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Rugby Tournaments, Penthouse pets and paddling partners
ARTICLES, SPEECHES AND OTHER READING
CAVEMAN'S MEDIA
RUGBY TOURNAMENTS, PENTHOUSE PETS AND PADDLING PARTNERS
In 1987, the year I designed the first Sea Explorer, I
was in my tenth year as Secretary of the World Invitational Rugby Tournament
and fourth year as Secretary of the Hawai'i Rugby Football Union.
Continental Airlines was sponsor of the World Invitational.
In the organizational meeting a few months before the tournament, my club,
the Hawai'i Harlequins, asked Continental for a round trip ticket to Tahiti
as the Grand Prize for the Tournament MVP. The ticket could be valid from
New Zealand, Australia, Fiji, Hawai'i or the United States, so it was a good
idea.
Continental's manager was sharp enough to turn the request right back on the
Harlequin's by saying, "John Gray runs kayaking trips to Tahiti. If he
donates the land portion of the prize, Continental will contribute the air
portion." All eyes on the tournament committee turned to me. Clearly, my
team mates had me in the hot seat. I agreed to the one and only expedition
give-away prize I ever issued. Blind dates are Ok, but its a terrible way to
select one's paddling partners, even - no especially - on a commercial trip.
Months later, as I was up to my eyeballs in tournament organization (56
teams from all over the Planet), some of the Boys decided that the
ticket/kayak trip would be better used to entice some of Honolulu's most
talented strippers to participate in the "Miss Rugby" contest. Ultimately,
this independent decision upset tournament players, , everybody's wives and
girlfriends (who considered "Miss Rugby" as their domain for being forced to
watch us play every week-end of the year) and Yours Truly.
With the strippers showed up in force in the Sheraton Waikiki ballroom, the
loyal "Rugger Huggers" didn't stand a chance. It came down to three pro
strippers, all former Playmates or Pets, cheered on by over 2,000 very drunk
rugby players. The Penthouse Pet of Something, 1987, Lisa, eventually
stripped to garter belt and walked off with the Grand Prize. Her prize
winning assets were obvious. Wives and girlfriends - all friends of mine
hoping to join me in Tahiti someday - were livid. I wasn't happy, but once I
talked to Airhead Lisa when I gave her the kayaking coupon, I figured the
offer was a waste of paper. Surely, this 19 year old wasn't interested in
either Nature, the ocean or exercise - except on her back.She might use the
Continental ticket some day, but certainly she would never go sea kayaking.
Nine months passed, and Cdr. Kevin booked the Tahiti trip. We organized a
Friday departure from Honolulu to Papeete. I had completely forgotten
aboutLisa, she never called me, and I certainly didn't stay in contact with
her. Suddenly, on Thursday, the day before departure, Lisa called me to see
if she could cash in her prize on this upcoming trip.
I asked, "Do you already have your airline reservation?"
"No, but I'll make it now."
Great news. "Well, I checked yesterday. The flight is booked."
Bad news. "Don't worry. I'll get a seat." Sure.
"How about your passport."
"Oh, do I need a passport to visit Tahiti? I thought it was part of
America."
Great news. Nobody get a passport - and a French visa - in one day." Lisa, I
really don't think you can get it all in order to make tomorrow's trip. To
bad you didn't start earlier, but don't worry, I'll be running another trip
in a month or so. See you next time."
I hung up the phone, packed for the three person O'Conner party and myself,
and met Cdr. Kevin at the airport. The four of us took seats in the center
row Economy section of the DC-10.
An hour into the air, the Purser walked into Economy right up to us, looked
me in the eye and asked "Are you the kayakers?"
I was shocked. "Yes, we are," I said, expecting some weird check-in baggage
problem. "Two questions, how did you know it was us, and 'So What?'"
"Well, I've got a cute young blond up in the First Class section who says
she's on your trip and wants to talk to you."
I thought "Yea guy, I know she won an Economy class ticket, so why is she
flying First Class and what have you been doing the past hour."
Sure enough, it was Lisa.
