Wisconsin River 1st Place Overall Male Fastest Known Paddle: 3D, 20H, 45M.

(this is also the 1st Place Solo Male FKP)

Andy Nevitt, age 43, of Wausau, WI.

May 26-30, 2025

421 miles

Supported

Start: Lac Vieux Desert, 2pm, May 26th, 2025.

Finish: Wisconsin/Mississippi Confluence 10:45am, May 30th.

Support Captain: Lindsay Nevitt

Portages: 27 dam portages, 1 portage at the island at Whirlpool Rapids

Boat: Stellar Falcon Multisport

.kml file and other data at RaceOwl.com

Trip Report from Andy:

Introduction

This document serves as a trip report for my attempt to set a new overall, all-time record for paddling the full length of the Wisconsin River, from its source at Lac Vieux Desert to its confluence with the Mississippi River near Wyalusing, WI. At the time of my attempt, the recognized fastest known time for the WI River was established in 1995 by Mike Schnitzka and Bill Perdzock at 4 days, 2 hours, 22 minutes. As their attempt ended 6 miles from the actual end of the river at Bridgeport (according to Mr. Schnitzka’s account in his book “Escaping the Velvet Rut”), Mr. Schnitzka reported to add an hour of time to their finish to account for the last 6 miles of the river they did not cover. While some in the WI paddle racing community question the validity of this record, it is my opinion that it should be recognized as the record to beat; this is also the opinion of Fastest Known Paddle, a newly established online repository of distance paddling records. In addition to beating their time and establishing a new record, I also aimed to determine a more accurate length measurement of the WI River, as estimates online range from 420 to 436 miles.

Pre-attempt Prep

Much of my preparation for my first attempt in 2023 carried over to this time, with some changes in paddling gear, lighting, and support vehicle amenities. My aim for this attempt was to extremely limit the time where I was not either proceeding down the river, or resting. I calculated the 1995 attempt’s average moving speed to be 4.3 mph; this meant that the higher I could maintain my own average speed above 4.3 mph, the larger the margin I would create to beat their time. In the Stellar Falcon I planned to use for this attempt, I knew that I could maintain 6 mph or greater for stretches of several hours; faster with current, but slower with shallow water, or while portaging. I decided I would target 6 mph for my overall moving speed, meaning that it would theoretically take 71 moving hours to complete the river; this also meant that I would have around 27 hours to portage and rest. As the actual attempt began, this calculation would quickly prove to be grossly inaccurate.

I began training in earnest around Thanksgiving 2024, steadily building my strength and stamina, mostly in my basement gym. I mixed in a routine involving my rowing machine, a cross-country ski ergometer, and free weights, specifically targeting upper back and shoulder muscle groups. When possible, I’d get out on the water to paddle, and when conditions allowed, I would hit the cross-country ski trails.

Diet and Nutrition

For this attempt, I focused less on weight loss than in 2023, and more on stamina and efficiency. I weighed 189.4 lbs the morning of May 26. For calories, as in my other races over the previous few years, I relied heavily on an endurance powder from Infinit Nutrition, mixed into my hydration pack, supplemented with other foods like mango strips, Stinger waffles, and the occasional gas station sandwich.

Day 0

Lindsay and I arrived at Lac Vieux Desert 30 minutes prior to my 2pm start time. Our documentarian John Seal and his wife Hero were already there. I unloaded the Falcon, set up my Garmin, made sure my RaceOwl app on my phone was tracking properly, and wasted no time walking from the parking area to the lake. I was on the water in the lake with about 15 minutes to collect myself before the start.

At precisely 2pm, I proceeded from the lake to the 1st dam and portage at the park just a hundred yards downstream. I made the portage quickly, paddled the length to Shore Drive, went up and over, and my time in the headwaters began. This time, as in 2023, I would have very low water to deal with. Aside from the low water, which meant getting out and dragging countless times within the first few hours, there were also many fallen trees and beaver dams, creating complete blockages of the river. I realized quickly that my moving speed would be nowhere near my target of 6 mph, but I hoped that once I cleared the first 12 miles after Rohr’s Wilderness tours, the river volume would pick up and I could make up for the lost time. This again proved to be an incorrect assumption. After loading up with night gear at River Road around 7:15pm, I experienced low water and blockages all the way to County Road G in Eagle River, about 36 miles into the trip. At one point, after climbing around a downed tree blocking the river, I became stuck nearly waist-deep in mud on the downriver side. It took about 5-10 minutes to free myself to continue, and it required a substantial amount of energy to do so.

