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Tsunami that wasn't (George)  

Background:

Many of you know of Steve Brown, fanatic rock gardener of the Palos Verdes Peninsula. Steve has been doing day paddles along that coast for a couple of years and has a following.  I had been tracking his adventures via email and wondered just how much longer that he might survive.  After many months of hesitation, I started paddling with him in early February to acquire better skills, while also continuing my distance and weekend day paddles.  I even kept my day job as a management consultant.

Steve informed me that he had put together a private lesson deal with the Fabled Tsunami Rangers, extreme and even somewhat notorious kayakers from Northern California. He even invited me to come along. Having seen videos and accounts of their exploits, I was incredulous. Me, paddle with the Tsunami Rangers?  Well, to make a long story short, he persuaded nine others to also sign up for the 17-18 May class to be held in Montana Del Oro.

Steve did  fine job of participant screening and counseling, resulting in the following enrollments:

Others dropped out along the way, due to health or scheduling problems.

This was one hell of a pack of paddlers. We counted two professional instructors, two long distance crossers, surfers, whitewater paddlers and three crazy rock gardeners.  All were regular paddlers, with about five to over twenty years experience.

Preparation:

We all tried to practice together or alone, by paddling surf, rocks, caves and arches along the coast. Some of our number (not I) had helpful whitewater skills.  We paddled PV, San Diego, Shell and Pismo Beaches.  David was on his own, practicing up north.

After some expensive and abusive trials, the last holdouts (including me) got plastic boats to handle the battering of rock gardening.  The most prevalent designs were the Neck Looksha Sport standard and low volume models. These proved to be quite suitable for the conditions encountered, highly maneuverable, tough and stable, although slow and poor tracking. The two Valleys were fine and the Necky Looksha IV proved to be good also. We even had a big Dagger and Perception Eclipse, although these were too long to be optimal. Steve had a Perception Corona and vowed to replace it with a Looksha Sport. Although the Rangers had recommended 14-15' sit on tops, not one participant elected to go that route, preferring the control of a deck boat.  Everyone handled their boats in seamanlike fashion.

During our preparations, the Tsunami people changed the instructor lineup several times, finally canceling the class at the 11th hour. By this time, we were trained, booked, reserved, conditioned, primed, tanned, rested and ready, so we decided to do it on our own.  Hugh decided to wait for a later class.

We all arrived at Morro Bay State Park campground on Thursday. Carol, Patrick, Anneli and George scouted out the local waterfront, including the imposing Montana Del Oro, with 9' seas beating on high rocky headlands, caves, treacherous offshore rocks and shoals.  The wind was blowing and surf was seriously up. Jack checked out the more tame south-facing Cayucos, with its hundreds of rocks and sea stacks extending out into the shallows, merging with the incoming Pacific swells.

That night, at a campsite council of war, the group consensus was to paddle Cayucos on Friday, as a training and warm-up day.  The relatives and significant others planned to kayak along the coast or hike. We resolved to tackle Montana Del Oro on Saturday, when it would have also calmed down a bit.  We decided to leave at nine, in hopes that the sun would burn  through the chilly, damp overcast soon into our trip. We all ate at our campsites, clustered in the same area, then talked and drifted off to sleep, in spite of some of our noisy and inconsiderate neighbors.

Cayucos:

We all ferried over to the Cayucos pier area and prepared for a launch on Friday morning, at dead low tide.  It looked deceptively calm, but a few people got bitten by dumping breakers that hit the beach, seemingly from nowhere.  Carol watched and decided to do a shore day. The rest of the significant others did a one hour paddle, while the rock gardeners headed up the coast.

The early part was quite tame. It was overcast, with very little wind and small swells angling through the rock garden areas. We found some real nice surfing spots along the way, as the wind and swells gradually increased in true California fashion.  Initially, it was Steve, Jack and George, then Don, but most  of the others soon jumped in.  There were some wild rides, through the rocks and shoals and even up on the rocky shores. Although there were  a few spills and thrills, and  a couple of OBE's (Out of Boat Experiences).