The purser who let Lovely Lisa fly First Class, no questions, felt nervous
about escorting a bearded kayaker to the Holy Land, but sure enough , there
she was, rolling her eyes and waving her coupon. I had a tough decision. I
certainly wanted to honor my word - the coupon - but safety comes first.
Except for a three mile stretch of deep water open ocean, the main paddle
plan was inside the Tautira and Taupo Basins, reef-protected lake-like
waters. At five feet, Lisa wouldn't take up much room. She weighed about 90
pounds, plus one pound for her mobile phone. What was a 19-year old doing
with a mobile phone in 1987, and why was she taking it to Tahiti? "I make a
lot of social calls, and I don't trust my room mates."
OK, we're in inflatables. In calm water, I often paddle standing up, with a
foot on each tube. Just from her attitude, it was obvious Lisa would be a
worthless paddler. She had no interest in learning anything about kayaking,
but thought she was Cleopatra on a barge trip. Lisa could sit on a picnic
cooler all the way.
"Lisa, I've only got gear for four, but we can fit you in somehow. But its
high season - I'm worried about a hotel room for you in Papeete."
We checked into the Hotel Tahiti, and of course, they had no empty rooms.
Cdr. Kevin and I were in one, his wife and sister-in-law in the other. The
sisters were incensed (understandably) with the extra baggage, so I said,
"Lisa, you can sleep in my bed. I'll break out a Therma-Rest and sleep on
the floor."
"No problem, said Lisa, and she headed straight for the swimming pool, where
some poor single guy was treading water, waiting to be her first victim.
When I reached the pool, it was obvious Lisa had a room for the night. The
guy was backed up against the edge of the pool, and Lisa was all over him. I
have no idea of the arrangements or what actually transpired, but it was
obvious from the fellow's smile that an implied promise was in effect.
Perhaps I'm a bit conservative for a bleeding heart liberal, but I wasn't
impressed. The Cdr. and his family paid good money for this trip, and Lisa
wasn't showing any class at all. I saw difficult times ahead.
I don't enjoy Moorea, but Cdr. Kevin wanted to see it, so the next day we
found Lisa and took off for Tahiti's heavy tourist island. We paddled from a
friend's hotel up the coast, and found ourselves next to the Club Med. I
hate Club Med's, with their policies of non-community involvement and
planned activities programs.
However, this was Tahiti, and every woman on the beach was topless, except
for a conspicuous Lisa, who laid on the sand getting a sun tan (instead of
paddle training with the rest of us.) With her top pulled tight to barely
cover her nipples, Lisa was the only woman on the beach wearing anything
above the waist. As we practiced our paddling 30 meters off the beach, we
all cracked jokes about the previous night's activities, and how ridiculous
Lisa looked with her well stretched bikini top engineered to barely cover
things up, especially since 99% of her well-endowed talent was soaking up
the sun.
I felt sorry for Lisa, so when we hit the beach I took a look around -
everybody still topless except our Penthouse Pet. "Lisa, don't worry. We are
in Tahiti now, not Honolulu. Take a look around, you're the only woman on
the beach wearing your top, and you look mighty uncomfortable trying to keep
yourself covered with that postage stamp bikini. Go ahead, take it off if
you want."
"I only take my clothes off for money!" was the very surly reply.
Earlier that day, I learned that Cdr. Kevin was such a devout Catholic that
he took his one-person Mass on the beach every morning at Sunrise. This was
going to be an uncomfortable yet interesting trip. I knew my guide skills
would be tested to the max.
Despite the constant friction, I walked a magical tightrope and the next
several days went pretty close to plan. Tautira was beautiful. Cdr. Kevin
actually developed a salty sense of humor, Lisa learned how to shit in the
woods, and the weather was postcard perfect. The basin was beautiful, and we
eventually ended up on that fateful Motu.
The day before the big storm hit, we had a great reef walk. Lisa got bored
with lionfish, color-changing octopus, reef sharks and Great Herons. She
took off through urchin and sea snake filled waters for the other side of
the island. I'm a very protective guide, and Kevin's family said to go after
her.
