04.6.14 - Kung Fu Pandas cause Pandamonium with a Gung Ho display of pa(n)d(a)dling

Claire and I jostled along Stanley beach amongst a mass of people dressed in Panda hats, processing behind a blow up panda the size of a small car that was held aloft like some kind of pagan idol. The panda magically parted the sea of people -  3500 competitors, triple that number of supporters and onlookers -squeezed into a usually sleepy seafront.

We set the panda down in front of a line of 12 long, thin boats dressed up to look like roaring dragons that were drawn up on the beach. Each one held 18 paddlers, seated in 2 rows, wielding canoe-like wooden oars. The occupants all had matching outfits – ranging from the sprayed on sponsored lyrca of serious sports, to workplace sides in corporate tops to boats dressed as punks, Red Indians and superheroes.

We and our giant panda awaited our turn to swarm into the boats in our turn while a noisy ceremony to paint on the dragons’ eyes (as old as the 2500-year old sport itself) took place to the soundtrack of each boat’s drummer hammering away.

And under a sweltering sun. In 33 degree heat. 80% humidity. Anarchic, colourful chaos.

Welcome to the annual Stanley Dragon Boat festival – but not sozzled on a junk this year. We’d got into the thick of it and were about to paddle with our team, the Panda Paddlers.

We were keyed up. I ran over in my head the ideal paddling motion. It looks much like a piston action, with much of the effort coming from twisting as you reach forward and pulling your whole frame into the stroke, rather than brute arm strength.

As we saw the latest batch race back to the beach, I was reminded that this is a sport where it’s not necessarily the born sportsman/woman or musclebound chap(esse)s who will win. A single excellent paddler cannot carry a team, nor can one individual win the day with a singular bit of dash. It’s about the teams which can do the strokes together, with the best technique; act as one, listening to the captain’s voice.

As was evidenced by the race unfolding in front us. A common sight all day was a boat full of shouting determined paddlers, gunning away at a frenzied pace, with their blades all over the place, pulling so hard they look like they’ll bust…being serenely overtaken by a boat paddling together, piston-like at half the rate.

As we clambered aboard and settled in, Claire my (much more competent) paddling partner, the captain ran over our drills, rhythms and calls as we gently stroked to the start. Energy saving was key – we’d been stuck on the sapping beach for ages, and had been up since the team’s open-topped buses had picked us up at 7am. The final races would end in the gloom around 630.

Our local steerer heaved us into place into the starting line, and we assessed the competition. The Kung Fu boat, without us due to an overly large squad, had topped its heat, which put us in a daunting line up. Some would vie for the top 12 overall, and some were likely international standard. They had trained multiple times weekly for months, not 10 tens times at weekends like us. And I doubt their training involved beer afterwards. Anything over 6^th would be an achievement.

The start, with a boom of a gun, was sudden. But we swung into practiced, synchronised motion…

5 deep strokes; 5 fast; 5 very fast; slow into the ‘chug’, the bulk of the race where he/she who keeps in time and digging deep into the water prevail. Halfway there, lungs, arms and core burning. Older hands said later we were losing timing by this stage, but compared to the other races in scratch boats we did that day, it felt great.

Last 20 strokes. A call for deeper, harder strokes to finish. The boat lifted as one, and stayed in time. The surge forward was palpable. We held off a coupling of challenging boats at the death, and sucked in the stifling air as we crossed the line.

In 4^th. Which meant the boat would be tussling for 13-24^th out of 200 places in the second top final.

Sadly, as the squad size had swelled on the day, Claire and I did not make the cut for the top 18 for that race. But that didn’t stop us cheering the guys on as they stormed to 5^th, 17^th for the day and a record for the team in its 7-year history. And, given we’d played at least some part, that didn’t stop us showboating with the trophy when it arrived.

Addictive stuff. We’ll be back for more next year.