There is an island down San Diego way. Haunted, some say, most of it controlled by the military, the homes that line the civilian part of town cost a pretty penny. This ritzy neighborhood sits 88 miles away and is my destination for today’s event.

The event is the Loop race, an 11-mile paddle around Coronado Island, located on the north end of the San Diego Bay. This island isn't an island in the sense of a piece of land floating in a body of water, but is more of a large piece of land attached to the mainland by a thin strip of shoreline.

A 7 am start time awaited me. To make it on time, I would have to wake up at 1 am to make it to my friend Alice’s house by 3:30 am. A group of us who live in the North part of Orange County we’re going to caravan down to the event. My first thought was to go it alone so I could sleep in a little, but I thought the wiser and said I’d meet them. I’d had to be in bed by 7:30 pm if I wanted a decent sleep.

The morning came earlier than I wanted, but I got myself out of bed and packed my car. The night before, I prepared some food for the road, coffee to drink, and plenty of water. This preparation let the morning go a lot smoother than it would have had I been a fool. Not being a fool let me sneak in a 30-minute nap in front of Keri’s house while we waited for the rest of the group to show up.

3:30 am on the dot, we take off into the night. On surface streets, they’re easy to keep up with. Once we get on the freeway, though, they fly off, and by “fly” I mean 75 or 80 mph. Nothing crazy compared to what others on Southern California freeways drive at, but for my boxy Astro van, it’s warp speed. I’m usually never in a hurry to go where I’m going, so a 65 mph cruiser I am. Grandpa over here.

Through the Pendalton base, where it’s still natural and green, the morning fog creeps in, providing a thick blanket, making me sleepy in the early morning hours. Miles and miles fly by. This is the part of doing events or surf contests that I love. It’s the adventure. The exploration and new things.

We begin to enter the San Diego suburban sprawl. More buildings and less wild. Less sky and green. I realize, writing this, how much I love the wild and green. Childhood summers at my family’s homes in rural Washington state. The clean air after a rain, the way grass smells in the wind.

My thoughts are jolted back when we drive into an accident. Not into it, but around a bend in the freeway. There are cars off to the side, one is in the middle of the highway, facing northbound in the southbound lanes. I’ve been in that situation, and it’s terrifying. There is something dark lying in front of the car, I assume it’s a bumper, until I drive past and see a Hispanic man look up at me. I pull right over to the shoulder and call 911. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. For a good minute, it rings and no one picks up. I hang up and drive on. There are plenty of people around to help, so I have to let go and make my event.

I texted Judy, one of the fellow paddlers, about the accident, I’m on my way. I eventually made it down to my destination. When heading to events of any kind, and you get lost, just look for vehicles like yours. In my case, it’s cars with long, sleek, prone paddle boards. A park I drove by was filling up with just such cars, so I flipped a probably illegal U-turn and snuck in just in time.

The group met up and got all checked in. Getting ready, I got super nervous. This was a new place, and this was not a leisurely event, so I had to keep a consistent pace to make it back in time, and this would be the farthest I’ve paddled yet. Needless to say I was freaking out but was also excited.

At 6:40 am, a swarm of paddlers crosses the road. 12 to 20-foot boards take up the roadway. A narrow walkway leads to a narrow strip of land. A rusted-out old fence leans to one side, not sticking out far above the sand. Gat and I walk around to place our boards on the sand berm. A second after placing our boards down, a whistle blows, and a dark figure walks out from the lifeguard tower.

“Do you have government ID?” in a woman’s authoritative voice.

“What?” Both of us are confused.

The figure points at the bent-over fence and the sign that is facing their side of the fence. Government property, it states.

“Oh,” as we both grab our boards and move back to the civilian side. The rest of the morning, this woman will have to blow her whistle at several paddlers, reminding them to move to the civilian side of the fence.

It’s funny sitting here writing this, thinking about how our societies are divided into they and them. From party lines to beliefs, even this. The military, they, and civilians, them. The military can go everywhere we go, but we can go nowhere they go.

The surf is small, thankfully. The event calls for a water start, we’ll have to wade out into the water, then navigate our long boards through the cresting surf. Being a surfer, I’m comfortable with that. A quarter of a mile out, we sit and wait for the start horn to blow.

Time ticks down. 3. 2. 1. We go. It is about 3 miles to the whistling buoy that will be our turning point. It’ll be mile 4 just inside of the harbor past this rock structure. 4 miles before we even get in the harbor. It’ll take me one hour if my pace is decent enough just to enter the harbor. I snap some photos of my friends to calm my nerves. The idea that if this is just a paddle with friends it won’t suck as much.

The horn blows and we are off. The water is not very rough. Some texture to the surface which is to be expected for the distance we are out. It’s surprising how much energy is created by 300 paddling hands.

