People in the north woods where I live seem to do silly
things more often than other folks. Our celebrated annual canoe race comes to
mind since it just occurred and I am a big fan. Each year on the last weekend
in July, a bunch of endurance athletes with weak minds gather in Grayling,
Michigan at 9:00 PM and plop their canoes in the main branch of the Au Sable
River for a nighttime race that lasts more than 15 hours for most competitors.
‘Plop’ is probably the wrong word. The first hint that our canoe
racers have weak minds is demonstrated at the beginning of the race. At 900 PM,
just as the sun is fading in the west, some fool shoots off a cannon and 150
paddlers pick up their canoes and begin running toward the river, a block or
two distant. As the surging mass of paddlers with shouldered boats reach the
river, pandemonium erupts when 75 canoes are thrown into a small stream and 150
racers, each determined to be first, try to climb into their slender crafts
that are being carried forward on the current. Of course, some don’t make it on
the first try and half a dozen boats will upset with the unlucky ones taking an
early bath. It doesn’t faze them. They turn their boats upright, drain the
water, and again try climbing in while those who were lucky enough to avoid the
plunge take the lead in the beginning of the long race.
The race is dubbed a marathon because it is so long. The
paddlers squeeze themselves into their slender boats and begin paddling a route
that takes them from Grayling, Michigan in the center of the state to Oscoda on
the east coast where the river empties into Lake Huron. They say the race is
120 miles long, although no one knows for sure since there is no way to
accurately measure the distance of a river that contains five large ponds and
winds around scores of islands, not to mention the several hundred bends that
the river takes on its generally easterly flow. The racers paddle 15 to 20
hours to reach the finish line with the fastest boats arriving around noon on
Sunday morning. The race ends at 4:00 PM on Sunday when everyone is forced to
stop wherever they happen to be on the race course when race officials pick up
the sick and hurt who remain somewhere on the backwaters, dutifully paddling
toward the finish line.
Persistence, determination and a wanton disregard for pain
are hallmarks for paddlers who compete and finish this race. (Most first-time
racers are unable to finish). In my view, it takes an extraordinary mindset to
spend a year of hard training, thousands of dollars for a racing canoe, (one that
is so unstable that normal people refuse to ride in one), in order to spend a
long, cold night in the dark paddling 60 stokes a minute. The paddlers in the
winning boat receive the first place prize of $5,000 and the total of all
prizes is $50,000 for the 150 racers making this race the richest canoe race in
North America. But, the draw is not the money. The allure of this race, like
others in Canada and the U.S. is the challenge of long distance paddling, a
sport that began during the times when canoes were the principal means of
transportation for Native Americans in the North Woods.
Carbon Fiber Racing Canoe with Headlight
As the race proceeds, boats begin to space out along the
course. The result is that many paddling teams spend most of the race alone,
not seeing who is ahead nor who is behind. The solitude, darkness and required relentless
pace take their toll on the racers but add mystique to the race for spectators.
Spectators stand on a bridge in the dark with a spotlight focusing its garish
beam on rippling river while thousands of dark-colored insects intersect the
light’s beam. Suddenly, there is a flash of color as a dark canoe with two
sweating bodies appears from the mist, each person paddling as if chased by wild
Indians. They are gone in an instant and you wait for the next to appear in
another flash so you can cheer them on and encourage their forbearance. It is
an experience not soon forgotten.
The kind of effort
needed for this race requires shore support: paddlers eat and drink many times
during the race, being handed food and drink by their ‘feeders’ who stand in
knee deep water to hand supplies to them as they pass by. The best paddlers
don’t stop paddling to eat or drink; they paddle with one hand while inhaling a
sandwich and energy drink. Most drink gallons of liquid during the race and
none stop to expel any. Losing a dozen pounds or more during the race is common
and the first aid tent at the end of the race is always busy treating cases of
dehydration and exhaustion.
Paddlers are Introduced During Pre-race Ceremony
The race is also hard on spectators. Marjorie and I arrive
at the start several hours in advance to claim a seat on the riverbank. After
the two-minute pandemonium of a start, the racers disappear around the first
bend of the river. Spectators who wish to follow the race must now run to their
vehicles and endure a traffic jam as they travel to the first of several
bridges that cross the river. Since the race takes all night, spectators must
travel from bridge to bridge for a fleeting glimpse of the boats as they pass
under the concrete structure of a bridge and then disappear into the night. The
boats don’t reappear in daylight until the following morning on the first of
the five large ponds where the rising sun illuminates the sparkling
perspiration on the paddler’s faces. They reach the first of five portages.
Rules forbid any help from their support team; paddlers lift their boats from
the water and force their cramped muscles to climb over the dam to the
outflowing river, resetting the boats to begin paddling again. Those who can go
no farther generally quit at one of the portages and recess to the waiting
support team members.
The race is a cruel event: exhilarating for the winners but
exhausting for all and crushing for those who fail to complete the course in
the required time. Yet the race goes on year after year. Being weak-minded
helps participants forget the hardships of the race and so most racers sign up
year after year for the competition. It is a hard event for the spectators as
well with long periods of nighttime cold interrupted by short periods of
excitement with depressingly brief glimpses of racers as they pass in the night
- sort of like life, a bust for a some but a real treat for those of us
simple-minded folk who forget the hard parts.
For more photos and video, see the web page http://www.ausablecanoemarathon.org/
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