Back to the Roots

After being part of the pit crew for the 90 mile canoe race in the Adirondacks for two years I was itching to actually race. On Saturday the team arrived at Long Lake for a 10 mile race - a sprint in the marathon canoe world - and were greeted by a strong south wind. I immediately thought back to Terrie's chapter, "Life Was Hard on Long Lake" and continued thinking about that throughout the day. Due to a last-minute lineup switch, I ended up in a war canoe with 2 Hamilton teammates and 3 locals. We were competing for a beautiful trophy (pictured below) against one other boat filled with very experienced paddlers, most likely totaling in over one hundred years of experience among the 7 of them. Regardless, we were there to race.
Within 10 minutes of leaving the start line traveling downwind, riding waves, we were between sparsely shores with rocks jutting out, houses perched on some. If Long Lake was one of the more suitable places to settle, I wonder what the rest of the Park is like. 30 minutes out and there were only trees and rocks. Any houses out here could only be reached by boat. By now our war canoe was finding its rhythm and we were nearing the turnaround. This entire time we were never more than 50 yards behind the other boat we were competing against, which is a very close margin for a 10 mile race. Around the turn we closed in 20 yards and were slammed by the 20 mile per hour wind. The boat suddenly got much heavier. I thought to the beaver trade, and how four frenchmen would load up half a ton of beaver pelts into one boat and paddle it up Lake Champlain. If they were facing such a wind, I can't imagine how they could ever move! We were in a racing canoe: lightweight and designed to move quickly through the water. Also, we had carbon fiber paddles. The thought of the hardships endured by warring Natives and desperate settlers made me put aside my pain for the rest of the race and brought forth a motivation nearly unlike anything I've experienced in any endurance sporting event. For the next hour I paddled my hardest into the wind, never flinching at the waves cresting at the gunwales or the continuous rocking of the 26-foot long boat back and forth over the foot-high waves. We inched up on the other boat, and with 2 miles to go, took the lead for the first time and continued to inch past them. The intensity of the situation fueled me to yard on the paddle to propel the boat over the waves and onto the finish line, obscured by whitecaps in the distance. The houses on the shore were a mix of rustic cabins and larger, more luxurious rustic cabins that most likely served as second homes. One house even had a hanger for its seaplane and tracks running up the steep hill of the shore. On such a violent day on the water, life in Long Lake still seemed difficult and the history of the war canoe and life in Long Lake made the victory even sweeter.