In Memoriam
by Holly Reynolds

My father, Dick Reynolds, died suddenly on March 16, 2007 from injuries sustained in a work-related accident. This is an excerpt from an essay I wrote in 2002 for a class in college. When given the choice to write about anything, I wanted to write about my dad and canoeing – two of the things nearest to my heart.

Hut: A change in perspective My dad is not what one would call sensitive; I like to think that he belongs among the ranks of such male icons as Clint Eastwood and Harrison Ford. He is a rough and tough guy, born and raised in the country. The rest is typical. A teenage girl wanting nothing but freedom, and a father who wanted nothing more than to protect his daughter. I never imagined that things would turn out the way they are today.

Years ago my father was a professional canoe racer. He would train all summer long and race every weekend. There was one race in particular that he liked more than the rest. It was a three-day, 90-mile race through the Adirondacks. He had won the race several times with his canoe partner, Al Frisina, but that was years ago. My father owned his own business and got too busy for “play”, as he called it. Years went by without him even stepping foot in a canoe. Thinking back, I probably did it for somewhat selfish reasons, but I asked him to be my partner for the 90-mile canoe race through the Adirondacks; the one that he had loved so much.

I really don’t know why I wanted to try canoeing, mind you. I had never canoed more than a couple of miles, and I wasn’t really the most athletic type. Maybe I wanted to do it to prove to my father that I could or maybe to prove it to myself. Maybe I was a bit scared of losing my father, or maybe I thought that he should learn to relax a little. There is one thing I am sure of though; I had to do that race, and I had to do it right.

I learned how to steer the canoe and how to portage. I had never felt close to my father before – he was always so distant – and there we were working well together. He even invited Al, his old canoe partner, over to teach me a thing or two about being in the back of the boat.

Then it was time: those three grueling days in early September. I didn’t know if I could do it, but I knew that no matter what I wouldn’t give up. When we arrived at Old Forge my dad was instantly reunited with his old friends, and it was great to see that side of my dad, the relaxed side that loves his surroundings and his friends. He seemed so calm even though in the morning that starting gun would go off, and it would be a race to the finish. I, on the other hand, was completely nervous. I had no plan of winning, but I knew I wouldn’t be happy unless I gave it my all.

After a near sleepless night, we sat poised at the starting line waiting for that gun to go off. A lot of things were running through my mind. I wondered who was in our racing class and how much I would hurt, and when would this nervous feeling inside of my gut go away. Then it happened…BANG, the gun went off. We paddled, we paddled hard. After a few minutes, I dared to look up. We were in the lead, and we managed to maintain it for most of the first day. I was completely impressed with myself, but that wasn’t the best part. After we had been paddling for about ten miles and had quite a lead, my dad turned around to me and smiled and said, “Take a break, look around, soak it all in.” I stopped paddling so hard and looked up. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen, the beautiful trees, the tall peaks around us, and the rolling water sprinkled with canoes.

After a few more moments of silence, my dad pointed off in the distance to a small clearing in the forest. He said, “Do you see that clearing over there? When I was a boy my father took me out camping right in that spot. I woke up one morning and you know what I saw swimming across this lake?” “I give,” I said somewhat sarcastically. I guess I was waiting for some sort of punch line. My dad is known for his jokes. “A deer,” my dad said with a sort of dreamy look in his eye. “I didn’t know that deer could swim, but I saw it with my own two eyes when I was eleven years old, when I was standing right there in that clearing.”

That was the first time in my life that my dad admitted to being young, and the first time he ever told me anything about his father. My dad’s childhood seems to be a trouble spot for him. He lost his father when he was rather young, so he doesn’t like to talk about it much. But that camping trip meant a lot to him and so did his dad. It made me realize that my dad means a lot to me too. He means everything to me. I will never forget the story of that silly deer that swam across the lake. Someday when I have children, I am sure that I will tell them the story of that deer. That story marked a change in my life, the revelation that my dad loves me and enjoys my company.

We finished in third place, and the plaque hangs on my wall. But when I see it, I don’t think about the thrill of winning. I think about what a great time I had with my father, and how that trip created a bond between us that will last forever. We have since become full time canoe partners, and my father has become a much healthier and fit person. Knowing that my dad is enjoying his life again makes me happier than winning any race. My dad better be around for a long time because I am not ready to look for a new canoe partner.

Dick loved canoeing, he loved training, and he loved being out in the wilderness. But mostly, he loved the people. My father got so much joy from being around the paddlers, his face would just light up as soon as we got to a race. For over 25 years my dad has been involved in canoeing. He did the Clinton 70 miler thirteen times beginning in 1982, competed in numerous USCA Nationals and in an uncountable number of local races. He participated in his favorite race of all, the Adirondack Canoe Classic, upwards of 18 times. He was a great man, a loving husband and father, and a loyal friend. Dick Reynolds (1959-2007)

Dick Reynolds on August 3, 2003 at the USCA Nationals Sprint Championships, where he raced with each of his daughters: with Holly (pictured left) and with Ivy (right).