.  As the sun warmed our backs, our respect and prayers were said and the fleet bobbed patiently.  Then all eyes turned as Joan nervously dropped George’s ashes.  Curiously, it didn’t fly in the wind, nor did it float.  It simply dropped straight down into the clear water.  Glowing fluorescent bright it hung under the surface like a cloud.

With sunlight dancing around the canoe we peered through the clean water and watched the ashes slowly disperse.  Flowers and leis hung suspended above the fluorescence attached only by hopes and dreams. Nine months ago, my son and I experienced a similar ceremony with my wife’s ashes.  Memories flooded back.   I fought back my tears.  In silence I steeled my nerves, knowing it affected my son as he watched.  We picked up our paddles and began the trip home.  

This time it was light-hearted.  Magically a beer appeared then two, then three.  Then things really started getting light-hearted.  By the time we got back Rich forgot about steering and began doing head- stands while wife Lori rolled her eyes and took over steering.  A fitting end for George and his family.  

Mahalo  Al