Book review: Without a Paddle, by Warren Richey

An easy read, Warren Richey's book chronicles his efforts at completing- and winning- the first Ultimate Florida Challenge, the same race I hope to complete in 2014. It also examines his divorce from his first wife and eventual romance of another associate later, after starting to heal from the deep wounds of the first.

I am unqualified to speak about his personal life, except that I was a bit uncomfortable with his somewhat negative view of women, which only improved by the end.  I hope that means he found peace with my gender.  Having seen a close family member struggle with a divorce, I know they are like mourning for a death that is imposed by a loved one (or oneself), which must be incredibly hard to get over. I hope never to experience that grief.

His book appealed to me more for filtering it down to what I need to do to prepare for the race.  I would have liked it if he had delved into the challenges of the race a bit more, even.  He definitely provided plenty of ideas of things I need to work on.

I discovered, over the course of the book, that SharkChow (which is his official handle) is what we of the climbing community call a sandbagger.  Basically, a sandbagger is one who downplays their own ability, making a route sound easier than it is, thus luring others to attempt it.  It's not always done with malice, but at times stems from well-meaning but misplaced humility. Some people just don't think they are that far from average when they give estimates of their own fitness or ability, even while they are effortlessly adept. So when I call Warren a sandbagger, he fits the latter category, and I say it with a degree of affection- I am married to a chronic sandbagger, who has taken me climbing far beyond my comfort zone to the point of dry-heaving from effort, when he was convinced it wasn't that hard.

I might be reading between the lines a bit too much, but here's my take on it: SharkChow thinks he's not that athletic, like he was nuts to try to do this race, and yet if you pick up on it, he trained pretty hard, to the point of possibly having an over-training injury. He was not only very fit, he knew how to pack for the race from having done lots of paddling. (Did I mention he completed the 30 day race in like 21 days? Yeah. Sandbagger!)

He had the competitive advantage of having paddled many miles of the racecourse casually over the years- he lived in Florida, and had many hours of sea kayaking under his belt. This leaks out through references in his divorce portions of the storyline. This also means he knew where to camp, having camped at many of the spoil islands that he depended on in the race, and he knew the hazards of the different areas. These are major advantages to have going into such a long race. There is less of 'the unknown' that an out-of-towner like me has to deal with. So a big lesson to me is that I need to make time to paddle sections of this course and explore it before the actual race, so I can plan better. This is a huge lesson to me.

That's not to say that he painted a rosy picture of the hardships of the race. There were certainly plenty of hurdles to clear, from winds, to tides, to the especially unpredictable waves around river deltas where the intercoastal waterways crossed, and other pleasure-boaters hazing small kayaks in heavily populated areas. Not to mention getting lost, getting stuck on mudbanks, and getting blown out to sea. Mostly, he made sleep-deprivation sound like the ultimate demon of the race. It impairs judgment and removes the keen observation that keeps us from making really basic, big mistakes.

Some of the important lessons I have taken away from this, as they pertain to my goal of completing the race safely at my skill level:

1. Slow down, don't try to win: SLEEP.  Better to get enough rest to enjoy the trip and avoid dangerous misjudgment. I'm not a strong enough paddler, nor familiar enough with the racing grounds to take risks. Slow, steady, safe. That's my mantra.
2. Have lots of back-up options open at all times: alternate routes, duplicate places to camp close together (you never know how far you'll get on a given day), extra things to eat/drink, and emergency gear. Warren didn't wear his PFD during the race. This to me is a big no-no, but I'm a safety freak.
3. Never take for granted that the weather will stay good. Take advantage of it. This made all the difference early on for SharkChow's race. I know it's not the Northwest, but even Florida gets crummy paddling weather that requires staying off the water sometimes (this was not obvious to me until reading accounts of the race).
4. Really get to know the racecourse as much as possible.
5. Tides can really, really suck.
6. Inflate my tires fully on the portage. Oh goodness yes.
7. Pack light. This one is hard for me. I'm a boyscout at heart, and think I must have stuff for all eventualities. I don't want to paddle a barge through, so I have to figure out how to go light enough to stay fast, while having what I need to stay comfortable.

I'm really glad I got the book. It's very helpful to read a WaterTriber's personal account. I've been trolling for more such stories on the WaterTribe website as well as the blogs different paddles have linked. I hope to meet SharkChow at a race in the next couple of years and thank him. If my memory serves me right, it was his article in the Christian Science Monitor that I read in 2006 that fed my imagination in the first place!