A quarter of a mile from shore. We have to travel north along the shore. I try to sneak leaks of the shore line. Something I love to do when surfing in a new place is to turn around and look at the new alien landscape before me. Like explorers first seeing a new land. Like my ancestors before me.

I see Alice and Gat slowly pulling away from me. There is one gentleman that I am determined to keep in my sites if not over take. As we approach the whistle rock I cut to the inside to lessen my distance and beat the man in front of me. Once in the harbor the water is smoother and easier to paddle through. I sneak another peak at the shore to my left. The civilian side of the harbor.

To my right is the military base. In the briefing email I read before the event. We were informed that if we set foot on the island we would be trespassing. The island was desolate. Wooden pilings rotted and water logged stuck out of the low tide. Pelicans bobbed in the water. This channel and harbor was much much larger than any I had been in before. The water ways had to not only handle large person yachts but war ships. As I would soon come to see.

Inside the harbor the first few miles seemed easy and effortless. Keeping a decent pace I felt comfortable and prepared for what laid ahead.

Near Point Loma University suddenly the Star Spangled banner begins to play over the loud speaker, and I mean loud speaker. I was probably a good mile or two from the school and I could hear in clear. The funnier thing was the echo play back of the American national anthem from the base. It was as if it was a coordinated event but the base people were sleeping on the job.

To help pass the time and seal the memory into my conscious I sang along. Proud at the moment to be someone in some place that could lay on my stomach on an expensive paddle board and for the shear joy of it make myself suffer. That when I was done I could go home, sleep in a comfortable bed with my cat.

As the morning marched on. Every paddle of my arms a second on the clock. More people came out on the water. In Orange County we have a 5 mph no wake limit. Meaning the boats can’t speed along and make rolling waves. In San Diego however there is no such rules. At least not in this harbor. Boaters zip along at full speed creating larger wake waves. I have no sea legs and begin to get sea sick as the morning moves on.

On the drive down I made sure to drink water, of course my coffee, but food as well probably not enough food. I ate some premade PBJ sandwiches while nervously getting ready.

I paddled around docks with huge fenders, solid concrete pylons with signs that say no one was allowed past them. Doing so would make the person trespassing on military property. I want to get between them and shore, to see the opposing side in frame.

I begin to compulsively look at my watch. Ticking down the miles that seem to be taking forever. What feels like forever has only been a few minutes. I try to take in the beautiful surroundings to take my mind off of the task at hand. Not giving up.

We begin to leave the base only portion of the island and enter the civilian area. More boats are appearing. Fishing poles in hand. One boat pulls a figure 8 in the water to back up to his fishing spot. Which happened to be right near the course path. Bouncing my board up and down even more did not my stomach feel any better. In that moment I am not Zen and complete dislike the guy.

Once I pass him I am at peace again. A large flock of pelicans bob in the water. Shallow and clear small schools of fish can be seen in the dancing sea grass. Small wooden pilings of an abandoned dock pick slightly out of the water.

The large island bridge is in the distance. Its size gives you the false hope of the end being close at hand but my watch tells me that I have still have a two miles until the beach I have to reach.

One of the Prone to Paddle crew members starts to move up on me. My arms are burned, I’m nauseous from the rolling board wake. I honestly want to give up. I turn back to her and tell her I think I can‘t go on. I want to give up and get on the boat. Judy won’t hear it and won’t let me. She says we have to keep on going. I don’t mention to her I feel sea sick and keep on going.

Under the bridge and around the turn I get to my knees to pick up speed. I want this done. The shore is in sight. I try to shift back down to my stomach again but the fatigue in my biceps makes me slip for the first time in the water. The chilly water after hours laying in the sun in my board is refreshing and shocking. Pulling my self back on the board I carry on. This would happen another time. My arms so tired from the hours of paddling.

The shore draws closer. I dig in more, determined to use all my remaining energy now that I’m back. I get to my knees the last 50 yards to speed myself along. I slip a final time right before the finish line. Being third to last the other 150+ paddlers watching me eat it I’m sure.

I yell out my number to the officials.

I’m done. The farthest paddle yet. 11.86 miles total, time 3 hours 27 minutes. I’m dead tired but stoked to have completed this challenge. I would have been embarrassed and so disappointed in myself if I had given up.

I take my board to the grass and change into my clothes. There is an awards presentation and raffle after the paddle. I usually run off after events but this time I thought it would be rad to watch the community festivities after.

After everything is done I get in my trusty Astro van to head home. A horrible drive home awaits me. I’m hot, tired, hungry and ready to sleep. I’m stoked I finished this challenge and couldn’t thank Judy enough for not letting me quite.

Back at the house I unpack the van, get some much needed food, staying up as late as I can stand before falling asleep in my comfortable bed. Ready to do it all again.

Step on the Island & You Will Be Tresspassing

The Challenges Are Set