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| Bryan T. Hopkins Return to Roster Environmental Education Specialist Missouri Department of Natural Resources P.O. Box 176, Jefferson City MO 65102-0176 ph# 573-751-2452 Bryan Hopkins is an avid paddler who spends most of his "wet" time on the lower Missouri River. He is a self admitted "boat geek" and when not talking about paddling, he can be found building his own touring kayaks or planning the next river trip. His wife claims that he collects boats like some folks collect shoes and his kids think its normal to spend most of their summers on a sandbar somewhere on the river. His seven-year-old son Tomas has his own skin-on-frame kayak and paddles like a pro. Bryan has a extensive knowledge of the lower Missouri River and earns boat gear money by working for a resource agency coordinating...suprise, suprise...river education programs! Bryan considers the lower Missouri River to be an amazing natural resource that is completely under utilized. He is working avidly on developing a comprehensive paddlers trail on the lower Missouri River and would like to eventually see a paddlers trail established on the entire river. His website is here.  Bryan Hopkins River Notes Missouri River 340, 2006 A race down the Missouri River from KC to St. Louis, wow, simply brilliant. When I found out about this race in July, I immediately wanted to participate. So, while on a paddling trip to the Upper Missouri River, I talked it over with a good friend of mine, Chad Cadwell. Chad operates a kayak guide service on the Missouri River and he too was psyched to do this race. The plan was for us to use a tandem kayak and we even began to discuss strategy, such as how one of us could rest while the other keeps things moving, pushing through the night, food, etc. However, it was not to be. Try as he might, Chad simply could not re-arrange his client bookings. We both conceded that we would do the race next year and frankly, I was relieved. It is a long distance to paddle non-stop for 340 miles. I remember stretching my fingers on a map of North America and the distance was equivalent to crossing Lake Michigan lengthwise! Additionally, I had not trained for this event. I paddle on the river all the time, however this is most often recreationally. So, with some regrets, I emailed Scott and withdrew our entry and tried to think about next year. Fast-forward 3 weeks. Only 7 days to the start of the race. I could not sit still. AHHH! I have to do this thing!! In a snap decision, I called my wife Alma and pronounced that I was entering the race as a solo kayaker. She told me I was nuts. "You cant do this off-the-couch" my reply was defensive "hey, I paddle a lot and I am in good shape from road biking" she still objected, but knew me well enough to let me go for it. I should mention, she speaks with some authority on these things. She has been an outdoor athlete all her life, run several marathons and competed in the adventure race ECO-CHALLENGE. Logically she was right, however, I simply felt I had no choice. I love this river and could not stand the idea on not being in this event. Even if I blew up during the event, I had to try. I had to! So there I was Wednesday morning, surrounded by other paddlers and about to embark on the Missouri River 340 from the confluence of the Kaw River in Kansas City. I put my boat on the water and walked and talked to around the other boaters. We were all nervous to get going. I noticed some of the very serious boaters present, with long sleek kevlar lay-up specialized racing canoes and kayaks. My kayak on the other hand was a nice wooden kayak that I had built, but it was only 16 feet long (length = speed) and I felt like a pickup truck entering a Nascar race. I kept telling myself; 'you have to run your own race, let those racers go and paddle your own pace, not someone else's. Everyone was soon on the water and the horn is sounded and the race was underway. I waved to my family and started the first stroke of a rhythm I would be in for several days. It did not take long for the group to spread out. West Hansen (in a specialized black racing canoe) was off like a flash, paddle smacking the water in fast cadence. I passed a few boats and a few boats passed me. 'Run your own race Hopkins,' I repeated to myself over and over. Several miles down river I pulled along side Brian Smith, a racer from Texas. He had competed in the grueling water safari race and we chatted about the race and about the river ahead. He asked me 'what is your strategy?' The question caught me off guard, however I replied 'I plan to go all day and all night. You know when you pass a driver on the highway who is going only 45 mph? However, when you stop for a soda and pull back on the highway, surprise, surprise, you are right behind the slow driver again. My goal is to be like the slow driver. Never stop.' I also told him that I had partially torn the rotator cuff in my right shoulder last year and that I was worried about this injury. I had resolved that I was not going to exchange months of immobility for this race, and if the shoulder flared up, I would get off the river. I had 4 gallons of water on the boat with me and all the food I would need for 4 days. I had no formal plans for a support crew. This was for two reasons. (1) I re-entered the race at the last minute and Alma would have trouble getting off work at the last minute (2) I did not want to worry about coordinating with a support crew. .. I wanted to make sure that I paddled at my own pace and could just focus on me and the river. In retrospect this was a mistake. I carried way too much weight for most of the race and I would have deprived my family of cheering me on and feeling like they had participated. The fact is, I was not all that sure I would finish (shoulder being a major concern). Later in the race Alma and kids did provide support and it turned out to be all the difference in the world. I am so glad they got to feel like a part of this event and meeting them always raised my spirits and allowed me to