As Ian Frenkel and I stealthily steered our 22-foot tandem kayak toward Greens Ledge Lighthouse on Long Island Sound off Norwalk Saturday, we closed in on our good friend and arch rival Phil Warner, who was racing in his 24-foot two-man vessel with Russell Lazarus.

“Damn! He saw us!” I cried.

Sure enough, the wily Phil spotted our approach and picked up the pace.

Greens Ledge is the halfway point in the 14.2-mile Lighthouse to Lighthouse Race, and even though Phil and Russell paddled in a different class of kayak from Ian and me, and therefore were not technically competing with us for a medal, something much more important than gold was at stake: Bragging rights.

Over the years Phil, Ian and I have gone head-to-head in races all over the Northeast, and I’ve lost track of who has the edge. But I do painfully recall last year’s Lighthouse Race, when Phil and Russell swept past Ian and me while we floundered about in 3-foot seas and a cockpit full of water because I hadn’t secured my spray skirt properly.

“A disaster!” Ian shouts whenever he brings up the 2013 Lighthouse Race. Never mind that we won the gold medal in our division that year, as did Phil and Russell. It was a hollow victory because Phil left us in his wake.

Anyway, on Saturday I made sure the cockpit cover was snapped in tightly before we took off from Shady Beach, joining a field of about 150 boats that ranged from rowing shells to 6-man ocean catamarans to super-fast surfskis. Another paddling pal, Robin Francis, who wound up taking gold in the two-women catamaran race, chided me before the start: “Check your spray skirt!”

Apparently last year’s debacle was still fresh in many people’s minds.

While we lined up at the start, Phil went over the weather and tides, and broke down the entire race course, mile by mile. He had also sent out a group email a couple days earlier outlining potential trouble spots and other helpful race tips.

I thanked him for the information, and told him I have only one strategy: Paddle like a bastard.

Anyway, when Phil spotted Ian and me sneaking up on him and Russell near the midway point Saturday, he not only picked up the pace but angled his boat in our direction.

“He’s trying to cut us off!” I shouted to Ian, paddling in the bow.

Phil edged ahead rounding the lighthouse, and my bow briefly bumped his stern. Ian flailed madly at the water, desperate to regain the lead instantly, but I calmed him down.

“Easy, easy. We’ve got seven more miles to reel him in.”

I had detected Russell’s cadence began to slacken, and in another 15 minutes we pulled alongside, then slightly ahead, and never looked back.

Ian and I crossed the finish line in 2 hours and 18 minutes, averaging about 6.2 mph, and Phil and Russell came in a few minutes later.

Phil, I suspect, decided to take it easy Saturday because the next day he and Ian are scheduled to paddle together in an 8-mile race in Massachusetts. I’m giving my blisters a break. I also know that Phil will be back with a vengeance next time, especially with a new boat that is way faster.

After we claimed our gold medals at the awards ceremony — a third, I might immodestly add, in as many races for Ian and me — I encountered Saturday’s real winners.

The race, commonly called L2L, is one of the state’s largest and most popular open-water competitions, benefitting a high school rowing club and Achilles International, an organization that enables people with disabilities to compete in a variety of races, or simply experience sporting activities from paddling to road-running.

Phil, an Achilles volunteer, often has raced with handicapped paddlers in the bow of his boat. Saturday, Robin took out a young girl who had to be lifted from her wheelchair into the cockpit of a tandem kayak.

They paddled out into the Sound while the girl’s father stood on shore.

When Robin and the girl returned a short while later, all were beaming.

The father, Robin and Phil then helped lift the girl back into her wheelchair, and she rolled back up the beach.

I walked up to congratulate her, and she smiled. It was the highlight of my day, much more rewarding than the medal.