Reflections of a paddler

By Mark Millspaugh and Rob Millspaugh
Posted 6/14/22

Dad liked everything about canoes and canoeing. There is something about gliding efficiently across the water. It is no wonder the early guides in the Adirondacks relied on the waterways to explore …

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Reflections of a paddler

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Dad liked everything about canoes and canoeing. There is something about gliding efficiently across the water. It is no wonder the early guides in the Adirondacks relied on the waterways to explore an area so rugged and void of roads. Boats can carry hundreds of pounds of people and gear yet move most gracefully with the draw of a paddle.

Vintage Old Town canoes were Dad’s favorite. Crafted of mahogany, spruce, and pine, covered in canvas, with caned seats, the boats have a timeless elegance. The first of the Millspaugh Old Towns were acquired between 1915 and 1920 by Dad’s father Mick, his Aunt Nance and his Uncle T.L. The boats were shipped to the Millspaugh Furniture House which at the time was an authorized Old Town dealer.

Mickey was born in 1926 and learned to paddle as a young boy at Oquaga Lake, located east of Binghamton very close to where the NYS-PA boarder meets the West Branch of the Delaware River. Around Walden he enjoyed paddling on the Wallkill. He always instructed that referring to the “Wallkill River” was redundant as “kill” is Dutch for river. I recall my brother and I joined him once when we were too young to paddle. We launched above the Upper Dam then paddled upstream around Twin Island and back. On the return he retrieved a wallet floating in the river. Upon inspection he was surprised to find it was his. It is never a good idea to canoe with a wallet in your back pocket, “I won’t do that again.”

With increasing appreciation for the craftmanship of the canoe builders, Mickey tried his hand at restoring the old boats, a time intensive, tedious process. Mickey began purchasing canoes, some new, others in need of some TLC. The fleet was growing. As the kids and the collection antique boats grew older Mickey knew it was time to invest in boats that were not so fragile.

Mickey passed on his passion for paddling to his 12 grandchildren, routinely giving lessons at Oquaga Lake. Each grandchild is reasonably competent in a canoe, several are seasoned endurance racers, one a river guide in Montana. No doubt he would have given lessons to the great grandkids too if he had the opportunity.

Dad bought a 16 foot Old Town “feather weight” canoe in 1969. This Old Town had a lower profile than the older Millspaugh boats but it still weighed in at more than 60 pounds. The lower profile was less susceptible to the wind and easier to portage. We put that to the test.

In 1986, we learned of a race through the Adirondacks. The race followed the historic route from Old Forge, NY to Saranac Lake, NY by way of the Fulton Chain, Blue Mountain Lake, Long Lake, Raquette River, and Upper, Middle and Lower Saranac Lakes. “What do you think?” Dad said he was game. He was 60 and had no racing experience. I was half his age with less experience. Nevertheless, we submitted the paperwork and prepared by paddling laps around Oquaga Lake.

The Adirondack Classic, also referred to as “The 90-Miler,” is a three-day event. Paddle all day, camp at night, for three looooong days. Canoes are not fast, moving at 4 to 6 miles per hour on flat water, depending on the wind. On the first day we noticed that a good number of boats passing us were made of Kevlar or carbon fiber. We also noticed competitors used bent shaft paddles for more efficient sweep through the water. We wondered what these experienced paddlers knew as we lumbered along in the Old Town wooden boat. We did take some pride when the winds kicked and our beamy Old Town fared far better in the rough water than the less stable racing boats. It was our turn to pass those that passed us hours earlier.

Then there were the portages. Let’s just say a boat advertised at only 60 pounds feels like a ton when lugging it through the woods or climbing around Raquette Falls. Some competitors run on the portages. We were content to walk, taking turns carrying the boat with the yoke on our shoulders.

It rained two of the three days that first race with intense downpours. We were soaked. Our camping gear was soaked. I was ready to drop out of the race. Not Dad, he was busy checking the times that were posted each day to see how we were doing and strategizing how we could catch some boats that were ahead in the standings.

All told Dad competed in four 90-Milers. Later he enthusiastically served as the pit crew when my kids and I competed. He set-up and broke camp, shuttled vehicles, and provided us with bananas, drinks and Gu (a disgusting concoction common among marathon paddlers). When pitting became too demanding, Dad was equally enthusiastic to spectate by traveling from bridge to bridge with his dog to cheer for grandkids as they paddled below. He hard-camped every race sleeping on the ground well into his 80s.

Dad’s birthday is in June, a week after Father’s Day. In recent years his grandkids paddled him around the lake for his birthday. Dad would sit in the center of his refinished Old Town, content to be a passenger enjoying his kin and his craft.

Happy Father’s Day Dad, we sure will miss you.