push harder. The first day slipped by and fell into night. Before dark, Scott motored up and let me know that there was a storm on the way and to expect thunder storms in the night. I perversely welcomed this news as I knew this river and paddled on her at night all the time. I felt that adverse weather conditions such as a head winds or storms would give me a home-court advantage. Night on the river is amazing. I felt really good, but did notice that the sky behind me was full of lightning from the approaching storm. I knew from experience that storms on the river can bring dramatic high winds and with nowhere to hide, these winds can be a threat to boaters. As the storm continued to build all around me, I was watching for any sign of wind. I planned to get off the water immediately at the first hint of strong winds. I paddled closer to the L-dikes and the plan was to tuck in behind one of these when the storm struck me. The storm continued to build, with lightning and thunder doing its best to intimidate me. Crossing the open river to the channel on the outside bends became a nerve wrecking gamble. I did not want to get caught out on the open river when this storm let loose. Each crossing became more and more intense as I looked up and around and tried to judge if it was time to get off the river. Just before another channel crossing, I passed a group of Jon boats tied to the bank and something inside me said "now, get of the water." I actually turned around and paddled back up river to the boats on the bank, tied off my kayak and set up my little bivy tent. I had just as I got inside the tent when a gigantic train came down the river. The train was the wind and it ran right over me pushing my tent down over me. I was partially under a grove of huge cotton wood trees and I winced at the thought of a tree limb falling down on my little nylon shelter. However, exhaustion soon took over and I simply fell asleep. I awoke two hours later and looked out of the bivy tent. The night was calm and the lights of two kayakers were slowly drifting by my campsite. I would later figure out this was Brian Smith who had taken Katie Pfefferkorn under his wing during the storm. He was a strong paddler and I respect him for putting aside the race for a fellow paddler. Kudos to you Brian. I packed up my stuff in a flash and got back on the river. I silently passed by Brian and Katie on the inside of a bend in the river. Another storm hit as I approached the ramp at Waverly. I hoped this storm would pass over fast and I pulled over on the ramp and lay down in the mud next to the ramp with my rain fly over me. Katie and Brian came in a little later and beached their boats and walked up to the top of the ramp. As soon as the winds died down. I got back on the river. It was raining hard but the pushy part of the storm had passed. Hours later dawn broke on the river and I pulled over to cleanup and move some water from my holds to my camel back. I felt good, sore and tired, but good. The river was simply beautiful in the calm after the storm. Suddenly, my cell phone began to sing and it turned out to be Scott. "Your alive, man I was worried about you. I pictured your wooden boat smashed on a wingdam" I assured Scott I was fine and he let me know that I was in second place of the solo paddler group. Second place!? No way. I could not believe it. I put the cell phone away and looked up to see James Fawcett paddle by. Oh well, so much for second place. The next several hours were torture. I was exhausted and everything hurt. My body wanted to stop and my mind had to simply override this message and push my body forward. Paddle, pain, paddle, pain, paddle, pain, on and on. My spirit revived at Glasgow. A sign was hung on the river front that said "Good luck, Racers" at the ramp I got water and bananas and positive encouragement from several members of others support teams. River people are such a good lot. My family planned to meet me at Taylor's landing. We live in Columbia and this section of river is my backyard. I had looked forward to arriving here and knew I could keep my chin up on this section of river. Alma and kids were great. I got fresh Gatorade, water and shared fruit and sausage with my kids for 20 minutes or so. "Got to get going!" I kissed all good-bye and set out on the river as the sun was setting. I paddled by Cooper's Landing around 11:00 p.m. and it seemed quiet. I did not need anything anyway and so kept pushing on. Soon I paddled past a rivermile marker (168)?200 miles with only 2 hours of sleep? I was too tired to be elated, but felt proud to have come this far. Paddle, paddle, paddle. Around 4:00 a.m, the lack of sleep began to reveal itself. The stars in sky started jumping around in mysterious patterns. I saw a huge snapping turtle, four feet across. It blinked its eyes at me and I paddled closer for a look, got to within 3 feet of it when it suddenly turned into a log. Snakes were swimming up to my boat, good thing that I am not afraid of snakes, but I realized I was hallucinating. This was not safe. Time to pull over and reprogram my brain with a little sleep. Four hours later, dawn was breaking and I set out with 3 feet of mist over the top of the river. Around a bend in the river and I see a dark form in the mist leaving a sandbar with two figures flailing at the water. It was the McHenry's. They were gone in flash, disappearing into the mist ahead of me. Wind, Wind Wind. That is what I remember the most about Friday and this section of the river. A head wind, strong and demoralizing. Many times I had to fight to just move forward at all. Stop paddling and you move up river. So much for current. Wind, pain, wind, pain, wind and beauty. At this point in the race I began to enter a predictable pattern of several hours of pain followed by euphoria. It was like my body said "Hey I have been telling you to stop and you are not listening so I am not going to talk to you anymore!" Hours at a time I would be free of discomfort and would paddle hard and enjoy the amazing scenery unfolding around me. The mouth