I finally reached Otter Rapids Dam and portaged it around 10:30pm, well behind the pace I had hoped. I was finally realizing that 6 mph would be an unattainable goal. I paddled through the subsequent rock garden area and into Rainbow Flowage in the dark, with no issues. I reached Rainbow Dam around 1am. I took a short break, and added a high-power headlamp to my night arsenal, knowing that I would need all the light power available to navigate Rainbow Rapids, about 3 miles downstream, during the dead of night. As I left the put-in, I sorted out myself in the kayak and eventually flipped on my bow light. To my extreme dismay, I found that all I had illuminated was a thick wall of fog across the river. A moment of panic set in; I knew I was too far down to turn around, and honestly, I had little desire to. But I knew that trying to navigate a set of rapids, although short and uncomplicated, during the night with heavy fog was ill-advised and dangerous. I decided to proceed with extreme caution, going as slowly as possible while maintaining my course. Eventually in the fog, I could hear the rushing water noise of the rapids ahead, probably 300 yards or so; the fog was less thick, but still enough to obscure vision. Without warning, I suddenly hit a rock in the middle of the river, completely halting my movement. The kayak became wedged against the rock, with the current turning the kayak sideways in the river. I am unsure how I did not flip at this time. I eventually managed to scoot off the rock, point my nose downstream, and continue on to the rapids. With my heart racing, I somehow navigated the bend in the river where Rainbow Rapids are located without incident. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief; although the fog on the river was still blocking my view, I knew the stretch of river approaching Rhinelander beyond Rainbow Rapids was mostly obstruction-free. It took me another 3 hours to reach the take-out at Rhinelander, landing and completing the portage after 5:30am. 80 miles done. I decided to continue on to Hat Rapids Dam and take my first rest break before encountering Whirlpool Rapids.

Day 1

I arrived at Hat Rapids after 6:30. I changed clothes, ate a banana, and tried to rest in the back of the truck. I closed my eyes, but I wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep, and daylight was keeping me awake. I was also frustrated at my pace; I was ahead of the record pace, but by only a few hours. I decided to forgo sleep and continue on. I passed through Whirlpool Rapids, opting to portage the island in the middle of the rapids. I arrived at Kings Dam around 10:15, portaged quickly and continued on through Tomahawk and Grandmother Dam. At 2pm, I had reached the 24-hour mark of my attempt and had covered just over 120 miles according to my Garmin. I was satisfied that my lead on the record pace had increased by 1-2 hours.

I continued on past Grandfather Dam, navigating Posey Rapids and Bill Cross Rapids with ease. After crossing Lake Alexander and portaging at Council Grounds, I arrived in Merrill. Up to this point, I had had several people cheering me on along the way, starting all the way up at Rohr’s at mile 12; but at Merrill, and through Wausau, the number of people who showed up to encourage me really increased. I saw friends, work colleagues, and strangers all along the way; I also had kayaking buddy Joel Jurgensen accompany me in his kayak from Merrill through the Brokaw Dam rapids just upriver of Wausau. The support was incredibly motivating and energizing. After arriving in Wausau, I began my Lake Wausau crossing with Tim Buchholz, a new friend and adventure racer who decided to keep me company for the first half of the lake. I continued on through Mosinee and down to Lake Du Bay Dam, where I would take my first rest break around 42 hours into the attempt. I slept 2 hours until daybreak.

Day 2

Until this point, wind and weather had played a minimal role in my progress. The story of day 2 would be cold and rain. Cloud coverage was moderate as I left Du Bay Dam and headed to Stevens Point. It began sprinkling somewhat, but was only a minor nuisance. I arrived at the Stevens Point Dam, knowing that I would be portaging the entire next 2-mile section of river to Whiting because of a draw-down for repairs to the Whiting Dam. The portage took about 45 minutes, and shortly after put-in, the rain started to increase. It rained pretty much the entire way from Whiting to Biron, through Wisconsin Rapids, Centralia, and Port Edwards. I was intent on continuing on through this section of river with a concentrated number of dams and long portages, to put it in my rearview. I reached the 48-hour mark some time during or after the Port Edwards rock garden, covering around 221 miles at this point. I finished the long Nekoosa portage at 3:15, and headed to Petenwell.