We ended up walking the shore on the other side of the Motu. We were two
miles off the most remote reaches of Tahiti Island, closed from civilization
by majestic cliffs. There wasn't a person for miles except my guests, and
they were on the other side of the island. I saw a light-bulb go on in
Lisa's feeble brain. "Nobody's around here, are they."
"That's right. Of course, there could be some Tahitians across the channel
on the Mainland."
"Great. I feel like taking all my clothes off and running around naked on
the beach."
Well. I'm a red blooded California boy, and a rugby player. I certainly
enjoy a beautiful woman, but I wasn't about to give Miss "I only take my
clothes off for money" the satisfaction of teasing me, visually or
physically.
"Good for you. Lisa. Have a great time. I'm going to go back and talk with
my paying guests."
To this day, my friends still say that was either the smartest or dumbest
thing I've ever done.
That night the winds picked up, and the next day the big storm hit at dawn.
Throughout the experience Lisa cried to the uncaring wind that were we all
going to die - we just about did. But once inside Taupo Basin, shacks
started appearing on the small beach. There were people in the third one,
so, bruised and battered, we pulled in. It turned out to be a French film
crew, some of the most arrogant of the arrogant.
As a fly drawn to shit, Lisa and the French Cameraman clicked immediately.
Neither the Cdr.'s family nor I could have been happier. As Lisa disappeared
into the shack with the Cameraman, no doubt to discuss photo angles, I
tossed her bag - mobile phone still inside - into the shack.
"Are you OK, Lisa. You won't mind if we take off on our journey will you!"
That was the last I ever saw of Lisa. I did check with my sleezebag rugby
buddies just to make sure she made it back safely to Honolulu. Sure, they
said, she was still dancing in the strip joint, mobile phone at arm's reach,
telling everybody what a great time she had in Tahiti.
Sawadee and Kia Ora Alex - I'll give you a high wind story from Tahiti,
since it is in Polynesia. Unfortunately for most in the group, as usual,
this is an inflatable experience. Also, this isn't Wellington, so it
mightbore you!. Also, so you all don't fall asleep, I've also shortened
thestory about 50%
In 1987, when I developed the first SeaExplorer, I got a call from
Lt.Cdr.Kevin, USCG career Search & Rescue, stationed in Alameda, CA. He,
hiswife and sister-in-law wanted to do a trip to Tahiti. That made four ofus,
two in a single and two with gear (Including two picnic coolers) in adouble,
all of us stout-hearted and experienced seapeople. In Honolulu - actually on
the plane in route to Tahiti - a young lady with a free vouchershe won in a
rugby tournament grand prize draw joined us (but that'sanother story). I did
some quick calculations, and decided that with mildtropical weather, this
extra body was OK. She was petite of both body andmind and wouldn't take up
much room in the boat. Also, the paddle plan wasall inside reef protected
waters, except for a gap of three miles at theextreme end of the Presquille,
the farthest end of Tahiti island fromPapeete.
All went well until we camped on a sand spit, or "Motu", out on the edge
ofthe reef. For a week, it had been calm, but this night the increasing
windkept blowing our tents over. At dawn, Kevin and I were both up, watching
awall of black clouds swirling around like a scene from a Biblical movie.
The vertical face was several miles high, and stretched from horizon
tohorizon. I've been through two hurricanes, but this was the most
sharplydelineated ominous weather I've ever seen.
I asked Kevin what he thought. I was prepared to tie ourselves to thepalms,
but he said "I think this little two foot island is going to beunderwater,
and I really like these boats - let's go for it." Kayaks werepacked in a
flash, and off we went - Kevin and sister in law in the"single" and his
wife, Miss Airhead and myself in the double with twopicnic coolers, with
rudders (God forbid!)
For the first mile, he downwind paddle was between Tahiti's cliffs and
thereef, then there was that three mile break, and another three miles
insidethe reef, An extended coral reef perpendicular to the cliffs
reachedstraight out to sea at the end of this reef basin - I knew it would
havemeat-grinder surf if we drove up upon it. There is a 400 meter
channellooking straight out to sea at the end of the reef. I negotiated
thischannel in a 15 foot swell once, with shifting breaks, and knew that if
wehit it right, the reef's break would be negotiable because there wasn't
asignificant swell this day.
