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Recreational Canoe Racing:
An Oxymoron?
An Account of the Penobscot 50
by John Cary
From the March 1999 WrapAround
Click on the pictures to see larger images
It is 50 miles from Mattawamkeag to Old Town down Maine's largest
river, site of a one day canoe race held every September. The race entry
application for the Penobscot 50 describes how, in the first year of the
race, two paper mill workers finished the night shift in Millinocket,
drove to Mattawamkeag, and completed the race in 8h:35m using an old ABS
canoe. They rested briefly and then returned to the mill for their next
shift. The mill workers averaged nearly 6 mph in a recreational canoe down
a sluggish river after working all night, no mean feat. Their legendary
effort impacts present day entrants, because competitors must at least
match the mill workers' race time or face automatic disqualification. The
mystique is, "Are you tough enough to finish this race?"
Although we are both mature adults, my fiancée, Patty, and I shared a
perverse attraction to proving our mettle.
#14: John and Patty at the start
Last June, Patty and I followed the 150 mile long Eastern Maine Canoe
Trail from Vanceboro to Old Town. Our last day covered the second half of
the Penobscot 50. Competing in the race seemed a challenging way to finish
our paddling season. The reader should also understand that I have enjoyed
running marathons and paddling long distances for years. As for Patty, a
marathon runner too, her favorite tee shirt exclaims, "Real Men Marry
Athletes." Our motto was "Paddle 50 in your 50's."
Map showing the route
We enter races in the recreational class. Canoes (for racing purposes)
meet certain criteria and are assigned to classes so that competitions
might be decided by human performance rather than technology. For the
marathon racing class, canoes are 20% or more faster than recreational
canoes, due to longer length, narrower beam and lighter weight. My
recreational canoe is fiberglass, 17 ft, and 64 lbs., while the marathon
racer is carbon fiber, 18.5 ft, and 25 lbs. A marathon racing canoe is not
designed for heavy loads or whitewater. I have used my fiberglass canoe
extensively on week-long trips and in Class II rapids.
Patty and I shared some anxiety about completing the race in the
required time since, on a good day, we might average 6 mph in a short
race. Even with the benefit of river current, this was truly an
ultra-marathon. We both have full time jobs, and we like to think we have
a life outside of paddling. Living in Arlington, MA, we are fortunate that
three canoeable rivers are within a short drive, because our training
"schedule" demanded flexibility, fitting in an hour or two after
work and integrating longer paddles with our weekend activities. Many
times we ended our workout after dark. Our longest training paddle was 30
miles, Bedford to Wayland and back, on the Concord and Sudbury Rivers.
That was a miserable, hot Sunday. During this session, the necessity for
improved management of our hydration and energy needs became apparent. A
Denny's "Grand Slam Breakfast" holds up for less than 15 miles.
The day before the race we drove 5 hours up Interstate 95, north of
Bangor, and scouted the river as best we could from the road. Of great
interest was the one portage around Enfield Dam, simply described in the
entry form as "....left at Smith’s, down driveway and though yard
to path." Actually, Smith's backyard resembled a mini auto junkyard.
We found Mr. Smith working underneath his truck, blocking the path; he
promised it would be moved by race time tomorrow. Perhaps the description
of the portage should have read "....take a left past the barking
guard dog, around the V-8 engine block and enter woods to river, marked by
the deer's skull."
Dusk was approaching as we headed down river to Indian Island, Old
Town, for a pot luck dinner, race registration and a slide show from
previous race years. The race finishes here, the site of a reservation for
the Penobscot Indians. The group of racers was small: 7 tandem canoes, 1
war canoe, 4 solo canoes and 3 kayaks. Most were veterans of the race.
They and their support crews were very helpful to describe the pitfalls
(to be avoided). Advice was very important because the water level was
lower than average, and this could add an hour to our race time.
We were back at our motel in Lincoln and in bed by 9:30pm. Race start
was at 7:30am for the recreational canoe classes. But, we were rudely
awakened at 11pm when a drunken party started upstairs. Despite our best
efforts and that of several other racers, the noise didn't abate until
1am. At 5am the next morning we awoke, sleep deprived, with burning eyes.
The agenda - breakfast, and then 50 miles.
At the start area we met the other racers in the recreational category.
Our competition was two teams of 30 year old men. Patty's anxiety
continued to mount (due to the age and gender differences?), despite my
reassurances that our main goal was to finish, not necessarily to win. The
weather at the start was cloudy, calm and cool - good racing conditions.
However, we were exhausted from lack of sleep and pessimistic about our
chances to finish within the time limit. Imagine, after 8h:35m and one
second of exertion, arriving at the finish line only to be disqualified.
