Groping my way to the finish line

I'm trying to get settled in back at home after a long weekend in a place where wifi and cellular telephone service were not so easy to come by.  What follows is a summary of some of the stuff that happened.

Even though my lodging was 35 miles outside the town of Apalachicola, Florida, I sort of got used to it after a while.  Apalachicola is situated at the mouth of a river by the same name, and my main purpose for the weekend was the 8-mile "Oyster City Challenge" race on this river.  The course map looks like this:

The start, which appears in the upper left-hand corner of this image, would be at a boat ramp a few miles upriver at a place called Old Woman's Bluff, and the finish, in the lower right-hand corner, would be right by the town just below the U.S. 98 bridge.  That much is simple enough.  But near the upper end of town we would make a little detour, turning up into Scipio Creek and paddling a mile and a half or so up to a buoy before coming back down.  On Friday I put my boat in at the finish location and paddled up to the mouth of Scipio Creek to get familiar with this part of the course.  There was a lot of shallow water there, especially at low tide, so later I checked with race director Joe Vinson and he assured me there would be a buoy placed where racers could make the turn safely.

So I was all set for some racing the next day.  I got up good and early Saturday morning--5 AM local time, and since this area is just inside the Eastern Time zone it felt like 4 AM to me.  As I made the long drive into town through pine-forested coastal bottomlands, I found myself in a dense fog that required my windshield wipers on an intermittent setting.

Upon arriving in the "Oyster City," I put my boat on the shuttle trailer and caught a ride to Old Woman's Bluff.  Rick Baker, who'd intended to race but had hurt his right arm in an electrical mishap two nights before, assumed the starter's duties.  We lined up, waited for his command, and took off.

Bruce Poacher had made the trip down from Erwin, Tennessee, to team up in a tandem surf ski with Bob Waters of Sanford, Florida, and these two immediately rocketed into the lead.  I sprinted hard in pursuit along with old friend Pete Greene of Beaufort, South Carolina, and Pete managed to catch the tandem's stern wake with me on his stern.

The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to no more than a hundred feet or so.  But I was so focused on maintaining contact with the lead pack, I wasn't really thinking much about it.  I've paddled my share of foggy days at home on the Mississippi, and never had a problem as long as I kept the bank in sight.  I trusted that Bob and Bruce were keeping us on track up front.

And that turned out to be a fatal mistake.  Somewhere around 35 minutes in I began to sense something wasn't right when the tandem ski made an abrupt turn to the right.  I peered through the fog looking for the river-right bank and any buildings or other evidence of the town.  I realized I didn't have any idea where on the river we were.  Then we passed a couple of red channel markers that typically line the river-left side, and my bosom swelled with a feeling of foreboding.  Then the U.S. 98 bridge appeared through the fog, and we knew we were too far downriver.  We took another hard-right turn and started paddling up toward where the mouth of Scipio Creek should be.

There were plenty of good strong racers in the field who were entirely capable of making us pay for such a blunder, and sure enough we found ourselves well back in the pack once we'd made it up into Scipio Creek.

Going astray on a race course, through my own fault or somebody else's, is something that does occasionally happen.  Whenever it does, there's always a moment of uncertainty about what to do.  Should I keep on racing as if nothing has happened, or should I just put down my paddle and stop?  Should I cry out demanding justice?  Back when I was racing whitewater slalom a racer would sometimes be granted a re-run if his run down the course was impeded in some way, but that's just not possible in the kind of racing I'm doing now.

As these thoughts occupied my mind, Bob and Bruce quietly opened up a lead on Pete and me.  I tried to re-focus and reel them back in, but they were moving fast and the wakes coming off all the other boats made it harder for me to give chase.  I realized that my race was now just a private match with Pete, and I settled into the strongest pace I could with Pete back on my stern.

As the last turning buoy came into view we saw the "new" lead pack coming back at us, and it was full of familiar faces: Scott Cummins and Lee Droppelman of Louisville, Kentucky.  Ted Burnell of Chattanooga, Tennessee.  Elaine Harold of Louisville.  Jason Hjelseth of Chattanooga.  There were also some folks whose names I didn't know until I saw the results later: Joe Hester, Jim Budi, Larry Dixon.  Pete and I rounded the buoy ourselves and I began to feel a slight resurgence of motivation, even though for me it was all about moral victories now.

As the race moved into its final stages, it looked like the battle for the solo crown would be between Ted and Scott.  Meanwhile, Bob and Bruce had moved methodically up through the pack and appeared to have a shot at the overall win even after their foggy misfortune.  In the end Scott held everybody off to take the overall in one hour, 3 minutes, 21 seconds.  Bob and Bruce edged out Ted for second place overall.

About a minute back, I had my hands full with Pete.  I didn't know the exact location of the finish line--I just knew it was down below the U.S. 98 bridge somewhere--but once I was within about a half-mile of it I began to surge hard, not intending to stop until I'd reached the finish.  I could feel myself opening a gap on Pete and that stoked my motivation to keep it up.  Picking off a couple of other boats along the way, I claimed seventh place overall in 1:04:31.

Believe it or not, my effort was good enough to win a medal, because I was the third person in the Masters age group to finish.  Though we didn't know it at the time, Pete and I had been fighting it out for that medal.  Seeing as how victories over Pete have been extremely rare for me in the many years we've been racing each other, my bronze medal has a glimmer of gold to it.

Elaine Harold claimed the overall women's title with a time of 1:05:07.

The complete results are posted here.  You have to click on the line that says "8 Mile Race (38 results)" to see the results of the race I did.

I'd be lying if I said I was not at all bummed out about what happened Saturday.  It looks like I had an excellent chance to win, at least among solo paddlers.  But I've said many times in this blog that I do this sport because I love it, not to win awards, and if I'm going to talk the talk I must be willing to walk the walk when something like this happens.  And the fact is that I do have things to be happy about.  Besides my rare win over Pete, this race told me that my speed-endurance is in a good place right now.  Just like at Ocean Springs the week before, I was able to sustain a high intensity level over the entire eight miles.

Usually after I've finished a race I consider myself done for the day.  But Scott was going to go paddle a new boat of his in the Gulf off Saint George's Island, and my feeling of unfinished business prompted me to join him.  We paddled for an hour or so and that put the finishing touches on my state of utter exhaustion.

The drive home yesterday took me 12 hours.  I could have stopped for the night along the way, but I'm glad I went ahead and knocked it all out.  There's no place like home.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Dealing with the tourist season

The weather turned not so friendly on Sunday: the high was around 52 degrees Fahrenheit, and strong winds from the southeast made it feel ten degrees colder.  There were periods of rain, too.

I said goodbye to Nick and drove up to the Bristol Boulevard access to Old Fort Bayou for a 40-minute recovery paddle.  Once that chore has been crossed off the list I headed east, crossing into Alabama and getting to the east side of Mobile Bay by way of the George C. Wallace Tunnel.

I was tired from my race weekend, and the crummy weather had put me in a glum mood, and by the early afternoon I was ready to stop.  I found a modest motel in Foley, Alabama, waited for the 3 PM check-in time, got myself inside, and took an afternoon nap.

The day got worse before it got better.  In the evening I went online hoping to find a place to camp in one of the state parks along the Florida Gulf Coast, only to find that they were all booked solid.  I expanded my search farther and farther away from the coast until I finally found a lone vacancy in an RV-park-type campground up near Interstate 10.  I booked it for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights.  It wasn't ideal, but at least I had a place to land for the week.

