When the Smoke Clears…

There are just 48 days until the Red River Paddle Challenge, and I’ve been aiming to stay as consistent as the weather and life will allow. If you’ve been reading this blog, you already know what’s what. But just in case you haven’t, let me fill you in. The Red River Paddle Challenge is totally legal, but after completing the distance from St. Vital Park to Lockport via the Red River of the North, you’ll wonder why such an addictive event isn’t treated like a restricted narcotic.

The race is a long-distance paddling event that turns Manitoba’s Red River into a floating festival of endurance, adventure, and community spirit. Held every September, it invites paddlers to journey from Winnipeg to Lockport, covering a scenic 44-kilometer stretch of water. But let’s be honest. It’s not just a race. It’s a full-body, full-river experience. Sure, it’s supposed to be about grit and grace, but by the end, I’m usually all grit and zero grace. And I’m not alone.

Participants come in all forms. You’ll see solo paddlers in sleek kayaks, tandem teams in canoes, stand-up paddleboarders wobbling through the miles, and even larger crews in dragon boats and outrigger canoes. The event is open to all paddle craft, which means the river becomes a colorful parade of styles and strategies. Got a tube? Race it. Got a raft? Race it. Only have a log? Sign up and race that puppy. If it floats and you can paddle it, you’re in.

Some racers are there to win, chasing personal bests and bragging rights. Others are there for the vibe, soaking in the scenery and the camaraderie that builds stroke by stroke. The route itself is a blend of urban and natural beauty. Starting in the heart of Winnipeg, paddlers leave the city behind and enter quieter waters framed by trees, wildlife, and the occasional curious onlooker waving from the shore. The river’s gentle current can be deceptive. It’s not whitewater, but the distance and changing conditions demand focus, stamina, and smart pacing. Also, gummy bears. Lots of gummy bears. Wind, heat, and fatigue all play their part, making the finish line in Lockport feel like a well-earned victory lap.

What makes the Red River Paddle Challenge truly memorable is the atmosphere. There’s a sense of shared adventure among participants, whether they’re seasoned racers or first-time challengers. The event encourages creativity, with teams often sporting playful names and decorated boats. Volunteers and organizers bring warmth and energy, cheering paddlers on and making sure everyone feels welcome. And at the end, there’s a celebration. Not just for the fastest finishers, but for everyone who showed up, paddled hard, and embraced the river’s challenges.

In short, the Red River Paddle Challenge is more than a race. It’s a story you get to write with every stroke. It’s a chance to test your limits, connect with others, and experience the river in a way that’s both personal and collective. Whether you’re training for it, dreaming about it, or diving in for the first time, it’s the kind of event that sticks with you long after the last paddle hits the water.

Which brings us to today. The day I had good intentions. Today the plan was to start training at 9 a.m. sharp and wrap up before the storms swaggered in around 4. That was the idea. The execution? Let’s just say the weather was more cooperative than I was. The skies were crystal clear, not a puff of smoke or a sulky cloud in sight. The temperature flirted with perfect. It was warm enough to feel alive, and cool enough to keep the sweat at bay. A breeze played peekaboo behind the riverbanks, just enough to remind you it was there without getting clingy. Boat traffic was practically non-existent, which meant the water was smoother than a jazz sax solo. No waves, no wakes, no drama. As for wildlife? Let’s just say the cast of characters took today off. No beavers, no falcons, no fish doing acrobatics. Just me, the water, and a whisper of rumor that someone spotted a crane. I didn’t see it, but I’ll let the legend live.

Today’s paddle started with coaching the team, and after everyone got everything sorted - paddles, leashes, water - it was focused, sweaty, and surprisingly philosophical.  We drilled a warmup, refined technique, and worked on balance transitions that tested both core strength and dignity. There were moments of quiet intensity, where the only sound was the rhythmic splash of paddles and the occasional motivational shout.

Then, somewhere between a balance drill and a hydration break, someone said, “We should jump in.” And just like that, it turned into a spontaneous water party. Yes, that really happened. Boards were abandoned, shouts of encouragement echoed across the river, and people cannonballed like it was the last day of summer camp. It was the kind of moment that reminds you why you train. Not just for performance, but for connection, for joy, for the sheer ridiculous fun of it all.

After the splash party wrapped, and the team embarked on their own adventure, I pushed on for a long paddle. I shifted gears into focused technique work, refining paddle angles, experimenting with balance points, and pushing through endurance sets. The water stayed calm, the boat traffic stayed minimal, and the wildlife stayed mysteriously absent.

At one point, I encountered an older guy, like me, out in a kayak. He slowed and paddled over my way as if to chat, maybe share a nod of mutual respect or a few words about the water. I braced for a moment of camaraderie. But then… nothing. He hovered for a beat, looked over, and just paddled on. No words. No wave. Just a silent retreat. It was oddly awkward, like a conversation that got lost in translation between SUP and kayak. I’m still not sure if we shared something or missed something entirely.

Reflecting on my 8^th long paddle, I must admit it wasn’t the most thrilling for sightings or dramatic weather, but it was a solid training session wrapped in serenity and sealed with a splash. Sometimes the best kind of progress is the quiet kind. The kind that sneaks up on you between strokes, when the water is still and the only sound is your breath. And sometimes, progress looks like a bunch of grown-ups jumping into a river just because it felt right. When the smoke clears, what’s left is clarity, and today, that was more than enough. The river always has something to teach. It reminds you that stillness can be powerful, that momentum doesn’t always look like speed, and that occasionally the best way to move forward is to pause, float, and listen. It teaches patience when the wind picks up, humility when your balance wobbles, and joy when the unexpected turns into a reason to just mess around. The river doesn’t care how fast you go or how fancy your gear is. It just asks you to show up, paddle with intention, and be open to whatever unfolds.