What could be more fun than a canoe race?





Two years ago, we went to see the start of the Marathon for the first time. We had never seen anything like it. We could not believe there was a place where canoeing was a major spectator sport, with teenagers wearing "Hup All Night" sweat pants, radio coverage, and thousands of spectators lining the river. I watched the racers jump into the river and disappear under the overhanging branches as dusk was settling in, and I wondered what they would experience through the night.









Last year, we persuaded Bob and Janet to let us tag along as they fed Bob and Joy, a team from Texas. Bob and Janet were repaying their hospitality from the Texas Water Safari in years past. Bob and Janet are pros at feeding, and showed us how the logistics come together to make it possible for a team to paddle 120 miles in under 19 hours.







After following Bob and Joy all night and through the day, we made our final feed at Foote Dam. I was exhausted and ready for the race to be over, but Bob and Joy's adventure was about to get real. A giant thunderstorm hit. Sheets of rain fell horizontally, whipped by hurricane-force winds, as we waited for them to show up at the finish line, wondering if they would appear or if they were shivering by the side of the river somewhere.





When they finally appeared, Joy was ecstatic, "We passed four teams, they couldn't handle it!!".









The Marathon was on the bucket list for us, but how to go about it? We needed to get a hold of a pro boat canoe, learn how to use it, and put together a feeder team.





The breakthrough occurred in September 2014 when our friend Jack committed to loan us his pro boat for ten months until the marathon and to feed us. His early commitment made it all possible.





Can we do it?

Everglades Challenge, Upon receiving our registration, one of the Marathon organizers called us to make sure we knew what we were getting ourselves into. She told us stories of totally ill-prepared teams who show up each year and don't make it past the first cutoff one hour into the race. Since the time we watched the start of the 2013 Marathon, we completed 300+ mile challenges including the Michigan Challenge Tip of the Mitt Missouri River 340 , as well as two AuSable Runs with the Krugerheads and two Campus To Coast races. These expedition-style racing events gave us experience in race nutrition, sleep deprivation, night paddling, and long-distance paddling. These events did not necessarily win us much respect from most of the Marathon racers, though. A few paddlers cross over between both communities, however, and these were important mentors to us. We were under no illusions that we would be competitive, but we thought we had a decent chance of finishing. We would have to learn to handle the pro boat efficiently, and to paddle at a higher sustained intensity than what we had done before in order to make the stringent cutoff times of the Marathon.





We trained in the pro boat as much as we could through the fall.









In the summer, we made training pilgrimages to the AuSable to train with our lead feeders Jack and Bri.









Bob cautioned us that the 7 hour cutoff at Mio is the strictest of the race. In June, we completed a run from Graying to Mio with 24 minutes to spare under the cutoff time. This proved it was possible, but the water was high, it was during the day, and we were pretty whipped by the time we got there. We knew there would be no time to spare at Mio during the race.





Spike's Challenge





The Sprint Trials

Sprint trials are held to determine starting position for the running start of the Marathon. The course is down river, a buoy turn, then back up in the fast, shallow water of the upper AuSable. The buoy turn, and upriver paddle, involve jamming paddles into the gravel to hold and push against the current. Our goal was not to destroy our paddles before the race, and to not finish last if possible.









The Start

The 9PM start is at the end of a long day of festivities in Grayling.





















We came around one corner to see a brightly lit cabin ahead with a large group of spectators in the lawn. We looked to the right to see a capsized canoe by the side of the river. When we looked forward again, we were alarmed to see a barely-submerged log extending all the way across the river. I remembered this spot from previous occasions, but the water was higher then and the log was submerged. It was too late to do anything so we hit the log straight on at full speed. Gasps and "ooohs" could be heard from the crowd of spectators at the cabin. The spectators will often warn the racers of obstacles, but I imagine this group had quite a show at this location. The log was about an inch below the surface, and fortunately we were able to coax the canoe over it without mishap. The pro boats are very fragile, and it would be easy to break one by running over a log.





We had our second feed at Parmalee bridge. At 4 hours 48 minutes we were ten minutes behind 17:30 pace. We knew we would fall off that pace, so we were still doing well. We had been going back and forth with one other canoe for hours. Pati and Andy were nice folks, although we enjoyed our alone time when they were not behind us because the glare of their light made it hard to see.





The water was a little bit below normal levels and there were many shallows. We came around a corner and ran up on a gravel bar. Paddi and Andy scraped to a stop right behind us, "I guess you went the wrong way!". The clear shallow water glistened over the gravel in their headlight. We had experience running into shoals in the middle of the night from other trips, so we knew the drill. Jump out, pull the canoe to deep water, get back in and paddle. This allowed us put a gap on Paddi and Andy for a while and enjoy a little alone time in the dark.