Monday dawned chilly and breezy, but sunny.  That alone was enough to brighten my mood.  With only a moderate distance to drive and a day off from paddling, I relaxed and headed east at a leisurely pace along U.S. 98.  I encountered some gridlock in places like Pensacola and the forsaken Destin, but I stayed chill and enjoyed the nice day.  In the late afternoon I arrived at the RV park and found that it was rather nice for such a place--not the camping experience I'd have had in one of the state parks, certainly, but my tent site was nice and flat, there were no jerks blasting their lowest-common-denominator music or revving loud engines, and the bath house was clean and well-maintained.  It was about a half-hour drive down to the beach, so day trips were perfectly feasible.

I spent Tuesday checking out the beachfront communities of Grayton Beach and Seaside.  Seaside in particular was a little too wealthy for my taste, but it was good for a couple of hours of people-watching.  It must be spring break somewhere because there were a lot of teenagers running around.

Yesterday it was time to get back in the boat.  I drove back down to Grayton Beach and carried my boat about a half-mile from the closest public parking space I could find to the water.  Out in the Gulf the wind was blowing from the southeast at around 10 miles per hour, and while the conditions were not that big, I thought they were ideal for practicing some of the basics of downwind paddling: keeping my boat moving, watching the waves in front of me for opportunities to advance, knowing when to paddle hard and when to just hang out... stuff like that.  I spent 90 minutes on the water paddling a couple of miles into the wind, then downwinding back, and repeating.  The conditions got a little bigger as time went on, and by the last lap I was getting some sweet rides.  It was tempting to stay out there another half-hour or more, but I was getting tired and I didn't want to ruin myself completely for this Saturday's race, so I tore myself away.

I broke camp this morning and headed east on Florida 20.  I was feeling stiff and sore from yesterday's paddle and I wanted to do an easy 40 minutes or so to facilitate recovery.  Where the highway crosses the Choctawhatchee River I saw a good public access area, so I stopped and paddled there.  Going upstream from the bridge, I paddled up a couple of tributary creeks that quickly disappeared into dense groves of cypress, and I had to turn around.  I didn't spot any gators but figured there had to be some around.  Whatever the case, it was the sort of paddle that was hard to make myself do because of my achy body, but I think I'll feel a lot better by tomorrow because of it.

I'm now staying in an Air B & B that's some 35 miles away from the town of Apalachicola, where my race is this Saturday.  Finding an affordable vacancy was no easy matter on this part of the coast either, and at the time I was happy to get booked into this place, but now I'm having my doubts.  The race involves a shuttle, so I may be getting up super-early Saturday morning...


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

The "Battle On The Bayou" race at Ocean Springs celebrated its tenth year this past weekend.  I am one of nine people who have participated in all ten races.  When I decided to attend the first one in 2010, it was because it wasn't too bad a drive from Memphis, the course distance suited me okay, and I needed a race to do at that time of year.  I never set any grand goal to make ten of these in a row; it just sort of became a habit, driving down to the Mississippi Gulf Coast each March to open my race season.  Now I have yet another reminder of the relentless march of time.

First row, left to right: Yours truly, Carol Dearing, David Waters, Wayne Berry; Second row, left to right: Nate Payne, Nick Kinderman, John Collins, Doug Heller, Jeb Berry.

Yes, I know I stick out like a sore thumb in this photo.  They gave each of us a special orange shirt to wear, but I'd left mine back at the house.  And to think I'm usually so good at blending into the wallpaper...

Photo by Donna Collins.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Opening up once more at Ocean Springs

Partly cloudy skies and a temperature around 65 degrees Fahrenheit provided the setting in Ocean Springs, Mississippi, for the tenth annual "Battle On The Bayou" canoe and kayak race yesterday morning.  Racers gathered down the hill from the Gulf Hills Hotel, and after a few words from event director Mike Pornovets we were in our boats and lining up for the start of the 8.4-mile contest.  The starting gun fired, and just like that my 2019 race season had begun.

The opening seconds were anything but smooth for me, as I got hemmed in between a female surf ski paddler on my left and a tandem canoe on my right.  I got shoved flush against the surf ski and was lucky not to flip as I wrested my left blade from the slot between us and tried to get back up to speed.  I probably didn't lose more than a couple of seconds, but that was plenty to allow the fastest racers to open a huge gap.  I would spend the next several minutes throwing in one mad sprint after another to make contact with the lead pack as we headed up into Old Fort Bayou.  I eventually succeeded, but wondered if I would have anything left for the remaining seven and a half miles or so.

This lead pack consisted of Jeb Berry of Gulfport, Mississippi; Christian Massow of Cypress, Texas; and Andy Capel of Maumelle, Arkansas.  I managed to settle onto a wake behind Christian's boat, and once I'd recovered from the set of sprints I'd done I began to relax a little.  I'd have been happy to sit there until at least the halfway point before making my bid for the win.

But Christian didn't want to wait that long.  He surged into the lead maybe two and a half miles in.  I'd pegged Christian as the pre-race favorite and I didn't want to let him get away, so I stuck with him as we moved in front of Jeb and Andy.  For the next several miles I could see Jeb's white boat out of the corner of my eye; I was less sure about Andy, who was paddling a black boat, but I had to assume he was still nearby.

Christian is a former member of the German national team who now makes his home on the northwest side of Houston.  My experience with him goes back seven years.  I first met him when he raced here at Ocean Springs in 2012, and that race wasn't even close: he pulled away from me early and was nearly four minutes ahead of me at the finish.  The following year he beat me again, but I was more competitive with him.  Then in 2014 I threw in surge after surge and finally dropped him and won by a two-and-a-half-minute margin.

After that Christian disappeared for several years, and I wasn't sure I'd ever see him again.  But he resurfaced at Ocean Springs last year.  It turned out he'd had to overcome some health woes, and now he was ready to get back in the game.  I beat him fairly easily last year, but he must have gotten in some really good training in the ensuing months, because in August he showed up at the flatwater sprint nationals at Oklahoma City and won Masters titles at the 200-, 500-, and 1000-meter distances, beating out a guy named Mike Herbert each time.  There could be no doubt: Christian was back.

I moved into the lead as we rounded the big island at Bristol Boulevard and headed back down the bayou, with Christian sitting on my starboard wake.  The two of us began to open some distance on the other racers, and I contemplated what was going on.  I figured it was one of two things: either Christian was getting tired and was just hanging on, or he was conserving energy so he could use his sprinting ability to take the victory at the end.  Deep down I knew it was the latter, and Christian confirmed it by covering every move I made to break away from him.  At one point I had to stop and wipe my eyes because sweat was stinging them, and I hoped Christian might retake the lead, but he wasn't having it.  I knew my best hope was to keep throwing in surges to try to wear down his finishing sprint.

By the time we passed under the Washington Avenue drawbridge some 2000 meters out from the finish, I didn't have a whole lot left.  I continued pushing the pace as much as I could, but I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.  We rounded the last turn and the finish buoys came into view, and I started to sprint, but Christian turned on the speed and within seconds he had two boat lengths on me.  I continued paddling as hard as I could, but I was beat.  Christian crossed the line in one hour, 11 minutes, 40 seconds, and I clocked in 11 seconds back.

About a minute later Jeb and Andy moved into the home stretch.  I understand Andy had led Jeb for quite a bit of the second half, but Jeb came back strong to take third place in 1:13:00, 13 seconds ahead of Andy.

Gulfport residents Penny and Lynn Sanburn were the first female paddlers to finish, propelling their tandem outrigger canoe to a time of 1:25:44.  The first solo female was Kim Schulte of Mandeville, Louisiana, who clocked 1:27:44.

