PORT TOWNSEND, Wash. -- Scott Veirs and Thomas Nielsen have a little wooden plank mounted on their boat, just in front of the seat where they plan to take turns, for days on end, pedaling a bike-chain-driven propeller shaft all the way to Alaska.
"If in doubt," the sign reads, "try some optimism."
That could be the motto for the entire field of competitors in what is billed as the first race of its kind -- human-powered to Alaska -- which set off Thursday morning from this city on the banks of Puget Sound, heading north across open water. The 54 entrants in the Race to Alaska -- solo efforts and teams, novices and old-salt veterans -- were fueled by a mix of determination, ingenuity and upward of 6,000 calories a day, but no motors.
Race organizers, in putting up a $10,000 prize for the first vessel to cross the finish line in Ketchikan, 750 miles away, said they wanted to see what human imagination and muscle could do, with a little screwball humor thrown in. So the rules were simple: no support teams, no burning of gas -- and, to the second-place finisher, a nice set of steak knives. After that, any and all options for getting from Point A to Point B could be on the table.
The route is long and treacherous. From here in Port Townsend, two hours northwest of Seattle, the competitors headed for the often rough and windy Strait of Juan de Fuca that separates the city from Vancouver Island, British Columbia. From there, they will follow the narrow, twisting path of the Inside Passage farther north into Alaska, where the water can be calm or ferocious and is often studded with obstacles like kelp or logs.
The destination, Ketchikan, is a popular tourist town where, according to the race organizers' website, "they measure rainfall in feet, tourists by cruise ships loads, and parties by how many people dance." Those who make it to the finish line are promised "a hot meal, a cold beer, a dry bed, and some well-earned accolades."
"Part of what's intriguing about this race to people is that it's a riddle," said Jake Beattie, executive director of the Northwest Maritime Center, a nonprofit group here that came up with idea of the race and organized it. "The rules match no other form that's out there," he added. "We want to demonstrate human capability."
To adhere to the race's rules and to increase speed, kayaks were augmented with sails, or, like Nielsen and Veirs' Polynesian-inspired sailboat, with an added pedal and propeller. Dinghies arrived with oarlocks, paddles and sails, like the 16-foot open-hull boat that Heather Drugge and her partner, Dan Campbell, set off in, racing alongside big sailing catamarans that had been outfitted with extra rowing stations. Roger Mann, a helicopter mechanic from South Carolina, set forth in his solo pedal-sail trimaran with water-purifying equipment, solar-powered lights and tubes of zinc oxide cream for the blisters he expected. A Canadian team calling itself the Soggy Beavers set out in a six-man outrigger canoe with a Canadian flag fluttering from a hockey stick at the aft.
Because this race has never been done, no one knows for sure what kind of vessel might win, or how long it might take. Estimates range from perhaps a week to much longer, depending on conditions. Thirteen boats dropped out within the first 24 hours.
The siren song of the unknown marks every endurance or adventure race, and in the darkness here Thursday before the 5 a.m. start (delayed to 5:30 by weather), that hopped-up starting line mix of hope, anxiety and anticipation was everywhere. Racers in cold-water survival suits and headlamps pushed boats through town on trailers, or paced on the dock, glancing at their watches and rechecking their kits of equipment. Some competitors launched early and went through their paces out in the harbor, testing sails or paddles.
"No sleep," said Kelly Von Bargen, 32, summing up her pre-race jitters as she looked out at the water near her open-decked boat stacked with equipment and supplies. "I'm nervous as hell," she added.
Even for experienced paddlers, the unknowns of this race ran particularly deep, organizers and competitors said, because there is no history to consult, no previous victor who could stand up in a briefing room and say, "Here's what we did," or avoided doing.
Would boat design be the defining element? Physical strength? Experience with Pacific Northwest currents and winds? Or just blind luck? Even the distances to be traveled, given the vicissitudes of wind and current, were approximates. The map, for example, says that Victoria, British Columbia -- the first qualifying leg of the race, and the planned stopping point for 23 of the entrants -- is only 45 miles away. But human-powered vessels, competitors said, can rarely go in such straight lines: One solo kayaker, blown off course Thursday, needed 25 hours to make it across the strait and into Victoria.
Water and food were also variables for every team. Nielsen, 53, and Veirs, 45, said they planned to carry only three days of water to conserve weight on their boat, and rely on condensation from their sail to augment that allotment. Even on misty days without rain, they said, a periodically tipped sail can provide a lot of water.
"Nobody knows what's going to happen; that's the great circus of it," said Stephen Marcoe, 56, from Reno, Nevada, who is the captain of the biggest boat in the race, a 38-foot sailing catamaran with a five-person crew.
Alan Hartmann, 47, a commercial fisherman from Bristol Bay, said he believed the fast-sailing boats would surge out front early -- as indeed happened Thursday when the first sailors made it to Victoria in a little more than four hours -- but then perhaps struggle in the northern reaches of the Inside Passage if they have to propel themselves, and their greater weight, using other means.
"Tortoise and the hare," Hartmann said, summing up his plans. With his 17-foot sailing kayak, Hartmann said he expected to make slow and steady progress, going ashore to avoid fighting the tide when it was against him and pushing forward 20 to 25 miles every day. Unfortunately for him, he must wear an eye patch the whole time -- he seriously injured his right eye while chopping wood recently, requiring stitches -- but so be it.
"I feel like I'm making history, being in a race like this. I had to be here," he said.
In a race where some of the competitors said they had spent many times the $10,000 first prize -- for boats, equipment, refitting and transportation -- winning will probably be more about bragging rights than anything else. Finishing at all, many of the competitors said, will be a victory.
"If I win, I'm buying everybody steak knives," Hartmann said.