As most of you know, a certain group of people, of a certain age, in the Ventura County area, have labeled themselves "The Old Fart Follies" paddling group. During the traditional lunch at Big Daddio's afterward, we agreed that if we were under 30 again, we wouldn't be caught dead paddling in any event called "Old Farts" anything, so we agreed to test market new names, starting with "Silver Foxes," a cooler name that younger stud paddlers and even women might feel comfortable with. Please respond to the marketing survey at the end of this trip report with your vote.
Meanwhile, back in the storm, we drove through torrential rains, gusty winds, accidents clearing at roadside, even lightning strikes, to get to the launch point at Kiddie Beach in Channel Islands Harbor. The alternative, you see, would have been staying home and packing up the Christmas decorations. The others remarked on the raging Santa Clara River, threatening to sweep away the access bridges we crossed on the way in. Even heavy construction equipment below Highway 101 had been moved above the river's frightening course.
The troops started arriving early for our 0900 launch. "Pyro" Peter O'Sullivan, Mike (insert nickname here) Bode, George "Speedo" Miller and Chris "Flyboy" Wood, were on the beach early. Chris, who is short in the age dept. to be a "Silver Fox," but long on common sense, took one look around, got in his car and headed back up Victoria Avenue, before the waves could sweep him out to sea. He agreed to notify our next of kin. John "Skinboat Mukluk" Petersen, a younger, honorary Old Fart, followed up the rear a half hour later, presumably to sweep up stragglers. He also has the habit of following "Indian time" instead of "white Man's time"!
The moment we launched, the wind picked up, the rain increased in intensity and a small storm surge swept up the inlet toward us. Visions of the recent Asian tsunami swam through our heads. When we got past the breakwater, the rain nearly greyed out our field of vision and confused seas hit us from three sides, testing our edging and bracing skills. Mike Bode, a newer Old Fart paddler, seems to be a quick study in his Scirroco. He looked a little tentative, but stayed upright very nicely all day. I guess you CAN teach an Old Fart new tricks. Or is it teach an Old Fart old tricks? The important thing to remember is that the tricks were new to him.
"Skinboat" Petersen looked like a throwback to earlier times, in the mist and seas, with his self-built replica bairdarka, Greenland paddle and ancient kayaker's attire. The bairdarka, which he now manufactures to order, handled extremely well in the storm conditions.
Peter paddled his wooden boat, built by Paul, a local retired paddler. It also handled very well, probably at least in part because Pete is an almost-daily, fanatical paddler.
My nearly 19 foot Extreme was well behaved, as long as I left the rudder down in crosswinds. It felt more tippy than usual, possibly because I haven't totally recovered from my recent illness and/or have lost my sea legs. It got easier after a while.
We paddled south-southeast, directly into intensifying wind and waves. Estimates ranged from 5 to 50 ft seas (I won't say who estimated what). Seas were more steep and confused than big, although there were occasional undisputed eight footers hissing by. We were buttoned up in GoreTex, hats and boots, hunkered down in our cockpits, so the cold wetness was not really much of an issue. I was actually overheated, had to remove my hood and replace my visored helmet.
Fog and mist ebbed and flowed, sometimes revealing vistas all the way out past Oil Platform Gina and Port Hueneme, sometimes socking us in and obscuring most of the coast. Most of us have paddled rougher seas and higher winds, but not with fog and heavy rain, all at the same time. An oil platform tender intersected our course about 200 yards ahead, rolling in the steep seas. A lone commercial fishing vessel ventured out from behind us, disappearing in the mist.
We headed upwind, out to sea and downcoast for a while, then turned 90 degrees east to take the storm seas directly on our starboard beams. By this time, the waves had started whitecapping, so we took some white and green water over our boats, bracing frequently.
Then we turned about 225 deg. to starboard and headed for the west side of the Channel Islands Harbor outer breakwater, running before a steep following sea and driving rain. We partially surfed, partially climbed waves all the way back, speeding, nearly broaching and generally having a great ride. Twice, I "fell off" waves, my boat twisting and rolling over more than 90 degrees, brought back up with strong braces.
We hung around just beyond the waves smashing over the breakwater. The rain really started coming down about then. We could see thousands of staccato dimples, plopping on the shining grey surface. As it rained much harder, it seemed to dim the shine and actually deform the smaller wind waves.
I cruised over to the north side of "The Pond" (the area north of the inlet) to play in the whitewater. The other guys tooled around outside the breakwater in the "clapotis" that was bouncing off the unyielding rock structure.
When I got inshore more, I traversed the coast outside the breaker line, watching the waves boom and roll in to shore. A lone man walked south along the beach, his umbrella raised toward the wind as a plebeian shield. The houses along the beach seemed dark and depressing.
I sensed trouble, then heard a hiss and low roar and detected a dark rising grey mass in my peripheral vision. Quickly reversing, I couldn't figure out why my kayak was turning to ride abeam of the seas, until I remembered my rudder was down and cranked all the way to port. I quickly rectified that error in overdrive, cresting a 6 footer, barely nicking a seven footer only seconds later, then smashing into an eight footer behind it, breaking in two directions onto me. It started rolling me over to port, so I braced into it and sculled hard, until it released me. Not wanting to push my luck further, I backed down another 50 yards, then headed down the coast. I radioed PyroPeter to arrange a rendezvous at the mouth of the inlet. The rain stopped as we approached the beach.
Even good food always tastes much better on a cold rainy day, after a good workout, with stories to exchange with friends. Today at Daddio's was no exception. We hung around till 130 PM, before heading home. By that time, the skies had opened up into a roaring downpour again.
As I walked outside, I saw four kayaks, jauntily perched upon four vehicles. I smiled as I walked past two kayak-capped upscale SUV's, one with a bright blue Bush-Cheney sticker and one right next to it, plastered with Impeach Bush stickers. Both also sported CKF stickers, because it all stops at the shoreline for CKF'ers.
John headed along the coast to his new Ventura home, but the rest of us ran the gauntlet up Victoria Road, which was flooded by the raging, overflowing Santa Clara River.
Regards,
George Miller
O.F.F. Market Survey
Please respond to the marketing survey below, which will be reviewed at the next Council Meeting of The Old Fart Follies. Please send your answers to MarketSurvey-OFF@proaction.net
Origin of all replies will be kept confidential, unless you specify otherwise. No salesman will call. You will not be harassed by dirty old men.
Questions: