WORLD RECORD UPDATE: 3 Days before Brandon paddled for a world record in honor of his Mom, California paddle Carter Johnson set a new world record of 150.3 miles.
The story begins in the early winter of 2003, when Heather and Brandon met Eric and AmySue Leonhardt. Eric had just taken over as the new director of WWU's Vehicle Research Institute (VRI) -- a college campus labratory bent on creating the world's most innovative, efficient and unique land and sea-craft.
Over a late pizza-and-beer dinner in downtown Bellingham, WA, the idea was presented that the 24 hour kayak world record was up for grabs. Set in S. Africa in 1991, the mark of 137 miles could be knocked off, Brandon suggested, with a focused training regimen, a dedicated support crew, and the lightest, fastest ultra-marathon kayak ever created. He and Heather could arrange the crew and the training. It would be up to the VRI to create the kayak. Eric let a grin spread across his face, and gave his trademark subtle nod. The project was ON!
Two years and three months later, the first prototype was ready for the water. The craft consisted of a rigid carbon fiber hull and a wood-spar and fabric nylon deck. Special features included integrated hydration and "waste management" systems -- both optimized to keep the paddler paddling every second.
The radical kayak measured 23 feet long, 20 inches wide and 16 inches deep at the cockpit -- customized all around to fit Brandon's 6'6", 245 lbs. frame. The boat's overall weight: an incredible 16 lbs 12 ounces.
After two years of development, trial and error in the labratory, but with the actual world record attempt becoming visible on the horizon, Brandon's Mom, Janet, was admitted to the hospital in Tucson, Arizona. Her family and her list of Hospice care patients waited scared and impatiently for the news.
Tests would show that ovarian cancer ran rampant throughout her body. The diagnosis called it "Stage IV" or, to the layperson, "terminal." She was given four months to live. Suddenly, the world record project had a cause, and "KayakForCare!" was born.
Back in Bellingham, on a rainy afternoon in mid-February, 2006, Brandon lowered himself from a step ladder into the fragile craft. After a few minor adjustments to the seat, he took his wing paddle from Heather and set out across the lake. It was love at first stroke. The boat glided without turbulence or effort, and responded instantly to any torque of the paddle.
To break the world record, Brandon had set a goal of maintaining 6 mph for the 24 hour duration. With a GPS balanced in his lap, Brandon got the boat up to a comfortable cruising speed and settled in at his "cruise control" pace. The tiny screen of the GPS flashed the speed, and Brandon knew instantly the boat would get the job done. It read 6.8 mph.
With more training to endure, numerous logistical puzzles to solve, and adequate testing of the kayak in different conditions, a date was set two months out for the world record attempt: April 13th, 2006... the night of the April full moon.
To honor Mom and her work with Hospice, KayakForCare! vowed to spread the important word of Hospice and early cancer detection. A goal of $10,000 for non-profit hospice was also set, and the word was spread across the U.S. of the project. Sponsors would be listed on personalized buoys that would line the world record track. After the event, the buoys would be sent back to the sponsors as souvenirs. Box after box of buoys passed through the Nelson household, until over 300 were stacked high and ready for the event.
Meanwhile, Heather began organizing over 4 dozen volunteers, judges, and logistical sponsors. Working with kayak pioneer Reg Lake, Brandon and Heather set out the 2.0 mile course on their backyard Lake Whatcom. Pairs of cinder blocks anchored each of the main 24 buoys in a giant oval track, around which Brandon would paddle, lap after lap while judges counted and support crew passed off food and drink, for 24 hours straight.
As the number of volunteers and the level of their commitment mounted, Heather and Brandon made the decision that whatever the weather on April 13th, come hell or hurricane, the project would go. Brandon had trained in all conditions, albeit in a 50-pound sea kayak that was impervious to damage of any kind, and reasoned that the world record oval track would allow for a downwind run at least half the time. Besides, what were the odds that April 13th would be anything but favorable in the moderate Pacific Northwest climate surrounding Bellingham?
On the morning of April 12th, the first bands of a hurricane-like system swept over Lake Whatcom. Brandon and Rick Lingbloom had met the course surveyors from Fakkema and Kingma, for the official measurement of the oval track. Waves, wind and driving rain rocked the rigid inflatable as Brandon and Rick cut the engine, and used canoe paddles to back down on each of the 24 buoys. With one surveyor on shore and one holding a prism over the buoy, the team would wait, breath held, for the radio squawk indicating the reading was "in the can."
Halfway through the effort, Brandon's cell phone rang. It was Brandon's Dad, tears in his voice, "Mom is letting go," he said.
Like a reflex, like the storm raging around them as they sat idling in the middle of Lake Whatcom, Brandon burst into tears. "No. Oh, no. No." Rick understood without asking, and took Brandon into an embrace as the boat drifted with the wind.
