Slow and slimy wins the race: Inside a Eugene snail showdown

As scores of hopeful runners prepare for this week’s collegiate track championships in Eugene, they’ve already missed out on the greatest racing competition this city has to offer: the snail race. 

More than 200 people gathered at a south Eugene farm Sunday, June 7, to watch gastropods in action, with competitors either bringing in their own snails or using provided “loaner snails” to showdown at slower speeds. This year marked the fifth such Eugene snail race. 

Snail racing is a quirky British tradition, with the annual world championships taking place in Congham, Norfolk, since the 1960s. It was those showdowns across the Atlantic that inspired the Eugene snail race, which is held on the family farm of Eugene School District 4J board member Jenny Jonak and her husband, Mike Bragg. 

Their daughter Lucy developed a pandemic-era fascination with snails, and particularly the British championship race. 

“She really wanted to bring her pet snail there, but we had to break it to her that the snail would not make it through customs,” Jonak said. 

Lucy, now 15, said it’s surreal that her childhood interest has grown into a community event, five years running. “I can’t even remember before we had this tradition,” she said. “It now kind of feels like we’ve always had it.”

Ninety snails raced, too many to keep straight and get documented at a glance (snails receive a number sticker that their stewards must affix to their shells) without a set system. Hence the snail registrar.

That’s Maya Rabasa, another member of the 4J School Board, who signed in competing snails, doled out loaners and assigned numbers to each racer. The vast majority of competitor snails are loaners from the Bragg-Jonak farm, Rabasa said, part of a mandate to limit the race to local garden snail varietals.

Here are the rules for the race, which plays out in slimy fashion atop a ping-pong table out back. 

Two concentric circles are drawn in chalk. Snails are placed at the border of the inner circle. The first snail to cross the outer boundary wins. 

Sounds easy enough for a human, but snails are slithery, anarchic creatures, in search of yummy vegetation rather than gold medal glory.

Judge and S.L.U.G Queen Holly GoSlugly (known in civilian life as Debbie Williamson) provides play-by-play commentary during the minutes-long race itself, keeping track of which snails are closest to glory.

“It’s really a free-for-all,” she said. 

Snail selection

All eyes were on prolific master violin maker David Gusset, who was given the privilege of registering Snail No. 1 in recognition of his multiple years of award-winning snail racers. 

Gusset said he has found his snails in the same location, so they’re likely related. He likes to pick the bigger snails, as he believes they have more energy to move. But he was tight-lipped on snail sourcing specifics when asked for details on where he found his snails, or the surrounding conditions. 

“I can’t tell you that,” he said. 

There was Speedy Spencer, discovered by Tasha Proudfoot on a hike at Spencer Butte the day before the race. Speedy Spencer did well on the butte, impressing Proudfoot enough to draft him for the race. 

“He wasn’t there when I hiked up, but he was up there on my way down, so I know he has a little bit of speed,” she said. 

Then there was Sky, the snail of choice for Judy Newman (another 4J school board member). Sky did not perform very well in the race itself, but no matter.

“I’m still proud of you,” Newman told the snail. 

I attended the snail race intending to be a spectator, but quickly ended up with gastropod custody. Scott Landfield of Tsunami Books brought two snails, Ren and Boomer, in a Mason jar where they lazed atop zinnia leaves. He had to boogie back to the south Eugene bookstore before a bluegrass concert. He asked: Could I look after the snails during the race? 

I had never coached racing snails before, but my answer was an easy one: Of course. 

Three, two, one, ooze

Gaggles of children gathered for good views of the snail race, perching heads at the ping-pong table’s edge as the first heat approached. 

Meanwhile, I hurriedly shoved my hand into the Mason jar in an attempt to coax Ren and Boomer out without hurting them. Snails do not respond well to deadlines, I have since learned. (I had to ask a young boy to fish them out for me before the second heat, as I knew his hands would fit.)

Nor do they respond well to races. There were multiple snail pileups, ill-chosen directions to wriggle toward and poorly timed moments of attempted snail romance. 

There are no easy predictions in snail racing. Gusset’s snail, favored to win, did not place. 

Ren and Boomer, my snail wards, did not take home any top prizes. But they both crossed the finish line, a rarity compared to the majority of snails uninterested in competition. 

Instead, snail No. 32 took home first place in one of the heats, speeding over to the outer chalk line despite the attempts of snail No. 64 to climb atop and slow him down.

Owner Kris Jennings didn’t pick up a snail until the day before the race, but said she instantly knew the creature — whom she named Siput, Indonesian for “snail” — was a contender. 

“Follow your gut when you pick up your snail,” she said. “When it feels right, it must be right. I just looked at him, and I guess it was like love at first sight. We trust each other.” 

After the race, Siput crawled amid the plastic petals of a celebratory bouquet. Jennings’ prize included a commemorative plaque and a golden crown affixed with glued-on fake snails. 

But would the champion get a special treat for his hard-fought victory? 

“I don’t know,” Jennings said. “I know nothing about snails.”