Kayaking Run of the Charles

August-September 2005

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
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by Dee Hall with photos by Bob Budd

Kayakers set off on the Run of the Charles race.

RUN OF THE CHARLES

It was at the very moment I curled the kayak onto my left shoulder that I realized how naïve I had been—portaging is most definitely NOT a nice break from paddling, even in a 19-mile race. I literally staggered my first couple of steps up the hill as Pam, one of the other two women in the race, sprinted over the top. Of course, she was using wheels, having had the wisdom to run the race in a sea kayak.

We were starting the first of six portages in the 23rd annual Run of the Charles, the Boston-area’s premier freshwater canoe and kayak race. My choice of kayak was a Chesapeake Light Craft Yare, a wooden stitch-and-glue of about twenty-eight pounds with a round hull and narrow waterline that put me in the racing class where wheels are not allowed. Still, with less than thirty pounds on my shoulder, I had envisioned myself dashing around each dam.

I had never raced a kayak before. In fact, I hadn’t raced anything in nearly twenty years. But the previous winter had seen me reach a whole new level of unfitness, and I needed some motivation to get back into shape. So I signed up for two of the East Coast’s most challenging kayak races: first the Run of the Charles, then the Blackburn Challenge, a 18-plus nautical mile open- ocean circumnavigation of Cape Ann.

The Run of the Charles is a spring event in which over 1,000 racers compete along a semi-urban section of the 80-mile long Charles River. Race options range from a 6-mile sprint to a 24-mile Professional Flatwater Canoe Marathon. Proceeds from the race help support the protection of the Charles River and surrounding watershed.

I met my competition at the check in. Chick was robust, energized, and paddling a long and narrow racing kayak. She introduced me to Pam, a local female racing legend.

This time Dee put the kayak on her right shoulder.

The first few starts were canoes. The single racing kayaks were next. From the starting gun I ramped up to what I thought was a 19-mile pace and watched Chick and about fifteen men slowly pull away from me. After about 20 minutes I was alone on the water in a kayak. But my feelings of disappointment at being behind slowly gave way to the pleasures of solitude.

Although most of the marsh on either side of the river had yet to start greening up this early in spring, I could hear birds and see a few ducks and geese along the banks. I had expected to grunt my way through miles of embattled, littered riverbed, yet found myself pleasantly whisking deeper into a well-kept suburban secret. Even this close to the city, the Charles is a pretty area.

This was the first time I had paddled the river outside the urban landscapes of downtown Boston and the city of Cambridge. I had lived in Cambridge for six years, and though I had often walked along the river, I had never imagined that a trip down its middle might reveal more than just equidistant views of both its banks. In the years since, I’ve had little escapades on the Charles like slipping through the canals of Esplanade when the groves of linden and buttonwood trees were in full bloom, coasting through a fountain in the Galleria, and rafting up to an anchored yacht late in the evening to watch Boston’s annual Independence Day fireworks. However, this trip was a different type of adventure—a lot less shared but much more focused.

I finished the first portage out of breath. While I struggled to put my sprayskirt back on, a canoeist passed me. I pushed off the bank, steadied the boat and paddled around the bend only to see, to my chagrin, the next portage right in front of me! This time I put the kayak on my right shoulder and was up and over the hill and back into my boat with less huffing and puffing. (I had chosen my left shoulder on the first portage due to injuries to my wrists that are worse on my right. Clearly, with all that huffing and puffing, my left shoulder was not my portaging shoulder.)

At the third portage, the current grabbed the coaming of my boat as I got out onto a steep bank, and flooded my cockpit. Humiliated, I was forced to stop and bail in front of a crowd of spectators. Actually, I was disappointed the bailing only took a few moments—I was hoping for a longer rest kneeling on the cool grass! I knew that at a half mile, this portage was the longest, a truly horrible trek that included crossing a busy state highway and a scorching hot parking lot. I gasped as a couple, running, passed me with a kayak, then felt even more demoralized when, at the put-in, a guy dropped his stubby recreational kayak into the water next to me with a resounding bonk!, jumped in and paddled off.

The moment I launched, things changed. The river narrowed and the current was swift with wavelets and eddies. As a sea kayaker, this sort of stuff is a novelty, and it was even going my way! The riverbanks seemed to fly by. After five miles and a sandwich, the fourth portage, a third of a mile, seemed easier than the first three combined.

The river continued narrow and fast through the last two portages, between which lay the ‘Broken Dam’. On the website for the race there were pictures of rescues at this site. These pictures were the reason I was wearing a sprayskirt. Most of the racers weren’t. As directed by others in the know, I ran the overfall right of center. The Yare was completely submerged for a moment, and I paddled furiously to avoid the concrete abutment right in front of me. As I cleared the barrier, I could hear shouting and swearing that told me things were not going too well for the canoe right behind.

The approach to the finish line was a bit like playing dodge ball as I carved first left and then right to avoid the 6-mile racers who complete their final three miles alongside all the other racers. I was truly happy to finish and, more importantly, have my family waiting for me at the finish line. The race instructions never mentioned the seventh portage—through the crowd to our cars!

