Neches Wilderness Race 2009by Scott Weinert
Water. That is a good place to start. Water takes so many forms. Here in North Texas, what we have is lakes and rivers. I like paddling rivers. Either river racing or just sightseeing is fine by me. The experience is just intimate. The shore is never far away, so the scenery is always changing. Just about anything might be around the bend.
My mentor had suggested I do this race to see if I liked the style. More on what the race was like will come later in my story. I had waffled on doing this one until the week before. Finally I placed my registration online. I was either racing, or out $30.
The first hurdle came up way before the race started. The course is on a stretch of the Neches starting below the Lake Palestine dam, out in East Texas. That drive from Dallas is a bit over two hours. The start gun for my class was to be at 8:00 am, but I would need to be there earlier to get checked in and get my boat ready. I didn’t want to spend the money on a motel, so that meant getting up at 4:00 am to try and leave by 5:00 am. Of course I ran late, and didn’t get off till nearly 5:20. Nothing like spending a whole trip nervous about running late and missing the check in. The weather was a potential issue too. There had been heavy storms Friday night, and a good chance of more Saturday. Luckily, with some fast driving I got there by 7:10. The weather was cool and overcast, but no signs of rain. The race committee was running behind themselves, so I had a moment of release. I would have time after all, and wouldn’t have to even rush. After checking in, I went back to the tasks of getting the boat and racer ready.
I started with the boat. I had brought the red 16’ kayak. It is not as fast as the surf ski, but more durable and maneuverable. I got it down off the car and onto my shoulder. I always think of surfers carrying long boards when I carry my boat that way. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. I walked it past the tall pine trees and other cars down a dirt path to the put in ramp. I say ramp, but it was more of a grassy slope on the bank. I put it down just to the side. I got my gear bag out. First I rigged and taped my GPS to the forward deck. I use duct tape in races to reinforce the grip. I had checked with the race committee on pfd’s. This race, the rule was “in the boat”. I got it stowed down behind the seat. Next came my hydration and nutrition for the race. I vary the setup based on the heat and length of the race. In anything over two hours, I use a dual bladder system. That way if I empty one, or one leaks, I know I have the other. One bladder carries 2 quarts of regular cool water. The other has 2 quarts of a high test mix of electrolytes, carbohydrates, protein, and other goodies designed to keep the engine fueled in route. I tucked the bladders behind the seat on top of the pfd, and lead the hoses forward so I could get to them in flight. I pre-ripped two gel packs, and taped them to the forward deck. That way they would be ready to go with only missing one stroke. I placed my paddle in the cockpit. The gear was ready.
Next I started on my personal preparations. Back at the van, I downed a couple of energy gels to get the pump primed. I drank as much water as I thought I could stand. I did a few jumping jacks to bring up the heart rate, and stretched for a few minutes. I got my heart rate monitor on and working. I have found monitoring the heart rate to be a huge advantage in real long races. Basically I am guarding against overdoing it too early. I can sprint in the 170-180 bpm range, but not for long. Maybe 5 minutes or ½ mile. I will also pay the price for that, run into an anaerobic oxygen debt, and wind up slower overall. I know where my optimal long distance range is, between 140-150 bpm. I can use 150-160 bpm for walking up on a boat. Any time spent in higher bpm ranges puts me in a short term gain, long term loss position. So, the key is to keep from getting too excited and overdoing the pace. Everyone sprints off the line. It just happens. Winning means settling down soon to a reasonable pace to handle 4-5 hours of non-stop exertion.
So now I am ready, and in plenty of time. It is now just time to wait for my class start. There are usually at least two. Sometimes several. The way it usually goes is the slowest boats start first. They want the bulk of people to end together, so the prepared lunch is read for the crowd. This time burgers and watermelon were waiting at the other end. I could spend a lot of time on river racing rules, and the clubs that set up the races. I think the simpler way to explain that is that almost all these races are fund raisers for one club or the other. There is a set of detailed rules set out by the USCA, which are excellent. The reality is that organizers tend to interpret and change things to suit their own purposes. One place that is seen is in the boat classes. It benefits the organizers to make sure anyone who wants to pay $30 race fee can enter. The result is a very wide range of people that show up. At one end are the complete novices. Some first time racers don’t even have their own boat. Outfitter companies pull up with trailers holding 6 boats each. People come and get these boats they have never set foot in, and drag them down to the start line. In this race, there were probably 12 or so rented boats like that. The novices are a real hoot to deal with off the line. They are in big, heavy canoes or kayaks. They have no idea how to paddle forward, much less steer. Add in that the start line water tends to get pretty choppy. There are lots of boats making wakes and splashing around in a small area. The result looks like a destruction derby. When on shore watching it is funny. When in a boat trying to escape the mayhem, it is quite another thing. Boats turn sideways. Boats run into each other. People who thought it would be fun to rent a boat and come out for a race get this wide eyed look on their faces. All I could hope for there is that the worst of the offenders wouldn’t be in my start. I would rather deal with them starting ahead of me instead of one clump right away. That way they would be better spaced out for passing.