The complete results are posted here.  They're listed by class, not overall finish order.  I was in the "K1 Race (M)" class.

I was thoroughly worn out but generally satisfied with how I'd done.  After the awards I returned to the home of my friend Nick Kinderman, who'd finished a distinguished sixth place overall.  Nick and I had a restful afternoon and then went out for supper in the evening.  At supper Nick asked me if there was anything I wished I'd done differently in the race.  I thought about it for a few seconds but I really couldn't think of a thing.  I'd fought hard early to catch the lead pack; I'd recovered from that effort fairly quickly, a sign of good early-season fitness; I'd given chase when Christian tried to break away, and I'd done what I could to make him work when he was on my wake.  As for what happened at the finish, it's just a simple fact that I can't outsprint a guy who can beat Mike Herbert in a race of 1000 meters or less.  Meanwhile, I'd beaten my previous best time on the course by 71 seconds.  I'm always happier after a good fast race than I am after a race where everybody plods along waiting for somebody to make a move.

So, all told, I can declare it a good season opener.  I hope it was just the first of many good races.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Almost time to race

I'm trying to get some rest going into the race this weekend, but I'm not tapering.  Early in the season I generally train through the races; I'm nowhere near peak racing form, and I doubt many other racers are, either.  That's why I went ahead and did the usual long paddle on Sunday, and did the strength routine Monday and yesterday.  On the side of getting a little extra rest, I'm paddling relatively easy with a few extra short sprints this week, and I'll skip the strength work tomorrow.  Meanwhile, I'm trying to be extra-conscientious in the areas of diet, hydration, stretching, and getting a good night's sleep.

On Tuesday I paddled in the harbor for 60 minutes.  In the middle of that period I did a set of eight 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals.  I went back downtown yesterday afternoon with the intention of doing the same thing, but I was interrupted by a bout with diarrhea, and had to get out of the boat and run to the bathroom in the grocery store up the hill from the marina.  Sorry if that's T.M.I., but such things do occasionally happen.  Anyway, I did paddle for about 50 minutes and got in six 12-strokers.

I plan to leave tomorrow morning on my trip to the Gulf Coast.  I hope to have time to do a quick paddle once I arrive in Ocean Springs, just to work out the kinks from sitting in the car for six hours.  My friend Nick is very kindly putting me up in his guest bedroom even though his skittish Australian shepherd Sierra might not be so thrilled.  I feel like I've been through a long, lonely winter and I'm eager to reunite with some friends and enjoy some good racing.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

Lacking any brilliant ideas for this week's photo feature, I typed "canoe and kayak racing" into Google Images to see what would come up.  Some of what came up is displayed above.  I was pleased to see a photo from my hometown race, the Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race.  It's in the bottom left corner.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Taking care of the riverfront and myself

There's now less than a week to go before I make a little road trip to open the season.  The plan is to race at Ocean Springs on Saturday, spend the following week working my way eastward along the Gulf Coast, and then race at Apalachicola, Florida, on April 6.

But until then, there's plenty to do here at home.  Yesterday I paddled easy while participating in a litter-pickup event in the harbor.  Crews of volunteers lined the banks filling big bags with the litter deposited there by the recent flood-level waters.  I collected flotsam out on the water and also maneuvered my boat into the flooded woodlands to get the trash that the people on the bank couldn't reach.  My tippy surf ski is definitely not the best vessel for such duty, but as one of the most avid recreational users of the Memphis riverfront I thought it was important to be out there letting the other volunteers know they were making the place better for people like me.  In the past I've typically been the lone paddler taking part in these litter pickups, and always sort of felt like "that guy," but yesterday I saw at least four or five other canoes and kayaks collecting litter on the water, and I dared to entertain the notion that I'd created a movement.

Bright sunshine bathed us as we went about our chores yesterday, but it was pouring down rain when I got up this morning.  The radar showed that the rain was on its way out, but I went down to the river expecting to paddle under cloudy skies.  Then the clouds broke and the sun came out, and I regretted leaving my sunglasses at home.

As I paddled toward the mouth of the harbor, I warmed up and did three 12-stroke sprints.  Why twelve strokes instead of the usual eight?  In the week leading up to a race I like to stretch the sprints out a little and get a few more strokes in once the boat is up to speed.

I headed up the Mississippi with the intention of crossing to the other side and paddling on Dacus Lake.  There was quite a bit of barge traffic in both directions, and I waited for what looked like a safe gap to start my ferry across.  I got about halfway across the river before I realized that the upstream-bound rig was moving much faster than I'd thought--I was even a little astonished at the progress it was making against the river's current at high water.  I knew I would have to hoof it to complete the ferry, and I paddled as hard as I could.  The pilot blew his horn at me, and that told me that he wasn't so comfortable with the situation either.  I suppose we could argue all day about how close a call it was; once I was finally out of its path there was still a good quarter-mile of space between us.  But I prefer to have a bit more margin for error than that.

I was happy to paddle on over into Dacus Lake, where no commercial vessels dare go.  With the Mississippi flowing at 37.5 feet on the Memphis gauge there's some fairly strong current over there, and I stayed close to the inside of the bend to avoid as much of it as I could.  I paddled maybe two miles up the lake before turning around and heading back toward the city.  By this time the south wind was picking up and the water was quite choppy, the waves occasionally splashing into my seat bucket.  Once I was back into the river's main channel most of the barge traffic had moved out, but the wind prolonged the rough water it had left behind.  By the time I was back in the harbor I felt like I'd had a little of everything thrown at me, and that's the Mississippi River at its best.  Even the harbor was choppy as I cruised with the wind at my back to complete a 120-minute paddle.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

The end of the offseason is nigh

Joe and I observed the last day of winter by paddling a loop of the harbor on Tuesday.  This may not have been the harshest winter we've ever had, but it sure felt long.  It snowed back in the first half of November, something I don't think had ever happened before in my lifetime.  At any rate, I'm glad to have winter in my rearview.

Yesterday was about the latest I could do a workout that would have a bearing on my performance down in Ocean Springs a week from tomorrow, so I went down to the river with that intention.  I meant to take my G.P.S. device with me but I went off and left it at home.  I was upset at first but then I felt liberated, because I could do the workout out on the Mississippi River where a G.P.S. device isn't as useful anyway.

I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints in the harbor before paddling out onto the big river to commence my workout.  I did six 5-minute pieces with three minutes recovery in between.  During each piece I paddled "medium-hard" for two minutes, "hard" for two minutes, and "sub-maximal" for the last minute.

The original plan had been to use my G.P.S. device to regulate these degrees of intensity while paddling on the flatwater of the harbor.  Here's what I did instead in the absence of that technology: for the first two minutes I took good strong strokes while keeping the stroke rate fairly low; for the next two minutes I continued to paddle at a low stroke rate but pulled as hard as I could on each stroke; and for the last minute I allowed the stroke rate to increase while still pulling as hard as I could.  The intensity in that last minute was similar to what it is in one of my bridge-to-bridge sprints--pretty much all-out, in other words.

The workout felt really good and I came away a lot more upbeat than I did from that time trial last Saturday.  I hope such feelings will carry me from now until my race next Saturday.

The Mississippi River is still quite high--it was at 38.1 feet on the Memphis gauge when I paddled yesterday.  I expect it'll be staying high for a while yet, as there's a whole lot of floodwater up on the Missouri and Platte Rivers that has to come our way.

