Boden Boat Plans Australia | The Sulkava Rowing Race 15 have fun in Finland

Boden Boat Plans Australia

A 60km rowing race, in a historic style of wooden boat, through beautiful countryside, in the height of summer. On reflection, our hastily-thought-up team name, "Whats Not to Like?", said it all.

And to make it totally irresistible, the boats are coxed 14s (and no, the 1 is NOT a typo – I dont mean coxed 4), with bowside and strokeside sitting  NEXT to each other. I mean, really, whats not to like?!

Although actually, there WAS something that was definitely not to like about some of the boats...

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Event: The Sulkava Rowing Race
Where: Sulkava, Finland, about 300km NE of Helsinki
Distance: 60km
Time: 5 hours, 9 seconds (oh, how annoyed we were!)
Boat type: Churchboats
Number of crews in the event: 50 in our race; 316 overall
Event Organiser: http://www.suursoudut.fi/en/

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You know the concept of the hub airport? Which people fly to in smallish planes from small places, then get into a massive Boeing 747 at the hub, fly fast and cheaply over a long distance to another hub? 

Well, churchboats are like Finnish predecessors of the jumbo jets. To get to church each Sunday in rural areas and, lets face it, practically all of Finland is very rural, the residents of isolated farms (not sure that there was another kind) hopped into their dinghies and rowed to wherever the nearest churchboat was based, where they transferred to that, and then rowed fast and efficiently across the big lake to somewhere that was large enough to boast a church. And to make the journey back even quicker, the various chuchboats had a race across the first bit of lake.

There are some wonderful videos from 1938 at the bottom of this blog going into this tradition in more detail if youre interested.

But back to the modern event.

Seating arrangements 
The "bow side and stroke side next to each other" thing sounded fine, till we tried it in practice, when we discovered that the people in the stroke and bow pairs, where the boat is narrowest, couldnt avoid clashing elbows.

However, we did learn about a new piece of rowing "equipment" which none of us had ever used before – a special sleeve, that was on sale, for putting over your blade handle if you wanted to make it fatter to fit the size of your hands better. Our bowside stroke (on the right in this picture) snapped one of these up and found it was great. Our other stroke went for the more budget option of putting a sock over his handle, which was apparently just as effective, though somewhat less hard-wearing 

I mentioned earlier that some of these boats had a definitely not likeable feature, and that was the seats. Our boat had perfectly normal sliding seats on wheels, but some of the boats didnt embrace the transportational qualities of the wheel even though the technique involved some sliding which was done on a low-friction plastic surface that I suspect didnt feel very low-friction after the first five minutes.

We never identified what sort of shorts were worn for rowing on these, though imagined that by the end of the row, "tattered" would be the most likely adjective to describe them.

Blades and pins
The boats all had sturdy iron fixed pins, curved towards the stern so that the blade didnt pop off in the event of a crab or clash. The blades had a plastic block bolted to the front of the shaft that was hooked over the pins, which mean you werent actually levering the blade on the pin at all. But it seemed to work, although some of the crew found it hard to stop trying to feather, especially when we hit wash.

The final new equipment feature we learned about was that the stroke blades were almost always a different colour from the rest, usually red. This was to mark them out from the others because they were shorter, which they had to be because the boats are narrower boat at that point.

Our boat came with what I can only describe as "traditionally-shaped blades" (macons they were not). Some of the other boats, particularly those from clubs, as opposed to being rental craft like ours, had wooden cleavers, although these were all just a rectangular flat bit stuck at an angle on the end of the shaft than anything more shaped. They worked, though!






The course
The water we were rowing on was quite unlike anything Ive come across before. Technically, it was a lake, but not in the usual sense of a big patch of open water. Rather the whole area, for hundreds of square kilometers, is a jumble of fairly flat, tree-covered land, and freshwater lakes, that sometimes feel more like rivers in their width. If "archipellagic" is an adjective, then this s exactly the kind of area it describes.

Many Finns have wooden summer cottages in this part of the country, and come here for much of July to chill out in the tranquil scenery, fish or swim from the docks at the lake shore and, for a few days, wave at the passing churchboat rowers.

The race took us round the "island" (again, were not talking a clearly-defined shape here) of Partalansaari, starting at the green point and finishing at the red, and the very clear corners we turned were encouraging, real indicators of progress.

There were quite a few small rocks emerging from the water along the bottom of the island, which our coxes negotiated skillfully, steering with an interesting design of tiller that curved round them so they could sit centrally in the stern.

The race

Bi-stroke rowing: unlikely ever to be an Olympic sport.

The Sulkava Rowing Race is actually a series of races and un-timed tours that take place over four days. We had opted to do the 60km race, but there was also a 70km tour where crews stopped half way and camped overnight, and various 20km races which could also be done in smaller boats including the "bi-stroke" where one person sculls while the other steers a bit and adds a little (which frankly cant help much) propulsive support with a canoe paddle.