We started deliberately and were surprised that we immediately surged
ahead of the other two canoes. The Class II rapids at 2 miles weren't
difficult, and it was relatively easy to avoid rocks and large waves while
paddling at full speed. Next, we faced the challenge of picking a route
through the Brown Islands. We guessed the middle channel. Immediately we
were in water about one foot deep, which creates a suction between the
canoe and the river bottom that is like paddling through wet cement. This
is affectionately known as "suck water." Fortunately the
shallows were short. A few minutes later, looking back, I saw that we had
lost sight of our fellow recreational racers. We would not share the river
for the next three hours. The first bridge crossing at 10 miles was
reached in 75 minutes, and we were both encouraged by our swiftness thus
far. My sister was there, snapping photos and cheering us on. The sun was
penetrating a light overcast, brightening our spirits. We were energized
after the first 10 miles, but what would the next 40 bring?
 Still smiling at 10 miles
Enfield Dam, the halfway point, lay 15 miles ahead. Shallows were no
longer a problem, and, after a few intermittent Class I rapids, the
current slowed as we entered the dam's impoundment. Now it was the grind
of marathon canoe racing. Race paddling has a tempo of about 70 strokes
per minute. A minimum of steering strokes are used. Instead, we switch
sides every 6-10 strokes to go straight ahead. Rhythm and smoothness are
important to efficiency. We tried to remember to drink fluids and eat some
power bars. We were drinking a mixture of water and Gatorade using an
improvised, hands-off system (old plastic gallon milk containers, PVC
tubing from Home Depot and bite valves). As we approached the dam we tried
to keep in perspective that the race was only half over. We covered the
first 25 miles in 3h:45m.
My sister and her friend met us at the portage with additional food and
water. I carried the canoe, trying to jog, and Patty carried the gear.
Fortunately, Smith had moved the truck from his yard. Just behind me in
the woods, Patty bounded off the path for her only "pit stop" of
the race. She was mistakenly followed by the first solo male marathon
racer, who was about to overtake us. After banging his canoe against
several trees, he realized his error and returned to the portage trail. As
I was putting our canoe in the water, he was in the river and on his way.
This man had started at 8:00, 30 minutes after us. His performance was
awesome.
The realization sunk in that we were only half done. We were heading
due south, and the sun's rays were much warmer. Sweating for the first
time, I realized that I had not drunk enough fluids in the first half of
the race. My thirst was mounting, and it was a constant battle to get
enough suction on the drinking tube. Also, the river was shallower, and
choosing the best route became critical and more difficult. We had reached
that point in a marathon where small frictions between partners became
major irritations. I made the huge mistake of eating a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich that stuck to the roof of my "cotton" mouth. The
peanut butter made it impossible to get suction on the drinking tube, and
I needed water to wash it down. I had to stop paddling to remedy the
situation - much to my partner's dismay.
At 29 miles we passed the mouth of the Passadumkeag River. 3 months
earlier, the water was 4 feet deeper. Today the rips were barely covered,
and I choose the left bank. Bouncing and scraping we slowly made our way
down river, leaving behind a trail of gel coat. We watched helplessly as
the first male / female marathon racing canoe sailed down a clear channel
on river right (they had started 30 minutes after us with the solo
canoes). Finally we were through the rips and futilely trying to make up
some lost ground. Here the river is very wide with many grassy islands,
the current was sluggish, and shallow water was unavoidable. We despaired
that that suck water would predominate for the remainder of the race.
 The Grind Begins at 40 Miles
Approaching Greenbush Landing at 42 miles, we were passed by the first
tandem male marathon racing team. Then a couple of miles later we were
passed by the war canoe. How seemingly easily they glided past us, all 10
paddlers in unison, laughing and chatting while their coxswain called the
cadence. Both boats had started 1 hour after us. In each instance we tried
to pick up the pace, but we just didn't have the physical reserves or boat
speed to match either of them. Here the river is very wide and slow.
Luckily the wind had been calm all day. We certainly needed no extra
resistance. We approached the Stillwater River (which is actually a branch
of the Penobscot) and gave it a wide berth to the left. This is a
deceptive part of the course where the tired and unwary can be drawn down
the wrong channel, never to reach the finish line. One mile further on the
river splits to either side of Indian Island. With less than 2 miles to
the finish we could not appreciate the beauty of the rocky cliffs and
massive pine trees. We looked for the finish line around every corner. No
one else was in sight, and Patty was sure we had gone the wrong way.
At last, thankfully, the finish line materialized. A few cheers from
the gathered "multitude" (actually, about 25 family and
friends). I stopped my watch, and we were amazed and elated to see that
our time was only 7h:40m. As the other canoes and kayaks came in, singly
and in small groups, we applauded for them. Our deeds created a common
bond, marathon racer and recreational racer alike. Everyone beat the clock
that day.
It was a relief to sponge off the sweat and put on clean clothes. At
the awards ceremony nearly everyone received a trophy, because the race
organizers had created a racing class for almost everyone. The trophies
were unique teepee-shaped picture frames, hand made from birch bark.
Reflecting on our performance - 32,200 strokes, 6.5 mph, fastest
recreational canoe on the river - the most important thing was that we had
tried something extraordinary, and we had accomplished it in style. After
all, each of us has our own definition of "recreation."
Copyright 2000, John Cary.
All rights reserved.
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