Steven Kovacevic

Keep paddling!

Thinking back on all the great memories I have of Steve, I have come to a conclusion that one of his driving principles can be summed up in two words: “Keep paddling!”

Steve and I had arrived through the wilderness, by canoe to Lake Tuscarora located in northern Minnesota in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness late in the afternoon the day before. The plan was for us to make it to Little Saganaga lake today. However, Mother Nature had other plans for us. We had woken up to a strong wind that was blowing very hard straight out of the north - the direction that we needed to paddle that day. There were high waves crashing on the shore. I didn’t think it was safe to be out in the middle of a lake in a canoe with waves that large, and was lobbying for remaining at the Lake Tuscarora campsite another night in the hopes that the wind would die down. Steve, on the other hand, was all for keeping on plan and tackling the challenge of a five mile paddle, through deep water, straight into a 30 MPH head wind and 2- 3 foot whitecaps.

I almost had him convinced that it was not safe, when much to my dismay, three canoes appeared about a half mile north of us and they were headed our way. They were moving towards us at a brisk pace too, since they had the 30 MPH wind at their backs and were kind of surfing along at the same rate as the waves. The moment Steve saw other canoes on the lake, I knew there was no more to be gained by my arguing with him about it. “If they can do it, so can we!” Steve declared, “We are sticking with the plan!” Never mind that they were going with the wind while we would have to paddle straight into it. The three other canoes zoomed past us about 50 yards off shore and going what seemed to me to be about 10 -15 MPH. I’ve never seen a canoe go that fast. They were headed for a portage to the south.

I grudgingly helped load up our canoe with all our gear in the Duluth packs, got in and shoved off. I was in the bow of the canoe and Steve was in the stern. At this point, we were sheltered from the wind and waves because we started out in a small cove. As the canoe rounded the end of that cove we had to turn straight north into the gale, with nothing in front of us except for about 5 miles of open deep water that, at the moment, had 3+ foot whitecaps that were we were headed directly into.

I had never paddled a canoe so hard in my life. I was using every bit of my strength to plow that paddle deep into the water and back as fast as I could, over and over again. I was as determined as Steve at this point to make headway into the gale. I glanced at the shore that we were skirting about 50 feet to my right and noticed angry waves crashing against large rocks. I could tell we were moving at a snails pace, very, very slowly forward relative to the shore, as the wind whipped directly into my face and the waves split neatly on either side the pointed bow of the canoe. I quickly noticed a pattern to the disconcertingly large waves. Most of the waves were only 2 - 3 feet high, but about every 5th or 6th wave was much larger. I’ll admit to occasionally stooping to the practice of typical exaggeration, but I swear on a stack of kevlar hull Minnesota II canoes that those periodic larger waves were at least 8 - 10 feet tall ... well, actually, the truth be told, probably closer to at least 3 or more feet tall.

Some of these taller waves started reaching the top of the canoe, depending on its position when the wave hit. Suddenly, the bow of the canoe dropped low into the trough between waves. The next wave to hit was one of those periodic monster killers and went washing over the bow, soaking my legs, and on into the bottom of the canoe. “We gotta turn back, Cap’n!!” I yelled, “We’re takin’ on bilge!!” “KEEP PADDLING!” Steve hollered back. I dug into the water with my paddle with renewed vigor, and wondered fleetingly how much the paddle could take without snapping. About thirty seconds later the perfect confluence of events occurred again that enabled another tsunami wave to crash about four inches over the bow. I got completely drenched up to my waist and there was now approximately 4 inches of water in the bottom of the canoe and the Duluth packs were threatening to begin floating! “ABORT!! ABORT!! WE GOTTA TURN BACK BEFORE WE SWAMP, CAP’N!!!” I screamed. This time, Steve finally agreed, and he executed a perfect J-stroke that turned the canoe away from pointing straight into the wind. As soon as the wind hit the side of the canoe, we were whipped around 180 degrees and immediately started surfing along at the same speed as the waves, rapidly towards another campsite on shore and the large rocks we had just passed while struggling along in the opposite direction at the snails pace.

I know people will accuse me of exaggerating again, but the next event that I am about to describe really did happen. We were headed for shore, going very fast and straight towards a huge flat bolder right on shore that normally stuck about a foot above the lake surface when it was calm. Right now, however the waves were crashing over the top of the rock and when the wave receded, the water level dropped way below the top of the boulder before the next wave hit. We analyzed and discussed this phenomenon in detail after our ordeal was over. The miracle beaching of our canoe was yet another perfect confluence of events as Steve turned the canoe again so that we would hit shore broadside, instead of plowing bow first into the boulder. Our canoe somehow reached that boulder perfectly on the crest of a large wave and as we hit and went skidding up on top of the boulder, I jumped out and grabbed the side of the canoe to keep it from washing back into the lake and getting battered against the rock. Steve jumped out a split second later and we were suddenly at another campsite that was a only couple of hundred yards north of the campsite where we had spent the night, and we were on safe, solid ground!

