June 17, 2022
By Rebecca Ross, Field Reporter
On day two, I hopped on ‘Ripsaw’ the 15’ RHIB and made my way to meet the small row teams stuck on Dungeness Spit—waiting for the foul weather to subside. I imagined the teams hunkered down against the wind, aimlessly shielding sand from tainting their food while sitting on a wet log. They’ve got to be cold and miserable out there.
Shortly after reaching shore, I spotted Clare and Leigh from Team Don’t Tell Mom, smiles plastered on their faces. The two greeted me immediately before leisurely decorating their boat with an R2AK flag. Definitely not the scene I was imagining.
“How did it go out there?” I asked Leigh, her smile going strong.
“The crossing was rugged, it started out pretty well, but then the winds got worse. Three to four-foot waves mostly until they turned into five to six-foot waves. We took lots of waves over the bow, got soaked, and had to bail a lot. It was some of the toughest rowing I’ve done,” she replied.
I turned around and met Team Let’s Row Maybe?: Carling and Michelle. “So, what was it like?” I questioned.
Carling’s description corroborated Leigh’s, “We were good until it slowly started to get rough. And in the back of my mind, I knew I get seasick and was like, ‘Oh no!’ But I knew if I focused on the horizon, it would be okay. But then the swells started to get so big I couldn’t see over the horizon, and I was like, WHAT DO I LOOK AT? THERE’S NO HORIZON!” Carling later explained that moments after turning the corner around Protection Island, she had lost her breakfast.
Needing more, I pried further, inquiring why they all looked so happy.
“Well, let us show you around,” Michelle offered.
I followed the teams to Sequim Lighthouse and viewed their sleeping quarters inside an exhibit—dry, warm, and level—practically a four-star hotel compared to sleeping outside. Bob and Blaine, the lighthouse crew, had graciously welcomed the company of cold, miserable racers as they initially came to shore with open arms and an order of four large pizzas and enough muffins to feed an army. I’m starting to understand why this place is full of content racers.
Splitting off, I met up with Bob from Team Zen Dog and got his story. Cutting straight to the chase, Bob simply replied with a chuckle, “I was scared shitless.”
“And how about now?” I asked.
Moments lapsed as I watched Bob leisurely reorganize his boat, stopping in between to tell me a story. Bob explained that people in a race often focus on the finish line—including in Race to Alaska. He further shared a moment that would be a “photographer’s dream,” describing part of the race where he witnessed a golden hour that had turned the river and the sides of the canyon gold. Deciding he no longer wanted to rush but instead appreciate the moment. “…because life is about building beautiful memories like this,” Bob said as he looked toward the racers and lighthouse crew gathered on the plush lawn of the lighthouse, eating dinner while sharing laughs between bites. I get it now.
As the Race to Alaska continues, with undoubtedly loads of adverse weather and uncertainty—at that moment, with everyone enjoying their time on Dungeness Spit—it felt like there was a silver lining after such a crazy storm.
Rebecca Ross, field reporter
Rebecca is a freelance writer and outdoor photographer based in Longview, Washington, who spends time backpacking, traveling, and summiting peaks.
@reb.ross.photography