An hour later, the storm having doubled in intensity, the survey was complete. Brandon and Heather sat in the lodge at Lakewood as Kenn Sebastion from Haggen Foods began unloading dontated food and drinks for 48 people. Less than 20 hours remained until the scheduled start of the event. Ken Brunton, a volunteer who had flown up from California to take part in the event, walked through the door and Heather gave him the news.
"Postpone it, and get to Arizona!" Ken's words came without hesitation, and shattered the confusion that clouded Brandon's mind. Heather had made the same statement, and had already arranged for a plane ticket through our friend Scott North.
By noon on April 13th, as the strongest storm in 2006 rocked Bellingham and Lake Whatcom, Brandon, his brother Nick, his Dad and Mom's sister Annie all sat by Mom's side. The nurses at Hospice Family Care paid hourly visits, ensuring Mom's comfort as much as possible. At just before 6 p.m., surrounded by her family -- all of them weeping softly -- Mom died. Despite the weather in far-away Bellingham, the Tucson sunset that night painted the sky with unimaginable swirls of yellow, orange, red, purple and blue. Mom's spirit wasted no time in letting us know she was with us, everywhere, more than ever.
Returning to Bellingham, Brandon gauged his fitness and resumed his training. A new date was set of May 3rd, the troops of volunteers alerted, and the weather-prayers chanted. On May 2nd, Brandon, Reg Lake and Ken Brunton worked with the surveyors to re-measure the course and set out all the personalized sponsor buoys.
In the early morning of May 3rd, not a single ripple disturbed the surface of Lake Whatcom. It seems that Mom, in the same way she had saved us from the storm in April, was now presenting us with picture perfect conditions.
At 8:02 a.m., the docks at Lakewood lined with crew, press, judges and spectators... with almost 2 1/2 years of boat development, trial and error accomplished... with the diagnosis of cancer and subsequent death of Brandon's Mom... with the prayers and well-wishes of thousands of followers watching the 'net for updates... Brandon paddled by the starting buoy and the clock officially began counting down 24 hours.
On the dock, Heather managed the "pit crews" and stayed ready with Brandon's supply of Clif Bars, string cheese, PB & J, banana chunks, turkey jerky and Gatorade. A two-way radio set to "VOX" mode on Brandon's life jacket allowed him to talk to Heather from any point on the course, ordering up specific food or drink for the next pass. As the order came in, Heather, Reg and the crew would prepare the goodies and dangle them from a clamp strung out over the water, directly in Brandon's path. As he passed by, a break from two or three strokes would free up a hand to grab the nourishment, stuff it either into his mouth or the bottle receptacle rigged to the deck of the boat, and get back to paddling. The system worked flawlessly, and Brandon's lap times during the first 4 hours were well under the necessary 20 minutes.
At noon, despite forecasts for breezes to remain non-existant or calm all day, a west wind began to blow and churn the surface of the lake. Brandon's speed became more and more compromised with each lap as he beat into the headwind on the outside leg of the course. Over the radio, with a better perspective of the entire course and the wind's effect on it, Heather suggested Brandon consider turning around and traveling the other direction. It would cost perhaps a minute to make the turn, but the gain would offset the loss after a few laps. Brandon agreed.
After the next pass by the docks, Brandon swung wide into the middle of the course, then counter-steered the opposite direction and kept paddling hard. Fifty-one seconds after he'd passed the official start/finish buoy, he glided by it again and with much lesser headwinds. It worked. Brandon's next lap time was considerably faster.
Still, the waves on the downwind run were more a detriment than an advantage to the exceptionally long kayak. Rather than surf, the hull would typically "bridge" the swells, puttin a tremendous load on the section where Brandon sat. The boat was designed and built with glass conditions in mind, not 2-foot waves blown by 20 knot winds.
At just before 4 p.m., as Brandon began the easterly turn on the oval track, a "crack" rang out from the kayak's hull, just behind the seat. The boat slumped in the water, and Brandon sank several inches.
"THE BOAT'S CRACKED! THE BOAT'S CRACKED!" Brandon's voice boomed over the radio. "GET THE SUPPORT BOAT TO COME IN RIGHT BEHIND ME, AND GET THE BACK-UP BOAT READY... I'M GOING TO TRY FINISHING THIS LAP!"
The crews scrambled. The back-up sea kayak, a Seda Glider loaned by local paddling ambassador Tom Lowell, was carried quickly to the water's edge. As Brandon continued to round the turn, the damaged kayak cracked and sunk even further. If he could just finish the lap he'd started, at least it would count toward the overall distance. An incomplete lap, though, would be lost entirely. Stroke by stroke he approached the key buoy, the buckled boat twisted grotesquely under him, until finally the lap was complete.
