My Favorite Kayak Race: The T.I.A.G.A.T.I.N.M.R. In Rangeley, Maine
Paddling like the dickens last Sunday on Maine’s Rangeley Lake, we competitors had two choices: steer clockwise or counter-clockwise around Maneskootuk Island.
Allowing racers to choose their own routes is one reason I look forward to the weekly T.I.A.G.A.T.I.N.M.R. whenever I’m visiting the Western Mountains in Maine. Another is the name of the competition: The Informal, Anything Goes, Around the Island, No Motors Race.
Not only do racers get to select their direction around the island, they also are allowed to compete in kayaks, canoes, sailboats, windsurfers, standup paddle boards or any other method of motion as long as they don’t use an engine. Some racers have swum the 4.25-mile water course, and others have even bicycled more than 20 miles on roads along the mainland, thus technically fulfilling the “around the island” requirement.
Factor in that there are no entry fees, and that grab-bag prizes are awarded not only to the fastest men and women but to arbitrary contestants, including anybody who brings post-competition baked goodies, and you have the perfect race.
Over the years I’ve collected my share of medals in all sorts of races that have attracted international competition including Olympic gold-medal champions – the key to success, I’ve found, is entering a less-competitive vessel class – but I can’t say I’ve worked any harder for those than I do at T.I.A.G.A.T.I.N.M.R., where I’ve raced dozens of times, sometimes only against a handful of boats.
Sunday was no exception.
I knew I would be up against two longtime friends/foes: Mary Lou Lowrie, a former national champion in the half-triathlon, and Nat Steele, a veteran marathoner, triathlete, cross-country skier and kayaker. A couple days earlier the three of us had gone out for a 9-mile training paddle and seemed evenly matched.
There were a handful of recreational paddlers in Sunday’s race, but the wild card turned out to be Ed Goff, who showed up with a kayak propelled not by a paddle, but by foot-pedal flippers. I’ve known Ed to be a strong cyclist but never kayaked with or against him, so it would be interesting.
After some pre-race trash-talking, we all lined our boats up while Nancy Kettle – who organized T.I.A.G.A.T.I.N.M.R. more than 30 years ago and has been staging the races every Sunday from July 4th through Labor Day – shouted, “Ready, set, GO!”
Mary Lou, Nat and I got off to a fast start, but just to my starboard Ed edged slightly ahead, his legs pumping furiously.
“Don’t worry,” I told myself. “He’ll burn out.”
After a few hundred yards, though, Ed had widened his lead to several boat lengths and appeared to be pulling away. Hmmm.
Whenever I’m chasing a kayaker in a race I try to match, then exceed, his paddle cadence, but Ed’s arms for the most part remained comfortably by his side while his legs did all the work, so I couldn’t get a bead on his stroke. He even took occasional sips from a water bottle, which I found particularly unnerving.
We all steered to the east side of Maneskootuk Island (a.k.a. Doctor’s Island) to take advantage of the lee from a steady southwest breeze, but by that halfway point I had pretty much reconciled there would be no catching Ed and concentrated on trying to hold off Mary Lou and Nat.
I shot a quick glance over my shoulder and saw that Nat was about 10 yards behind, with Mary Lou about 10 yards farther back.
After navigating through slight chop and the wakes of passing power boats on the south side of Maneskootuk I steered back toward the finish at City Cove, about 2 miles away.
“Ahh,” I exhaled and told myself, “I can relax now, with the lead, a tailwind and slight following sea.”
But wait! What was that? Out of the corner of my eye I could see the bow of Nat’s kayak closing the gap. Damn! In another minute he pulled almost alongside. So much for comfortably cruising in.
The next 20 minutes Nat and I traded surges, and as we approached the finish – Ed had already come in – I could tell it would be close.
One more feature about T.I.A.G.A.T.I.N.M.R. I should mention: The finish line is not on the water but on land at a picnic table, which means you have to get out of your boat, scramble over rocks, sprint across a park lawn made slippery by Canada goose droppings, grab a wooden spoon and bang the inside of a galvanized bucket. You’ll have to ask Nancy why the race ends that way; I have no idea.
My best chance to beat Nat and Mary Lou, I realized, called for a daring maneuver. Only inches from shore, I yanked off my spray skirt, deliberately rolled my kayak sideways, squirted out of the cockpit, sprang to my feet in shallow water, nearly killed myself stumbling on the rocks, and dashed for the picnic table.
Clatter-clatter-clatter! I banged the wooden spoon just as Nat exited his kayak more cautiously, followed seconds later by Mary Lou.
“I thought I had you,” Nat gasped.
Ed, meanwhile, was already basking in the glow of victory.
“Anybody want to try my pedal boat?” he offered.
“Next time I’m bringing a faster kayak,” I promised.
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