For those who know, the annual Greenhulk.net Mudbug PWC Rally has undergone some changes since its first happening 19 years ago. What began as a heads-up drag race hidden deep within the trails and canals of Morgan City, Louisiana’s bayou; the rowdy and somewhat questionable racing format eventually ground to a halt as the blistering speeds of these heavily-modified machines continued to increase.
From there, newcomers found the naturally-cut trails through the cypress trees an ideal – and frankly, totally unique – setting for explorative day rides and cruising. Although a considerable change from its high octane early years, the Mudbug evolved into a free-for-all, loose-knit weekend of scattered groups careening through the swamps, crisscrossing the various lakes, and otherwise, bombing the heck out of St. Mary Parish.
Over the years, the Mudbug sprouted two more additional events. The main event has been and will always be held the second week of June; but an earlier “Spring Mudbug” in April and “Fall Mudbug” in October offered attendees lower body counts, and in many cases, far, far more favorable weather conditions.
Personally, my schedule made attending in June a nail-biting “Sophie’s Choice”, so Fall became far more doable. Plus, temperatures in Fall were 10-to-15 degrees cooler (we’re talking the low-to-mid 80s) with far less insects swarming about. Plus, the gators preferred to layout on the muddy banks instead of floating in the water, making swimming and lazing about a little less nerve-racking.
I’ve been attending Mudbug for 9 years thus far, and always bringing one or more of my kids with me. While not what you might call a “family venue” I always wanted my girls to be comfortable with high performance machines and the thrill of racing through these locations. As a kid who grew up on the other side of the country, whose dad regularly took him to Glamis, California, the Mudbug is the closest I can get my kids to experience things like Oldsmobile Hill, climbing up China Wall or shooting the whoops.
Unfortunately, my public endorsement of the Fall Mudbug over the “big event” in June had some unexpected consequences. This past Fall event welcomed not only far, far more attendees than any fall rally ever before, but it even eclipsed this year’s June event. Rough estimates counted over 100 skis with close to 150 people on the water.
This might not sound like a big deal to those who’ve seen the mob-like numbers of some Florida events, but compared to previous numbers of 30 or 40 attendees, 150 bodies is both record-breaking and a little unmanageable. Add to that the recent passing of the torch of managing the event from father Jerry Gaddis to son, Greg Gaddis, the Mudbug had officially crossed into entirely new territory.
Thankfully, Greg had made preparations. First, the date was moved up a couple of weeks from the first weekend in October to the second-to-last weekend in September. Official riding shirts were printed with a creative new logo. Scheduled rides with designated routes were officially announced and posted on Greenhulk’s social media and forum pages. Both The Watercraft Journal and ProRider Magazine had done its job of banging the war drums. Everything pretty much led up to this weekend.
I traveled down from Nashville, Tennessee with a 2024 Kawasaki Ultra 310LX-S JetSki equipped with my personal auxiliary fuel system hooked up. I was assured that the added 13-gallons wouldn’t be necessary as the day’s longest route would come in under 75 miles, but considering how thirsty the Ultra tends to be and how rarely I practice “conservative throttle control” I erred on the side of caution on this one.
My 10-year-old daughter rode shotgun with me this year. Amazingly, she’s proven to be one of my most daring; willing to hang on at full throttle racing across white-capped, wind blown lakes, and shrieking through the bayou at full speed. The big Kawasaki had plenty of room, rode incredibly comfortably, and never once felt tippy or imbalanced with the passenger and added weight of the fuel tank on the transom.
Although the Kawasaki is certainly not the fastest full-sized runabout out of the box, it does carry a considerable presence and stood out among a sea of Yamahas and Sea-Doos. We never did see above 66mph on the speedometer this weekend, and to be frank, this year’s loaner unit from Kawasaki has been one of the most sluggish we’ve had to test, but it still did what Kawasakis do best and that’s slice its way through chop.
One major critique is one that is both easily fixable through a single line of code in the ECU and inexplicably allowed to even reach production units: and that is the agonizingly slow response time of the KSRD – what they like to call “Kawasaki’s Smart Reverse & Decelerator.” Sadly, it’s anything but smart. In fact, it’s defiantly dumb. The ECU’s sluggish inability to toggle between Forward, Neutral and Reverse is much more than just frustrating, but potentially dangerous.