In one particular case, the rescue went poorly, finally resulting in the rescuee drifting out of the break and then reentering.   There were too many rescuers, too many plans and not enough agreement.  Steve held a postmortem discussion, where we agreed to reenact the event  with Steve playing the victim and tow him out. George volunteered to be one of the towers. The pair were repeatedly smashed with waves, quickly separating several times, before successfully towing out of the whitewater and doing a "T" rescue.

Further up, the offshore rocks got larger and more plentiful and the spaces between them narrower, requiring more skill to negotiate. We saw numerous seals on the rocks and heavy kelp beds. They were somewhat bolder than the ones in the Ventura County and LA metro areas, swimming over to investigate our presence.

We found a couple of surf/play areas on long points that received somewhat heavier, spilling surf, providing long and more technical rides demanding some maneuvering in the rocks and shoals. At least twice, I found myself balanced on top of rocks and waiting for waves to wash me off them. Steve was his usual crazy self, capsizing right and left, but agile as a cat in recovering and moving on.
I noticed that the group members were starting to hit their stride, growing more confident as the day wore on.  By lunch time, most people were doing anything that could be paddled in the area. We stopped off at a nice beach for lunch and a stretch.  The sun came out in all of its glory and roasted us in our heavy immersion clothing. We hid in the mercifully cool, breaking waves, while homeward bound.

By the time we finished up then headed back, the tide had come in a fair amount, changing the land/seascape significantly. It allowed us to take the "inside passage" for much of the way, with new scenery and challenges.  The high water not only got us into more places, but let the increasing swells reach farther in to slap us around, as well.  I saw Patrick, Don and Jack do some fine maneuvers.   David was taking a more offshore route near the outer rocks.  Anneli, Jonathan and Cate were all over.  There were a few hairy breaks on the outer rocks.  Tricky maneuvering was required through the shallow, narrow inside passages, swept by swells and strong currents.  All in all, a good training run and lots of fun-- a target rich, low-threat environment.

Although the whole route couldn't have been more than 7 miles or so, our actual track was considerably longer, with all of the maneuvering through the rock gardens. Except for Steve, Jack, Don and Patrick, I hadn't really paddled with the others before, so it was a good chance to get to know some of them a bit better personally and paddling wise.  
Jack was quietly nursing a shoulder injury, but hid it like an old soldier wanting to stay in a really good war.  He has a great sense for the waves.  Patrick was like a kid with a new toy.  He had just started practicing with us recently, but had come up the power curve swiftly.  I knew Anneli by reputation, as  a tough resourceful, strong kayaker, belying her spare exterior appearance.  Cate looked kind of girlie and we didn't find out what she was made of until the scary cove breakers experience the following morning.  We knew that Jonathan was probably the best technical paddler, from seeing him at the BCU assessment previously. Don is a battle-hardened rock gardener.  David was an unknown, but proved to be an excellent paddler.
By the time we got back to the pier, most of us were a bit tired from feeling our oats and paddling everything in sight all day. This was a high energy group.  No one was seriously challenged, but we were all able to strut our stuff and do almost anything that Cayucos could offer that day.

Back at Camp:

We were happy to get back to hot showers and relaxing dinners at Morro Bay State Park campsites.  By the way, the Park is a very nice place, nestled in the trees, between the Marina on the Bay and a golf course.  It is only a short drive along the beautiful shore into a fairly nice little coastal resort town- nothing fancy.

We built a roaring fire with Jacks' construction site cellulose gleanings.  Don, a fine craftsman cabinet maker, made an incredibly elaborate marinated beef dinner worthy of a French chef. Others' meals ranged from simple sandwiches to Trader Joe gourmet items. We were all jazzed up from the fine day paddling in splendid weather and sea/terrain.

We all knew that Saturday would be more challenging and apprehensively, but enthusiastically, anticipated what the day would bring. We knew that it would be no cakewalk, but more like the exciting, but frightening Tsunami rangers training videos.  By the way, these were surprisingly informative when viewed over and over.  Steve learned from a VHF weather channel that the swells had subsided to 8 feet, with 15-30 kt winds predicted.

Saturday morning after breakfast, we ventured forth to Montana Del Oro State Park, which rivals Pt. Lobos Preserve as a site of natural beauty and diversity.  It's a winding drive through trees and hills, with stunning seascapes to the West and beautiful trees and fields everywhere else.  There are beautiful campsites, but we elected to stay at Morro Bay, due to the availability of firm reservations and hot showers, a blessing for weary kayakers.