I did the strength routine Monday, Wednesday, and today.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

A new race season is almost here, and it's making me think about the places I might go this year.  Two summers ago I found myself hanging out alongside the Mississippi River at Dubuque, Iowa.  Photo by Savanna Herbert.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Surviving an annual flogging

As of yesterday I had just two weeks to go before my first race of the season, and in recent years that has meant one thing: a time trial in the harbor.  For anybody who doesn't know about this annual ritual of mine, I pontificate upon it at length in this post from two years ago.

I talk a lot in this blog about how much I value my paddling routine, how it never feels like a sacrifice to me, how going down to the river is almost always something I look forward to.  But this time trial is an exception.  It's one of the few training sessions I truly dread.  When I think of it, the main thing that comes to mind is pain.  A big reason is the mental stress of racing against the clock.  I've got my G.P.S. device on board and I'm trying to keep the boat moving at or above a minimum speed, and I'm constantly checking the time as I pass landmarks along the course.  Nothing can make 100 meters seem like a mile the way a ticking clock can.

My standing goal is to break 50 minutes for this lap of the harbor.  I clocked around 50:30 five or six years ago, but since then I've found it difficult to come within two minutes of the 50-minute barrier.  That's another reason I dread this workout: that feeling that I've "failed" if I don't achieve my time goal.  The fact that so far I've "failed" every time doesn't seem to lessen my fear of failure in the latest one.

To dip under 50 I'll probably have to have perfect weather, and not too many days in March are like that.  Yesterday morning there was a pretty stiff breeze blowing from the north--not gale-force, but enough to knock a few tenths of a mile per hour off my pace as I paddle against it.

As I paddled from the dock toward the north end of the harbor, I sought solace in the fact that with the Mississippi River registering 38.3 feet on the Memphis gauge, the harbor is wide-open right now, and not as sinuous as it is at low water levels.  But that would make little difference in the hurt I was about to inflict on my body.  As I maneuvered into the starting gate between two submerged trees, I resolved to shoot for a solid sub-50 pace for the southbound half of the course (i.e., faster than 25 minutes) and then just "see how it goes" the rest of the way.

Off I went, and with the wind at my back it wasn't hard to maintain the 7.2 mph that I'd need to average to break 50 minutes for the not-quite-six-mile course.  But I pushed harder, hoping I could make the slog back north into the wind with as much cushion as possible.  I kept the speed at or above 7.3 mph, hitting 7.6 at times.  And it wasn't long before my body was feeling it.  I never cease to be surprised by how much harder you have to paddle to increase the speed by a mere tenth of a mile per hour.

I had several little setbacks along the way: a couple of times I had to stop and wipe my eyes with my hat because they were stinging with sweat, and then just south of the Hernando DeSoto Bridge I got a stick caught on my rudder, and I had to stop and do a few backstrokes to get it off.  But I pressed on, ever closer to the turnaround point, and as I made the turn around the imaginary buoy at last, my watch read 24 minutes, 4 seconds.  Not bad.

But now I was in the proverbial pain locker as I began to retrace my path against that wind.  The speed reading on my G.P.S. device plummeted.  Now I put on my tactician's hat and pondered how to play it.  I decided to give myself a breather by paddling back to the Hernando DeSoto Bridge at a minimum speed of 6.0 mph, and then see what I could do after that.

Paddling at this pace was certainly easier than what I'd done in the first half, but against the wind it was enough work that I really just didn't have a higher gear to shift into once I reached the HDB.  And so I continued on at around a 6.5-mph clip, knowing that once again the 50-minute barrier would weather my assault.  I plodded along, just wanting the whole grueling, lonely ordeal to be over.  And at last it was, when I crossed the start/finish line 52:23 after I'd started.

I paddled slowly back toward the marina with mixed feelings.  On the one hand, I was pleased with my split at the halfway point.  On the other, I was disheartened by how much it had taken out of me, even with the wind at my back.  And I remained puzzled with my difficulty in breaking 50 minutes for 5.9ish miles.  In the last several summers I've done a full 6-miler on Fontana Reservoir in western North Carolina, and broken 50 minutes each time.

But of course, that race is in August, when I'm in something much closer to peak racing form.  I'm never very sharp in March.  One of the reasons I do this workout in the first place is so I can go to my first "real" race two weeks later with a race-like effort under my belt.

Since even my best racing years in this decade started with a painful, slower-than-50-minute effort in this time trial, there's really no reason to obsess over it.

So... let's move on.

I spent the rest of yesterday dead tired, achy, and sore.  Today has been sunny, a bit warmer than yesterday, and a bit less windy.  I went back to the river this morning for an easy paddle, and I think it was just what the doctor ordered.  Once I was warmed up I felt surprisingly good in the boat.  I tried to take good strokes and let the fresh blood wash through my paddling-related muscles and facilitate recovery.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

A challenging week, physically and otherwise

It's been a whole lot more springlike this week.  The daytime highs have been no lower than 50 degrees Fahrenheit and were up into the 70s for a couple of days.  Of course, in the month of March you can count on some wind to go with those warmer days.

I started up a new strength routine this week.  I eased into it Monday and then did full rounds Wednesday and today.

The conditions were dead calm when Joe and I did our customary loop of the harbor on Tuesday, but it was a much different story Wednesday and yesterday, as the wind raged out of the south.  When I got down to the river yesterday I was feeling tired and also sore from the new strength exercises, and I paddled out into the screaming wind trying to stay as relaxed as I could and letting how I felt dictate what I did in the boat.  The wind actually abated quite a bit during my 60 minutes of paddling and it didn't feel like quite the struggle I'd expected

To use sort of a tired, but in this case apt, phrase, I've spent most of this week with a heavy heart.  My city lost an incredible servant on Tuesday.  The city I live in is the kind of place that needs all the heroes it can get, and when something like this happens all I can do is put my head in my hands and wonder how many more such blows we can take.  I won't go into any greater detail here since this incident is not all that relevant to a canoe and kayak racing blog (although he was, in fact, an athlete--he played basketball for Memphis State University in the 1970s).  But I encourage anybody who's curious to look here, and here, and here, and here, and here.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

A new strength routine

It's time for something new in the strength department.  I expect I'll do this routine from now until my first race at the end of the month.


1.  Pushups with one hand atop a medicine ball

2.  Core exercise demonstrated by Jing Jing Li at 1:39 of her video on this page

3.  Kickback, demonstrated by my friend Lindsey at 4:03 of this video

4.  Butterfly crunches, demonstrated by Michele Ramazza at 3:22 of his video on this page

5.  Squats


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

I've mentioned here many times how much I love our critters on the Memphis riverfront.  One of my favorite things about the ducks is that they seem utterly disinclined to segregate by breed.  Here we have a muscovy duck, a white domestic duck, and (in the background) a mallard duck. I've been seeing them hanging out together around our marina for most of the winter.  I know I'm probably anthropomorphizing them beyond reason--issues of race are well outside what they are wired to comprehend, I expect--but it makes me happy to see them, just the same.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Keeping at it as winter slowly gives way

Yesterday morning I pored over the Internet radar, trying to predict the best "window" for paddling amid waves of severe weather.  In the end I got rained on some but otherwise timed it pretty well: it was pouring down rain as I drove down to the river, and more heavy rain was starting up as I arrived back home.

There was no escaping the wind, however.  It was blowing hard out of the south.  I stayed in the harbor and paddled for just 60 minutes, doing several 8-stroke sprints and then doing a few surges both with and against the wind.