As I arrived at the north end of Petenwell Lake, I was happy to see calm conditions. The light rain didn’t bother me, and only served to make the fish at the water’s surface more active, which gave a distraction for the first half of my long 14-mile crossing. The calm I was experiencing changed drastically after reaching the halfway point. Winds from the east picked up, and although they were not particularly strong, they created a heavy, confusing chop for the remaining 90 minutes of the crossing. It took an extreme amount of focus and energy to keep the kayak upright; I was constantly taking on water from waves coming over the low gunnels of the Falcon. I arrived at the Petenwell Dam landing mentally and physically exhausted, not to mention soaked wet and cold. I took a long break, warmed up, put night lights on, and prepared to repeat the process across Castle Rock Lake. Darkness set in as I neared the railroad bridge, but water conditions remained calm until I was about 30 minutes from completing the crossing. A low, gentle chop formed, and I increased my effort and speed to complete the crossing before conditions worsened. I had no desire to repeat my Petenwell experience. I landed around 11pm, and decided to reward myself with a short rest break before heading off down to the Wisconsin Dells. I slept for something like 30 minutes, then launched around 12:15 am. The fog on the river for this stretch was thin and wispy for the most part, with a gentle breeze consistently clearing it from the river. I made good time to the Dells, passing through the Narrows in the dead of night around 3am, which I’ll admit had an eerie effect; I encountered one fishing boat before taking out which threw a moderate wake, but navigated it with no problem. I landed at Kilbourn Dam at 4am, and decided to rest 30 minutes until daybreak around 5.

Day 3

Dells to Lake Wisconsin proved to be one of the few parts of the river with decent current. At this point I had only one dam, and one portage, left in front of me. I moved downriver through Portage, navigating the growing number of sandbars with ease during daylight hours. As I approached Dekorra, I was accompanied on the water by Victoria Sukowski, a paddler who had also followed my progress and paddled with me during my 2023 attempt. It was a pleasure chatting with her as I landed at the Dekorra ramp, met Lindsay and resupplied before my final lake crossing at Lake Wisconsin. At the I-90 bridge, I was careful to navigate the buoy-marked channel to avoid bridge construction equipment. The Lake Wisconsin crossing was long and tedious, but relatively calm, and I was encouraged by several people, both in watercraft and from their residential docks, along the way. I finished the crossing and landed at Prairie Du Sac Dam at 2pm, meaning at 72 hours, I had only the 92 miles of the Lower Wisconsin State Riverway remaining. I was slower than I had hoped, but had a good lead on the record pace at this point, by maybe 6-8 hours. I paddled a few miles to Riverside Park in Sauk City, saw a few friends and resupplied.

As I launched, my hopes were high that I’d soon see a boost in current to speed up my travel time to Peck’s Landing at Spring Green, about 26 miles away. But these hopes were slowly eroded by an endless maze of huge sandbars and barely existent current. At one point, Lindsay called to make sure I was ok, as she and others had noticed my slow progress. I replied, likely with some colorful language, that I was receiving no help from the river. Instead of a 3-hour leg like I had hoped for, I arrived at Peck’s Landing 4 hours later at 7pm. I had paddled much harder than I wanted just to make that time, and as I tried to hurry through our resupply and night prep to get going, I experienced a full-body muscle spasm that lasted at least a couple minutes. My body had reached a breaking point. I drank water, ate some food, ibuprofen and tylenol, and forced myself to get back in the kayak. I knew that my lead was uncomfortably thin, and the clock was ticking regardless of whether I was moving downriver or not.

