Paul Chiang has improved dramatically in recent months, in paddling rolling, launching, etc. He attributed at least some of that improvement to kayaking activities at UCLA and has been looking for people to join him there. He mentioned that he did rolling practice there and encouraged me to join him. He also mentioned kayak polo, which I wasn't interested in.

So, I drove down in the horrible traffic on 101 (it thinned out on 405 South), entered the beautiful campus and went to the recreation center. I was expecting a nice indoor heated pool and dressed accordingly. I actually encountered two huge, oversized OUTDOOR pools, but very well heated. Only the state could "afford" (Ha!) not one, but TWO, oversized Olympic outdoor heated pools!!

At the appointed hour, no one was at the upper pool, where practice time was scheduled. The lifeguard confirmed that it was the right place. A very nice lady showed up, with an exotic eastern European accent and introduced herself as Kristina, person in charge for the evening, with a day job as a chemist for UCLA. While she was getting ready, I hopped in my Perception Pirouette and started practicing. The first few rolls were rather awkward, but at least got me upright again. No swims necessary. No sign of Paul Chiang either. Love that warm water.

Kristina launched in a nifty composite kayak polo boat. It looked like a whitewater boat, but thinner, with a long, flat, narrow aft section, sporting a flat bottom and a little rocker. The boat was fast, yet maneuvered quite well. She proceeded to warm up by paddling around the periphery of the pool, making very sharp turns at each corner (I found out why a couple of hours later). She invited me to join her. In my semi-drowned state, I could barely keep up in my river boat. I belatedly remembered to take off my nose clip--oxygen is a good thing.

I did some more rolls, which were getting easier. Then, Kristina talked me into trying a kayak polo boat. It took a little searching in the equipment shed to find one that fit my middle-aged body. I was provided with a standard issue UCLA plastic boat, battle scarred and as heavy as a small battleship, but it paddled and handled great-- wonder if these could be used for rock gardening?

Before I knew it, Kristina had showed me specialized versions of draw and sweep strokes that would whip the boat around nearly in its own length. It felt clumsy, but got easier as I practiced. I did some more rolls. Then she threw in 3 kayak polo balls, which looked suspiciously like basketballs. Still no Paul Chiang. She showed me how to pass, dribble and maneuver the boat for advantage. She vaguely described some of the rules, which made kayak polo sound sort of like hockey in the water.

I did some more rolls, but was getting tired and waterlogged, especially since I had sea-kayaked on Saturday, surfed for only the second time in eight months, for 4 hours, with Pam Schlotter at Mondos Sunday, now rolling and learning kayak polo moves on Monday night. Finally, I was saved by the bell, since our allotted time in the pool was used up. We replaced the swim lane lines, which was more difficult than I thought.

Kristina then invited me down to the lower pool, presumably to watch the kayak polo guys play. I said I would watch for a while then go. When we got down there, she put me to work helping to remove the pool lane marker lines, after the evening swimmers left. By this time, it was dark and there were no floodlights, just some underwater lights and a few area lights on dry land. She issued me a battered, nasty looking helmet with a cage over the front. How did that helmet get those big gouges in it? Paul Chiang, where are you?

I was wet and felt cold and tired, in the increasingly chilly nighttime breeze. I met and chatted with a couple of whitewater guys, then met a few of the polo players briefly, before launching to practice for a while. They all looked at least 30 years younger than moi. I was thinking that I would paddle a bit more, then call it a night and quit while I was ahead. Somehow, this white haired, nearly in his sixth decade paddler, ended up in a kayak polo game with three members of the U.S. national team and the other players not far behind them.

Having only a vague idea of the rules, zero experience and fogging glasses, I blundered around the pool, but managed to avoid killing any of America's great hopes. More importantly, they avoided killing me, as well.

When Kristina paddled by and told me we were on the blue team, I assumed she was talking about boat color, but that didn't work, since I was quickly called out for attacking my own men (there were actually two very fit women playing also-- Kristina and a slender blonde). Aha, she meant PFD color blue, which worked better. I couldn't really see any colors in the dark, with fogged glasses-- just dark or light-- so I supported the dark players and blocked the light players, with about 90% correct choices.

I discovered, after being knocked over a couple of times, that rolling temporarily removed the lens fog. Needless to say, I got more rolling practice last night than in any previous year. Starting out already tired, once I got into it, adrenaline carried me a lot farther than I imagined. In the heat of battle, I was able to duke it out with the opposition, but they had far more finesse. My sea kayaking endurance allowed me to keep going, but I wasn't as fast as most of the other players.

To try to stay ahead, I attempted to anticipate moves and be there first, but my lack of knowledge of the rules sometimes made for some comical events, when I was the only one going in a certain direction and everyone was wondering why.

The intensity of play was just amazing. I found myself caught up in the excitement and moving right along with it, even though I was ready for a hot shower and an easy chair. At one point, I remember being in the middle of a furball battle for possession of the ball. I was on top of another boat. another kayak was over my stern. I pulled the ball over with my paddle and reached for it. Suddenly it was dark and I was upside down, wondering how I got wet. I rolled up and ran into a guy right next to me. I saw two other capsized boats and at least one paddle in the water. I blew the water out of my nose and mouth, panting and chased the fast breaking play down the pool toward our goal, managing at least one pass without screwing up that served as a goal assist.

Every once in a while, we would finish a quarter, then the goals would be reversed-- one more darned thing to try to remember. Kristina saw me hauling my kayak to empty it out at halftime, or maybe it was 3/4 time and came over to boost my morale, assuming that I was fleeing under cover of darkness.

I felt myself slowing down as the game wore on (and on), but it seemed that so was almost everyone else. I learned when and how to pace myself and how to place myself in positions to support the team, block the opposition and occasionally pass or receive. Toward the end, I avoided the mad scramble to rebound down the pool when the ball changed hands and instead worked on interdiction and support along the way, depending upon who had possession. I made two goal attempts, but never having tried before, they were both low and out of the money (the goal is a wide net about two meters up). I suspect that my teammates were just being kind in throwing me the ball. I can see why some of these folks are national class. Fine sportsmen/women, too.

After the game, we all worked to put the pool back in order and put our gear away. Talking to a few of the guys, I learned that they train at least a couple of times a week and have all kinds of other fitness activities as part of their regimen. There is really no money in this, so they do it for the love of the sport or to push themselves. Some are students, some work, or both.

As I was loading my kayak on the car, a player asked me if I was tired. I responded- "yeeeeah, and I was at it nearly four hours and have muscles hurting that I didn't even know existed," to knowing laughs. When I got home, I discovered some cuts and scrapes, including at least three on my right leg-- something chafing, maybe.

Paul Chiang had left all kinds of messages on my phones that an emergency had arisen and he couldn't make it. I think he set me up :-) .

It turns out that there was nothing wrong that a dose of Motrin and a good night's sleep wouldn't cure. In the morning though, I had to bend over and lift my legs to put them in my pants.

George Miller

Find out more about kayak polo at UCLA