We had a couple of hard thunderstorms, but by late afternoon it had all moved out and the skies began to clear.  At this time of year a front like this usually has some colder air behind it, and this one was no exception.  But this time the "colder" air was not really that cold--it went from the mid 60s Fahrenheit yesterday to the low 50s this morning, nowhere near as bad as the sub-freezing temperatures of a week ago.  So once again I'm feeling optimistic that spring is almost here.

Even though the river crested in the middle of last week, it's still plenty high right now--it was at 40.0 feet on the Memphis gauge this morning.  When the river is dropping slowly like it is now there's a noticeable improvement in the water quality because all the debris has been flushed out or has been redeposited on solid ground as the water recedes.

That plus calmer conditions meant that today I was eager to leave the harbor for the first time in eight days.  I paddled to the harbor's mouth and then went up the Mississippi until I was about halfway up the Greenbelt Park; then I ferried across the main channel and found the narrow passage into Dacus Lake.  I paddled about three-fourths of the way up this oxbow before looping around through some flooded bottomland and rejoining the main Mississippi near the Hernando DeSoto Bridge.  I returned to the harbor and the dock to complete a 120-minute session.  Much of this time was spent paddling at a two-hour race pace, and I felt good about my aerobic capacity and overall stamina.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

A week of variety

I got in to see the chiropractor Monday afternoon and it was a worthwhile visit.  I'm still feeling some tightness in my neck, but the pain in my shoulder and lat muscle went away almost immediately as a result of the adjustments she made.

With that part of my body feeling better, I'm back to doing the whole strength routine except for the bent-over rows--I didn't want to push my luck with those.  I did strength work Monday, Wednesday, and today, and I plan to start up a new routine next week.

I didn't get back in the boat this week until yesterday.  I missed paddling Tuesday because I had to meet some contractors to get some work done on my rental property.  I'm not really concerned about missing a day: I've strung together quite a few weeks in a row where I didn't miss a single paddling session, so I figure a little break couldn't hurt.

Yesterday I got back to the river and settled down to business.  After warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints, I did four 5-minute pieces with three minutes recovery in between.  My target pace for each piece was 7.2 miles per hour.  There was a light south breeze blowing, but I did the workout in the north end of the harbor where there's good wind protection, and I was able to trust the accuracy of my G.P.S. device more than I had in previous uses of it this winter.  With the wind at my back my pace was more like 7.4-7.6 mph, and when paddling into the wind I tended more toward 6.9-7.1.  All told, the workout was taxing but I felt a lot better than I did doing the same workout (three pieces rather than four) almost a month ago.

The other interesting thing that happened this week was a little presentation I gave Wednesday morning.  I have a friend who is an elementary school teacher, and she's leading sort of a pre-spring-break "camp" group consisting of first-, second-, and third-graders, and the theme for the week is the Olympic Games.  They're learning about many of the various sports on the Olympic programme, and learning some of the history of the Olympics and the cities that have hosted it.

I happen to be the closest thing to an Olympic athlete this friend of mine knows (which is to say, I have never competed in an Olympic Games but I have participated in the U.S. Olympic Team Trials for whitewater slalom), and so she invited me in to speak to the kids about my experience.  The kids asked all kinds of good questions; some of my favorites were "Why did you want to [try out for the Olympics]?" and "Do you ever get scared of kayaking?" and "Where do you go to kayak?"  I spent most of the half-hour dwelling on the kind of inspirational and motivational stuff that I try to share in this blog--find something you love doing every day, compete hard but always remember good sportsmanship, and so on.

Finally, a Mississippi River update: it crested this week at just under 41.4 feet on the Memphis gauge, and now it's dropping.  As I write this it's still over 40 feet, but it's expected to drop to the low 30s by a week from now.  Of course, that forecast could change if more rain falls in the watershed.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

The annual slalom and downriver races took place this past weekend on the Mulberry Fork of the Black Warrior River near Garden City, Alabama.  It's been at least 15 years since I last attended this event, but it was a staple of my schedule back when I was doing a lot of whitewater racing.  I expect the river had a good flow after all the rain we've had in the Southeast.

At the 1997 Mulberry Fork race I ended up not racing because of some acute inflammation in my triceps area.  Instead I stood on the bank and shot some photos, and the picture above comes from that set.  Joe Jacobi of Copperhill, Tennessee, peels out from an upstream gate and heads for the big surf wave known as Hawaii Five-O.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

The flood continues, and it's cold, too

For all the optimism I was oozing in my last post, winter is still not over.  This weekend has been overcast, chilly, and wet, and the temperature is supposed to plummet tonight and stay below freezing for another day or two.

On the other hand, we have a harbinger of spring that's as certain as any: baseball is back.  I've been streaming radio broadcasts of the Cardinals' spring training games in Florida for a week now.

The Mississippi River continues its climb toward a midweek crest of 41.5 feet on the Memphis gauge.  When I paddled yesterday it was at 40.8 feet.  During 100 minutes in the boat I made a loop through the bottomland on the Arkansas side.  In the last several years the Big River Trail, a bike-pedestrian path, has been established there, but right now the Big River is so big that not much riding or walking is taking place:

The river is definitely flowing faster at this high level.  I don't know the miles-per-hour figures, but I do know that I have to paddle a lot harder to make progress going upstream, and it's more difficult to ferry across without getting swept downriver.

With rain falling and the temperature at 40 degrees Fahrenheit this morning, I was very tempted to stay home.  But I've got some stuff in my non-athletic life that may prevent me from paddling in the first half of this week, so I stiffened my upper lip and went downtown.

The river had inched up to 41.1 feet and I was hoping to do some more exploring, but an icy north wind was blowing pretty hard and I decided it would be wiser to stay in the harbor.  I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints, and then the rain intensified and I realized it was one of those days where I just wanted to get something in the books and return to the warmth and safety of home.  For the rest of my 60 minutes in the boat I paddled a mostly-strong tempo with several hard surges.

I got back to the dock, and as I changed into dry clothes the rain turned to sleet--I could hear it on the marina's metal roof.  I was actually okay with it because during the walk up to the car it would bounce off me rather than soak into my clothes.

My car's temperature display told me it had dropped to 35 degrees.  Some forecasts show it dropping below 20 degrees overnight tonight.

My right lat muscle isn't completely healed, but it's been hurting less the last couple of days.  I'm still having that tightness on the right side of my neck/shoulder area, and I'm thinking the lat pain is some inflammation that sprouted from that.  I'm hoping to swing by the chiropractor's place sometime this week.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Paddling hurt

The discomfort in my right lat muscle continues.  It was at its worst on Sunday and Monday, when it hurt to take deep breaths and the simple act of existing was less than pleasant.  Since then the condition has eased but not gone away.  I've backed off on the strength work, taking Monday off and doing only the core exercises Wednesday and today.  In my experience injuries are more likely to occur in the weight room than in the boat, and I'm suspicious of the bent-over rows and maybe the front and lat raises as possible culprits.  But that's just an educated guess.  Meanwhile the injury doesn't really bother me much in the boat, and I was even so bold as to do a workout yesterday.  I mentioned in a previous post that even before the lat muscle started hurting I was having tightness in the right side of my neck, as if something's out of whack in the chiropractic sense.  It's been months since I've visited a chiropractor but maybe it's time.

On a happier note, I do believe spring is near.  I say this in spite of the frigid weather we're set to have over the next week.  When Joe and I did our loop of the harbor on Tuesday it was simply lovely: calm, warming toward a high in the 60s, and becoming sunny.  Wednesday was delightfully warm as well.  As we move through the next few weeks I expect such spells will grow longer and more frequent.  And in nine days we'll be back on Daylight Savings Time.

