RE: [Paddlewise] Knee Replacement - may be boring :P

Craig's stories can never be considered "boring".  As far from that as possible.

Am led by his story to relate an incident that pales in comparison to his medical issues.  As I told Craig in a personal response earlier, he made my morning much less uncomfortable.  At his request, I edit it for the wider PaddleWise membership -- and apologize for the length of the post.

___________

Thanks, Craig.  An inspiring story.

I'm sitting in a wing chair -- the only thing I can do in some comfort this morning -- doing my job as a telecommuter. 

Yesterday, my wife and I hosted a visiting French couple -- an old friend from Paris/Washington and her new boyfriend -- and took them out to Maryland's Eastern Shore where the ancient art of log canoe racing is practiced.  We had secured two places on the chase boat for one of the canoes -- Edmee out of the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum (CBMM) in St. Michaels -- and drove out to Chestertown (a beautiful colonial era town on the Eastern Shore) yesterday morning; my son's position as crew aboard Edmee had allowed this enviable passage to see these ancient craft in action -- and up close and personal.  A great honor.

Log canoes are a bit more than they sound.  Racing canoes are mostly "five log" canoes, made up by joining five 40' logs together and then cutting away everything that doesn't look like a boat.  A mix of the indigenous people of the Chesapeake's practice of hollowing out a log to make a canoe and the European influence of "bigger is better", unencumbered by any concern for environmental issues.  (There are always lots more trees!)  (An interesting, short introductory article about racing log canoes is offered at http://www.coastalliving.com/travel/chesapeake-bay-log-canoe-racing-00400000047465/.)  

The excitement of manning a chase boat -- these unstable racing canoes have to be towed out to the race and back, and then followed carefully -- was eclipsed by a frantic, last minute and totally unrestricted request for crew for an undersupported new boat, "Mary Julia Hall" (MJH).  "New" is new to the race circuit: MJH was built in 1894 -- no numerical misprint here.  Instead of watching the Edmee race from the comfort of the CBMM's vintage crabbing boat, "Volunteer" -- an excitement greatly anticipated -- I was recruited to crew aboard the undercrewed MJH; my ancient and limited experience sailing on one-design race boats was more than enough to qualify as an MJH crewman -- and that, in itself, should have been sufficient warning.  But recruited I was, leaving my new French friend on the chase boat at his insightfully better judgement.  (The even wiser women folk had headed off to see the sights in Chestertown.)  

My introduction to MJH was boarding her -- and it should have been another warning sign.  To get aboard, one climbs over the "easy chair" stern position -- a seat for the mainsail trimmer on a stern sprit (pronounced "sprite" for some illusive Eastern Shore reason) extended six feet abaft the stern, and then down the supports onto the hull itself.  (These craft are inherently unstable: the article mentions that most of them have to be supported at the dock to avoid accidental capsizing while sitting in calm water with no sail raised, so side boarding is discouraged.)  Well, I made it from the dock and half way down the stern sprits before losing foot presence and crashing into the "sprite" with my ribcage before ungracefully landing in the waist-deep water of the Chester River.  My injury -- initially thought to be just having the wind knocked out of me -- grew to a suspected rib crack.  (I described my injury to the skipper as only a bone bruise -- which appears now to have been an accurate self-diagnosis -- although by mid-race it certainly appeared to me to be a fracture: difficulty breathing and a lot of discomfort in two ribs.  In good log canoe racing style, however, I refused to acknowledge my injury's extent, and continued to scramble up and down the "boards" and to bail out the questionable hull with a bad leak at the top of the centerboard trunk.  There are no allowances for lost crew: if someone is lost overboard after the first warning cannon, the canoe must hove to and recover the crewman or be disqualified from the race.  An injured crewman stays aboard and continues to function at his or her optimal level if the canoe is to remain in the race.  Such was my injured status, and, with some absurdly perverse thoughts of actually be invited back to crew again in the future, I gutted it out on the boards as rail meat and self-adjusting balast.  (Our new, inexperienced skipper and crew as much as guaranteed our finishing position at dead last in a field of nine; the advantage of having a lot of o!
 ther boa
ts in front to find the turning marks was limited in that we could hardly see the other boats shortly after the start, so far back was our place.  MJH may continue to be crew-deprived, but this sport is only a little bit about finishing first -- or even last.  It's mostly all about keeping the few remaining racing log canoes alive and under sail, and the practice of trading off crewmen to support another canoe's chance to race is all in the game.  It's really all about presrving a 150 year tradition of the Chesapeake Bay.)

Obviously, from a medical standpoint, my story is a tiny, unmeasurable fracion of Craig's knee injury and evolution.  I only write to thank him for a great story of an incredible medical journey, and to thank him for helping me get my sore ribs in perspective.  At almost 67, I've now had my share of mini-medical miracles -- having an eighteen milimeter stent inserted into a coronary artery to correct a certainly fatal heart condition, and having orthoscopic surgery for other issues where major openings and scars would have been the norm twenty or even ten years ago.  Craig presents his stories well, and there is nothing boring in any of them.  (And just now I'm remembering the time I helped a jeans-clad gent I had met at a symposium move his kayak to the water.  We had decided to go out together for a paddle; he seemed a little stiff for a young man, and it was only when he asked me if he could use the relative watertight security of my Valley Canoe Products Pintail's sealed after compartment to stow his leg prostheses that I realized his physical differences.  He had promised his doctor to safeguard these new and improved appliances if allowed to attend the proceedings.)  So everything in perspective -- even more my sore chest.

Thanks for making my morning a lot easier, Craig, and thanks again for the report.  Certainly hope you can aspire to beating ten and even twelve year old female cyclists in the near future!

Joq
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