Paddling Moloka'i is like that, a special event in the life of any paddler who's done it, and a story that must be retold each year, because the Kaiwi Channel is always different.

Sometimes fierce breaking waves sweep across the paddlers, burying canoes and occasionally rolling them over. Lowering dark clouds can give the channel a sinister feel. Sometimes swells are huge, and getting in and out of plunging canoes can be frightening and dangerous. Sometimes the sun is bright, wind light and the water glassy, which for paddlers means a long, hot, 41-mile pull with no help from the waves.

But occasionally, long, clean swells give paddlers surfing runs a hundred yards long. These days are rare. They're the narcotic that brings paddlers back again and again.

That wasn't the situation this year. This year's sea was not very big, and it was choppy. Long rides were hard to find—at least for our canoe, one of the five golden masters crews among the 90-odd canoes in the race. That's the category for the oldest paddlers, those 55 and older. Where other crews get to alternate nine paddlers through the canoe's six seats, golden masters get to bring along 12 paddlers.

At the start, off Hale O Lono on the southwest side of Moloka'i, adrenaline-charged youngsters surged out to the front in fast boats plastered with the names of sponsors. Our Kaiola Canoe Club old-timers quickly staked out our spot in the middle of the pack, among boats with far fewer or no sponsor logos.

But being in the middle doesn't mean you're not racing. Every time a canoe came up from behind, the geriatrics kicked it up a notch to make those challengers work for it. Every time we visibly gained on a fading boat up front, we roared our satisfaction.

We surged past Moloka'i's La'au Point and a cross-swell began rolling in from the north. Our escort boat dropped a trio of our team members into the chop, and we made a change, three paddlers leaping out the right side of the boat as the three newcomers hauled themselves in.

The changes were not as crisp as they might have been a decade or two ago. Some paddlers dragged alongside the boat for a stroke or two before being able to drop, dripping, into their seats. But soon with renewed vigor, the crew re-established its paddling pattern.

The field spread out — some north, some south, some up front, some behind — and soon we had visual contact with only a dozen or so of the race canoes. This was our race — for us, these boats were our competition. There was a yellow boat with a Canadian flag, a red canoe with guys in white jerseys, a boat full of guys in chartreuse shirts.

I guess, if you're paddling Moloka'i, you're manly by definition and can pull off chartreuse.

We battled for 20 or 30 miles near legendary Nappy Napoleon's crew of golden masters. Napoleon has paddled every Moloka'i Hoe. We were close to his crew from a short distance into the channel all the way to near Niu Valley. We were ahead, they were ahead, we kicked it up a notch and were moving up again. Then, in a fatigue-inspired lapse, we let our canoe flip, and as we got the boat upright again and bailed out the seawater, we lost contact with him.

As our canoe, Hina-i-uka, slid along the outside break at Waikiki, a pod of spinner dolphins appeared. One leaped from the water to our left. Two positioned themselves on either side of our bow and and matched our speed for a couple of strokes.

Energized, we redoubled our effort — at least it felt like we did — and cruised to the finish, third out of five golden masters boats.

We were arguably in the middle of the pack, but they call Moloka'i the Olympics of canoe paddling, and if that's true, we got bronze.

Not bad for a bunch of geezers.