[Sidebar] The Worcester Phoenix
August 28 - September 4, 1998

[Tales From Tritown]

Boxing day

Lunenburg's Great Cardboard Boat Race goes swimmingly

by Sally Cragin

Illustration by Lennie Peterson

[Tales From Tritown] You might have thought a boat had sunk to judge from the number of cars parked along Lake Whalom recently. But since when has a maritime disaster provoked such hearty laughter from hundreds of onlookers? In fact, several boats sank that evening, but this was all part of the fun of the Second Great Cardboard Boat Race.

The rules of the 200-yard race, sponsored by Lunenburg's Ritter Library and directed by artist and Children's Librarian Karen Kemp, are almost as good as the event itself. Boats must be made of corrugated cardboard (wooden paddles or oars are permitted), but "to qualify as a finisher, you must be IN your boat, not towing with your teeth. . . . No more than 10 human occupants will be permitted in the boat. All crews must be friendly and reasonably warm-blooded." Prizes include "Pride of Lunenburg" (most creative design), "Surprise" (we're surprised it floats), "Clipper Ship" (known for speed), "Gung Ho" (most spirited individual), "Rubber Ducky" (Best boat for a tub), "Flounder award" (boat without direction), "Life Raft" (longest lasting), and the pièce de "least" résistance, the "Titanic" award (most spectacular sinking). Finally, all participants were required to remove their entire boat at the close of the race -- an important stipulation, as some crafts literally dissolved while in the water, and wreckage would impede other competitors. Boats competed in heats with two or three other crafts.

The trophies were made out of banana float dishes and lots of gold spray paint. Medallions, candy, and "big money" (oversized bills winners could redeem for one library-book fine) were also awarded.

The sailors (ranging in age from three and a half to 15, with some adults) clearly had a blast racing in groups of two or three in their galleons, dories, dinghies, and, well, cardboard boxes. The goal was to make it twice the length of the lakefront, and most of these crafts actually made it without sinking. Others, such as the P.O.S. (which didn't stand for "Possibility of Sinking," though it should have) took on water so slowly, Tim Letarte, Ross Caputi, and Joel Cortes gradually submerged beneath the waves à la Buster Keaton in The Navigator. "We were thinking of making a hole and just let it sink, but it happened anyway," commented Cortes.

Some builders worked on their boats for weeks -- others for mere hours. And the results ranged from balky to streamlined. The winningest craft was piloted by John Fischer, who won his heat and the final regatta. He built a small, sleek, speedboat simulacrum christened the Blue Angels ("You can tell his first car is going to be a Trans Am," commented one onlooker. "He goes for speed and style.")

There were lots of sibling crews who exhibited a range of sibling behavior. Noelle and Richard Hillson piloted Jaws, an enormous boat with a shark's face. The Pulsifers, Andrew and Cate, raced in the Phillpines. (Andrew proved to be keenly mindful of cargo load, dumping his sister before the first lap was out.) Michael Weaver ended up racing both his own Red Baron and his sister Felicia's Blue Dolphin (and sank both -- Felicia got a Gung Ho award for being a good sport).

Robert Studivan competed in Thor, a gorgeous green dragon, but his boatmate didn't show; so brother Michael jumped in to save the family honor. Several boats even carried extended families. The Eagle was a six-foot imitation of a Coast Guard cutter, which carried, believe it or not, five children: Brian, Sarah, and Alicia Cote with Dylan and Tyler Mansfield. The A.I. was an unremarkable box-like craft, but sailors Adam Ryha and Ian Reynolds showed the coordinated paddling of an Oxford Blues crew team, and scooped the Clipper Ship award. Then there was the Good Ship Lollipop, which sailors Kristen Leonard, Julie Cookish, and Robyn Berthiaume decorated with painted confection. They received the Liferaft award because their boat didn't dissolve. (The Lollipop competed successfully against Tootsie, which was built by Kristen's older sister Heather and her buds, Emily Duynstee and Megan Tasca.

Legend of the Sea, a gold-painted gondola, prompted gasps when it was unloaded by a U-haul at the lake front. It was navigated by Christie Letarte, Brenton Moore, Krista Diamantopolous, and Tom Barbier.

And then there was White Fang. In the interests of full disclosure, it should be noted that your correspondent unwittingly assisted in the construction. It was like this: I went to visit my friend Chris Mulholland. His brother John and wife, Amy Wong, were visiting from San Francisco, with their two children, Atticus and Sam. So I mentioned that among the attractions the Mulhollands might take in with the kids was the race. The next thing I heard, John had signed the kids up to make a boat.

The night before the race I returned to see how construction was going. (It seemed only natural to hold a few pieces of cardboard while I interviewed John and Amy, who are real people, honest. I may even have fished through one of the tool jars for suitable bolts to put the craft together. Perhaps I also made a suggestion or two about the placement of cardboard. But I do not believe this compromises my objectivity to cover this event in any way as I did cheer heartily and sincerely for each and every participant.)

"We might have a chance at winning the `I Can't Believe it Floats' category or maybe Spectacular Sinking," John said as he stretched layers of duct tape between seams. White Fang was square and flat-bottomed, with low sides and a curved front. The Mulholland Wong family had used disassembled computer boxes, which the boys had flattened with a rolling pin. Had they been able to waterproof with wax (against the rules), they would have dubbed her "Icarus."

In the company of the other larger boats, White Fang was unassuming. Yet none of the other sailors I spoke with before the race had attached a keel or bolted together the pieces of cardboard as John and Amy had. "That's our secret weapon," joked John's brother Chris. "Last night we put a giant magnet down in the water that'll draw the metal bolts right to it. It's getting back that will be the problem."

White Fang competed against Doug and Damon McQuaid who'd constructed an impressive simulacrum of a Viking longboat, christened the Odin. Father Doug commented that the construction of the Odin was a family affair: "Damon researched Viking ships, what they looked like, and the design of the shields." Once waterborne, however, the rib technology that looked so impressive on land caused the McQuaids's craft to tip precariously. (She still looked great in the water, though.) As the race began, grandfather Tom Mulholland played "Anchors Aweigh" on his trumpet. The first lap was prow and prow, but midway through, Odin gloriously capsized. This left victory clear for White Fang. Since both Tallman and Kemp had made it clear that everybody was a winner in the Boat Race, the McQuaids ended up sharing a prize for Pride of Lunenburg).

Director Kemp gamely stayed thigh-high in the water, encouraging the sailors to stay the course and cheering them to the finish line. "Later, someone commented, `This was one of the few events I've gone to where everybody's smiling and the whole crowd is laughing.' It's just a lot of fun. Because it's a cardboard boat, the kids don't get hung up on whether it'll fall apart."

Next year, Kemp hopes to get various town officials like the police and highway department to make boats and hopes to interest more families and teens to racing. After seeing dozens of boats on the water, Kemp has good advice for prospective builders. The most successful craft design is "something flatbottomed, with a real keel, which is hard to do with cardboard. And double-hulled. One layer is not going to make it.

"The stronger the boat is, the more chance you have. I love the fact that some lasted long enough to go out again."

As for White Fang, well, it sits at the Mulholland barn, awaiting another coat of paint, and another chance to float.

Sally Cragin was once first mate on a 17-foot cruiser dubbed The Sin King.



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