Scenes from the 1960 canoe derby. The race, 450 miles from Bemidji to Minneapolis on the Mississippi River, was regarded as one of the toughest in North America. (The Minnesota Star Tribune)

Leave it to Minnesotans to turn canoe racing into the equivalent of a full-contact sport.

Such description wasn’t a stretch in the mid-20th century, when there were paddling celebrities hellbent on winning and a long-distance race considered the toughest race of its kind in North America.

In the new book “Pushing the River” (Minnesota Historical Press), Minneapolis author Frank Bures revisits the state’s well-documented devotion to canoe racing, with special attention to the Paul Bunyan Canoe Derby, a 450-mile, paddle-at-all-costs race from Bemidji to Minneapolis that drew thousands of city folk to the finish on the banks of the Mississippi River.

The scene when canoe racing was king is compelling, much like Bures’ own stories from the water that are included in the book. He details one — “a near-miss” after he capsized on a solo spring paddle in a cold Mississippi River in 2021 — that got a strong reaction from Minnesota Star Tribune readers after he shared the frightening, cautionary tale.

In a recent interview, Bures, of Minneapolis, talked about what some people regarded as a golden era for canoe racing, the wild crowds watching the derby, and how skin color was irrelevant when competitors came together on the water. The conversation was edited for length and clarity.

Q: It’s interesting how older age isn’t a barrier in this sport. I’m thinking of the Tibbetts (Ojibwe brothers) and others in their 50s who were getting out there.

FB: That is one of the great things about canoeing, that you can do it for a long, long time. When I was on the support team for [a Mississippi River speed record attempt], two of the four paddlers were in their 60s and ended up getting the Guinness record. Canoeing can be as easy and meditative as you want, or it can be as grueling and competitive as you want, for as long as you want.

Q: These old races drew significant crowds outdoors — thousands of people. One of the few comparable events today might be an urban marathon or outdoor concert. What do you make of the significant public showing?

The Minneapolis Morning Tribune captured the excitement of the Aqua Canoe Derby in July 1941. (Newspaper.com)

FB: There has always been a certain romance to canoeing: the way it is human-powered, the way it’s part of our heritage. Whether you are talking about settlers, voyageurs or Native communities, it goes back 3,000 years and is unchanged since then. I think that is part of the appeal.

So, when the derby was happening in the ’40s and ’50s, there wasn’t all that much else going on. Now, we have so many ways to entertain ourselves that is harder for something like a canoe race to take center stage.

The other piece is the way they planned the derby: It was 10 days of buildup. People would read about it every day, who’s ahead, who’s behind. It’d be on the radio. By the time the racers got to the Twin Cities, it was like this fever pitch.

Q: You write about competing in Minnesota long-distance races. Do you think these races can ever have the power of yesteryear?

FB: They do have some potential. They are gaining popularity. The Missouri (River) 340 has about 800 competitors. The Mississippi (River) 150 is growing and getting more popular. So, I think there is an appetite for these kinds of challenges that get you out in nature on these rivers and push you in a way that a lot of things don’t.

"Pushing the River" explores Minnesota's canoe racing history and the author's time paddling. (Minnesota Historical Society Press)

Q: The book has frequent reminders of racers encountering the most dangerous waters early in the derby. Lake Winnibigoshish comes up again and again, of capsizes or boats wrecked. What is it about “Winnie” that even today can make it dangerous?

FB: Winnie has always been one of the most dangerous parts of the race and, really, the whole Mississippi River. Two of the three racers I talked to, who now are in their 90s, ended up sinking in Winnie — they called it Big Winnie — because of the waves. The lake is 16 miles across and shallow, and something about the depth makes it more volatile. The waves can be 4 to 6 feet. The racers would try to start the Paul Bunyan Canoe Derby early, when it was calm, but that doesn’t mean it would be that way in the middle when the wind came up.

Q: Thinking about the Paul Bunyan race in a deeper way, you write that it was a bridge on different levels. From nonmotorized to a faster-paced, motorized society, from Native communities to white America.

FB: One of the reasons I loved researching the derby was exactly that. It existed at a time when everything was changing fast. It still was in the living memory of the late 1800s, but the modern era had begun. Cars, planes, TV and radio. You can see that in the derby itself. In the 1940 race, they were using wood-and-canvas canoes. By the 1960s, they were mostly fiberglass. I love that it was a kind of nexus between the eras.

In the same way, the derby was this meeting place for white and Native paddlers, and for city and outstate canoeists, too. On the water, all that mattered was how fast you went. It was this rare opportunity for people to meet and work together and against each other.

Q: Your personal stories, including the 2021 solo outing that could have been fatal, confirm your connection to water. Elaborate on how the canoe is, as you call it, the perfect vehicle.

FB: The bike comes close, in a way, as an extension of your body. But a canoe is simpler. There is so little separating you from the wilderness around you when you are in a canoe. Just this thin layer of material. Part of the appeal is being so close to the water and moving through it with nothing but your power. It’s an immediate experience.

See a schedule of “Pushing the River” events at frankbures.com.