of Osage, the mouth of Gasconade, simply amazing, this river is truly a gift. Then the pain would seep back in and visit me for a few hours, wind, pain, wind, pain. I got word that Alma and kids had left Columbia and would try to meet me at boat ramps along the way. By then I had passed Herman and we agreed to try for Washington. I was getting exhausted and I would not be able to paddle all through the night. I used my cell phone to check in and was told that Fawcett had gotten sick and that Marek was last reported to be in Portland at 7:30 p.m. Portland? He will never be able to make up that ground. I may actually have a chance at second place in the solo division of this race? No way. I could not believe it! The news got me going again but exhaustion soon kicked in with a fury around 2:00 a.m. and I began to look for a sandbar. I knew there were lots of sand bars in this area, but I could not find them. A haze had built up on the river and my lights faded into this mist after 100 yards or so. I was so, so, so tired. Finally, in desperation I approached a fisherman anchored at the end of a wingdam and asked "Do you know of a sand bar around here?" After he got over his surprise, he got out his spotlight and showed by a sand bar that was only 50 feet away! I told him what I was doing on the river, thanked him and went and set up my tent. Six hours later I awoke. Too long to sleep... not long enough? Oh, I was so stiff and sore. The fisherman was still there and had evidentially spent the night in his Jon boat. He informed me that another kayker had just come my 15 minutes ago. What??? Who the hell was that? I called Cristi, woke her up at 6:00 a.m. with twenty questions on who just passed me. She was sure everyone was behind me up river. We both concluded that the kayaker must be a local enjoying a Saturday morning on the river. I set out to catch this kayaker and talk. Several bends in the river later and I saw the flash of a paddle going in and out of the water. I pushed a little harder to catch this recreational kayaker and talk a little. Man this person is fast. This must be a fitness paddler out for a Saturday morning workout. I could not catch them and did not want to burn out trying to catch some local kayaker. I got back in a groove and just kept moving forward at my own pace. Later, as I drifted bv a notch in a wingdam a mile or two from Washington and where my family was to meet me, I looked to my right to see a long, black racing canoe and someone bent over it arranging equipment. We both just stared at each other, dumbfounded. I croaked, "Are you in the race?" He replied in a thick Polish accent "Ya." I told him Fawcett was out sick and then I drifted by. I could not believe it. Marek must have paddled all night to close that gap. We were only 70 miles from the finish and now he had caught me. Something clicked in my head and I dropped the hammer. Go, go, go! I got to the ramp at Washington with Marek only 500 yards behind. I yelled to Alma, "Throw me the water and food, I have to get going." If I can break him now, maybe I can still beat him. She waded into the river and threw me the supplies and I took off. I paddled and paddled and paddled, but soon I heard a gentle slap, slap, slap behind me. It was Marek, he had caught me with apparent ease. We talked for a while about what we do for a living, etc. All the while I am thinking "How did you catch me?" I did not want to paddle his pace and so told him I needed to get my long sleeve shirt off and dropped back and let him go. Oh well third place is not so bad and this guy is an animal, built like a boxer and in a kevlar-everything racing canoe. Let it go. I met up with the family at ramp near Klondike and told Alma that I did not want to race neck and neck to the end of this adventure and that I wanted to enjoy 40 miles I had left to go. She simply stated "You could still catch him, you never know" and told me she was proud of me. I kissed the kids and set out to finish this great adventure. I even stopped to cleanup and get water out of my cockpit. Around 15 miles later, I passed the boat ramp at Weldon Spring and noticed that Marek's wife Connie was just packing up supplies on the ramp. She yelled support to me and clapped her hands. Wow. He can't be that far in front of me but I can never keep up with the hull speed of that 20+ foot racing boat of his. Then the wind began to blow and blow even harder, right in my face. Slowly it dawned on me that this wind would actually slow down his longer boat. Do I have a chance? I rounded a couple of bends in the river with a fierce headwind and lo and behold, there he was. No way. 20 miles to go and we are gonna do a sprint to the finish!! I tucked my head down and started to pull, pull, pull, pull. I hit the runners wall and all pain slipped away. I caught Marek with only 7 miles to go and passed him on the inside of a bend in the river. Pull, Pull, Pull, Pull. The wind was fierce and I was pulling ahead. Then we would hit a doldrum, with the wind dropping off and Marek would begin to reel me in! Crap, crap, crap. Wind, wind, wind. Yes, yes, yes. I would tuck my head down low and pull, pull, pull. The end result is I feel it was the river that gave me the chance. Without the head wind I never would have been able to compete with Marek. When he pulled up to the finish line, I said "Promise me we will never do that again. No one should ever have to sprint 20 miles at the end of a 340 mile race!" We talked several times over the next day and I respect him immensely. I have been changed by this race. I will race next year for sure, but next year the field will be full of extra powerful paddlers, of that I am certain. During this race, I became friends with pain and found I could push though it, and most of all the river is amazing, beautiful and remote and I feel blessed to just have been out there. Bryan T. Hopkins Environmental Education Specialist Missouri Department of Natural Resources P.O. Box 176, Jefferson City MO 65102-0176 ph# 573-751-2452 |
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