We got about a mile before the storm caught us. Kevin suggested we turninto
the wind, which we tried for a few seconds, but the inflatablesquickly blew
around. The wind was already about 40 knots, but the gustsbefore the storm
wall really picked up - Kevin claimed over 60 knots, (whoam I to doubt a 30
year Search & Rescue Coast Guard officer). I will neverforget those gusts,
and still feel the only thing that saved us was our"overloaded" inflatables,
sitting low in the water. Before the rain hit,with the storm pushing intense
winds before it, the chop was incredible.
Fortunately, that blow lasted only a minute or two. Somehow, we
didn'tcapsize. Then the wall hit. Fortunately, it was solid rain that
literallyblew the white caps off. It may be difficult to imagine, but it
wasraining so hard, the seas were smooth instead of the foam one
wouldnormally expect in gale situations. Visibility was about 10 meters.
Even with rudders, we couldn't keep the kayaks headed downwind, so Idecided
to go with the elements instead of fight them. With a stroke thatwas
half-brace and half forward, we turned sideways and I drew an
imaginaryheading for that far away channel, side slipping all the way,
trying tolisten for surf in the howling wind so we wouldn't run onto the
fringingreef.
Somewhere in open sea portion, Kevin got totally disoriented, somehow
spunaround and started paddling back towards the island. I was horrified.
Most certainly, there was no take out on the rocky beaches. If I lostsight
of that boat in these conditions we would never reunite, so I turnedabout
and caught up with the Commander. It wasn't easy.
The conversation went something like "Kevin, where are you going." Thereply
was "I don't know. You don't have Loran on these kayaks." " Well,just keep
the wind off your left shoulder and side slip with me." We randown wind,
carried just inside the next section of reef, and maintained ourcourse all
the way to "One Chance" channel. This was the real spooky timefor me.
Judgment was everything - to far back from the reef and we wouldbe blown
right onto the perpendicular coral reef - with storm surf. To farforward and
we blow over the fringing reef - onto storm surf.
The entire time, we've got that 60 knot wind, and rain like a shotgunblowing
horizontal - still no white caps. Once, there was a bit of breakand the
visibility went to about 200 meters for a few seconds. I saw sixfoot surf
breaking outside the fringing reef, and knew we were just aboutright to hit
the channel exactly where we wanted. I was really tense thatlast mile
because I knew we had but one chance. The entire time, MissAirhead was
bear-hugging one of the picnic coolers, screaming that herspontaneous
tropical vacation had turned life-threatening, and we were allgoing to die.
I couldn't argue.
We side slipped through the channel just right - literally blind luck -
andnow my challenge was to get us into the next channel and back inside
theBasin. There were no channel for at least another ten miles, and I
didn'twant to stay outside the reef in unprotected seas.
We worked around the reef's head and into the next reef basin just as
thestorm blew past. The winds dropped off into swirling yet manageable
gusts. The rain also dropped off, and we had the luxury of two
kilometervisibility. I could actually see the Presquille's cliffs. At that
point,everybody collapsed, and we just drifted inside the relatively calm
watersinside the reef. I wasn't surprised after my surf rescues - thelife-threatening
drama was over, and these folks had to come down from twohours of physical
strain and mental concentration.
I'm not saying that every judgment I made was correct, but we were on
theedge, and we all survived. There was no way to avoid the storm - we
werethree days from the last weather report, and after all, this is
thetropics. "Seasons" are a general thing. We didn't have radios - ten
yearsago they wouldn't have done much good anyway. This guy came up
overnightand in these pre-satellite days, radar on that end of the island
wouldn'thave done much good anyway.
Maybe this will stimulate some group discussion, especially from you Alex,
Mad Poodle and other folks with tropical weather experience. Should wehave
strapped ourselves to the Palms? Off a rock cliff coastline withimpossible
landings, that seemed like the only other option except to "waitit out" at
sea. Fortunately, I knew these reefs and have a Polynesian feelfor the
water.
Someday, I'll write the full story in a vignettes book. Miss Airhead - a19
year old Penthouse Pet - was both the worst paddling partner I ever had,and
gives the full-length story great comic relief. |
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