Where the slackwater of Mio dam meets the river, there is a low, marshy area with several shortcuts that save a significant amount of time. There was no time to spare to make the cutoff at Mio, so there could be no delays. We had been this way several times before, and we had GPS waypoints for the cuts. Even so, we slowed down slightly to find the entrances to the cuts, which allowed Paddi and Andy to catch up.





Thanks to our team We could not have completed this epic event without our team, mentors, and family.

Stats 114 miles 18:29:50 official time 6.2 mph moving avg 9.1 mph max



The river level was near normal on July 25.



















In the winter, we trained with a group of MCRA racers at Island Lake recreation area. Dan Klinkhammer pulled us aside and gave us important tips on how to steer the pro boat.In the spring, we padded the Hugh Heward in the pro boat.If you the reader made it this far, then you understand that it was a long buildup to the race, and that many people helped us along the way. They would be watching and expecting us to do well.Spike's race is the first event of Marathon week in Grayling, and it would be our first real MCRA race in the pro boat. It would be our dress rehearsal for the marathon because it covers the first 3.5 hours of the race course, including a chaotic Le Mans style running start.We navigated through the chaos of the start, and hung with that tail end of the pack through the race.We were amazed to find out that we won a cash prize by finishing first in the Expert II division. There were only seven boats in the E2 division, but it was a close competitive race, and it was a confidence booster for us. We finished in the bottom 10% relative to the experienced racers in the Expert division.A good time for the competitive racers is under six minutes, we finished in 9:18. We were on the board and not last! Many paddles were broken in the sprints, but not ours. At the paddlers dinner, we sat next to Edith and Sylvie, who later finished first in the women's race. They both broke paddles in the sprint. Edith broke her paddle in the cooldown, now that's hardcore! Our cooldown involved eating hotdogs while sitting in the shade.On Saturday our boat passed measurements and inspections, and was sequestered in the gym. We napped under a pine tree for a few hours Saturday afternoon to get some precious sleep before the 9pm start.I wondered if I would be nervous in the lineup on the road. It had been such a long buildup, and so much waiting, through the Friday sprints and all day Saturday, that I was just ready to get on the water.Paddlers crouched over their canoes, ready to snatch them up and start running a split second after the shotgun blast. Some yahoo was lighting off firecrackers causing the twitchy paddlers to jump up for a false start.Connie had counseled us to watch for the fire and smoke of the shotgun rather than waiting for the sound to reach our ears. This seemed like unnecessary precision to me at the time, but we were so far back from the starting line that it did indeed take some time for the sound to travel. I pushed the start button on my stopwatch and we began loping down the road. Lauren ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, but we knew we would be among the last few boats in the water. It took about 3.5 minutes for us to get to the water. The initial crowd of boats had cleared out, and we had a calm and orderly launch.Over the first few hours, we worked to hang on to the back of the pack. The pace seemed calmer than Spike's, but still fast enough. We had to pass a few boats that did not seem to have their program together. We did not want to be riding wake on a canoe that would not finish.The sun set and we turned our light on. We judged our pace at each bridge and landmark by comparing the elapsed time on my stopwatch to a time table of 17:30 marathon splits (the fastest time we could imagine for ourselves) and the cutoff times. At Burton's Landing and Stephan's bridge we were on the 17:30 pace, which was good. We took our first feed just before Stephan and the team performed flawlessly.We passed McMaster's bridge at 3 hours 38 minutes, only 8 minutes slower than our Spike's finish. We were still in a pack of boats. Each bridge was an island of light in the darkness with floodlights and screaming race fans.The upper river is narrow, winding, and full of logs and trout habitat islands that are held in place with steel rebar spikes. There are many opportunities to crash into things in the dark. We passed a few capsized canoes and some lights on the bottom of the river that had fallen off canoes but were still glowing. We figured we would only have ten minutes or so to spare at the Mio cutoff, so any delay could cost us the race.After sunset there was a half moon in the sky. The moon glistened on the water and provided a reasonable amount of light. As the night went on, the moon set and the stars glowed bright. The big dipper hung over the river and shooting stars streaked across the sky. Cool night air replaced the heat and humidity of the day, and whisps of fog rose up from the warm water. Visibility was not great with the fog. To make matters worse, the bright light of the boat behind us glared off the inside of my glasses and the backs of my hands flashing in front of my face. There was a lot of paddling forward into the dark on faith. We had two near capsizes when we pushed into