The Park Service always permitted the race but wanted it held early in the morning so it wouldn’t draw too many spectators, who then might be tempted to climb out on the rocks or go in the water. But many of the kayakers wanted to pursue their sport on their own terms and schedule.
“It’s like the basketball hoop at the end of your block — you just want to be able to go all the time,” said Risa Shimoda, who chaired the committee of volunteers that organized this year’s festival.
The friction between the Park Service and the kayakers went beyond the race. Most notoriously, in the winter of 1996, the Park Service closed the parks because the river was flooding.
Davey Hearn, an Olympic paddler, and a few friends went out paddling anyway, and Hearn was charged with resisting arrest and failure to obey an officer. The case went to court but was thrown out.
“There was a lot of lingering tension after the Davey Hearn incident,” said Paul Schelp, who was on the river with Hearn that day. “That was humiliating for the U.S. Park Police.”
‘Common ground’
Schelp said there has always been a good relationship between some of the kayakers and park rangers but never any organized dialogue.
That changed last summer, when the Park Service and the kayakers did something radical: They met.
That initial step, to discuss a logjam blocking the main access point to the river from the Virginia side, led to more discussions about safety on the river that continued throughout the year, and in May the Park Service officially launched the Potomac Paddlers Volunteer Corps.
“It was a recognition of common interest and common ground,” said Brent O’Neill, the site manager of Great Falls Park, on the Virginia side. “We all take interest in what’s going on on the river, to protect the resource, to protect access and to reduce the risk of incidents.”
When the kayakers go out on patrol, they first call the Park Service dispatch to say that they’ll be on the river. They keep an eye out for unsafe behavior and submit an informal e-mail report when they are done.
In May, the volunteers logged 27 hours of safety patrol. The numbers for June — when they have helped prevent several dangerous situations — are higher but haven’t been tabulated yet, O’Neill said.
Shimoda once approached a father and son who were preparing to launch an inflatable boat, the kind sold at convenience stores. Shimoda advised them that the river was running high so there would be a high risk of capsizing.
“They decided to go home,” she said. “The 7- or 8-year-old boy was very disappointed. But the dad knew there would be another weekend.”
The volunteers have also helped rescue people whose canoe capsized canoe and convinced two fishermen who were in the water up to their necks that they should leave the river.
“They’re being our eyes and ears,” Aly Baltrus, supervisory park ranger at the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal National Historical Park, on the Maryland side, said of the volunteer kayakers. “It seems like people are listening to them, and if they can stop it there we don’t have to get law enforcement involved.”
The organizers of Saturday’s race say they expect at least 20 kayakers and 50 spectators. The location will depend on the water level, which is the highest it has been in more than five years.
For the first time, the Park Service will be at the festival, side by side with representatives of kayaking schools at booths offering information about paddle sports and being safety in the park.
“The Park Service is endorsing kayak sports as a safe way to enjoy the river,” Beakes said. “It’s a radical shift.”
The festival will also include a video presentation about the rules of the park and the history of kayaking on the Potomac, including Hearn’s famous arrest.
“Advanced and expert paddlers, we’re in the same boat together with the Park Service,” Hearn said.
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