First Person/Third Person - Learning to Scull

Jeff Meller

6 Nov 13

342; 344 words

First Person

“Have you ever rowed a row boat?” I ask Mark Dribble, 50, as we climb the ramp from the wide, wooden dock to the classic sculling boathouse. The welcome cadence of clack-thwack, clack-thwack, clack-thwack of oars rotating in oarlocks rises from shells passing on the river.

“Sure, 40 years ago in summer camp,” Mark confirms.

“A racing shell and row boat are the same idea,” I explain. Only the technique is a little different.

Mark and I tramp back down the ramp. We each carry on one shoulder a pair of lightweight, fiberglass oars with blue and white blades.

As we hike back up the ramp for a second time to get our boats I suggest, “Why don’t you try a C-class boat. It’s relatively stable – about 25 feet long and 35 pounds. You won’t tip over.”

“Sounds fine,” says Mark, examining the red hull molded from carbon fiber and Kevlar, “but even this boat looks pretty skinny.”

We set the boat in the river. Mark surveys the placid black water reflecting upside down the yellow-orange maple leaves on a chilly, but sunny, autumn afternoon. “How cold is the water in November?” he asks pensively.

“Probably about 50 degrees,” I reply.

I guide Mark through the pre-launch routine of sliding the oars into the oarlocks, stepping into the boat, and tying his feet into the fixed shoes.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

“Fine,” Mark says, rocking tentatively from side to side to test his balance.

I grab the shoreward oar blade, push the boat laterally away from the dock and say, “Now take your time and row upstream.”

Mark flails in an unsynchronized fashion, rowing the air as much as the water, but makes gradual progress. “Everyone starts like this,” I call to reassure him.

He disappears around the bend. I hop into another boat and row quickly to catch-up. As I round the bend I see Mark’s boat, but no rower. Mark is bobbing in the water hanging on to his boat.

“I thought you said this thing wouldn’t flip,” he splutters.

Third Person

“Have you ever rowed a row boat?” the instructor asks Mark Dribble, 50, as they climb the ramp from the wide, wooden dock to the classic sculling boathouse. The welcome cadence of clack-thwack, clack-thwack, clack-thwack of oars rotating in oarlocks rises from shells passing on the river.

“Sure, 40 years ago in summer camp,” Mark confirms.

“A racing shell and row boat are the same idea,” the instructor, Craig Sullivan, 64, explains. Only the technique is a little different.

They tramp back down the ramp. Each carries on one shoulder a pair of lightweight, fiberglass oars with blue and white blades.

As they hike back up the ramp for a second time to get their boats Craig suggests, “Why don’t you try a C-class boat. It’s relatively stable – about 25 feet long and 35 pounds. You won’t tip over.”

“Sounds fine,” says Mark, examining the red hull molded from carbon fiber and Kevlar, “but even this boat looks pretty skinny.”

They set the boat in the river. Mark surveys the placid black water reflecting upside down the yellow-orange maple leaves on a chilly, but sunny, autumn afternoon. “How cold is the water in November?” he asks pensively.

“Probably about 50 degrees,” Craig replies.

Craig guides Mark through the pre-launch routine of sliding the oars into the oarlocks, stepping into the boat, and tying his feet into the fixed shoes.

“How does it feel?” Craig asks.

“Fine,” Mark says, rocking tentatively from side to side to test his balance.

Craig grabs the shoreward oar blade, pushes the boat laterally away from the dock and says, “Now take your time and row upstream.”

Mark flails in an unsynchronized fashion, rowing the air as much as the water, but makes gradual progress. “Everyone starts like this,” Craig calls to reassure him.

Mark disappears around the bend. Craig hops into another boat and rows quickly to catch-up. As he rounds the bend Craig sees Mark’s boat, but no rower. Mark is bobbing in the water hanging on to his boat.

“I thought you said this thing wouldn’t flip,” he splutters.

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Sources:

None.