April 15th 2022
The Ganaraska River and the Necessity of Culture
'Race your Fanny down the Ganny'
In the land that lay on the northern side of Lake Ontario, there sits the town of Port Hope, in between the much bigger settlements of Toronto to the west and Kingston in the East. The name, rather than deriving from the verb ‘hope’, actually comes from British administrator for the then province of Quebec, Henry Hope. On Friday, March 21st 1980, the town experienced a prolonged flood. It began as belting rain, continuous throughout Thursday night and Friday morning. Water built up, and in the afternoon there was a series of problems and anxieties related to damages and possible loss of life. Luckily, by Saturday, the flooding had subdued, and there were 300 volunteers ready to help repair and rebuild. This was to be a challenge however, since much was in wreckage. However traumatic this experience was with nature, it was not a fatal blow to the town of Port Hope, and evidently, only lifted the spirits of the inhabitants.
You see, running through the town of Port Hope, there flows a river by the name of ‘Ganaraska’. It is a strong and at times wide river that runs through the small town of Canton, to Port Hope, and eventually into Lake Ontario. From Canton to Port Hope, this river has, since 1981, been the site of an annual race that takes place in early spring, to commemorate and remember the flood. They call it “Float your Fanny down the Ganny”. The story of the flood, consequently, has become something of a legend, with many in the locality not old enough to remember, only hearing about the tale through others, passed down the generations. There are those special events, individuals, and phenomena that have such an impact on people that, really, they never truly die. For nearly two generations, ‘Float your Fanny down the Ganny’ has kept the story of what happened on that fateful day in 1980 alive.
{The rout of this year's race, following the Ganaraska river from Canton to Port Hope}
I was online some time in January when I stumbled upon a video of what seemed to be a family on a handcrafted boat paddling down a river dressed in animal costumes. You can find anything on the internet - but this was special. The account was Canadian, and after a few minutes of research, I discovered that this family was participating in none other than the annual river race in Port Hope. I became ecstatic. I began to cry. What a beautiful tradition this seemed to be! My morale soon dropped when I learned, through the official website of the organizers, that the advent of COVID-19 had cancelled the 40th annual race in 2020, and again in 2021. Like a teenager scrolling through social media, my mood once again changed when I saw a press release announcing that the event would run in April 2022, unless the COVID situation changed, or an extreme weather event happened to occur. April approached and according to the Port Hope municipal government, the situation had not changed enough to warrant cancellation. The race was on. The spirit of Port Hope called me.
My brother happily agreed to join me, and so, on Saturday April 9th, he drove the two of us north-east from Hamilton to Port Hope. The race was set to start at 2 separate times - 10am for canoes and kayaks in Canton, and 11am for what are called the “Crazy Craft’s” at Sylvan Glen. Race your Fanny down the Ganny is indeed a race; times are documented for each participant, and there are declared and documented winners. However, because the canoes and kayaks simply have an unfair advantage over the more creative and bulky crazy craft designs, it was decided that these two types of water vehicles should each have their own, separate competition. My brother woke up at 8am and we started our journey shortly after, leaving around 8:30am. Through Burlington, Oakville, Mississauga, Toronto, Ajax, Whitby, Bomanville, and finally the small village warmly named ‘Welcome’, we anticipated the site we were about to see. In our lives up to this point we have been lucky enough to experience a fair amount of outdoor cultural activities. Nothing quite like a river race, however. We arrived in Canton at approximately 10:30am.
My brother stopped the car along the side of the road next to a bridge which ran overtop the Ganaraska river, in a quiet, forestry rural area that we thought was Canton. There were several other cars, along with OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) officers and firemen, presumably to make sure everyone was safe. This is where the canoes and kayaks start the race each year. By the time we arrived in Canton, most of them were already gone and on their way down the river to Port Hope. I quickly burst out of the car, eager to see the action. What I found was less intense and ferocious than I may have earlier imagined, but no less emotional, spirited and charming(1). We walked over to the bridge, where a few families were leaned up against it, watching the individual canoes go by. Each time this happened someone would cheer, and the racers would give them a friendly smile. Instead of having participants physically race next to each other, leaving all at the same time and competing to get to the end first, it is judged by time, from each individual's start to finish. This makes the event safer (though admittedly less intense), and it means there is always someone passing by for onlookers to see and cheer for. ‘Race your Fanny down the Ganny’ must balance the competitive spirits of those bold enough to race down a river, with the reality that the race has become an iconic, family friendly Canadian cultural event. In the 21st century, detailed safety precautions have become standard for events like these.