My first race of the season is now just four weeks away, and I'm trying to train through my ailment as carefully as I can.  Yesterday I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints and then commenced a pace workout.  I did five 5-minute pieces with two minutes recovery in between.  In each piece I did two minutes at a target pace of 6.5 miles per hour, two minutes at 7.0 mph, and one minute at 7.2-7.3 mph.  The north wind was blowing hard enough that when paddling into it I struggled to meet these pace goals and when paddling with it at my back I comfortably exceeded them.  In the end I had to do each intensity level by feel rather than rely on my G.P.S. device to do my thinking for me.

The crest prediction for the Mississippi River keeps getting pushed back and revised upward.  The current forecast says it will crest at 41.5 feet on the Memphis gauge around next Wednesday.  I hope the weather and my body will allow me to get out and explore some more.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

Here's a picture from last year of me paddling the channel from the main Mississippi River to Dacus Lake.  I was back paddling in this area yesterday with the river at 38.3 feet on the Memphis gauge.

Motivation is a challenge every athlete must deal with.  I think every canoe and kayak racer should look for the beauty wherever he or she trains, because it's a whole lot easier to get yourself out paddling when you love the place you paddle.  The current high flows on the Mississippi are making me eager to get out there and explore places that aren't always accessible to a paddler.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

High water (cont'd)

Soggy is the word for what most of this past week has been.  Back on Monday the TV weatherman said we'd be getting a month's worth of rain this week, and he wasn't kidding.  Paddlers I know in the more mountainous areas of the southeastern U.S. are enjoying some epic whitewater right now, and there's definitely a part of me that wants to go join them.  But I have yet to replace the boat that was stolen almost three years ago.  Until I find the will to do that, I guess my whitewater paddling career will remain on hiatus.

We got a dose of heavy rain from Friday night into Saturday morning.  There was a threat of severe storms Saturday, but when I got down to the river around 10 o'clock in the morning I found the conditions quite manageable: there was some intermittent light rain with a moderate east wind, and the temperature was a balmy 61 degrees Fahrenheit.

I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints in the harbor, and then paddled up the Mississippi River.  Several hundred meters above the Hernando DeSoto Bridge I reached the southern end of the Greenbelt Park.  This park is normally the domain of joggers, dog-walkers, picnickers, frisbee throwers, and the like; but with the Mississippi flowing at 37.4 feet on the Memphis gauge, today the park was best enjoyed in kayaks and canoes.  I paddled about halfway up the park, getting drenched in a brief downpour along the way, before turning around and heading back to the harbor and the dock.

A few more heavy showers moved through, but the severe weather never really materialized here in the Memphis area (at least one Mid South community was not so fortunate).  By early evening the rain was gone at last, and today we're drying out.  When I got to the river it was cooler--around 46 degrees--and breezy.  But the sun was out, and that always covers a multitude of Mother Nature's meteorological sins.

With the river up to 38.3 feet, I was keen to check out the flooded bottomland over on the Arkansas side.  I spent most of my 120 minutes in the boat paddling across the area between Interstates 40 and 55 and up north of I-40 as well.

Out of the boat I've been dealing with some discomfort in my right neck and upper back area, and I woke up this morning with some fairly intense aching in my lower right lat muscle.  It didn't really bother me in the boat once I'd gotten warmed up, but the rest of the day it's been unpleasant.  I've had this sort of thing several times before and it's always seemed to run its course over several days, and I hope that'll be the case once more.  The worst thing about it is it hurts to take deep breaths.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Race schedule update

A few more event directors have announced their dates, so I figure it's a good time to refresh the working document that is my 2019 race schedule.  I certainly won't make it to every race on this list, seeing as how there are several dates with more than one going on.  But it's a good outline.  I hope to see some of this blog's readers along the way.



March
30  Battle On The Bayou.  Old Fort Bayou, Ocean Springs, Mississippi.  An 8.5-mile flatwater race.  Register


April
6  Oyster City Challenge.  Apalachicola River, Apalachicola, Florida.  8 miles down a coastal river.  Register

6  Top of the Teche.  Bayou Teche, Leonville to Arnaudville, Louisiana.  7.7 miles on a Class I river.  Register

13  Perche Creek Gutbuster.  Perche Creek, Columbia, Missouri.  10 miles on a Class I river.

27  Lake Cumberland Regatta.  Lake Cumberland near Columbia, Kentucky.  A 12- to 15-mile flatwater race.

27  Lower Atchafalaya Sprint Races.  Atchafalaya River, Patterson, Louisiana.  A series of 3-mile races up and down slowly-moving flatwater.  A racer may compete in both solo and team-boat classes.  Register


May
11  Bluz Cruz Canoe and Kayak Race.  Mississippi River, Vicksburg, Mississippi.  A 22-mile race down the largest river in North America.  Register

18  Almost Heaven Paddle Battle.  Summersville Reservoir near Summersville, West Virginia.  A 12-mile flatwater race.  Register


June
1  Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race.  Mississippi River, Memphis, Tennessee.  The 37th edition of this classic.  A 5000-meter dash down the largest river in North America.  Register

8  Taylorsville Lake Paddle Battle.  Taylorsville Reservoir, Taylorsville, Kentucky.  A 10-mile flatwater race.


July
6  The Lovely Laurel River Lake Paddle Blast.  Laurel River Lake, Corbin, Kentucky.  A 10-mile flatwater race.

18-20  Gorge Downwind Championships.  Columbia River, Hood River, Oregon.  A 14-mile race in the epic downwind conditions of the Columbia River Gorge.


August
3  Ohio River Paddlefest.  Ohio River, Cincinnati, Ohio.  A 9-mile race on this Midwest artery.


September
28  River Rat Paddle Challenge.  Ouachita River, West Monroe, Louisiana.  6.5 miles down a Class I river.


October
5  Big South Fork River Dash.  Big South Fork of the Cumberland River near Whitley City, Kentucky.  A 12-mile mostly-flatwater race.

For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Water from the sky and all over the landscape

Some serious rain was supposed to move in here before lunchtime on Tuesday, so I tried to get down to the river as early as I could so I could get my paddling in ahead of it.  With the temperature at 37 degrees Fahrenheit, getting soaking wet was not an appealing idea.

Even without the rain, it was the sort of day where I wanted to get my session in the books and get back to the land of central heat as quickly as possible.  A bone-chilling north wind was blowing under overcast skies.  I stayed mostly in the northern half of the harbor, where protection from the wind is greatest.  I did several 8-stroke sprints, threw in a few surges, and basically just went through my paces.  By the time I was back in the car heading home it had warmed up all the way to 38 degrees.

The rest of Tuesday was indeed very rainy.  The rain had just about moved out when I woke up Wednesday morning, and yesterday began with sunny skies.  But the clouds were taking over by the time I got down to the river, and more rain was in the forecast.

The Mississippi River's big rise continues.  The crest, predicted for the middle of next week, has been revised upward to 39.5 feet on the Memphis gauge.  Clearly rain is falling higher up in the watershed as well as here.

I started yesterday's 60-minute paddle by warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints.  Then I ferried across the Mississippi to check the flooding in the area between the Hernando DeSoto and Harahan Bridges.  It was mostly underwater with the river up to 35.9 feet, but I paddled carefully over just a small part of it, not wanting to break my boat or knock off my rudder on some object just below the surface.  I paddled by the tall mound of earth that's pictured in last week's photo feature, and it appeared that the picnic table is no longer there.