Brandon turned toward the beach, leapt from the failed hull and slid quickly into the much heavier but guaranteed trustworthy sea kayak. With only minutes sacrificed, he was back on the course and stroking once again along the buoys.
The new boat was chosen for its relatively efficient hull, stability and comfort. But it was not a race boat. Set next to the VRI kayak, it measured three feet shorter, and was nearly 30 lbs. heavier. By the end of the first lap, Brandon noted a drop in speed of nearly a whole mile per hour.
Over the radio, the question was asked to Robert Sharp and the VRI team who was on hand specifically to make repairs to the kayak in this exact situation.
"I don't think it's fixable," came Robert's reply. Worse news could not have been spoken.
Lap after lap, now without the integrated drinking system and therefore having to make genuine "stops" at the docks, Brandon's average speed fell and fell. The record, which had appeared an easy target prior to the boat disaster, was now up in the air.
Motoring along behind Brandon on the course, the support boat crew began installing glow-stick "beacons" on each of the 24 main buoys. The green lights would be easy to differentiate from the white lights of houses lining the shores, and would guide Brandon's way through the approaching 8 hours of darkness.
It was during these late evening hours that Brandon's Dad appeared on shore, sitting all but un-noticed on a beach-side bench with his faithful chocolate lab "Murphy" at his side. Dad had driven over un-announced from Hope, Idaho, to witness the event, and a subtle nod to Brandon each time he passed was his way of saying "I'm with you."
Despite Robert's original prognosis of the boat's un-fixable damage, however, the VRI students and Eric Leonhardt dove into the repairs with full confidence that the boat was indeed mendable. Over the radio, Brandon checked with Heather on the team's progress several times an hour. Every lap in the heavy sea kayak sapped valuable energy, and further undermined the record's potential success, and Brandon's concern-turned-to-panic was clear in his questioning voice.
Strategically, Heather downplayed the estimated remaining time -- in truth numbered in hours -- by detailing the methods used for the repairs. In his mind, Brandon had envisioned a "field repair" of scabbed-on 1x4s held in place with sheetrock screws, and a healthy dose of duct tape to seal any leaks. "It doesn't have to be pretty... just get me back in that boat!"
In reality, the VRI crew had laid on new carbon fiber, epoxy resin and honey-comb "Boeing board" to re-inforce the gun'ales. As darkness fell and the event entered its 14th hour, heat lamps surrounded the mended kayak, baking the epoxy resin towards a hardened state. At just before 10 p.m., having spent roughly 6 hours in the sea kayak, Brandon was called back into the beach to switch boats again.
The change took three minutes, and as Brandon paddled out onto the course once more, relief flooded through his veins at the ease with which the racing kayak was driven. It was as if he'd been dragging an anchor, he would later say. The world record "light at the end of the tunnel" began to flicker once again.
At 2 a.m., having paddled for 18 hours straight, a surge of energy coursed through Brandon's muscles, and for 6 straight laps he posted "negative splits" whereby each lap was faster than the last -- all of them better than a minute under the 20-minute necessary average.
On the docks, crew and judges rotated through their shifts, fueling the all-night endeavor with gallons of coffee, delirious laughter and countless warming hugs. Brandon's brief passings were met with focused, quiet concentration as he approached, cheers as he went by, and another near-20 minutes of waiting for the next pass.
At just after 6:30 a.m., the old record of 137 miles had been surpassed. Airhorns and wild cheers from the docks earned no reaction from Brandon as he cruised by, as he had fallen into a near zombie-like paddling state. The remaining laps would bring Brandon closer and closer to the stated goal of 144 miles -- and the right to claim "Success!"
At 8:01 a.m., with no further problems with the light-weight kayak, and with well over a hundred faithful supporters on shore, a count-down rang out across the glassy lake. The support boat had taken the signed-in judges on board to verify the last buoy Brandon would reach. With every calorie of remaining energy, Brandon began a minute-long sprint to the finish. At just before 8:02, he passed the ending buoy and coasted to a stop.
In 24 continuous hours, using two different kayaks, traveling in both directions around a 2-mile ovel track, through calms and 20 knot winds, with Wife, Father and Friends on shore, and in the name of his Mother who had died two weeks earlier... Brandon had covered 145.97 miles, shattering the 15-year-old world record of 137.
Reaching shore, Heather waded into knee deep water and wrapped Brandon in an exhausted, love-filled embrace. Tears streamed down both their faces.
Minutes later, with the help of three men, Brandon was lifted from the kayak and helped to shore, to the waiting embrace of his Father. Through tears, the two could be heard saying to eachother, again and again, four simple words: "It's all for Mom."
In loving memory of a true angel, Janet Nelson -- 1950-2006
Her spirit will guide and inspire us always.
Mom is pictured above creating the one-ounce sprayskirt Brandon used to keep the water out and the warmth in his world record kayak.