As I progressed toward Muscoda, the night took over. Deep fatigue set in, and for the first time during the attempt I experienced a level of delirious exhaustion I had never felt before. I was unable to get my eyes to work together to maintain focus. Caffeine had no effect. I began to experience disorganized thinking, at one point questioning whether or not I was actually heading downriver, and not upriver. I had passed Lone Rock, but was unfamiliar with another take-out option before Muscoda. I was somewhere around 10 miles away, with low visibility and fog, unsure of my location, and started to have real concern for my safety. In the darkness, I suddenly heard a voice call out “You’re on the home stretch! Hug the right shoreline all the way until you see the bridge, then cross to the middle! You’re doing great!” The voice snapped me out of my delirium, and I replied with thanks. I followed the advice, knowing from myit was correct from times running this section in the Wisconsin River Race. About 45 minutes later, I noticed a set of car parking lights on shore, and again I heard the familiar voice. “You’re almost there, keep going! Stay right, then cross before you get to the bridge!” Again I thanked the person, and continued on. I finally arrived in Muscoda just after 11pm, to be greeted by Lindsay, John, Alex, and the man who had yelled encouragement from the shore to guide me in. I thanked him, but in my delirium, I failed to ask his name. I stumbled up the boat ramp, and stated I could go no further without sleep. I crawled in the truck, fell asleep immediately, slept 90 minutes, and awoke with a similar level of delirium and confusion. The last thing I wanted to do was get back in the kayak, and I said as much to Lindsay. She told me to walk around and wake myself up. She was as much aware as I was of my lead being reduced the longer I was not moving, and knew that I could waste little time before continuing on. After consuming some caffeine and using the bathroom, I felt much more alert and prepared for the next stretch to Boscobel. I loaded up and set off at 1:15am, hoping to cover the 16-mile distance in 2.5 hours.

This next length of river proved to be the most exhausting, most dangerous part of the entire trip for me. The leg of the river ended up being full of a dangerous combination of fog, shoreline deadfall, and sandbars with steep downriver drop-offs. I paddled slowly, navigating through clouds of fog by staying close to either shore, where I knew there would probably be a channel of water to sneak around the near-continuous sandbars in the middle of the river. At one point probably 5 miles in, I came through a patch of fog to see a log in the river directly ahead of me. I had little time to navigate around it, and in the dark, with my fatigue and poor nighttime depth perception, I hit the log broadside and flipped into the water. I managed to hang on to my kayak and paddle, but lost my hat. I was wearing waist-high waders, which did nothing to prevent my lower half from getting wet once submerged. The water was just below waist-deep here, so I climbed back in, and a few seconds later, flipped again, as my rudder caught on the same log that had initially caused my capsize. I freed the rudder, climbed back in, and got going. I was aware of the dropping air temperature and knew that the best thing I could do at this point to stave off hypothermia was to keep moving. I continued on, making slow progress around, and sometimes over, sandbars. Several times I had to get out and drag over a sandbar, and during one of these times, I misjudged the drop-off at the downriver side as I was climbing back in, and flipped into the water again. It was not long after recovering from this capsize that I began to shiver slightly from the cold. I checked my Garmin. 8 miles to go to Boscobel. I checked my phone. Zero cell reception. I kept my mind calm, but realized that the situation could turn dire if I did not progress to Boscobel, as no one could reach me and I had little hope of being located. The shivering steadily increased as I slowly ticked off the next 6 miles. The shivering was reaching a constant, uncontrollable level. Finally, after clearing a turn in the river, I saw the lights of the Boscobel bridge ahead. I checked my phone and saw a single bar of cell reception. I called Lindsay, she answered. I told her the situation, and told her I wanted her to turn the truck on, crank the heat up all the way, and have my sleeping bag ready for me in the front passenger seat. About 15 minutes later I landed at the new Boscobel ramp at 4:30am, having difficulty with the strong current and eddy created by the small wing dike between the bridge and the landing area. I landed, stripped down to my underwear, toweled dry and climbed into the front seat, wrapping my sleeping bag around myself to trap as much heat coming from the vents as possible. I sat, shivering for about 30 minutes, until my core temperature reached a safe level. I waited another 30 minutes before launching at 5:30 to allow for more daylight. I had 29 miles remaining.