an eddy unexpectedly at high speed, which grabbed and turned the canoe.We came out of the cuts and into the Mio pond with Paddi and Andy right next to us. If we could navigate the stumpfields of Mio pond in the dark without delay, we could make the cutoff. We had scouted the route and made waypoints, but the water was lower and weeds were higher than when we were there in June.We could see the lights at Camp 10 bridge across the pond. We pulled hard, not knowing exactly how much time we had to spare. A dim, pale spot appeared in the darkness ahead. Mark: "Lauren, there's something in the water". Lauren: "It's just a leaf". Whack! We hit a stump hard at full speed. The canoe shuddered and rolled to port. We braced for a swim, but the canoe recovered and we kept paddling. I wondered how bad the damage was, but there was no way to see the affected area, so we just pressed on.After Camp 10 bridge there is a long bend with the biggest stump field of all. We could go out around it, but we were advised that everyone cuts through. If we got bogged down in stumps and weeds, the delay could cost us the race. Andi and Paddi were going in, so we went in too. We peered into the darkness to find the passage through the stumps. Lauren had to scrape weeds of the bow with her paddle, which slowed us down.Finally, we were clear of the stumps and coming into deeper water. We could see the floodlights at the dam, a mile away across the dark pond. "There's no time to lose", Lauren yelled to Paddi and Andy. All of us pulled hard for all we were worth. The whole thing could be over if we didn't make that cutoff. I could have checked my watch and the time table to estimate how much time we had, but that would cost 30 seconds, so it was better to just paddle. Lauren could see the elapsed time on the lighted GPS screen. We knew it was a few minutes faster than race time, but we didn't know how much. Lauren kept looking at the time, making desperate gasping noises, and encouraging me to paddle harder.Finally we pulled up to the dam spillway. Our team was there and they seemed relaxed. Even so, we were not taking any chances, we desperately jumped out and pulled the canoe out of the water to get our time taken. The timing lady said, "Don't worry you have plenty of time!". Phew, what a relief. We were 10 minutes 30 seconds ahead of the 4 AM cutoff. Anything could have happened to cost us ten minutes over the seven hours of desperate paddling through the night to get to Mio, but it didn't happen. We were still in the race!We put in below Mio and pushed off into the dark. We were in it for the long haul now, so we ate and drank to recover. We eased slightly on the pace, but remained focused. Bob said the cutoffs were easier after Mio, but we were not sure by how much. There were no other boats in sight, just us and the river in the predawn hours.After a few hours, the sky slowly brightened, and we turned off the light. The first rays of the rising sun shone through a white pine overhanging the river and lit up the fog bright red.We overtook a canoe. The bow paddler had his paddle across his lap and was doubled over retching every minute or so. The stern paddler chatted with us on the beauty of the morning. His Marathon attempt was mortally wounded, but he was philosophical in the beauty of the new day as they limped to the next checkpoint at McKinley.We came upon Brad and Erin, the nice young couple that was next to us in the paddler introduction. Their team shirts read "Sweating for the Wedding". They were engaged to be married shortly after the Marathon. People say the tandem canoe is the divorce boat, but I say the couple that can paddle together will stay together. I asked them if the wedding was still on. Erin cheerfully replied in the affirmative. There was no strife in their boat.Our first feed of the new day was at McKinley bridge. We swapped the lights for sunglasses. We were 24 minutes ahead of the cutoff time, and 22 minutes behind the 17:30 pace.Each time that I paddle through the night, I hope that the light of day will dispel the drowsiness, but it never does. I drank a Redbull, which perked me up for fifteen minutes or so, then it was more of the same. We had to wake up the old fashioned way, so we sang every song we could think of. I even tried barking like a dog, which worked for me once before on an AuSable Run. Sure enough, as soon as I started barking, I heard "Hardcore! Team Kruger!" from up on the bluff. Our team was watching from a roadside overlook.When we portaged at Alcona, we felt like we were really making progress. Two more hours of moving river, then we were into the ponds. We climbed down the long stairs at Five Channels, and remembered the times we had watched the race at this place.In Cooke pond we always think of campouts with our Riverside Kayak Connection friends. We knew that Cooke pond would twist and turn forever, but even so we started looking for the dam many turns before it appeared. Paddi and Andy had overtaken us early in the ponds, and we saw their orange shirts in the distance after each turn of the pond. A few turns from the end, we were surprised by Erin and Brad, "We sprinted to catch up to you" she called out, cheerful as always. We picked up the pace to hang with them for the final turns to the dam.After portaging at Cooke Dam, there are a few cuts in the marshy backwater of Foote pond. We had them marked on the GPS. Brad and Erin were just