Montana De Oro:

When we arrived at our Spooner's cove launching site under brooding skies, with chilly winds, we could observe rougher conditions just outside the shelter of the inner cove.   Nobody seemed to be in a  hurry to launch, as they pulled on their gear and made their boats ready for what was to come.  An imminent groom and his party had arrived to stake out a nearby beach site for a beautiful afternoon wedding.  A few fishermen straggled ashore in kayaks.  Tourists and campers gawked at the overdressed kayakers about to assault the heavy seas.

When we launched and got underway, we immediately saw heavy breaking seas far out along the point across our southern route. There was little alternative than to go around it. Our hardy members all had different ideas about how wide a berth to give the massive rollers, ranging from somewhere off Hawaii, to playing chicken with them (Steve, of course).
A few of us headed into a long cove past the point. There were still intermittent large breakers in the seaway. We lost track of Steve inshore for a couple of minutes.  A few of us that came farther inshore saw him get creamed by a massive wave and roll smartly. Nobody else encountered much white water until we came into our first rock garden and started maneuvering around the rocks.  We largely avoided the big breaks and headed farther down the coast, beginning to explore, adapting and loosening up, as we got more comfortable with the rhythms of the day's seas.

Most of the group got bolder as we worked our way through the inshore rocks and out to the next point.  The bolder ones then started working the rocks around the point.  There were some terrifying waves and clapotis between the rocks, requiring excellent timing, nerves and good bracing.  

Sometime in the later morning, we worked our way through the rocks and into a cove, by mutual consent. Although it  had a protected appearance, it choked off and had  a shallow shoal that intermittently raised large powerful waves. We all got  a wild ride through there. Cate's big Dagger was seized by a fast-moving wave and thrashed around, very rapidly knocking her out of the boat.  It was way too rough out there to effect a self rescue or even assisted rescue.  She and Steve maneuvered out of the boiling whitewater, through the soup and into a maze of rocks breaking the force of the seas.  I paddled in to see Cate licking her wounds, but already preparing to return to the fray. I would have declared a break at that point, if I had been in her place.

Not too long after I moved back out into the rough stuff, I saw Cate head back out. No sooner had she reached the center, when a frightening, nearly vertical wave face pitch poled her again. In very rapid sequence another fast mover creamed Jonathan, seemingly sending him to the bottom. We saw a loose paddle half and a paddle float,  then a red upside-down kayak, then a red right side-up kayak, with a somewhat shaken, but operational Jonathan.  We put his paddle back on deck  and found his paddle float inside the break line. Jonathan just shook himself off like a duck and kept paddling.

Incredibly, Cate came steaming back out in about half the time after her first wipeout, ready to go again. What a team!

I saw Patrick whipping his big Looksha IV around like a Ferrari in the waves.  Steve, Jack and Don-- well they acted like Steve, Jack and Don.  I noticed that David, who looked very conservative, was actually doing some big water, when I looked sometimes.  Anneli has this serene way of paddling along no matter how rough it is.
We had seen an intriguing looking hollowed-out sea stack and some crevasses, when scouting on Thursday, but, when we arrived there, they were dry from the low tide.  When we came back up the coast later, the whole area was an inaccessible mass of wild water.

We negotiated several cool caves and arches, some a bit hairy. By this time, we thought nothing of being swept  by breakers through shallow pools, side-surfing and ducking the larger rocks.

Steve remembered an interesting inside passage through a long rocky point, from a previous trip.  When we arrived there, we found it to be very shallow on one side and breaking wildly on the other. Steve and most of us elected to take the prudent route in rough passages through the point, farther out. However, David, who we thought was more conservative than a post-Enron accountant, threaded his way through, capsized, recovered in rough shallow water, then clawed his way to safety behind some nearby rocks.  The rest of us crossed through large, but less treacherous passages further out. Nearly everyone found a different route and lots of variety through this  point.

By this time, I was comfortable enough with boat and abilities to punch through significant breaking waves and zig-zag through rough passages that I would be afraid to even have nightmares about previously. Looking around, I saw that quite a few of the group were also feeling more comfortable. Unlike yesterday though, there were numerous areas here that we didn't dare tackle. Bold, yes. Stupid, not so much.  Always look for an escape route/backup plan before committing to something beyond one's control.

