Chaotic Fun At The Essex River Race
Shortly before the start of the late-great Rose Arts Road Race several years ago, a 10.47-mile running competition over the hills of Norwich considered one of New England’s toughest courses, my friend Bob and I decided to jog a couple miles as a warm-up – an idiotic notion when you think about it since the temperature and humidity were approaching 90, and we should have been conserving energy, not wasting it.
Anyway, we loped over to Uncas Leap, pausing to gaze at the waterfall, when I glanced at my watch.
“Uhhh, I think we better head back to the start, pronto.”
Somehow Bob and I had lost track of time and so instead of trotting lazily to the starting line we were forced into a flat-out sprint.
A quarter-mile or so ahead we could see several hundred runners poised to take off and heard the last few bars of the National Anthem.
Bang! The gun fired and the field surged forward at least a minute ahead of us. Not a good start for Bob and me, that not surprisingly resulted, as I recall, in not a particularly great finish.
I thought of that botched takeoff the other day when preparing to kayak in the Essex River Race in Essex, Mass., a madcap, 5.5-mile race involving nearly 200 vessels in more than two dozen different divisions, including traditional Banks dories and multi-oars gigs, as well as assorted sliding- and fixed-seat shells, outrigger canoes and paddleboards, all setting off at different times.
At a meeting an hour before the first group was to depart, race organizers announced the starting times for each division, and my teammate Ian Frenkel and I duly noted the allotted time when we were scheduled to take off with the other tandem kayaks.
With some time to kill we launched my 22-foot double sea kayak and paddled upstream on the narrow river away from the starting line to loosen up, and met Phil Warner and Tucker Lindquist aboard Phil’s super-quick, feather-light tandem. Luckily for us they were entered in the high-performance division, while we were competing in the slower sea kayak division. Trying to keep up with them would be like trying to catch a Maserati in a Chevrolet Suburban.
Phil Sachs and Tom Mailhot also joined us for the warm-up in Phil’s sleek, carbon composite tandem that was entered in the fast sea kayak division – not as speedy as the high-performance boat, but still less than half the weight of my fiberglass behemoth. Again, they weren’t our competition.
After about 20 minutes it was time to head to the start half a mile away around a bend. We arrived what we thought to be five minutes early – but where were the other boats in our division?
“They already left!” Phil Warner groaned.
Turns out for some reason the tandem sea kayaks all went off nearly 10 minutes ahead of us with all the other “doubles.” I’m still mystified.
A race official on shore told us not to worry – we could start immediately and our overall race time would be adjusted accordingly. A moment later, the horn sounded and we were off. Ian, paddling in the bow, flailed away with his wing paddle, flinging gallons of briny water in my face.
“Easy! Easy!” I exclaimed, and we settled into a hard but manageable pace.
Racing in a heat with only two other boats meant fewer collisions and less jockeying for position, but it also meant we couldn’t keep our eyes on the competition because the other kayaks in our division had already departed. As expected the two Phils in their lighter, longer boats jumped out ahead of us, but no matter – they weren’t in our class.
The out-and-back course winds past waterfront homes and marinas on the Essex River, and then circles Cross Island into Essex Bay before returning. Because of the staggered start, with slower boats going off first, eventually the channel eventually clogged with vessels. Ian and I managed to pass one of the tandems that started ahead of us, and worked our way through an armada of workboats manned by crews dressed more for fishing than racing – part of the Essex River Race charm.
“Looking good, guys!” one rower called out.
“You too!” I replied.
“Save me some chowder at the finish!”
“You got it!”
Ian and I had been pushed along by a gentle tailwind for the first half of the race, but by the time we rounded Cross Island it had stiffened to a gusty headwind.
We tried to keep pace with the Sachs-Mailhot fast tandem, but they slowly pulled away. The Warner-Lindquist duo was farther ahead in the high-performance boat. No matter -- Ian and I just hoped our time was faster than the other sea kayaks in our division.
We sprinted the final quarter-mile to the finish line, where Phil and Tucker were pulled up next to a pier.
“Been waiting long?” Ian gasped.
“About half an hour,” Phil joked.
Actually, they had finished in 51 minutes and four seconds, while it took Ian and me 58:50. Phil and Tom crossed the line in 55:05.
The best part: Each of us won our division; for Ian and me, it was our fifth consecutive victory at Essex.
“Next year we’ll try to start on time,” I said to Ian, as we bounded up to collect our medals.
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