My time was 3:47:22, for an average speed of just a shade over five mph (river distances are measured in statute, not nautical miles). Chick and Pam both finished nearly thirty minutes ahead of me. I tried to find them, but 1,400 racers plus friends, etc. is a huge crowd. I had to be satisfied with congratulating them by email.

Dee at the last put-in on the Charles.

THE BLACKBURN CHALLENGE

The Blackburn Challenge is a more straightforward albeit longer, open- water race. It celebrates 19th century Gloucester fisherman Howard Blackburn’s desperate 5-day, 60-mile, mid-winter row from the Grand Banks to refuge in Newfoundland, during which his dorymate died and Blackburn suffered horrific frostbite. Instead of mid-winter, the race is run in mid-summer and includes both rowing and paddling classes.

Knowing that most of the racers would be flat-water paddlers, I wished for wind and waves for race day. It was flat. My next hope was that some of the other women in the touring class would lack ocean navigation skills, as the course involves three and four-mile open water crossings. Crossing distances such as these, as any sea kayaker knows, requires more than just a compass to stay on course. I hoped the others wouldn’t know how to compensate for tidal set and drift. I had already taken two training runs on the course to scope out and make note of landmarks and ranges I would use to stay on course. (A range, of course, is two stationary marks, along your desired course, which allow you to determine whether you are straying off course. Should one of the ranges look like it’s moving, it’s you who has drifted off your desired course.)

While I waited for the women’s touring and racing classes to start, we ten women introduced ourselves. Chick was in my class again. Pam was in the racing class, and I introduced her to the North Shore Paddlers Network’s Liz Neumeier and New England Small Craft’s Alex Landrum. Alex had already won the touring class three years running and had been encouraging more women to enter. Liz had trained with me initially, but had disappeared to train in secret, and then, on a local message board, had thrown down the gauntlet. Age and treachery, (namely hers, she wrote) just might beat my youth and conditioning.

Alex and the three racing kayaks charged ahead at the start, with Liz and me and nearly everybody else bringing up the rear. Much to my surprise, Liz stayed even with me. I then noticed that she had craftily switched to a more aggressive paddle than she had used when she trained with me. Chick continued to stay within view as well.

Liz and I stayed even and chatted for the first seven miles. As we exited the Annisquam River and started down the northwestern coast of Cape Ann, the scene of the boats in front of us struck me. Over a hundred dories, rowing shells, kayaks, surf skis and outrigger canoes were stretched nearly to the horizon with the sun hanging low and hazy in front of them. This was a rare opportunity to see such a number and variety of human-powered craft on the open ocean.

Faster kayakers and outrigger canoes passed us while we passed the slower dories. As we turned to face the first big crossing from Andrews Point to Straitsmouth, I was stunned to see that almost nobody was on course! The small amount of wind and tide had drawn nearly everybody offshore. This was surprising. The twin lighthouses on distant Thacher’s Island provide a perfect range with Straitsmouth Gap. I expected at least some of the racers to know that from their chart work.

After seven miles, I was finally feeling warmed up. There was a small swell, which I tried to surf. Finally Liz fell behind, and soon I passed another woman. Since my pace felt good, I decided to maintain it for the time being.

As I approached Straitsmouth Gap, the fleet converged. With some satisfaction I passed a number of men who had passed me earlier. A little less than two miles later we began the second crossing, from Milk Island to Eastern Point, and this time boats were even farther off course. Again, I passed some kayaks.

At the end of the second crossing, there are a lot of rocks and shoals which nearly all the racers avoid. I chose to cut some distance and go through them. One of the men followed me through. At first I was annoyed, and then I realized that it was an even better strategy than mine. Either he felt I knew the area well (I did), or he thought that I would find the rock or boomer first.

At the last turn around the tip of the Dogbar at Eastern Point, I saw that one of the kayaks I had passed was a woman in the touring class. I felt that I had enough left in me to sprint the last mile, and stay ahead of her, but unfortunately my bladder was incredibly full. There had been many discussions about this subject with other racers, and I had considered it a non-issue. But apparently it was an issue. She passed me.

Alas, I had to be satisfied with fifth finish. My official time was 4:05:59, for an average of just 4.5 kts for four straight hours of paddling. Moreover, I was just barely two minutes out of fourth place, and a little more than seven minutes out of third. I felt really quite good about this. I ran this and my time in the Charles through a calculator and compared them with Chick’s. For the 19-mile the Run of the Charles, my time and pace were fourteen percent off Chick’s. In the Blackburn, however, just a few months later, my pace was just three percent slower than hers!

But more importantly, I had achieved some personal goals. I was in the best shape since college nearly fifteen years ago. Also I had found something unexpected within myself—I realized that I truly enjoy my own company when paddling alone. And I discovered that I’m tenacious enough to paddle four hours straight, without stopping, at a race pace. I saw beauty I had not expected on an inland river and in offshore waters which I had paddled countless times before. I also discovered that the kayak racing community in New England is friendly, generous, helpful and indeed, even less competitive in some ways than other arenas of kayaking.

And I had fun.

© Dee Hall is a trip leader, trainer and board member of the North Shore Paddlers Network (www.nspn.org), and a resident of Beverly, Massachusetts.