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In The Groove and on to a World Record

Coloradan Andy Corra paddles 273 miles in 24 hours!

By Kate Siber

Found in: | Outside | Paddling | River |

On an eerily calm, slightlyovercast morning in late June, Andy Corra, a fit, salt-and-pepper-haired kayaker, dipped his 21-foot surfski into the Yukon River just below Canada's Lake LeBerge and set off paddling. The air was still and the water flowed at 76,000 cubic feet per second, a relatively sluggish pace for a wide, brawny river. It was an unceremonious start to a momentous day: the day Corra would break the 24-hour distance record on moving water by paddling 273 straight miles.

Considering many of today's record-breaking kayakers are young bucks barely out of their teens, Corra, 49, might seem an unlikely candidate for such a feat. But Corra has a long history of overachievement in the paddling world: The owner of 4Corners River Sports in Durango, Colo., he snagged the national title in wildwater kayaking three times and has bagged numerous river-running feats, including some of the first descents of Class V+ Vallecito Creek and the Upper Animas River. Indeed, perhaps his experience and maturity uniquely suited him to a record that requires iron-clad mental toughness.

The record was last established on the Yukon River by Ian Adamson, a top adventure racer who ticked off 261 miles in 24 hours. After two failed attempts, Adamson finally clinched the record in 2004, a good snow year when the water was running at about 107,000 cfs. This year, however, was different, and Corra had his doubts about whether he could top Adamson's tally.

"I'm a paddler and paddled a lot, but I've never paddled anything approaching 24 hours," said Corra. "Also, the record had been set up there in 2004 at a pretty decent water level. This year was a really grim snow year up there." But Corra had already booked plane tickets and lined up fellow boater Jeremy Rodgers and an outfitter to motor alongside him for support and pacing. So up he headed to Whitehorse in Canada's Yukon Territory, hoping for at least a good practice run.

The Yukon River is an obvious pick for the 24-hour paddling record: It's big, fast-moving, and alluringly remote. Most important, its navigable stretches are long and unhindered by dams, falls, or other obstacles, and its latitude promises nearly 24 hours of daylight in summer.

After Corra set off, the first few hours eked by. But then a funny thing happened. The seasoned paddler fell into a groove and the hours started to slip by almost as fast as the scenery on the banks - 2,000-foot hills and pine-and-birch forests. After 12 hours, he realized that he was still holding a pace that was faster than Adamson's record-setting speed.

"By 12 hours, I thought, OK, I'm still above record pace," said Corra. "I'm likely going to finish this thing. Then I started thinking, ?it looks like I'm going to break the record,' and then I had to tell myself, ?well, calm down, a lot can happen.'"

He committed to his rhythm and set small, manageable goals for himself. "I'll just make it to that next corner," he told himself. Meanwhile few signs of civilization punctuated the route, save a single bridge and a single settlement. Occasionally the river would churn up rapids and fork into braids, but that rarely tripped up this veteran paddler. Eventually the daylight dimmed into a deep, navy dusk before the northern-summer sun swooped back up over the horizon.

By hour 18, Corra's entire upper body ached, his tailbone smarted from the pressure of sitting, and his hands turned raw. His mind started to wilt, but by hour 21, with the end goal in sight, adrenaline started coursing through his bloodstream. Finally, 24 hours clicked up on his GPS and his supporters in the motorboat cheered and swung over to pick him up. He would've raised his arms in triumph if they hadn't been hurting so terribly.

Just like the start, it was an unceremonious finish: Corra loaded his surfski onto the launch, and they sped away to the take-out some hundred miles downstream. Back in Whitehorse, the exhaustion and the pain of an inflamed shoulder set in, but so did the relief and the realization of the import of the deed.

"It's a lot like climbing a big peak," said Corra, safely back in Durango. "In the midst of it isn't the most enjoyable part, but when you finish and look back on it, it's this great sense of accomplishment."

At press time, the paperwork had been submitted but Corra's record had yet to receive official confirmation by the Guinness Book of World Records. We'll keep you posted. - ed.

Kate Siber is a contributing editor to Inside/Outside.