The wind was blowing hard and so too was the river moving. Even so, everything seemed safe to me. The last canoe left at 10:45am, and with that, we drove looking for our next location.
As this was the first time being in Port Hope for my brother and I, driving around haphazardly attempting to follow the river down was not easy. On our maps, we found another area where the river intersected with road. Nearing the river, cars were lined up on one side of the road for at least half a kilometre. We parked at the end of the line and walked for a few minutes, finally reaching the Ganaraska. People were congregated on the bridge overtop, and along the grassland facing the river. There were many Canadian flags, and many smiles. Families brought fold-able chairs to relax, some brought blankets for a little picnic, and many of the children went off exploring up and down the water body. It wasn't the sunniest day, nor the warmest - but that didn't matter. This was the day to be outdoors. It has been a while since I have seen so many people gather for such a benign and simple purpose; due to pandemic concerns, over the last 2 years seemingly the only big events that have gotten communities out en masse have been protests; the river race itself hasn't happened since April of 2019. Sitting on the grass with my brother, surrounded by people we had never before met, for the collective purpose of watching a river race and supporting its participants, felt extremely good and wholesome. It gave me a spark of collectivity that I haven't felt in a long time, stronger than the endless mantras(2) expressing that “we're all in this together”, or that we should “stand together by standing apart”. It felt real, it felt authentic. Culture must be raw, it must be authentic, it must offer a real message, otherwise it decays, becoming the very thing true authenticity is willing to critique. After a half an hour of watching canoes and kayaks pass by, some faster and with less trouble than others, we left for our next spot. We headed to the Sylvan Glen Conservation area.
When we turned onto the road running almost perpendicular to the Ganaraska, we were stopped by the OPP, who were blocking off the street. Supposedly there were too many cars in town to let people wander freely wherever they pleased. Taking a scenic route, we arrived after a few minutes' delay. The Sylvan Glen Conservation area is a 4.65 acre forestry and grassy land mass owned by the township of Port Hope. The Ganaraska river runs through. At 11am, the crazy crafts began their race. My brother and I arrived around 11:20am, where the crafts set assail. Once again, parking was scarce along the side of the road closest to the river. This time, when we passed through this bridge running overtop the Ganaraska, it was almost entirely filled with people. We were stuck. Luckily, there was an officer to direct cars through the crowd, and we eventually made it up the road, where miraculously there was a gap in between two cars about a quarter of a kilometre up. After getting out of the car and walking for a couple minutes, we reached our destination. The scene at Sylvan Glen resembled a combination of a festival, party, family picnic, and sporting event. What a wonderful sight! Along both sides of the bridge people watched and cheered, as well as down below on the dirt hills next to the river, and on the grass next to participants, where the race started. There were a plethora of volunteers wearing bright blue shirts, who signed up to help make the race and festivities run smoothly(3). Participants began 1 by 1, carrying their craft down the dirt hill into the water. Firemen and health officers made sure this was done safely. We found a spot at the edge of the bridge, where I documented all the creative and idiosyncratic features of each craft. Most participants were in teams, some as small as 2, but others as large as 12. The crafts were built in many different shapes, sizes and styles. A few highlights:
Cow themed, with a sign saying “this sign needs more cowbell”
Escape from Alcatraz-themed
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Pirate-themed
A craft with barrels on the bottom
A craft with a bed on the top
Bike-themed
12-man giant raft
Mario-themed (one Mario and Luigi, one Bowser, one Wario and Waluigi)
Military-themed
{The 12-man giant raft makes its way into the water}
As the crafts went by, kids shot at the participants with water guns, and sometimes the latter would use their paddles to splash back at the kids. It evoked the feeling of that light-hearted competitiveness that strikes such a perfect balance. So too did the commentator, who spoke into the microphone from behind the starting-zone for the crafts. She announced as each group took off into the water, sometimes poking fun at them if they struggled to start off strong out of the gate. There were a couple crafts that immediately faced existential trouble in the water, with some part of the whole breaking off or cracking. However, for the most part, the crafts made it past the initial stage of Sylvan Glen on their way to Port Hope. 5 out of 46 crafts did not finish, having to stop somewhere along the way.
