[Paddlewise] A followup

Yesterday in posting something to the string of messages about cigarette
boats, I mentioned I was off to do kayak escort duty.  When I set out I
didn't anticipate what a day it would be.  Here is my account to the
NYCkayaker list that I am posting here just to underline how important
it is for we kayakers to help out swim events...we truly are needed in
more ways than one might think.

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Yesterday's The Great Hudson River Swim, a 2.8 miler from 79th Steet to
the Chelsea Piers, turned out to be an unusual struggle for me, one that
made it so clear why kayakers have to be there. I know when I sign on
for kayak escort for these events, I sign on to help keep the swimmers
from going too far out into the river and away from entanglement in the
piers.  And I know that they may be the possibility of rescue
assistance, the latter so rare that I have not seen such a situation in
three years of doing this.

By and large though we are there to help swimmers, our fellow
close-to-water brethren, fulfill their goals as safely as possible in
the often turbulent waters of a city harbor.  Yesterday my role, our
role, came to a test that I had never anticipated.  I found myself in
the middle of what seemed the plot line from the classic American novel,
The Devil and Daniel Webster.  I found myself in a struggle for the very
soul of a swimmer against the evil clutches (well, they seemed quite
evil at the time) of a motorboat escort.

We had 72 swimmers in the race and only 11 kayakers (it was 10 when we
met up but an 11th showed just as the race started and I wasn't aware of
him).  So we would be spread out thin.  After we agreed where we all
should basically station ourselves for maximum effectiveness with such
few numbers of us, I took a spot I feel very good about, the rear end of
the race.

If you haven't been at one of these shorter races, here is what
happens.  A lead group of swimmers, maybe a half a dozen, start
distancing themselves from the rest.  A strung out pack follows (and
that stringing out can be quite long); and then there is a small group
of strugglers (not stragglers) at the tail end.  I have had good
experience manning the rear kayak position.  These individuals clearly
want to meet a goal--finish the race.  They are not going for great
times nor will they meet them.  But the accomplishment for them and
their families will be no less great than that of the ones who go up on
the winners stand at the awards ceremony.

Sure enough the swimmers fell into line along the pattern I mention
above.  I found myself in the rear with two swimmers, a man and a woman.
They were not moving fast.  I could see that ahead the distance between
them and the rest of the group was widening except for a fellow wearing
a full wet suit.  My guy seemed to be doing a dog paddle (maybe it was
an Australian crawl) with switches to floating on his back with leg
kicks.  The woman was stroking hard with arms in rapid motion but with
little forward speed.  For the first third of the race, I kept an eye on
both going between one and the other, except for a few times when their
zig-zag swimming brought them together for a moment before they would
once more go in different directions.

At this point, one of the rear motorboats had had enough.  I could see
the crew looking at their watches.  They get paid money for gas, which I
am certain also results in a tidy sum into their pockets and they
probably felt it was too much time spent for what they were getting. 
The race had started at least 45 minutes late because we had to wait for
the currents to get some helpful strength to them.  And because the race
had to pass in front of the ocean liner piers at a time when they pull
out to go to sea; and we needed to wait for them to clear.  So that
motorboat escort crew wanted to hurry up things so that they could go
home.  It began to crowd the swimmers, not a lot but some, and it had
nothing to do with the swimmers being too far out in the river or too
far in.  I should have caught on to how the situation was escalating
but, frankly, I was too concentrated on the swimmers.

The first hint came when one of the crew yelled to me, "Pull him out,
his lips are blue!"  I couldn't hear well at first but caught on.  I
didn't see any blue but went closer and looked down at the guy who was
now doing his back float kick and I could see lips as red as those on
Marilyn Monroe throwing a kiss.  I asked him if he was cold and he
answered no as clear as could be without a shiver in his voice.  We went
on for a few minutes.  The motorboat escort then crowded next to the
woman and calling to her but she was stroking so furiously with her arm
strokes that she didn't hear.  Back to the man.  The crew then called to
him if he was tired and that he should leave the race and get out of the
water.  He called back to give him a few more minutes that he was
feeling just fine.  But they continued to pressure him and crowd him
with their boat saying how easy it would be just to float to the stern
and get on the rear swim platform.  He finally relented.  (I noticed him
throughout the episode that followed watching from the rear deck.  Funny
they had made no effort to put a blanket on him or anything.  So much
for their concern about his being cold.)