At the other end of the spectrum is the dedicated race group. When you see them, you just know who they are. These men and women are physically fit. They have the lean bodies and sunken cheeks of people who train often. They wear neoprene, spandex, and quick dry clothes. They know each other from years back, so they tend to cluster. They have boats that look like they came from a NASA test facility. The shiny carbon hulls and aggressive shapes just scream “I mean to go fast.” Between these extremes, there are all manner of paddlers and boats. When waiting for the start, paddlers start to chat. You hear a lot of “where you from?” “Didn’t I see you at Hidalgo Falls?” and “How do you like your boat?” Some of this is sizing up the competition. Some of it is good natured and friendly. There isn’t much else to do until the class is called for. They got off three starts ahead of me. I was glad for that, because it looked like most of the trouble cases had already made their way down river. I also know I do better when I have something in front of me to chase and catch. Finally, they call for “adult male solo kayak, class 400”. After I got my number on my boat, I slid the boat into the water, and paddled back upstream away from the start line. This is all the warm up I would get, so I made use of it to determine river flow. At this point the current was pretty lazy, under 1 mph. Not much help. The wind was calm too. At least it was still cool. I turn around after ¼ mile or so and pull up to the start line. Sitting there I look the group of 15 or so folks over, trying to decide who will be fast. The megaphone of the announcer cracks in. “On your marks, get set, GO!”
And they’re off….
I think I first have to be humble. I am not the fastest paddler out there by a long stretch. There are several people that I would be proud to keep up with. I can however do pretty well against most folks. I had positioned myself in the front of the pack to avoid traffic off the start. The front runners separated themselves from the pack in the first 100 feet. It quickly became clear that two boats and I were going to be a bit faster. I named one of them Mr. Orange for the color of his boat, and the other was Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown was ahead of me, so I changed to a high angle sprint stroke and stepped up the pace. All of a sudden I had a new problem. I had thought to try and follow someone for a while and figure this style of racing out. I hadn’t seen this river, but I had been warned it was an obstacle course. Now I was out front, and having to make my own decisions. OK, I’ll just go fast and figure it out. Let me tell you it wasn’t that easy. Within the first ½ mile there was a spot where the river split around a low island. To the left boats from previous starts were piling up trying to get over a tree. To the right it was very shallow. Drag marks told me one or two boats had portaged straight up the middle. I chose to exit the boat and drag the boat over land. Back in the water on the other side maybe 20 yds later, Mr. Orange and Mr. Brown were ahead again. Dang. They were from the area, and knew the course like it was their backyard. I stomped on a sprint to catch back up. I could catch them when I had water under the boat. Every 5 or so minutes there would be a new obstacle. Sometime it would be a tree that I could squeeze under. Sometimes one end would be open. Sometimes there would be two trees fallen from opposite sides, creating a narrow “S” passage. Sometimes the trees would be high enough out of the water that I couldn’t stay in the boat, and had to hoist the kayak over them. Sometimes none of the above worked, so going over land was best. There were just so many trees to deal with, as a result of hurricane Ike. Riverside trees tend to have part of their root systems exposed as a result of water erosion. Every time I would come up on one, I’d have to make my mind up on how to handle it. It seemed inevitable that Mr. Orange would be able to get through faster, which led him to catch up. I’d sprint ahead, and loose him. Even when I had him behind me by a river bend, I knew he was back there. This had already repeated itself five or six times. I had to keep the pressure up. I was only 3 miles into a reported 22 mile course. I thought to myself, “This was going to be a long day.”
By the first 6 miles, I was able to put enough distance between us that I could bring down the pace to something more manageable. I chose to run at 140-150 bpm, and see were it got me. The confusing part of being on an unfamiliar river is the current. Due to the rains, small creeks were feeding in water. Combined with the obstructions, that made for some of the narrow spots running pretty fast. The wider spots were more subdued. So, trying to gage the right pace by speed wasn’t going to work. I figured if I could just keep the output at med high and keep in front of Mr. Orange, that would do.
Hour two done, and now it was more open, and I had a chance to soak in the scenery. There were still trees to dodge, but not as many and as often. East Texas is lush in a way that Dallas isn’t. Trees were thick and right up to the water. Heavy vines and undergrowth made the whole thing look more like a scene out of the deep jungle of S America or something. Every now and then I would catch up to a boat that had started earlier. That made it fun. The adrenaline of the hunt would kick in. The speedo would jump, and I’d be after them.
Hour three is usually where the fun started to wear thin. It was now just down to grinding out the end of the race. I had been paddling away for some time by myself. All of a sudden a streak comes up from behind. Richard Steppe. To say Richard is fast, is like saying it gets hot in the summer. He just is. He had probably started 30 or so minutes after me. He was up on my stern, around me, and then past like I was a stump in the water. Wham. That was impressive. I said “Hi”, and he nodded. I gave a vain attempt at chase, but it was hopeless. I found out later he finished in 3:11 vs my 4:01. OVER TREES! Yipes! I want to be fast like him when I grow up.
Finally, just before hour number four I heard the cheers of the finish line. They must be around the bend. I sat up straight and collected myself as I pushed to the end. By then the boat and I were covered in dirt, twigs, and leaves. It looked like we had been out wrestling in the mud. There was about ½ inch of water sloshing around in the cockpit. My hat, and a couple of pieces of paper were floating around in the bilge. I was disheveled, but so was everyone else. After I crossed the line, I parked the boat on the bank, out of the way. A swim felt good, and knocked some of the dirt off. Then Mr. Orange finished. I knew then that I had done ok, and could be proud of my time. I helped him get his boat up the ramp, and shook his hand. The race was over, and now it was all about the story. The burgers and watermelon tasted great as the warm summer air-dried my clothes.
The End
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