We walked over to the area where the commentator was to get closer to the action. There, groups lined up to go, anticipating and planning their race. Shy at first, we began talking to a volunteer, after she said something in our direction and I responded out of a desire to make a friend involved with this whole process. We spoke for a little while watching the crafts set sail, but never got her name. She asked if I would ever participate, and I very enthusiastically proclaimed that I was planning to next year. When I said that I wanted to build my own craft, she laughed, to my brother's amusement. Do I not possess the aura of a craftsman? Regardless, I remained confident that I would be back next year as a participant (and still do), although I may start my ‘Float your Fanny’ career in a canoe or kayak rather than a homemade craft. Eventually, she had a volunteer responsibility to look after, so we parted ways. My brother and I walked back to the car, where we were puzzled by a sign that stated that there was to be no water balloons allowed. It's possible there was an avoidable accident stemming from the use of water balloons in years past. The balance between fun and safety is constantly swaying - pulled to the side of caution after a horrendous accident, as people respond out of emotional necessity - but as time passes and memories fade, the natural instinct that lives in most humans (especially kids), the instinct of physical exploration, of risky-curiosity, of rugged competition, becomes stronger, and safety takes a back seat to wonder and passion. There is a reason why water guns are still allowed, as well as why Ishmael joined captain Ahab on the Pequod, knowing partly of his insanity and of the troubling waters that lay beyond the shore lines(4). With that thought on my mind, we left the Sylvan Glen Conservation area and finally, headed to Port Hope.
Passing a Victorian era-looking church, the surroundings quickly turned from rural to urban. Parking was on our mind - it was immediately apparent that this event had drawn hundreds upon hundreds of people into Port Hope (my estimate is there were at least 2,500 there for the day), meaning that it had turned into a somewhat crowded area, especially for cars. We reached the downtown core when turning onto Walton street, which is the real business centre of town. Port Hope is not an average town from an architectural or geological point of view. Walton street is on a massive slope, running up away from the lake. Its hilly streets are lined with elaborate Victorian structures that give the town a certain feeling of a bygone era, so much so that it is considered one of the finest 19th century streetscapes left in Ontario today. Compared to the decaying neighbourhoods of inner-city Hamilton, Port Hope stands strong. Driving slowly to avoid the crowds, we went up Walton street and turned left, hoping for parking, where we spotted an empty parking lot at St.Paul's Presbyterian Church. Unsure of if this was free or paid parking, and worrying about the ever increasing fee of a ticket, we looked for clues. What we found was a mysteriously ominous sign that gave very little information, while also sparking our curiosity.
{‘St.Pauls Presbyterian Church - Parking lot - Use at your own risk’}
The car was parked at our own risk. We hurried to search for the river and for the festivities. Essentially, we followed the people. It was around 12:30pm and the first kayaks and canoes had already finished. This was around when the leading crafts arrived. The sound of excitement and cheer were in the air as my brother and I reached the area where everything was happening. There were food vendors, Port Hope themed memorabilia pop up shops, children's activities, balloon animal making clowns, and even an axe throwing tutorial surrounded by netting. All while another commentator announced play by play as the crafts came racing down crossing the finish line. There were people there ready to help and congratulate each participant after they reached the end. By 1pm we were both quite hungry, so we travelled over to the hamburger vendor nearby. They were quite popular; it took us no sooner than one hour to get our food from when we began waiting in line, but my goodness was it worth the price! The fries were incredibly delicious - crisp, not too salty. And the wait was no trouble; the two of us spent most of the time talking about existential philosophy related tangentially to high school. By 2pm however, the race had almost concluded, so we became more impatient. After getting the food, we rushed over to the river and found a spot to sit. At the finish line, the river is wide, and is enclosed by tall dirt hills on both sides. That infamous flood must have been mighty. Taking our seats on the hill, we sat, ate, and took it all in. Participants came paddling by. Some finished with their craft fully intact, while others did not.