Although we did some hairy stuff, we had seen much worse on the Tsunami training videos.  Just watching those and thinking about them helped us to visualize how to handle more difficult conditions, in much the same way that Psychiatrists study raving maniacs, so that they can better understand slightly more normal people.

Steve had picked out a spectacular and very private cove for lunch, but so had  a big group of large white and grey seals.  So, we backtracked to  a wide cove to the West and landed after playing in some caves and along the cliffs on the East side.  During lunch, we chattered excitedly like elementary school pupils in the schoolyard, exchanging stories about the morning's exploits.  We also tried out each others' boats, to see what we might be missing.

After lunch and launching on the homeward track, we again found that the tidal inflow had radically changed the playground.  I always feel a little sluggish after lunch and had a hard time getting my engine warmed up again. We paddled across a long cove, behind rocks, through a now flooded pool, through caves and arches, then out into rougher stuff, as we traversed the point to the South end.

We transited large breaking waves through clusters of rocks, getting bounced around, punching through breakers, scrambling for the shelter of lee sides of rocks, then sluicing through narrow passages, propelled by violent currents, back-paddling wildly, to avoid being dumped into lines of breaking waves (repeat until exhausted and giddy).

A few coves and many adventures back up coast, we encountered conditions over our pay grade. Just past the shelter of some rocks shielding us from strong seas, we spied an open area, intermittently washed by strong, but slightly smaller spilling and dumping waves.  Jack watched and read the waves for a couple of minutes, then smartly slipped through the area and into a long passage headed north, away from the carnage, and not so smartly, into a cul de sac in one direction and impenetrable waves in another.  Steve, not to be outdone by Jack, and unaware of the blind alley, set out on the same journey.  Either Jack was  a genius, or he was damned lucky.  Steve got hit by strong waves several times, finally getting forced backward, then capsizing in a boiling, angry cauldron of powerful wave action. He tried to roll-- once, twice, three times was the lucky one. He came up, gasping for air and was knocked sideways and down again. In two tries, he came up shakily, then soon, went down again. We expected to see him pop up beside  his craft, gripping it tightly and treading water, while seeking shelter farther back.  But, not Steve. Finally, he tried to roll up, unsuccessfully. During all of this, we watched apprehensively, trying to figure out whether we would be able to extricate him from this situation and where the hell was Jack, paddling out the other side?  Finally Steve rolled up and struggled north, out of the fury that had engulfed him.

We waited for them to come back out, but no dice.  Finally, we paddled south and through the rocks to the next cove, but saw that it would be difficult to impossible to pass through there. Finally, they exploited a lull between sets and forced their way back out the way they came. They later told us that it was much  easier to punch out of there than to enter in the first place.

The conditions and the approaching last rough point before Spooner's Cove made it difficult for further rock gardening, so we headed offshore and west, into increasing breaking offshore swells. By this time, we were more comfortable with the seas and simply zigzagged or braced and held on.

Some of us played in the breakers and heavy surge in the cove, before landing nearly on top of the not one, but two beach weddings that had already ended.

Back in town:

The significant others were there to coddle us and dress our wounds. We all eventually headed back to the campsite, then off to dinner at the Flying Dutchman on the Morro Bay Embarcadero. Steve's father Jim's recommendation proved to be quite good. It made an excellent venue for our farewell dinner. Carol and I plowed homeward to make the CKFest event in Long Beach the following morning.  Meanwhile, the more sensible others hunkered down for the night, after a rousing, but cathartic campfire gathering, recounting and general chest beating.

This turned out to be a wonderful trip, exceeding everyone's expectations, in spite of the inauspicious beginning.  We had a very good group, well prepared, conditioned, equipped, enjoying fairly good sea conditions in an excellent location.

Consumer warning:

Rock gardening is exciting, but it can be quite dangerous if the above things aren't right. Do it only with the right training, expertise and guidance.   This was NOT a club-sanctioned trip. Steve was only a facilitator, not a legally liable, deep pockets leader.  

Happy paddling!

George Miller