Rowing in a washing machine
If we had rowed out into that sea on a normal club session we would have turned around and gone to the pub. But today was a regatta day. Our home regatta. We were playing hosts to teams from Teignmouth, Plymouth, Carrick, Dorset and even Kent. Plus a breakaway club called Jurassica which has been winning everything recently.
The sea conditions for the first part of the races which ran alongside the beach were fine but as the course turned away and up the deep-water channel there were a lot of messy swelly waves waiting to greet us.
I was in the old mens gang, the Masters over 60, that made us an odds-on favourite to lose. but that didn’t stop us from getting a great start, thanks to our cox. He positioned us back from the start-line and got us rowing before the flag went down so that when it did, we were already up to speed. We lead the pack of about six coastal quad boats along the seafront even though all the other crews were mere youngsters, at only 50+.
Then we turned into turbulence. Wave after wave hit us, from the left, from ahead and later from the right side. No respite in between them.
Being in the bow seat (the pointy end) meant I took the brunt. I got soaked. It was like buckets of water being thrown at me by a pack of over-excited boy scouts putting out a fire.
The boat filled up, my feet were underwater, and even my seat was submerged. We kept rowing as a crew. Helping each other by calling out the strokes. Keeping in time and keeping the effort high.
Each stroke was a challenge, and getting the blades out of the water was a struggle when they were buried deep in a wave. Returning them and they hit other waves, and the putting then oars back in when you were in a trough and pulling with your whole body weight.
We went up and we went down. We filled with water and we emptied again. Our cox constantly pumping water out. We got knocked left and we got knocked right. My back was drenched and water was being dumped over my head.
But through all of this our stroke-rower kept a neat regular pace our two engine room rowers put their backs into it and I just squealed and hung on for dear life.
The Jurassica boat had passed us at the first turn, a second boat from Carrack had been threatening us all the way and took us just before halfway but the rest of the field was out of sight. The halfway mark was a hairpin turn around the fairway buoy. We turned fast, only rowing on one side for five strokes, then three long strokes to get back in time and moving again. five more short sharp strokes to really show them we meant business.
We were now traveling in the same direction as most of the waves. There was still the odd curved ball of a wave coming at us from different directions. But as a good wave approached we dug in extra hard and fast to try and catch the wave. This worked a treat and we surfed passed the Carrick boat and were back in second place.
At three quarters we struggled with a couple of bad waves and Carrick got passed us for a second time.
For the last 750m, the waters calmed as we followed the beach. Now we could move up into top gear. The pace was quicker but was still disciplined. Long strokes fast through the water, slow returns to let the boat glide. I could feel the speed pick up. I could hear the Carrick cox shouting at his crew. We were gaining on them I could see their boat out of the corner of my eye. I could hear shouts from the beach. We were flying.
And just like that, it was all over. A blast of a horn told me we were third. But that was the best third ever. What an exciting race. I was soaked top to bottom, gasping for breath and smiling ear to ear.