That’s What Paddlers Do!

What a difference a week makes!

Last week: smoke, sweat, and sadness. But now? We’re back, baby! The wind rolled in like it had something dramatic to say, the haze finally gave the sun a cameo, like a shy celebrity peeking out from backstage, and a few motorboats decided to RSVP to the comeback party. And us? We hit the water like we owed it rent. No stunt doubles. Just grit, blisters, and a whole lot of heart. Paddling like it’s the season finale and we’re the heroes racing against time.

Why? Because here’s the truth:  The environment is changing … fast. This year? The worst fire season on record, more smoke days than we’ve ever seen, the skies have turned sepia, and every day the air is thick with warning.

And the river? She’s feeling it too: lower levels, warmer water, stressed ecosystems. Global warming isn’t a distant threat anymore, it’s the backdrop of every paddle, every breath, every decision. The new normal? There isn’t one. Conditions shift by the hour; training plans scrapped, and races rerouted. Listen to me when I say: the only thing we can count on is that it’s going to get harder before it gets better.

So what do we do? We grab each opportunity with both hands, and paddle when the smoke clears, when the sun peeks through, when the wind gives us a break. We train, race, and we float, because every moment on the water is a gift, and we don’t take it for granted. We paddle not just for ourselves, but for the rivers we love, the communities we build. For the hope that maybe, just maybe, our strokes can help shift the tide.

So yeah ... we’re back.

And we’re paddling like the world depends on it. Because in a way, it does.

The day started with a coaching session. A quick reset with the crew, a pep talk, and I was off upriver, expecting a traffic jam of motorboats thanks to the clear skies. But nope… crickets. What I didn’t expect? A cramping back, and not just any cramp - my back betrayed me. In all my years of paddling: Forearms? Sure. Shoulders? Absolutely. Biceps? You bet. But my back? Never. Apparently, today was its grand debut. And like all “great” performances, it refused to exit stage left. Still, I found a way to adjust, adapt, and keep on keeping on, because that’s what we do. We paddle through the pain, past the doubt, and into the kind of resilience that makes life worth living.

It was a treat today to see some river buddies wrapping up an epic paddle from Ste. Agathe; the legendary starting point of the Red River Paddle Challenge 100. That’s roughly 60 km of grit, determination, and pure love for the water. I’m impressed. Seriously. That kind of journey isn’t just a physical feat … it’s a statement.

And it got me thinking.

Paddling isn’t just a sport - it’s a philosophy. Motorboats have their place, sure, but when they dominate, they drown out the subtle beauty of the ecosystem. They erode shorelines, disrupt wildlife, and fracture the peace that paddlers seek. There’s something deeply powerful about choosing to move through the world under your own steam. It’s about slowing down, tuning in, and letting the river set the rhythm. Unlike motorboats, that slice through with noise and wake, paddlers glide. Using waterways for human-powered travel is a way of saying: “This river’s health and silence matter.”

We listen. We respect. We belong.

 And the river itself? It thrives when we treat it with care. Every paddle stroke is a gentle reminder that this ecosystem is alive. Herons, fish, frogs, and reeds deserve space to thrive, and clean water and quiet shores aren’t luxuries; they’re legacies we’re responsible for. But when we choose to paddle, we choose to coexist. We become part of the river’s story, not just a loud interruption.

But maybe the most beautiful part? The community.

Paddlers are a special breed. We cheer each other on, swap stories at the boat launch, and share snacks like they’re sacred offerings. Whether you’re racing, training, or just out for a soul-refreshing float, you’re never alone. You’re part of a tribe that values effort, nature, and connection.

So when I saw those river warriors finishing their 60K journey today, I didn’t just see endurance - I saw hope. Hope for a future where rivers are respected, paddling is celebrated, and community is built one stroke at a time. Let’s keep showing up, paddling, and making waves; the quiet kind that change everything.

I’ve only paddled the stretch of the river between the Ste. Agathe and the perimeter bridge once, and wow, what an adventure. Sure, it was beautiful, but that year the water was introvert-level low, with rocks popping up like they were trying to photobomb every stroke. Add a headwind with attitude and some spicy chop in a few sections, and you’ve got yourself a river that doesn’t just flow - it fights back.

But hey, I like to play rough.

What really made the Ste. Agathe run unforgettable wasn’t the wind, the rocks, or the chop, it was my bicep deciding to throw a surprise party. An old injury came roaring back like it had unfinished business. And just to keep things dramatic, it exploded right at the start of the race. I pushed through to the second checkpoint, sooo close to the finish, but the river had other plans.

How’s the bicep now you ask? Well, the thing about getting old is you learn to be where you are now, not where you were 20 years ago. Am I pounding off 20 chin-ups and doing biceps curls with 50 lbs dumbbells. No. I am moving and grooving as best I can given the givens. Hell yeah.

Here's the thing. Living your best life isn’t about being your best, or doing the best, it’s about sharing the journey, spreading the love and taking in each moment as if it’s your last. On great days, mediocre or crappy days, paddling is the privilege of a lifetime.

Every. Single. Time.

Injuries aside, this stretch is pure magic. Go check it out. Better yet, register for the Red River Paddle Challenge, and come chase the fun. You never know what the river will throw at you… but that’s half the adventure.

Today, the river waited ‘til the final round to throw its punches. I was tired, a bit dehydrated, and just trying to cruise to the finish, but nope, the river had other plans. On my downriver journey, the boats came out like it was their own floating block party. Some were belligerent, throwing waves like they were starting a turf war. Others were sassy, strutting by with a wake that said, “Look at me!” And a few? Straight-up criminals - no regard for speed limits, courtesy, or my sanity. But hey, that’s the river for you. It doesn’t care how you’re feeling, it just shows up and dares you to keep going.

And I did.

That’s me on my 8th long paddle.  It wasn’t all smooth; muscles cramped, the rhythm faltered, and the vibe didn’t quite hit, but I stayed in the moment and paddled through. Because that’s what paddlers do: we take the chaos, rise through the setbacks, and keep moving as best we can.