The Great Rubber Duck Race of Allens Pond

By Jon Alden

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The day was hot, humid, and increasingly foggy but that didn’t deter the running of the ducks as 3752 quackers hit the water just after 4 p.m.

A large “pace” duck was previously launched by “duckmaster” Norman Buck to determine wind/current speed and direction, and after final alterations were made to the finish v-line booms, race time was finally at hand.

The crowd of over 100 spectators, most walking over two miles to get here, was restless, and expectations were running high. Would it be Seaquacker, Flying Ryan, Bandit, Pigeon, Hawkeye, Cherry Bomb, Rocky or just plain Charlie that would take an early lead, that in the past proved to be unbeatable; or would the “stealth duck” make a break and take the day.

The course was daunting, even to the best of conditioned entrants. There was over 200 yards of wind-blown, choppy water, fraught with danger from storm and tide. Even a lead duck wasn’t guaranteed a win if it missed the finish line booms. After all, a duck didn’t want to end up in a bathtub somewhere, never again able to experience the excitement and peril of the Great Rubber Duck Race of Allens Pond.

It was time. “Duckmaster” Buck was at the two-way radio alerting the home base to the imminent launch. Watches were coordinated, the “duckmaster’s hand was raised, and the duck handlers, restraining the eager ducks from making a false start, were ready. At 4:10 in the afternoon the signal was given.

The ducks were launched in a profusion of flinging net and spray. Slowly they spread out in a big yellow plume, moving up the channel, searching for the current and wind that would surely carry one of them to victory. Bending to the forces of the southwest wind, the 3752 ducks thinned out into a long meandering stream, waggling and jostling for position in the most important race of their lives.

But, regrettably, only one could win, and he took an early lead. The trailing pack of ducks was hampered by the “clump effect”, that force of wind and water that moves a larger object in the water more slowly than a smaller one. If you’re a boater, then you know what that means.

The duck stream thinned further as time and water put more distance between the front runners and the pack. The leaders entered the boom area. The race marshal, in his motor boat, was moving into position to pluck the winning duck from the water.

But wait; the leader hiccupped and moved up against the left boom rail, slowing it down only six feet from the finish line. The second and third place ducks started to slowly catch the leader. It would be close. The gap was closing and an expectant crowd took a renewed interest in the race. It may not be a start to finish win after all; this race was not over! What must have been going through the lead duck’s mind? One can only guess the anguish of life in a rubber body, not even able to make the smallest of efforts to insure a win.

The lead duck slowed proportionally to the pace of the ducks catching up; would he make it? Now I for one don’t like to see a competitor leading wire to wire only to falter at the finish line. Many others reminiscent of this lead duck have done so before, and they have become relegated to the dustbins of sporting history, mere shadows of the champions they could have become.

But, not so today. With a final surge forward, the yellow duck named Delta, exhausted by the demanding journey on the channel, triumphantly reached the marshal’s out-reached hand and was declared the winner!

With respect due a great champion, Delta was reverently placed into the number 1 spot of the winner’s crate. From here Delta would see the other 44 winners placed alongside him, but never above, for he was master of all, champion of champions. This was his day and the crowd roared its approval.

The booms were opened up after the first 45 winners crossed the finish line, and the other 3707 challengers made a break for open water. But they were rounded up in short order by the young, volunteer kayakers, all who hoped that one day they too could be a “duckmaster”, a leader of the greatest duck race of all time.

Race footnote: The “stealth duck”, a black rather than yellow duck, didn’t distinguish itself as it finished middle of the pack. But it still won $45 for its owner, Stuart Ruggles of Duxbury, MA.

Last year's grand prize winner had dinner in Zimbabwe, Africa. Previous grand prize winners have dined in India and Aruba.

Proceeds from the duck derby, along with the 23 silent auctions, netted the Allens Pond Sanctuary $28,000. The winning duck owner, Pam Joyce of South Dartmouth, has indicated that New Zealand may be her dinner destination for two.

Epilogue

Delta has announced that he will compete in next year’s great race. After a brief hiatus he will enter training camp. Strong legs Delta, strong legs!

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