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Verlen Kruger
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Joint pains and muscle aches resulting from a long athletic life melt into the
water as the gear-laden canoe glides into the swift current of the Yukon River.
The familiar force of blade against water brings peace to the paddler as every
stroke pushes the stress of bills and traffic and fading health further behind.
Verlen glances over at his first and final love, Jenny, paddling directly
across from him in a canoe catamaran’d to his own. Here on this river in the
far north, the “Land of the Midnight Sun”, he is surrounded by friends and
family, all paddling Kruger canoes that Verlen himself had lovingly built.
Earlier that spring, Verlen had announced on the web that he’d be celebrating
his upcoming 80th birthday by paddling from Carcross over 2000 miles to the
Bering Sea, the full length of the mighty Yukon. His 78-year-old wife, Jenny,
would paddle beside him, and anyone who cared to come along was welcome.
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The route of Verlen Kruger
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For those who don’t know the legend by name, Verlen Kruger is quite simply the
greatest expedition canoeist to ever grace this planet’s waters. He’s completed
such stunts as paddling from the Artic to Cape Horn over a span of three years.
He’s paddled a single expedition of over 28,000 miles around, across, up and
down most of North America. He’s paddled UP the Colorado through the Grand
Canyon, struggling through more than 200 portages, (“I don’t want to do that
again,” says Verlen). He’s stayed out in his canoe off the coast of South
America for two weeks between landings. At 78 years old, he defended his world
record speed descent of the entire Mississippi, and the list goes on.
At the same time, Verlen is respected for designing and building the smartest,
most expedition-worthy canoes worldwide. Through 41 prototypes he turned his
waterborne dreams into Kevlar reality. Rebuilding and test paddling time and
again, constantly tweaking and re-thinking the lines and rocker, the length and
beam. He eventually created and settled on the Sea Wind, a vessel still built
by Mark and Emily Prezdwojewski, close friends of Verlen’s and carriers-on of
the Kruger Canoe legacy from their shop in Michigan.
Brandon and I had been fans and admirers of Verlen since we first read about
him in 2001. Kids dream of shooting hoops with Michael Jordan or teeing up with
Tiger Woods. As paddlers, we dreamed of spending time on the water with this
hero of our sport. To paddle with this legend, to share a few meals with him
and his wife and hope that a little of what possessed him would infect us, was
something we couldn’t pass up. By mid-June, 2002, we’d hauled our tandem from
our California home to Whitehorse, found Verlen and his band of friends and
admirers, and set out as a pack down the mighty Yukon.
Verlen had timed his start date so as to be in Dawson City for the finish of
the 460-mile Yukon River Quest, an event Brandon had entered to race with
partner John Weed. Every night at camp, Brandon hovered around Verlen like a
moth to a flame, picking his racer-genius brain for tidbits to ultra-marathon
success.
“It’s all about comfort,” Verlen said softly as he picked at a bowlful of
steaming macaroni and cheese. “You’ve got to go out at a pace that you can
envision maintaining for twenty-four hours.” Neither Brandon nor I had paddled
nearly that long without stopping, but Verlen explained it as if he were
teaching someone how to stuff a drybag.
“Some guys will take off like they’re in a sprint. Just let me them go,” he
said. “They’ll beat themselves.”
He looked over at our kayak, 23 feet long, narrow beam, built specifically for
the Yukon Quest. “Is that what you’re going to race?” he asked between bites.
Brandon nodded.
“Kayaks are fast, and I know that’s a fast boat. I’ve seen you two paddle it,”
Verlen said. “But it’s not as comfortable as a canoe. That’s why a kayak’s
never won the Quest, or the Mississippi Challenge.”
Verlen told of being labeled by some journalists as “The King of Pain” for his
ability to paddle so long day after day, month after month. “They got it dead
wrong,” he said with a smile from his fold-up lawn chair he’d hauled on the
trip. “Do they really think I could’ve paddled all those miles if I was in
pain? Or that I would’ve wanted to?” He looked out across the river, a subtle
smile on his lips. “I’m the King of Comfort.”
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Verlen and Jenny
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For days we cruised down the river, fishing and getting to know the other
paddlers, Verlen and Jenny usually pulling up the rear. We’d drift and let them
catch up, or paddle upstream and find them blissed out, moving slow, breathing
in the landscape. I dreamed that Brandon and I might still be out enjoying the
wilds like this when we were 70 or 80-something. A King and Queen of Comfort.
On the shores of Lake LaBerge, Verlen shared the story of his reverence for the
monarch butterfly. He had one glassed in to the deck of his boat. “The journey
of the monarch is truly a miracle,” he said. He went on to explain how monarchs
that migrate to Mexico each fall are the great-great grandchildren of those who
left the previous spring. Yet they find their way to the same roost, often to
the very same tree. It was, I realized, the perfect hero for a man like Verlen
Kruger.
“Have you been here before, Verlen?” I asked. “Have you paddled the Yukon?”
“Down it twice, up it once,” he answered.
A few days later I left Verlen’s group and flew to Colorado for a race. Brandon
split off from the trip, too, to race in the Quest. He and John would place
second behind, as Verlen predicted, a canoe. Most of the group, led by Verlen
and Jenny, paddled through the Alaskan summer to the Bering Sea. They finished
the expedition in late August, a few pounds lighter, but undoubtedly in perfect
comfort.
I would never see Verlen Kruger again. On August 2, 2004, Verlen died at age
82. I will never forget him or his worldly accomplishments, his gentle voice,
his steady stroke, and his belief in miracles.
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