Ed Wessel’s Lower 35 Race Report
Sustained 25mph winds, with officially recorded gusts between 40 and 50mph (not a typo) made this a horrendous race for the paddlers on May 8th. I learned a lesson about pride and stupidity in this race. The Susquehanna was rockin’ and rollin’, with wind driven waves rolling as high as two feet in areas that are normally glass smooth flat.
We started upstream in the Susquehanna in Otego, NY, rounded a buoy and came back downstream. As I passed the starting line, I contemplated getting out. The normally flat Otego suckwaters were a mass of whitecaps. I said to myself that I didn’t drive 5 hours to race just 6 miles, so I kept going. Mistake number one.
Mistake number two was not getting out at Wells Bridge three miles and two swims later. I paddle my K1 with a wing blade. The wing was acting like, surprise, a wing. Each wind gust that hit it, lifted my blade in the air, causing the blade in the water to knife under the boat, causing me to rapidly flip over and swim. Pride did not allow me to get out at Wells Bridge, just 9 miles into the race. Stupidity kept me going.
But I wasn’t learning what I was supposed to be learning here, which was what the river was like for the lower half of the General Clinton course. I couldn’t tell where the rapids began or ended because the wind had the entire river whipped into a mass of whitewater.
After two long cold swims in deep water, I started using poor judgment in taking the turns. I was rapidly getting cold and exhausted. At one point I was coming through some shallows and a wind gust hit, it was so hard that my boat slid backwards in the current. I couldn’t keep the boat upright.
I needed to get out and prayed that I’d soon see the town of Unadilla, where I knew I had my best chance of finding a Good Samaritan to get me back to my van in Sidney. Guardian angels were with me as I saw a man and his son along the banks.
“How are you doing,” he asked.
“Not so good,” I answered.
“You don’t look so good,” he replied.
“Can I bribe you with a case of beer or good cold hard American cash to take me to my car?” I asked, adding quickly as he looked quizzically at my boat, as if to say how am I going to transport that thing, “I’ll leave my boat right here and come back for it.”
So with about 8 miles to go in the race, I DNF’d and was thankful to call it a day with my only injuries being my foolish pride and a whole lot of bruises on my legs and inner arms from swimming. Lesson learned, when conditions look like they’re not good early on, get out sooner rather than later. I won’t ever wait that long again to get help when I need it. I wasn’t the only DNF, and my hat goes off to all those who managed to finish.
The best thing about this race, it’s sponsored by Michelob, and yes, that means it’s free flowing at the end of the race.
Nobody died. It was a good day.