Red Sky At Morning

"Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field…" William Shakespeare
We have been traveling the last few weeks for swimming events that were somewhat in the extreme. The first was a three day affair with five swims totaling eleven kilometers in a mountain lake south of Bend, Oregon. The second, and latest, was a seven kilometer, out and back swim in a Canadian lake haunted by a mythic, dragon creature. I watched, for the most part, and Wendy swam. I did, however, have a better view than most, as I also was a volunteer safety kayaker who followed along on all the races. At the Bend race, my duties were to watch out for the greater good- at the Canadian race, each swimmer was required to have an attendant kayaker along for the duration. Having only been a vicarious participant for a while now, it has been pleasant not suffering the pre-race jitters or the requisite strain and fatigue of the actual race. However, there are times when one just wants to get in and go with the rest of the racers, but then one remembers his current training deficit and silently repeats the mantra- there is always next year.
 
In stepping back from both events, it is curious to note the parallels and synchronicities between the two. While one was to the south and the other to the north, both places took about six hours to get to. Both of the hosting communities are steeped in athleticism and outdoor activities, with Bend being a mecca for cyclists and skiers, as well as acting as the hub for the Central Oregon Masters Association (COMA) swimming group, and Peachland, BC, where the Rattlesnake Island swim was held, is in the greater, southern Okanagan Lake community of triathletes, with their own litany of multi- and single- sport events, along with Ironman Canada being held a short distance to the south in Penticton every year. The weather at both events was hot, although the lake waters were cool 68 and 72 degree readings respectively. In both places we experienced intrusive, ambient smoke from forest fires of varying distances away, and both races were prefaced by loud, local thunderstorms that did not serve to cancel either race. And with the recent purchase of a semi-rigid, inflatable kayak we were able to pack everything needed into Wendy’s small and sporty fuel efficient vehicle, logging close to 40 mpg in both directions- north and south.
 
The thing that is different about watching an event from a safety perspective is that, unlike with the vicarious excitement one might derive from someone else’s thrill of victory, in watching for possible problems one hopes for no elevations in one’s own heart rate in regards to mishaps that might befall the event one is following as a safety observer. The watching is not always just a visual thing as one scans back and forth while paddling along side multiple swimmers. Beyond looking, one can tell how things are going just by listening. As long as there is the constant beat of stroke slap and steady kick, the safety observer can feel secure in "seeing" that all is going well without in fact seeing all that is going on beside them. There was one time a few years back at the Cascade Lake race where, in scanning back and forth while following some swimmers, my eyes came to rest upon in inordinate amount of bubbles coming from somewhere below the surface. It seemed that the number of swimmers had remained the same, but the panic set in as I maneuvered to the spot above where the bubbles seemed to be coming from. Once there, there was indeed a body form visible through the clear waters of Elk Lake, but the continued large volumes of air bubbling up from below, long after a distressed swimmer should have run out, said to me that perhaps someone with scuba gear was below. As it was, there was indeed a diver under the course taking photos of the race- it would have been nice if someone had told us before hand.
 
There were no such incidences this year in Oregon. And when I did get the lead kayak spot on the on the 5km race, the steady stroke and repetitive breathing grunts of the winner, local favorite Hardy Lussier, made the job of following on the three laps around the course into not much of a job at all. It was a much different story a week later on Okanagan Lake. While it would have made no real difference if I had been paying attention to the old adage: "red sky at morning, sailors take warning", instead of clicking a number of red tinted sunrise shots from our B&B deck (see the Loop website for the color version), I at least might not have been so surprised when a thunder clap rang out just after the start of the race, and when the wind driven waves steadily increased in height and frequency, directly in opposition of our forward progress, and with such a vengeance as to cause one to suspect that there was something on Rattlesnake Island that just didn’t want us to get there. I had to rely much more on the auditory signs coming from Wendy’s swimming efforts in order to keep an eye on the sets of relentless waves pounding in from dead ahead in order to avoid swamping. As we found out after the race, four or five of the escort kayaks had to be rescued from capsizing, and as it was, having left the spray skirt on shore, I was sitting in water all the way back to the finish after we rounded the south end of the island, having spent a number of minutes with almost no forward progress at all on the front side of the island as wind, waves and a current conspired to turn this contest into a Sisyphean epic.
 
What made me even more suspicious of some meteorological or metaphysical conspiracy afoot here was that after we emerged from the backside of the island in a homeward direction, and fully expecting to be bombarded, as well as pushed, by waves from the rear, instead what we found was that, as if by a flip of some invisible switch, the wind and waves were now almost non-existent. And while the last two miles of the race were quite different from the first two, it was still no waltz through the lily pads to get home. The first thing that Wendy said to me after a brief recovery on shore at the finish was: "I will never flush a spider down the toilet again." After having all personal bests on her five races in Oregon, her time on the Rattlesnake Island swim was not quite what she had hoped for. She did come in seventh out of twenty-nine finishers, with the times posted ranging from the winner finishing a half hour ahead of her, and the last swimmer arriving two hours after she had walked up the finish ramp. All in all, it was a successful swim, but the next time, if it seems that the gods might be flushing the toilet during the race, I will be sure to bring my spray skirt.
 
