In Search of Splash

A paddle-in-the-water report from McCovey Cove

As America’s lone eye on the baseball/kayaking beat, it is from a place of professional obligation that I deliver this report from my recent voyage to McCovey Cove to catch my first Giants game from the water. Do not misconstrue the beer and burrito lunch I packed for a dereliction of duty; do not confuse my cheerful smile in my colleagues’¹ Facebook photos as a breach of journalistic neutrality toward my subject. This was a purely investigative exercise in service of the public interest, and also it wasn’t that much fun anyway.

The three of us launched from the public dock on Mission Creek, a few blocks from the ballpark. We’d hoped to put in at Crane Cove, a beach a bit further south, but the forecast was threatening high winds postgame so we opted for a shorter paddle. And the paddle we got was hilariously short—under ten minutes from launch to the ballpark. That, combined with two-ish hours of doodling around in the Cove makes for an amusing Strava track but not much of an expedition.

When we arrived, I was surprised to find only one other kayaker had arrived before us, though I wasn’t surprised to see who it was: maritime micro-celebrity McCovey Cove Dave. We sidled up, a little starstruck, and introduced ourselves. Dave coolly appraised our boats—all three of us were paddling traditional sea kayaks, better than the more common sit-on-top boats for chasing down splash hits, he noted, but not quite as fast as his surfski in a straight-line sprint. I didn’t harbor much hope of beating Dave to a home run ball (fewer than 10 a year reach the water, and most of those that do end up in his glove), but I set myself up within a few yards of him, just in case.

As Dave alluded to, most most folks who paddle to the game do so in open-top boats, either plastic or inflatable double kayaks. Though they’re not great for covering long distances, they allow you to stretch out, get your tan on, and even grill some hot dogs if you’re good with a mini barbecue.

We paddled our sleek little sit-insides because that’s what we had, and because they are unarguably more stylish boats, but in doing so sacrificed all comfort relative to the sit-on-top crowd. I pretty quickly started hating my hard-backed seat and constrictive neoprene skirt as I struggled to keep my legs from falling asleep. Sit-insides are also narrower, which means we had to maintain a straight posture to avoid tipping over. My normal sitting posture being that of a cooked cavatappi noodle, I found this pretty unpleasant.

That said, the weather turned out to be perfect and the view of the ballpark from the water is as good as advertised.

Now, as far as ballpark gimmicks go, free seating that allows fans a (partial) view from outside the stadium has to be my favorite. Growing up going to Cal football games, comfortably ensconced in the donor section, I looked up and out of the bowl at the freeloaders watching from their Tightwad Hill vantage point with admiration. The fans outside the stadium always seemed to be having the most fun, free of onerous clear-bag policies and rigid stadium bench seats.

Paddlers in the cove always seemed to me to have the same advantage, lounging in their boats or even floating in inner tubes. Now on the outside, I expected to be viewed with the same envy by passing fans as they trudged toward the prisons of their assigned sections. Perhaps someone would toss me a hot dog as a sort of thanks for expanding their horizons.

Instead, I found that I was just a piece of the scenery. A handful of onlookers waved—to me, I thought, until I realized they only wanted Dave’s attention. (His hi-vis orange shirt that says “I’m Dave” makes him easy to find.) I did wave at a baby on the upper concourse who seemed to appreciate the gesture, so that was nice.

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So how is the spectator experience from the cove? No, you can’t see the game on the field whatsoever, but the team has helpfully installed a TV on the outer wall of the stadium, and you can hear the PA announcements well enough to follow along. My portable radio, which I managed to keep from dropping in the bay, also proved useful. We were definitely close enough to enjoy the stadium atmosphere, plus the beer is cheaper when you bring it from home.

In addition to a couple more paddlers who arrived after us, there were a handful of boaters who anchored nearby—close enough that we had to mind not drifting into them, but not in our way. It wasn’t quite the convivial atmosphere I was expecting; one boater offered us some cherries, but there wasn’t much conversation otherwise.

Recognizing this is a highly situation-specific complaint, I spent most of the game annoyed at a woman who was sitting on the walkway outside the stadium tossing food in the bay. This was not a matter of tossing bread to the seagulls (though she was doing that too), but rather pouring several containers of salad and what appeared to be curried chicken into the water. I think she wasn’t fully with it, but after teaching dozens of youth groups about keeping our bay clean, I found it hard to let go. With the Giants getting their dogs walked by Philadelphia, there wasn’t much to do in the later innings except watching her dump her lunch right in front of us and stew about it.

The whole experience was…okay, I guess. I love to see my friends and I’ll never complain about watching baseball on a weekday, but I think I’d just as soon put the game on TV or do my usual BART/bike/dim sum/ballgame routine. Unless you’re chasing Barry Bonds’ 71st home run or you missed out on playoff tickets, it’s arguably not worth the car to boat shuffle and the sweaty, achy hours on the water.

That said, if you’ve got a line on those rooftop seats across from Wrigley Field, I’m still good for a gimmick.

1. Paddling pals’