OK, OK, I’m the first to say “if you need a brake to ride a jet ski, you’re already in trouble” but we’re well beyond asking people to arrive at the dock with any sort of riding ability. Rather, we’re telling folks “Hey, don’t worry! This ski has a brake!” and setting them on their way. Well, when the brake takes 3-to-5 seconds just to engage the reverse bucket, and only does so with a restricted amount of thrust, you’ve got yourself a problem.
Aftermarket leader, RIVA Racing and other tuners have found this line item in the code and have tweaked it to switch gears multitudes faster. Why it comes from the factory so stinkin’ slow is baffling. You’re going to tell me nobody thought this wasn’t acceptable but ME? C’mon. But I digress…
Unlike previous years, I didn’t plop Greg on a second ski for us to conduct a comparison. Rather, Greg opted to ride his bonkers 90-plus-mile per hour Yamaha GP1800R SVHO on Friday. He had no qualms with showing off the power this wild Stage 3 WaveRunner had; particularly as we raced across a very choppy and wild-blown Lake Verret that afternoon.
Without a readable pattern and rapidly dynamic breaks, even the big Kawasaki struggled to cut a straight path through the whitecaps. Greg had pulled far ahead of us on the Ultra, but the rest of the group were several hundred feet behind me and my 10-year-old daughter.
As we stopped to regather the group, a few came up to check on us. My daughter would flash a smile with a thumbs up, much to their surprise. Everybody wants to dump on the Ultra until the conditions turn sour. I’ve encountered a lot more chop than I have glass in my years, and having the right ski to traverse those waters has always been the secret to my success.
Waiting a good while for the rest of the group to regather, we raced back up the trails and canals to Doiron’s Landing and quickly packed up for the evening. A few continued their ride, wanting to rack up more than the day’s 74-miles, which was fine – but for me and our group, we were happy to call it a day.
Saturday went a bit differently. Launching on the levee side of Doiron’s, we collected our biggest group to date – over 70 of us. This lead to some pretty unfavorable conditions, meaning slow traversing through otherwise really fun trails, a few more added stops to make sure we hadn’t lost anyone, and frankly, much more babysitting of less enthusiastic riders than most of us would like.
What is the most appealing aspect of Mudbug – at least in my book – is pinning the throttle through some of the most challenging natural race courses on earth. Being forced to sluice through these trails at 20 miles per hour because of several less skilled, meandering riders is torturous.
Moreover, word had come through that several dozen riders had missed one or two key turns in our path causing them to get lost. This is only possible because these individuals were riding too dang slow to keep up with the rest of the group. Sorry to be so pointed about it, but if you get lost it’s because you were going too damn slow.
While we waited for the remaining riders to catch up, many pulled up on the shady banks of the river, reapplied some sunscreen, cracked open some cold drinks and began to socialize. What started as a quick stop drew into two hours of waiting.
Finally, the last bit of the stragglers rolled in, allowing us to break up camp and continue riding. Greg had planned for a bit of a gathering at the sandbar on the Atchafalaya River, where his brother Alex was preparing jambalaya for everyone. Driving his newly restored bright blue metal flake bass boat, Greg led a group the shorter route to the beach where others were already waiting to be fed.
Lee Beirhorst, who had led most of yesterday’s ride and Saturday morning’s group, led a smaller group of us through some more technical trails, allowing a few of us to romp on the throttle. The route was a load of fun and scratched our itch for some more spirited riding, but as we rolled up to the sandbar, that would pretty much be the end of it.
High winds kept the flames from cooking the food in a timely manner. The big group became increasingly more bored, many started dipping deeper into their coolers (if you catch my drift) and caution became increasingly less of a priority.
A couple of close calls during some heads up drag racing was all that I needed to make the executive decision to wrap up today’s riding. Sure we were disappointed to not take in the whole day, but nobody was interested in breaking away and riding more trails, most of us were sunburned and hungry, and with the oversized crowd (many of whom exhibited less than questionable riding abilities), I knew somebody would’ve ended up in an emergency room.
With that, we packed up our ski and followed the channel markers around Flat Lake and back to the launch. Most folks were more than happy to get in some quality time socializing and catching up with friends. Others geared a little more like me, were hoping to get in a few more hours of riding. But that’s OK. The Mudbug offers a little bit of everything for everyone.
