by Tiegan Paulson
A dozen miles into the Kenduskeag Stream Canoe Race, we’d flipped. Max struggled to stand in three feet of moving water as he hung on to our upside-down canoe. I held the end of a rescue line in my left hand, and could not reach my friend in the driving stream. If he just dropped the canoe, Max could take my arm and avoid an unscheduled swim into the remnants of an old mill beyond.
We’d known our craft, Timberdoodle to, less than 48 hours prior to these moments. In early April we decided to enter the Kenduskeag Stream Canoe Race. We borrowed lifejackets, (thanks, Dolora!) but with the clock winding down we still didn’t have a canoe we could trust.
Then, two nights prior to the race, Max found a listing for a cream-colored 16.5’ fiberglass Mohawk with proper gunnels and a pair of wood paddles. It was everything we needed, so that very evening I went with the third member of our crew, Connor, two hours through the fog to Camden. Timberdoodle to arrived home lashed to my Prius with a handful of knots and rags.
We knew there were going to be bumps and scrapes during the race, but we were dedicated to taking care of Timberdoodle to. It was the first time any of us had bought a boat, and it represented an opportunity to achieve something as a team. I certainly felt protective of Timberdoodle to, and I liked to believe Timberdoodle to was protective of us. A good thing, because while I’d spent a lot of time in canoes, my family generally portaged around rapids.
As late registrants, we started second to last. We passed a lot of boats in the early hours. Max, in the front, spotted obstacles. Connor had the duffer’s seat in the middle, managing maps and water bottles. I was in the stern, keeping us on course. We tried to follow people who knew what they were doing, learning from their routes and mistakes. Our first major test was Six-Mile Falls, where we narrowly avoided a ten-canoe pile up and barely kept afloat. Folks had told us the real challenge was further downstream. Connor spent the next five minutes bailing.
There are two mandatory portages on the race, both near the end. Hours of paddling had taken a toll by the second portage, and it was then I made a critical mistake. We had two options at Maxfield Mill Dam: wait in a line of boats on the right side, or risk the faster water on the left side right now—no boats, just a couple of rescue personnel and a steep slope.
The lack of boats on the left should have been a warning sign. It quickly became clear we weren’t going to make the landing, and our canoe slipped toward the mill. Then, for a reason I cannot recall, we flipped.
Cool water filled the sweaty places under my lifejacket. I remember turning my feet downstream as we’d been taught, waiting to feel ground beneath my boots as I was swept past the folks on shore. Timberdoodle to was belly up, drifting ahead of me. Then a rock. I planted my feet and dug in.
Max had gotten his hands on the boat and set his feet, and despite my concerns he’d be dragged over with it, he hung on. I could feel defeat weighing on my chest. Then Connor was there, pushed it to me, and together we lifted Timberdoodle to on land.
It’s possible Timberdoodle to would have survived a trip over Maxfield Mill Dam, but Connor and I both believe Max saved her there by the second portage. I went back to the spot weeks later to take a look, and it wouldn’t have been pleasant. There’s a series of hazards, including a steep drop and a smattering of rusted equipment.
Later, I would feel guilty at having risked our race—and our boat—and abandoning them when we tipped. I chose the safer option, the option advised by safety personnel, and if left to me we’d have lost Timberdoodle to. But Max took the risk, and it paid off. Sometimes there’s a difference between the right choice and the correct choice. Maybe you bet on a bad hand because you feel in your gut it’s still a winner.
Connor, Max, and I had two more unplanned swims, but none worried me like the first. We crossed the finish line a little after 4:00 pm, three hours, thirty-two minutes, and nineteen seconds after we started. Coming 10th in our class of thirty boats, the crew of Timberdoodle to had made it.
