Updated on April 13, 2002

The Variable Season

I used to lament the fact that when the calendar officially said "spring," we were going to see very few signs of it until a month or more later. I still lament that fact, but I now realize that I shouldn't be blaming the calendar, since the calendar's declaration of spring is about the only thing about the season that is predictable.

The day after spring became "official," we got six inches of snow, followed by single-digit temperatures and high winds. Yet a few days earlier, the ice went out on the pond, a full month earlier than it did last year.

It seems highly appropriate that Easter, the major holiday of the spring season, is itself unpredictable, falling on a different day year in and year out.

As if to counteract the uncertainty of the season, we humans attempt to interject routine. My daily run continued through the winter, although I will admit to cutting down on overall mileage and missing more than a few days. With the advent of spring, I'm looking forward to being able to run when the temperatures are above freezing. So far, though, those days are few and far between.

And it was during a run that one of the "variables" of spring made an appearance. The cawing of crows is a common occurrence in these parts, but this time it seemed unusually urgent - enough so that I was compelled to look up and see what was going on. Sure enough, it wasn't just "the usual." A bald eagle flew just above the trees, pestered and persued by the tenacious crows. I hadn't seen an eagle in this area since last fall - clearly, something was signaling him or her that it was time to head back north.

This is also the time of year that maple trees send their sap running up and down their trunks in preparation for the emergence of leaves. If this conjures up pictures of metal buckets attached to trees collecting sap, it's time to update your noggin. Sure, a few of these buckets might be set around for old-times sake, but if someone is serious about producing maple syrup, the new paradigm is plastic tubing running from tree to tree and ending up in plastic collection vessel.

Although the sap collection may have gone high-tech, the principals of producing maple syrup remain the same. The sap is boiled down until it reaches a certain density and, voila, you've got maple syrup. The evaporator room at a sugaring operation is an olfactory delight.

Thankfully, a state-of-the-art sugaring facility does not necessarily mean the elimination of all traces of traditional farm life. A team of oxen and draft horses were on hand at this farm during "Maine Maple Syrup Sunday" to give people rides around the farm and to remind us that while the combustion engine may be more efficient, it just doesn't have the same charm as a good set of work animals.

If soaring bald eagles and bubbling maple syrup aren't enough to get you thinking that spring-like weather is just around the corner, there's no better way to "will" yourself into more "comfortable" weather than to take a dip into a clear, cool, running stream. Well, that's the excuse I'm using, anyway. Far be it from me to admit that the dunking into the decidedly COLD river was an unplanned adventure.

After several years of sitting out the whitewater canoeing season, I was able to borrow a canoe and find someone good-natured enough (some would say "stupid enough") to join me in competing in the Passy River canoe race. The weather was somewhat cooperative in that the predicted 1-3 inches of snow never materialized on race day. Temperatures, however, never escaped the 30s and a stiff breeze added to the feeling that reasonable people would be off doing something else on this day.

Registering the day of the race, we were assigned number 76. This meant we would have to wait for 75 boats to start before us. This is difficult when it is cold. At the start, the river runs under a small bridge and there are two culverts under the bridge. Every two minutes, two racing teams leave the starting area, each navigating through one of the culverts. Our "racing partners" at the start were a father/daughter team who were in a kayak. The father asked us which culvert we wanted to use, adding that we "would probably be far ahead of them" right after starting. We said we didn't care where we started from, and soon we were off. As it turned out, our team of "dumb" and "dumber" managed to run into the side of the culvert and struggled just to make it through. This, I would come to find out, was a sign. The father/daughter team smoked us - after about 20 minutes into the race, they were so far in front we never saw them again.

Right off, we made the mistake of following another canoe through a "shortcut." This shortcut wound it's way through brush and rocks and trees and other unpleasant stuff. A talented paddling team might have saved some time by taking this route. We, on the other hand, kept running into brush and rocks and trees. That was the last shortcut we took.

Over the next several miles we were passed by several more ambitious paddling teams. This despite the fact that we were paddling non-stop and furiously. So much so that I seriously questioned why I had remembered this as "fun."

About halfway into the race, you come to "the" rapids - a stretch of whitewater which features a rather trick 90 degree turn. This point has the added attraction that it passes under a road so it is a popular place for spectators to gather. Talk about pressure.

For some reason my paddling partner, who was in the stern, felt compelled to keep the canoe to the left as we approached these rapids. Far, far to the left. So much so that we ran into a group of tangled branches near the shore and got hooked up at the top of the rapids. This in full sight of all of the spectators. It took us several minutes to work our way out of this mess, and the spectators kindly gave us a round of applause when we at last freed ourselves.

Out of the branches and into the fire, we paddled through the 90 degree turn with uncommon skill. More applause. It wasn't pretty, but we had managed to work our way through the most difficult part of the course.

Our celebrating would be short-lived, however. At the next bend in the river, still in sight of most of the spectators, we met our match in a rather large boulder that insisted that we go around it rather than through it. Having taken on water from going through the previous rapids, the canoe was a bit unresponsive and our attempts to right ourselves before it was too late proved futile.

And so we swam. The canoe, in the mean time, remained perched on the boulder, unable to decide if it wanted to go to the left or right of the boulder while the relentless current tried to move it along. I had borrowed the canoe from friends, and all I could think about as we desperately tried to tear the canoe off of the boulder was how they were going to react when I returned their canoe to them in two pieces.

We eventually did manage to muscle the canoe to one side of the boulder where the current eagerly pushed it forward. Dragging it to the shore, we tipped it to empty the water, caught our breath, and headed back into it.

About 50 yards further down the river, still moving through the rapids, I struggled to hear what my paddling partner was yelling above the din of the rushing waters. I would later come to fine out that he was asking me if that was a rock on the left. The answer came soon enough, and we once again found ourselves in the cool, crisp waters. This time I managed to lose my paddle as I went under. Fortunately, it got hooked up in some branches a little ways down the river. Unfortunately, I had to somehow get to it.

After once again dragging the canoe to shore and emptying it out (it seemed a lot heavier this time), we decided to try to get the canoe as close as possible to the paddle. As we did, another canoe was coming down the right side of the river and managed to do a rather impressive boulder smack of their own. Their canoe was not as fortunate as ours - it wrapped cleanly around the boulder, the two sides compressing into one. For all we know, it is still there.

I was able to climb out on a downed tree and retrieve my paddle. Although we had a few more close calls along the way, that was it for swimming. The end couldn't come soon enough, though. When all was said and done, we ended up 87th out of 91 boats. That leaves us plenty of room for improvement. Next year, we figure we might even do something logical like actually train for the event.