{A ruptured craft finishing the race}
Everyone seemed to be having a good time, regardless of whether or not the race itself went as well competitively speaking as they hoped. When the last of the participants arrived in Port Hope, there were still crowds of people around. It was amazing to see how many people cared about this tradition. My brother and I got up once again and explored more of the festivities. There was a stage set up near the clown show; it read “the Soul Shakers Union”. Before long there were 5 men on the stage, wearing fairly bad-ass attire that you would see at a typical blues-rock performance. They were about to commence the show, and when it started, hearing anything else became difficult. However, this was not something to complain about.
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{The Soul Shakers Union Performance}
It turns out 'the Soul Shakers Union' are a band local to the area. They are proud blues musicians, and had a witty sense of humour on stage. The drummer repeatedly gave a Donald Trump impression when jokingly advertising the greatness of their band. For nearly half an hour our attention was taken off the race, instead fixated on the music. This was both because the quality of the music and the fact that the race had all but ended. In a triumphant tone, the commentator had announced for all to hear that team ‘Canton Vikings’, who had supposedly won the craft race 7 straight years in a row, reigning champs since 2012, had been overthrown by ‘The Cursed Bog’. This year, those vikings came second.
We left the crowd around 2:30, who for the most part remained near the finish. On the walk back up the hill on the way to the car, I reflected on our experience. I reflected on what the tradition means and what it had taught me.
Oh how natural pleasures please the soul! How a running river can soothe even the most troubled minds! How common interests in these gifts from nature can bring together people who may otherwise feel no sense of passion or dare I say duty towards one another! It is with events of common purpose that individuals bond and become close in the first place. What would the social life of a child be without some sort of educational institution? Of the adult without their workplace? These are the most basic of gatherings, ones whose primary purpose is not socialization in most cases. But in Canadian society, these are institutions that we have come to rely on for basic human interaction, rather than solely education and economic production. This is why during the pandemic there has been such an uproar about the effect of school closures on children. It is almost universally agreed upon that the absence of in-person school for so long will have an impact on youth social skills moving forward. As sad as that is, I believe it also illuminates a larger problem that exists today, a problem not with something, but the lack thereof. After discovering ‘Float your Fanny down the Ganny’, I was not in joyous tears because I had a burning desire to race down a river (though I do very much so), rather it was because an event like this felt so foreign to me. A genuine opportunity to meet local people doing something really fun? For free? These events, these moments, are far too scarce. In my life, I am too used to a global, commodified culture that isn't loyal to a single place, area, or group, especially over the last couple years. To learn of the tradition of Port Hope, Ontario, that is uniquely its own, that brings together people in the locality for a collective purpose, devoid of special interests (besides friendly competition) is absolutely beautiful and deserves to be celebrated. We left Port Hope with my brain spiked on a natural high that I received from internally carrying out this celebration. Leaving the outskirts of town we passed an old Freemasons lodge. The Freemasons are a Protestant secret society, prominent over the last few centuries, whose membership has dropped over the last several years. The decline of the Freemasons in my mind symbolizes the wider issue of socialization and culture. People, of all ages, need opportunities to meet and connect with others. Does it need to be an elitist gentleman's club? No, on the contrary, there should be many possibilities for all people. We need a revival of culture! Bring back the town hall! Community hikes! River races! You name it! If our country is to survive the next century, with all its predictable and unpredictable crises, there needs to be strength that comes from unity that comes from social bonds. Port Hope is setting an example for the rest of Canada.
When we arrived home, I noticed my outlook on society was slightly more positive than usual. Fundamentally, nothing had changed. It was my experience that changed me; my exposure to something meaningful. These are experiences that I wish to multiply. So, come one, come all, to ‘Race your Fanny down the Ganny 2023', and watch as I canoe down the river. Or, join the race yourself. It's open to everyone, even if you’re a beginner. Stay for as long as you want. You may even make a few new friends. No need to pay. That's Fanny day in Port Hope!
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Notes
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1. What I mean by this is that the race was not competitive in the same way a professional sports game would be, where winning is the main objective. More so, it felt as though each participant was there firstly for the joy of it, for the river, and for the companionship, and secondly to have victory.
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2. The first phrase has been commonly said by damn near everyone, whereas the second phrase was patented by TD Bank as a rhetorical response to the pandemic
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3. Anyone can sign up to volunteer! They are always looking for people. See their website a month or two before the date to apply
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4. A reference to the famous 19th century novel 'Moby Dick' by Herman Melville