Now the struggle moved on to the woman.  (Remember that this race is
short and has no specified cutoff times beyond good sense ones of a
swimmer obviously in distress or disoriented.)  The motorboat escort
crew, ever looking at their watches, continued to call out to her to
leave the race.  She finally heard them and looked over to me.  I told
them she looked just fine, was maintaining her fast stroke rate, one of
the signals that a swimmer is losing it and should be pulled out.  They
laid off for awhile.

Somewhere in the middle of this, I asked the swimmer what language did
she speak because she had an accent.  Turns out it was Spanish, which I
thought it was.  We quickly switched our conversation to Spanish.  She
implored me "por favor, no lo dejan sacarme, quiero terminar" (Please
don't let them take me out, I want to finish).  I responded "Lo juro" (I
swear this).  The verb "jurar" in Spanish carries a much heavier, solemn
personal committment than our English "swear."  That pleased her and
seemed to put more determination into her swimming.

Then they crowded against us again.  The boat pulled alongside her very
close and one of the crew was walking toward the swim platform readying
himself to snatch her from the water, saying that she had to come out. 
I said again that they couldn't do that and that she was stroking fast
and did not want to come out.  They started yelling that "Oh, she
refuses to come out, she is disqualified!"  I asked "Who says so?"  The
fellow in the rear pointed to the man at the helm "the captain."  I knew
he had no more authority to call on this one than I had, especially
since I was close to her and could see her condition and sense her
breathing, something you can't do from a large motorboat.  A few more
hundred yards and the motorboat escort started yelling that one of the
swim organizers, I forget her name, said the swimmer had to be pulled. 
I had my marine radio, which I had been listening to, but had turned off
for the swimmer to hear me and to dialogue with the motorboat guys.  I
called the swim organizers, told them of the struggle I was having with
the motorboat escort, told her of the swimmer's good stroke, which was
so fast that I could not read the number on her arm because it was such
a blur.  She said it was my call: she could stay in the race but to
keep watching the condition of the swimmer which I rogered and out.  The
motorboat captain petulantly barked on the radio that he would no longer
be responsible; fine.

I told my swimmer that they she was ok but to keep swimming hard.  She
had been looking up and hearing the struggle for, what seemed to me at
the time, her soul.  And it was because soul and goals go hand and
hand.  She thanked me again and I repeated my committment to her, and we
moved on.

Despite the truce, the motorboat was not about to give in.  Persuasion
switched to a silent form.  The motorboat crowded close to us and its
exhaust fumes strongly whiffing over us.  It bothered me, I know it was
affecting the swimmer.  I let it go for away and finally yelled to stand
off.  They gave in and fell back.

The swimmer finished the race in 1:23 exactly and came within seconds of
catching the swimmer in the wet suit.  Cheers went up as we came into
the embayment.  Large yachts were having cocktail hour and the
partygoers toasted the last swimmers as they came in.  Everyone was
excited and energized by the race and the struggle of those rear
swimmers.  Crowds on the pier cheered.

The motorboat had continued following us into the embayment pushing
aside the kayakers as it came.  It felt they were continuing their
menacing but all they wanted to do was to return a race flag that they
carried to show they were part of the race.

I was busy still having "words" with the crew, when I heard myself
called from the finish line dock.  A swim helper was calling me.  I saw
he was steadying the woman swimmer who had a huge smile on her face. 
"Muchissimas gracias" she was saying over and over again.

ralph diaz


-- 
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Ralph Diaz . . . Folding Kayaker newsletter
PO Box 0754, New York, NY 10024
Tel: 212-724-5069; E-mail: rdiaz_at_ix.netcom.com
"Where's your sea kayak?"----"It's in the bag."
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