46 miles on the Columbia River in a giant pumpkin lands Oregon paddler a world recordUpdated 2 hours ago

It was just after midnight when the support boat’s rack of lights cut out, leaving Gary Kristensen in near-darkness as he paddled down the Columbia River in a roughly thousand-pound hollowed-out pumpkin.

“We had jerry-rigged lights on the pontoon boat, some Harbor Freight lights that we had bought, and we had wires running across the seats and the wires caught on fire,” He said. “We didn’t have those lights after that point.”

Kristensen continued paddling through the night and into the next before calling off his effort. Climbing from the giant orange watercraft north of Vancouver after paddling 45.67 miles, Kristensen became the new Guinness World Records holder for “longest journey by pumpkin boat (paddling).”

The recent trip was the culmination of more than a decade of pumpkin breeding that sprouted into giant pumpkin regatta racing before evolving into a world record.

Making of a champion

“My wife asked me to grow pumpkins for our kids in 2011 (when) they were both small,” Kristensen recounted. “And I was like, ‘Well, I’ve seen those big ones before. Why don’t I try to grow the big ones?’ ”

It took two years of research-backed trial-and-error for the 46-year-old Happy Valley, Ore., real estate appraiser to grow a pumpkin big enough to participate in Tualatin, Ore.’s annual West Coast Giant Pumpkin Regatta. He hasn’t missed one in the decade since — and he’s honed the sport to a science.

During his first regatta, Kristensen saw a competitor whom he should have been leading — “He wasn’t very in shape, and he wasn’t good at paddling, he wasn’t putting his whole paddle in the water” — yet the man was pulling away from him.

That’s when Kristensen realized the importance of trying to grow not the largest pumpkin but, instead, the perfect vessel.

“He had an easier pumpkin to paddle. So if the pumpkin’s too big or too small, it won’t work,” he explained.

After winning four consecutive races in recent years, the champ was in search of his next goal.

Origins of an odyssey

When Kristensen first heard of the pumpkin paddling world record, it was “only 16 miles or something like that.” He figured he could beat it.

Adding to his aspirations, he knew only a small group of people could break the record because of what it takes to accomplish, he explained.

“You’ve got people who have access to a pumpkin, people who are in good enough shape to row a pumpkin for a long time, and people who have friends who will support them in that journey,” he explained, imagining the overlapping circles of a Venn Diagram. “I saw that I fit into that.”

But, year after year, he watched the record get pushed farther by other people.

“Finally, I just told myself, ‘You got to. Can’t keep talking about it, you got to do it. You’ve got a pumpkin in the garden that looks like it’ll work for a longer journey,’” he said.

Having made the choice, his motivation crystallized.

“Every kid, I think, looks at Guinness World Records, and would love to be in there. So it’s just like, ‘Oh, that’s gotta be mine,’ ” he said.

Understanding the task ahead, the training began.

“I was running 5 miles a day, and then every weekend I would spend two days kayaking out on the Columbia and different stretches of where I was going to paddle, so I could get used to the river,” he said.

He attached pool noodles around his kayak, increasing water resistance to prepare for the pumpkin, which he estimated is at least four times more difficult to power.

Hitting the water

Minutes before sunrise Oct. 12, Kristensen and his organic orange watercraft entered the Columbia River at the Hamilton Island Boat Ramp on the Washington side of the river, near Bonneville Dam.

About 145 miles downstream, the Columbia dumps 265,000 cubic feet of water — the contents of about three Olympic swimming pools — into the Pacific Ocean every second.

“I thought I needed something a little bigger,” he said of the pumpkin he’d use for the task. “And as it turned out, that was right.”

Immediately upon entering the river, 35 mph winds and heavy wakes from boats threatened to sink the newly christened vessel.

“The waves were crashing over the side of the pumpkin, and I eventually filled up with water to where I was just paddling a bowl of soup,” he said. “I was trying to pump out water, but every time I’d stop and try to pump out water, more would come over the top because that was helping keep me upright, and so I just couldn’t stop.”

He also had to contend with the river’s slow current, often just 1 mph. Dams have turned the once-wild river into a series of nearly slackwater pools. Sometimes, because of tides, the Lower Columbia even flows backward.

Then, of course, there was the miniature midnight blaze.

The small electrical fire occurred near Washougal, cutting the lighting which Kristensen had rigged with life-long friend and support boat pilot, David Nachand.

While the pair had been planning to find a beach to rest on for the night, the loss of all but a flashlight-strength headlight made that too risky.

“If you go onto a rocky beach, you’ll puncture your pumpkin,” Kristensen said.

Instead, they continued into the mid-October night’s darkness, navigating the edge of the shipping channel using a cellphone app to avoid running aground.

Morning’s light

By the time the sun came up on the second day of the voyage, Kristensen had made it to Hayden Island.

He beached the giant pumpkin, and, anticipating a dropping tide, he tied it off with slack.

“I fell asleep for an hour on the pontoon boat,” he said, “and, when I woke up, the pumpkin was high and dry on the shore.”

He and Nachand spent two hours digging the pumpkin out, before Kristensen continued on.

After five and a half hours of paddling, he ended the effort at the gentle urging of his family and Nachand at Langsdorf Landing, just past the north tip of Vancouver Lake.

“I was feeling pretty good,” he said, “like I wanted to battle another night, but we’ll leave that for next time.”

He made the 46-mile trip in 34 hours and 35 minutes — averaging a pace of a little more than 1 determined mile per hour.

Asked if he expects the world record to stand, Kristensen replied: “No, because I’m going to break it next year.”

But don’t ask him how many miles he’s aiming for.

“That might be confidential because I’m sure somebody else is trying to break it too, so I don’t want to lay all my cards on the table,” he said with a smile you could hear over the phone. “But I’m gonna go a lot farther.”