The rest of our Boundary Waters trip that year was much more peaceful with pleasant weather. We spent a windy night at that campsite but we were able to set out the next day with a new plan in calm weather. It is memories like this, spent with Steve that I will always cherish. He really knew how to motivate one to KEEP PADDLING!!

Keep paddling!

Thinking back on all the great memories I have of Steve, I have come to a conclusion that one of his driving principles can be summed up in two words: “Keep paddling!”

Steve and I had arrived through the wilderness, by canoe to Lake Tuscarora located in northern Minnesota in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness late in the afternoon the day before. The plan was for us to make it to Little Saganaga lake today. However, Mother Nature had other plans for us. We had woken up to a strong wind that was blowing very hard straight out of the north - the direction that we needed to paddle that day. There were high waves crashing on the shore. I didn’t think it was safe to be out in the middle of a lake in a canoe with waves that large, and was lobbying for remaining at... READ MORE →

I don't know how many times, over the years, that Jackie and I have told the story of Steve's first time on skis. He was coming down a bunny hill as we were going up the tow rope and we called out his name as he was passing us and he just stopped on a dime, making a perfect hockey stop! Incredible! He was such a natural athlete.
And all he did was get better.
Later, when he skied out West he told me what he liked to do was ski the hardest run at a resort first- that way, he said, he knew he could ski every thing else without any worries. He would show me his favorite runs and I would try (and usually fail) to keep up with him.
But what I liked, more than his skill was his attitude.
Once, on a tree run at Snowmass Ski Resort, after some fresh powder, maybe a foot of new snow, he was out there hootin' and hollerin' on every turn. I didn't quite get all the excitement because I was just trying to keep from running into trees. It was amazing seeing all that pure delight and enthusiasm and I was thinking that that was something I'd like to aspire to some day. I've always had an appreciation of the outdoors, but his appreciation was on different level above mine.
Well, just this winter, I happened to go back to Snowmass, for the first time in 10 years. And we did get a bunch of fresh powder one morning, and I went right out to that same tree run, and there I was- a hootin' and a hollerin' on every turn! Thanks, Steve.

I don't know how many times, over the years, that Jackie and I have told the story of Steve's first time on skis. He was coming down a bunny hill as we were going up the tow rope and we called out his name as he was passing us and he just stopped on a dime, making a perfect hockey stop! Incredible! He was such a natural athlete.
And all he did was get better.
Later, when he skied out West he told me what he liked to do was ski the hardest run at a resort first- that way, he said, he knew he could ski every thing else without any worries. He would show me his favorite runs and I would try (and usually fail) to keep up with him.
... READ MORE →

As you all are aware, Steve rode his bike in to work every single day, all year long, rain or shine, tornados or hurricanes ... possibly even earthquakes and meteor showers. Absolutely nothing would deter him from his mission of bicycle commuting. No one knows what the low temperature cut-off for riding was, because it was always dropping. I remember him telling me once that the lowest temperature he would endure was 20 degrees F (that’s minus 6.7 degrees C for any scientists who are reading this). However, he rode to work in much colder temperatures than that. I know Steve rode his bike to work one day when it was 2 degrees below zero F (-19 C) with snow and ice. I imagine he was kind of disappointed in the mild winter we just had because he would have liked to have beat that record.
Rain didn’t bother him either. He constantly encouraged me to get fenders on my bike so that I wouldn’t get wet in the rain. He would brag about how dry he kept while riding in the rain. I told him, “Steve, I wouldn’t ride my bike in the rain anyway, so I’m not getting any fenders.” His retort: “If you got fenders, then maybe you would!” One day it was raining so hard that I was afraid to go more than 30 MPH as I cautiously drove in to work. I thought to myself, "I wonder if that crazy guy is riding his fendered bike in this monsoon? ... there’s NO WAY ... he’d need pontoons!" The rain just came down in buckets!! My wipers were on full blast and not helping much, as my car sloshed through about 6 inches of water that was roaring through the streets during the spring cloudburst. I suppose the astute reader has already guessed that, sure enough, Steve did ride that day. He appeared to have been totally submerged in water for about 30 minutes! He walked into the lab that morning in his bicycling clothes, completely drenched, and not merely dripping, but water was actually flowing off of his saturated clothes and squirting out of his shoes with each step and leaving big puddles all over the floor. The first words out of his mouth when he saw me were, “Man! Am I ever glad I had those fenders today!”

As you all are aware, Steve rode his bike in to work every single day, all year long, rain or shine, tornados or hurricanes ... possibly even earthquakes and meteor showers. Absolutely nothing would deter him from his mission of bicycle commuting. No one knows what the low temperature cut-off for riding was, because it was always dropping. I remember him telling me once that the lowest temperature he would endure was 20 degrees F (that’s minus 6.7 degrees C for any scientists who are reading this). However, he rode to work in much colder temperatures than that. I know Steve rode his bike to work one day when it was 2 degrees below zero F (-19 C) with snow and ice. I imagine he was kind of disappointed in the mild winter we just had because he would have liked to have beat that record.
Rain didn’t bother him... READ MORE →