ahead of us, and it didn't look like they knew about the cut. Lauren tried to whisper back to me "There's a cut on the right". I said "What?". Lauren whispered again so Brad and Erin could not hear, "There's a cut on the right". Just then Erin called back, "Is there a cut here?". They were so sweet and cute we couldn't lead them astray, so we called out the cuts to them in the winding channel through the marsh grass.As we rounded the last turn before Foote pond really opened up, we passed a pontoon safety boat. The asked if we were OK, then said they would follow us in. "This is the last boat", they called to each other in loud voices. This was news to us. There used to be boats behind us, but I guess they didn't make it. We had just heard about a reporter who wrote a book about the last finisher in the Tour de France each year. They call that the "Lantern Rouge" after the red lantern that would hang from the caboose of the train so that the switchman would know that the track was clear. We were the Lantern Rouge.It was mid afternoon, and Foote pond is always crowded with motorboats. Pro boats are not very seaworthy. If one was capsized or swamped on a large pond it would be the end of the race. Of course we could swim it to shore in the warm water with our PFDs, but it would take so long that we would never make the cutoff. The Marathon had many safety boats on Foote pond to make sure this did not happen. As we moved along, the safety boats lined up behind us revving their motors and calling to each other "this is the last boat!". We saw a jetski towing a canoe off the course; another one did not make it.We were on a snail's pace collision course with a pontoon boat. They had slowed down to what must have seemed like nearly stopped to them, but for some reason they were determined to collide with us. Don't they realize that we have to paddle a straight-line course to the next bend? I wasn't changing course. Finally, when we were unreasonably close, the safety boat that was right behind us called out to them in exasperation, "What are you doing?". They made a slight course adjustment to pass behind us.After the last bend of the headwaters, there is a two mile crossing in Foote pond. We made a straight line for the gap that leads to the dam. The safety boats had the motorboats in a temporary and unwilling restraint. As we were nearing the end of the crossing, a jetski that had not received the message revved up and came speeding toward us. The fire department boat turned on their lights and waved them down. We turned the last corner and could see the last dam, the last portage!I was excited at the Foote dam portage. After this, we would really be in the home stretch, and with a half hour buffer from the cutoff, I felt like we would finish it for real. I was so excited that I told our feeder team that we didn't need anything. We did have plenty of food and water, but I had already drank my Spiz. Spiz is a nutrition drink for endurance athletics that I normally use only in case of emergencies, but this race had been a continuous emergency, and I had been drinking it like a fish. I started to feel hot, sore, and tired. I needed something, so I reached for an emergency Gu pack that I had taped to the gunwale. It was Espresso Love flavor. I had hoped for vanilla, but it would do. I downed it. Shortly after, a fog bank rolled in over my brain. Was it the Gu, I don't know, but half my brain had gone to sleep.The river below Foote is deep and crystal clear. It winds through sandy turns with masses of logs on the inside bends. The water was down, so the logs were near the surface. We had to look sharp to stay in the deep water and the fast current. In addition there were tubers and livery canoes. Tubers are not so bad because they will not make any sudden movements. The livery canoes randomly turn left and right. We called ahead to tell them on which side we would pass. They would have liked to accommodate us, but they had no control.We were close behind Brad and Erin and they had just passed another canoe. My competitive spirit was pretty much gone. I had long since gotten used to being in last place, and even started to feel proud of our unique position in the race. There was time for other boats to finish behind us before the cutoff, it wasn't our fault they had all dropped out. I couldn't really imagine sprinting to pass anyone. Even so, this other canoe was not holding the pace behind Brad and Erin, so we seized the moment and kicked it on the inside. We were not in last place! Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course.The last bend straightened out, and I knew that meant we were on the final straightaway into town. Now that we were not in last place, I wanted to keep it that way, so I actually picked up the pace a little. My brain was still pretty much dead. My brain observed my body from a detached state. The half of my brain that was still working thought, "Wow, I can't believe he's still padding with moderate proficiency. I guess he doesn't need me after all." We could hear the finish line announcer, and came around the dock on the final bend. We could see the bridge! I couldn't muster much of a sprint or enjoy the moment too much, but it would all be over in less than a minute.It felt soooo good to stop paddling. We dipped in the river to rinse off. Our team and so many friends welcomed us in. It was like a baptism into the world of canoe racing.