We have been traveling the last few weeks for swimming events that were somewhat in the extreme. The first was a three day affair with five swims totaling eleven kilometers in a mountain lake south of Bend, Oregon. The second, and latest, was a seven kilometer, out and back swim in a Canadian lake haunted by a mythic, dragon creature. I watched, for the most part, and Wendy swam. I did, however, have a better view than most, as I also was a volunteer safety kayaker who followed along on all the races. At the Bend race, my duties were to watch out for the greater good- at the Canadian race, each swimmer was required to have an attendant kayaker along for the duration. Having only been a vicarious participant for a while now, it has been pleasant not suffering the pre-race jitters or the requisite strain and fatigue of the actual race. However, there are times when one just wants to get in and go with the rest of the racers, but then one remembers his current training deficit and silently repeats the mantra- there is always next year.
 
In stepping back from both events, it is curious to note the parallels and synchronicities between the two. While one was to the south and the other to the north, both places took about six hours to get to. Both of the hosting communities are steeped in athleticism and outdoor activities, with Bend being a mecca for cyclists and skiers, as well as acting as the hub for the Central Oregon Masters Association (COMA) swimming group, and Peachland, BC, where the Rattlesnake Island swim was held, is in the greater, southern Okanagan Lake community of triathletes, with their own litany of multi- and single- sport events, along with Ironman Canada being held a short distance to the south in Penticton every year. The weather at both events was hot, although the lake waters were cool 68 and 72 degree readings respectively. In both places we experienced intrusive, ambient smoke from forest fires of varying distances away, and both races were prefaced by loud, local thunderstorms that did not serve to cancel either race. And with the recent purchase of a semi-rigid, inflatable kayak we were able to pack everything needed into Wendy’s small and sporty fuel efficient vehicle, logging close to 40 mpg in both directions- north and south.
 
The thing that is different about watching an event from a safety perspective is that, unlike with the vicarious excitement one might derive from someone else’s thrill of victory, in watching for possible problems one hopes for no elevations in one’s own heart rate in regards to mishaps that might befall the event one is following as a safety observer. The watching is not always just a visual thing as one scans back and forth while paddling along side multiple swimmers. Beyond looking, one can tell how things are going just by listening. As long as there is the constant beat of stroke slap and steady kick, the safety observer can feel secure in "seeing" that all is going well without in fact seeing all that is going on beside them. There was one time a few years back at the Cascade Lake race where, in scanning back and forth while following some swimmers, my eyes came to rest upon in inordinate amount of bubbles coming from somewhere below the surface. It seemed that the number of swimmers had remained the same, but the panic set in as I maneuvered to the spot above where the bubbles seemed to be coming from. Once there, there was indeed a body form visible through the clear waters of Elk Lake, but the continued large volumes of air bubbling up from below, long after a distressed swimmer should have run out, said to me that perhaps someone with scuba gear was below. As it was, there was indeed a diver under the course taking photos of the race- it would have been nice if someone had told us before hand.
 
There were no such incidences this year in Oregon. And when I did get the lead kayak spot on the on the 5km race, the steady stroke and repetitive breathing grunts of the winner, local favorite Hardy Lussier, made the job of following on the three laps around the course into not much of a job at all. It was a much different story a week later on Okanagan Lake. While it would have made no real difference if I had been paying attention to the old adage: "red sky at morning, sailors take warning", instead of clicking a number of red tinted sunrise shots from our B&B deck (see the Loop website for the color version), I at least might not have been so surprised when a thunder clap rang out just after the start of the race, and when the wind driven waves steadily increased in height and frequency, directly in opposition of our forward progress, and with such a vengeance as to cause one to suspect that there was something on Rattlesnake Island that just didn’t want us to get there. I had to rely much more on the auditory signs coming from Wendy’s swimming efforts in order to keep an eye on the sets of relentless waves pounding in from dead ahead in order to avoid swamping. As we found out after the race, four or five of the escort kayaks had to be rescued from capsizing, and as it was, having left the spray skirt on shore, I was sitting in water all the way back to the finish after we rounded the south end of the island, having spent a number of minutes with almost no forward progress at all on the front side of the island as wind, waves and a current conspired to turn this contest into a Sisyphean epic.
 
What made me even more suspicious of some meteorological or metaphysical conspiracy afoot here was that after we emerged from the backside of the island in a homeward direction, and fully expecting to be bombarded, as well as pushed, by waves from the rear, instead what we found was that, as if by a flip of some invisible switch, the wind and waves were now almost non-existent. And while the last two miles of the race were quite different from the first two, it was still no waltz through the lily pads to get home. The first thing that Wendy said to me after a brief recovery on shore at the finish was: "I will never flush a spider down the toilet again." After having all personal bests on her five races in Oregon, her time on the Rattlesnake Island swim was not quite what she had hoped for. She did come in seventh out of twenty-nine finishers, with the times posted ranging from the winner finishing a half hour ahead of her, and the last swimmer arriving two hours after she had walked up the finish ramp. All in all, it was a successful swim, but the next time, if it seems that the gods might be flushing the toilet during the race, I will be sure to bring my spray skirt.