Day 4

I launched from Boscobel, knowing I had something like a 6 hour lead on the record with less than 30 miles remaining. Nothing would stop me from breaking the record, save major kayak damage or a medical emergency. I pushed on, making the best time I could through the ever-present low water conditions. The morning was slow to warm up. I faced a moderate headwind, which kept me cold. I had a paddling jacket on, which I eventually removed and wrapped around my legs to keep warm. I kept a steady pace, making sure to eat and drink regularly. About 12 miles in, I began to feel sleepy, despite the daylight and my proximity to the finish. I checked my snack bag. No caffeine jelly beans. My vision again began to play games, refusing to focus on what was in front of me. I tried everything I could think of to wake myself up, smacking myself across the face several times, yelling loudly at birds, making stupid jokes. Nothing worked, and I remained in this half-asleep stupor for several more miles until I neared Millville, with 11 river miles remaining. I saw a few people at the landing there, but did not see Lindsay or my truck. I also had no cell signal throughout this area, so I couldn’t contact Lindsay, or anyone else, to let them know my situation. I got near enough to the ramp to recognize our documentary team of John Seal and Alex Grant, who were planning to film as I passed by. Instead, I pulled into the boat ramp and asked John to let me catch a power nap in his car. He obliged, waking me after 15 quick minutes, and offered me a caffeinated drink, which did the trick and got me going again. I lost somewhere around 30-40 minutes on the lead by stopping here, but had reached a point where I had pushed myself as far as my body and brain would allow. I yielded ground on my lead over the record, but I had less than 2 hours of paddling remaining. Millville to Bridgeport took about 45 minutes, then I proceeded to complete the final 6 miles of the river as I neared Wyalusing. It was mid-morning, the sun was warming up, and I began to feel too warm, for the first time during this entire attempt. I neared the train bridge at Wyalusing, and waved to several fishing boats nearby. I cleared the bridge and spied the Iowa bluffs beyond. With steady purpose, I cranked out the last 2 miles, reaching the confluence with the Mississippi River at 10:45am, at which point I stopped paddling and captured a photo of my Garmin screen with my phone. The attempt was over, and the new record was mine, coming in at 3 days 20 hours and 45 minutes, about 5.5 hours faster than the record I had just broken. I let out a loud whoop, and waved to a fisherman nearby who was giving me a puzzled look. Another 3 miles down the Mississippi, I arrived at Wyalusing State Park Beach, where Lindsay, our friend Ellen, John and Alex were waiting for me with congratulations, dry clothes, and donuts. I gladly accepted them all.

Notes

-My Garmin read 421 miles as I finished at the confluence, exactly the same mileage as my attempt in 2023, despite taking different routes on the Lower WI Riverway, and adding a lengthy portage before the Whiting Dam. Google Earth Pro, as well as RaceOwl, measure the river at 423-424 miles. Based on this info I would recommend stating the length of the river as 421-424 miles, well short of the 430-436 miles often seen elsewhere in literature and on the internet.

-My overall average moving speed came out to be 4.56 mph, significantly lower than my pre-race expectation of 6 mph.

-I weighed 189.4 lbs the morning of my start. After returning home Friday night, following a stop-in at the ER to receive IV antibiotics and fluid, I weighed myself again. The scale read 197.6lbs. I had gained EIGHT POUNDS. Noting the significant swelling and edema in my hands, arms, and feet, I had some expectation that my weight might be increased, but was shocked to see it at such a number. Today, the following Monday evening, I weighed again at 194 lbs, and note that my peripheral edema has begun to decrease significantly.

-I slept somewhere around 4.5-5 hours total for the entire attempt, with the longest sleep session being 2 hours after Lake Du Bay Dam, and the shortest being 15 minutes at Millville.

Thanks

I can’t thank my wife Lindsay enough for her support during this record attempt. She knew prior to starting that this was going to be a difficult, exhausting push to break the record, but she had my back from start to finish. I could not have done it without her, nor would I have wanted to. I also need to thank our friend Liz Wallace, who helped Lindsay during the middle part of the river, allowing Lindsay a chance to rest and prepare for the approach to the finish. Many thanks to the documentary crew of John and Alex and their assistants, for being present in a way that was professional and involved, but not intrusive. It was a treat to have your company down the river, and I hope you got some quality footage of all my suffering. Thank you to Lauri Shoemaker for watching our child, and for doing laundry and running other errands while we were near the Wausau area. Thank you to everyone who followed my progress through RaceOwl and Facebook. I hoped it provided you with some amount of entertainment, but maybe more importantly, perhaps sparked an interest in finding your own kind of big adventure. And an extra special thank you to all who came out to the river to cheer me on in person, either from shore, at a portage, or from the water; your kind thoughts and words of encouragement provided an immeasurable amount of motivation to boost my will to keep going. My new record is what it is because of your presence, and I can’t express my gratitude strongly enough. Photo credits: John Seal/Forever Visuals