The rain was back by yesterday afternoon and is expected to continue through tomorrow.  Today my schedule consists of predominately indoor activities, including strength work.  I did the strength routine Monday, Wednesday, and today.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

I offer up this week's photo feature just in case anybody's curious to know more about where I paddled yesterday.  The ribbon of water in the right portion of this image is the harbor.  The marina where I keep my boat looks like a little equal sign just north of the A.W. Willis Avenue bridge.  Yesterday's destination was a body of water known locally as Dacus Lake, although here it's labeled as the Hopefield Chute.  There it is in the left half of the photo.

I paddled south to the mouth of the harbor, then paddled up the main Mississippi almost to the Hernando DeSoto (Interstate 40) Bridge, then ferried across the river, then paddled up to the little channel through the woods connecting Dacus Lake (Hopefield Chute) to the main river.  I paddled up this channel until--voila!--I was on Dacus Lake (Hopefield Chute).

It's only possible to paddle from the main Mississippi onto Dacus Lake at high river levels.  That's because there's a private road crossing the connector channel, with only a small culvert for the water to flow through beneath it.  The river needs to rise to around 30 feet on the Memphis gauge before this road is deep enough underwater for a paddler to get over it.  Yesterday's level was about 33.0 feet, and I was able to paddle through with no trouble at all.

There's one other detail on this map that strikes me as interesting: although I always think of myself as being in Arkansas whenever I paddle over to the far side of the river, Dacus Lake (Hopefield Chute) is actually in the state of Tennessee.  While the Mississippi River is the official boundary between Tennessee and Arkansas, the state line was demarcated at a time when the river's main channel was to the west of where it is now.  I guess that means that when I do a loop around the Loosahatchie Bar (the big island in the middle of the main river), I never actually leave Tennessee.  So very peculiar...


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Cold but beautiful

The motivation to get myself down to the river was hard to find yesterday morning.  The skies were overcast, a frigid north wind was blowing, and the air temperature was 34 degrees Fahrenheit.  It took some searching--under sofa cushions, behind kitchen appliances, in the back corners of closets--but I did finally find it.

Lots of heavy rain higher up in the watershed is causing a big rise on the Mississippi River right now.  The forecast calls for a crest of 36 feet on the Memphis gauge about a week from now.  It was at 32.2 feet as I paddled away from the dock yesterday.  After warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints in the harbor, I ferried across the river to the Arkansas side to inspect the flooding of the bottomland there.  The lowest-lying expanses south of Interstate 40 were underwater but it didn't appear deep enough to paddle yet.

This morning was gloomy and grey once again, but it was a touch warmer--43 degrees when I arrived at the river.  In the wake of some rainfall there was a mist shrouding the riverfront in ethereal beauty.  I had a workout in mind for today, and with the river lapping at the 33-foot mark, I was keen to check out the expanded paddleable real estate over on the Arkansas side.  Just north of I-40 there's an oxbow known as Dacus Lake that one can paddle onto from the main Mississippi during high-water periods.

I paddled out of the harbor, ferried across the river, and worked my way upstream to the channel that connects the present-day river to the oxbow lake that carried the flows of centuries past.  When I emerged on Dacus Lake I found myself paddling against some current--an oxbow lake is a river channel at high water, after all--but the water was smooth and a good place for my workout.  I did ten 30-second sprints at 3-minute intervals.  I consider this an aerobic workout, as the long recoveries prevent my body from going lactic.  But it also gives me the chance to paddle hard and fast, something I believe is a skill that must be practiced.  If you only train slow, you're going to race slow.

The last several sprints were starting to hurt a little, but overall I felt much better than I did during the workout last Sunday.  Once I'd finished I headed back to where the lake flows out into the main river.  Backwater areas like Dacus Lake are really quite lovely and I always savor the chance to paddle there.

I paddled a good solid pace back to the harbor and back to the dock to complete 100 minutes in the boat.  I could spend the rest of the day feeling good about my morning's work and sightseeing.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

The Wicked Winds of the West and South

When Joe and I met Tuesday morning for a lap of the harbor, the conditions were classically blustery.  The Fahrenheit temperature was in the high 40s and falling, and the northwest wind was howling more from the west than from the north.  Most of the time the wind here blows from the north or the south, and since the harbor runs north-south, you've got the wind at your back at least half the time.  But an east or west wind is harder to get a break from.  Joe and I stuck close to the harbor's west bank, hoping to get whatever protection we could there.

It was about ten degrees warmer when I went down to paddle yesterday, and it was windy again--more of a traditional south wind this time.  But what a wind!  I mentioned that last Thursday was an extremely windy day down on the riverfront, but I'm pretty sure it was even more fierce yesterday.  This time I was better dressed for getting wet, and I paddled to the mouth of the harbor hoping to avail myself of some downwind action out on the Mississippi.

But once I was out there I had the bravery drained right out of me.  I didn't have a shuttle car waiting for me upriver, and I realized that returning to the harbor, paddling into the teeth of that wind, was not a simple matter.  Also, just like last Thursday, I lacked a "buddy," and I didn't have a leash connecting myself to my ski, either.  Since downwind conditions are not so common here, I'm just not in the habit of going to the river with things like that.

So, I retraced the hundred meters or so back to the harbor (even that was surprisingly tricky).  Whether I was being smart, or just a wuss, I'll let the reader decide.  But back in the harbor the consolation prize wasn't bad, at least.  As I paddled into the constricted area between the monorail bridge and the Hernando DeSoto Bridge, I found some surfable waves.  This confirmed my suspicion that the wind speed was toward the high end of what I've ever experienced on the Memphis riverfront: waves you can surf in the harbor are rare indeed.  I spent a half-hour or so working on some of the downwind fundamentals I learned out on the Columbia River last summer, and then returned to the dock soaking wet and mildly satisfied with how my session had gone.

In other news, I started up a new strength routine this week.  I did a cursory round on Monday, just to give my muscles a heads-up that their job description had changed.  I did full rounds (i.e., two trips through the circuit) on Wednesday and today.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

A new strength routine

Here are the strength exercises I plan to do for the next several weeks:

1.  Front and lat raises

2.  Torso twists with medicine ball (demonstrated by yours truly in this video)

3.  Cleans

4.  Stability ball exercise (demonstrated by Jing Jing Li at 2:55 of her video on this page)

5.  Bent-over rows





For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

It's hard to beat a good picnic on a sunny spring day.  The Mississippi River was up in April of 2008, and on a patch of high ground surrounded by the floodwaters, darn if there wasn't a picnic table!  Meghan Carr and I paddled over there to spend our lunch hour.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Winter slogs

Around here we've yo-yoed back into cold weather.  Lately I've been maintaining two piles of paddling clothes at home--one for milder weather and one for colder.  This weekend it's the "colder" pile, the one with pogies and a ski cap and heavy neoprene pants and all that, that has gone down to the river with me.

Yesterday morning was sort of sunny, but not really.  There were patches of blue sky here and there but mostly there was a thin cloud cover that let through that pale sunlight that I've come to associate with the dead of winter.  The temperature was 30 degrees Fahrenheit when I arrived at the riverfront.  The north wind was blowing just hard enough to make my 60-minute paddle seem like an ordeal.

I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints in the harbor.  Then I paddled onto the Mississippi and found some waves created by a barge rig that was working its way upriver.  Normally I don't pursue surfing opportunities on such a cold day, but these waves were so smooth and benign-looking that I couldn't resist.  As it turned out, the waves weren't quite surfable, at least not by me.  I threw down several spirited sprints but each time was holding something back: it was not a good day to go swimming and I was up against the ceiling of my confidence.

After that little diversion I returned to the harbor and was happy to get my hour in the books and go back to someplace warm.

This morning was grey and cheerless, but warmer--a little over 40 degrees when I got downtown.  Once I was in the boat paddling I felt quite a bit more comfortable than I had yesterday.  Once again it was time to go a bit longer, but today it would be just 100 minutes as opposed to the two-hour paddles I'd done the last couple of Sundays.  I planned to paddle up to the mouth of the Wolf River and do a little workout on the bottom mile of that tributary stream.

A funny thing happened on my way to the Wolf: I broke 45 minutes getting up there.  I mostly just paddled a normal cruising pace, but when I hit the 42-minute mark I saw how close I was, and only then did I start paddling harder.  I made it up to the point where I consider myself "into" the mouth of the Wolf with just seconds to spare--about 44:55 or so.  How's about that.

After a couple of minutes to catch my breath, I started my workout on the flat, almost currentless water of the Wolf.  I did three 5-minute pieces with three minutes recovery in between.  I had my G.P.S. device on board, and my target pace for each piece was 7.3 miles per hour.  During many of my workouts I feel confident and strong, but that was not the case today.  Today I felt awful.  Every stroke felt like a struggle, and I fought off an occasional wave of nausea.  I was able to maintain 7.3 mph for stretches, but there were times when I slipped below 7.0.

I finished the last piece right as I was coming out of the Wolf back onto the Mississippi.  I ramped the intensity way down and just tried to take good precise strokes all the way down the river, back into the harbor, and back up to the dock.  Hopefully today's agony isn't how most of my workouts will go this season.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

First week of February

The last couple of weekends here in the Mid South have been sunny and warm, while the business weeks have been cold and mostly overcast.  But now that pattern has been turned on its ear.  Much of this week has been very warm (topping 70 degrees Fahrenheit at times), albeit mostly cloudy with a fair amount of rain.  Then, yesterday, after peaking around 70 degrees in the morning, the temperature plummeted into the 40s by early evening.

Joe and I did an easy lap of the harbor on a foggy Tuesday morning.  It felt good to relax after paddling long and hard on Sunday.

Yesterday I tried to get up and moving early so I could paddle before the cold air started moving in.  It turned out that wasn't really necessary, as the temperature didn't start falling until after lunch.  But I reckon it's never too early to get your paddle in.

Windy is the word for the conditions I found down on the riverfront.  I labored against strong gusts from the south on my way from the dock to the mouth of the harbor.  I did my three 8-stroke sprints in the sheltered area between the Mud Island Marina and Mud Island Park.  When I reached the harbor's mouth and looked out over the Mississippi, I saw some pretty epic downwind conditions there; but I was dressed more for the air temperature than the wintertime water temperature, and I lacked the "buddy" that entrants in the Gorge Downwind Championships are required to have during the practice days out there.  So I let discretion be the better part of valor and stayed in the harbor.  I consoled myself with the fact that there were some almost surfable waves there, particularly in the constricted part of the harbor next to the Mud Island Marina.

Some heavy rain fell yesterday afternoon ahead of the cold air.  Last night the low was in the mid 20s.  This coming weekend will feel much more like February.

I did the strength routine on Wednesday and today this week.  I gave myself a break on Monday, when I was still feeling some exhaustion from Sunday's paddle.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Monday photo feature

I took this photo yesterday while paddling around the Loosahatchie Bar.

A couple of summers ago I posted this photo of the same house.  At that time its front yard had been eroded to a most uncomfortable degree.  I noted that some significant bank stabilization was necessary to save the house.

That work finally got done just a few weeks ago, and now the bank is lined with tons of rock.  While I'm happy to see the house's life extended by at least a decade or two, I sincerely hope the expense was borne by the homeowner and not Mr. and Mrs. Taxpayer.


For more information on what this blog is about, click here.

Yet another balmy break

When I got down to the river around ten o'clock yesterday morning it was sunny and 58 degrees Fahrenheit.  I'd be wearing significantly lighter clothing in the boat than I'd worn earlier in the week.  With the temperature quickly rising into the 60s I arguably could have worn shorts and short sleeves, but at this time of year that just feels wrong, sort of like wearing white slacks before Memorial Day.  I went with lightweight tights under a pair of neoprene shorts and a lightweight long-sleeve shirt under a disintegrating short-sleeve paddling shell that I bought some 25 years ago.

I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints in the harbor, then paddled up the Mississippi for a mile and a half or so.  There was some barge traffic creating turbulence and I tried to stay relaxed and keep my boat gliding over that stuff.

This morning it was time for another longer paddle, and with sunny, warm, and calm conditions it was hard to argue against another trip around the Loosahatchie Bar.  (When conditions are not so ideal, I'll choose to stay on the Tennessee side, maybe paddling several miles up the better-protected waters of the Wolf River.)  I left the dock and paddled to the mouth of the harbor, and on up the Mississippi.

Once I was above the Hernando DeSoto Bridge I realized I was making good time.  It's usually not hard for me to paddle from the dock to the mouth of the Wolf in less than 50 minutes, but I rarely if ever get up there in under 45 minutes.  I decided to push the pace and see if I could do it.  I came close but couldn't quite pull it off: I entered the Wolf at about the 45:40 mark.  I could practically hear the trombone playing that "womp womp womp" sound.

Oh well.  The other thing I always try to do when I paddle around the Bar is break two hours, and at least I was now well positioned to do that.  I backed off the pace a bit until I reached the big eddy just above the Maynard C. Stiles sewage treatment plant.  Then I paddled hard again while ferrying across the main river channel and climbing up and around the north end of the Bar.  With the river flowing at 27.7 feet on the Memphis gauge, the water was plenty deep up there.  Coming down the Loosahatchie Chute I tried to paddle as efficiently as possible, hoping to get some recovery from all the hard upstream paddling while still moving the boat well.

I set myself back several minutes when I stopped to take a picture (which you'll see in tomorrow's "photo feature").  On my tippy surf ski I had to move slowly and carefully, lest my shiny new iPhone go to sleeping with the fishes.

Now I would be cutting it close in terms of breaking two hours, so I pushed the pace back across the river to the mouth of the harbor, and up the harbor to the dock.  I clocked in at just under one hour 58 minutes.

I've spent the remainder of today dead tired.  I'm hoping for some good sleeping tonight.


(For more information on what this blog is about, click here.)

Cold, but could be colder

Right on schedule, the latest round of cold air moved into the Mid South Monday night.  When I got to the river Tuesday morning it was 29 degrees Fahrenheit, sunny, and windy.  I did all of my 60-minute paddle in the northern half of the harbor, where the protection from the wind is greatest.  I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints and then paddled steady with a few good surges.

This cold spell is part of the big "polar vortex" that has gripped most of the nation.  Here where I live we're getting off easy; I doubt I would be paddling this week if I lived in the upper Midwest, where double-digit subzero temperatures have prevailed.  I can't imagine there's much liquid water to paddle up there right now.

It was bitterly cold outside when I woke up yesterday morning, and by the time I got down to the river it was about 30 degrees.  But it was warming up fast: by the time I was in the car coming back home it was 43 degrees, on its way to a high of 51.  So it was well up in the 30s for most of my time in the boat.  With mostly-sunny skies and not much wind, I felt fine.  I warmed up and did another three 8-strokers in the harbor, then paddled up the Mississippi about a mile above the Hernando DeSoto Bridge before coming back downriver and back into the harbor.

The forecast calls for highs in the 60s this weekend.  And so this weird winter plods along.

I did rounds of the strength routine on Monday, Wednesday, and today.


(For more information on what this blog is about, click here.)