The start of the race was the most fantastic melée that Ive ever had the good fortune to cox in. With "only" 50 crews in our division, it wasnt quite as seething as the 150-boat start wed watched the day before from a conveniently-placed road-bridge high over the water. 

Wed all been given starting grid positions, which we largely ignored, and as there hadnt been practise laps the day before, its not like this stopped a massive amount of overtaking, barging sideways, and daredevil holding ones nerve as we ploughed through narrow gaps between crews.

Despite having been warned by other competitors and a helpful spectator who we privately christened "trout hat man" (he had a trout embroidered on his hat: he did not sport a fish as headgear) to start slow, we were soon in 9th position, and going strongly. We noticed that crews we overtook immediately tucked straight in behind our stern, as if they were slipstreaming like cyclists or racing cars. This isnt something youd ever do in a VIII because youd just be slowed down by rowing in the faster crews wash. But with churchboats being more closely related to car ferries than fine racing shells, the rough water wasnt an issue, though Id be interested to hear the views of those who understand these things a lot more than me, on whether you can actually get a slipstreaming effect when youre going at only 12-14km/h.

Just before half way, our cox (Id swapped in to row after the first half hour) steered us an impressively daredevil course across the bows of a rather charming chain car ferry (which, fortunately, slowed down) as we watched the crews behind drop further back as they elected to take the longer route round its stern. 

The course was extremely well marked, and with crews staying reasonably close together the whole way, the whole race was very easy to navigate. And it really didnt seem long before the cox called out that he could see the town bridge that we knew was just beyond the finish, and we powered on through the last 1,000m. As we crossed the line, the announcer made a brave attempt at trying to pronounce all of our names, before delivering the bitter blow that our finish time was 5 hours and 9 seconds. Ooo, we SO could have gone 10 seconds faster. Still we finished in 15th place, 39 minutes behind the winners, and over 2 hours ahead of the last crew.

On landing, we were met by a local journalist who asked in tones of awe "Have you EVER rowed 60km before", and seemed  slightly disappointed when I explained that, yes, most of us had, and considerably further in fact. However, nothing is like rowing a churchboat, and the reason for her interest in us is that we were not only the only British crew (containing one Dutchman) but also the only one entirely made up of people taking part in the event for the first time. the programme showed the number of participations of each participant, which included one bloke who was on his 43rd time, and large numbers who had done it more than 20 times. Who knew?!

This year, about 5,500 people took part, down from its peak in the early Noughties when over 10,000 competed each year. I think its time for more UK crews to start entering, in a 21st century kind of reverse viking pillaging trip.

Rowing, but not as we know it
As well as the slipstreaming tactic, another thing we observed with surprise, was that quite a lot of crews had coxes who must have had excellent steering and motivational skills, because they sure werent chosen for their petite physiques...

And none of us had previously had the experience of overtaking a crew whose cox was puffing away on a cigarette either.

But my favourite "youre kidding me!" sight was the rower who appeared to have eschewed the usual selection of energy bars and bananas that most people were stowing by their rowing seats to keep them going on the way round, and had brought a large jar of gherkins with him. 

Gherkins on board: completely inexplicable.

Footnote on Finland
The race organisers in this delightful, tranquil, and very beautiful part of the world were immensely helpful and they, like every Finn we met, spoke excellent English. 

However, wanting to make the effort, we quickly learned the Finnish for "Thank you" (kiitos, pronounced KEY-toss"), which the locals seemed amused by us saying at the end of a detailed English conversation.

Incidentally, the word "kiitos" is a great example of typical Finnish spelling: as far as we could tell, it seems practically essential that any self-respecting Finnish word contains at least one "k" and a double vowel.

The two men from Monmouth Rowing Club in the crew enquired of a barman how to say "Cheers!" and reported back that it was "Get pissed". The rest of us were somewhat dubious about this until we heard some locals... it actually wasnt far off.

The historical documentary 
NB The single ladies in our crew were jolly careful not to leave their knife sheaths lying around: theyd come for a sporting challenge not in search of a husband! (Watch the videos and youll find out.)

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Wooden Boat Plans Australia | Rowing with seals a Scottish alternative to swimming with dolphins

Wooden Boat Plans Australia

Back around 1968, when leisure activities in some circles was focused on peace and love, a visionary, benevolent and – crucially – wealthy member of the Royal West of Scotland Amateur Boat Club (an excellent, if not entirely accurately named organisation, but more of that later), commissioned a rowing boat for the club, on condition that it was used annually, for "a long row".

Not having specified exactly how "long" a row this had to be, the club played "safe", and decided that, to be certain they were meeting their moral obligations, "long" should be defined as at least 50 (statute) miles. In other words, trips firmly in "expedition rowing" territory, or perhaps waters: my favourite thing! But in wellies...

One boat good, two boats better
Well actually, it was more like "two coxes good, four coxes better". Heres why. In the years after the first boat arrived, the young men of the club used her enthusiastically, rowing in various directions from their base on the Firth of Clyde, just west of Greenock on Scotlands west coast (THAT bit of the clubs name is highly accurate). However, with space for four rowers but just two coxes, the young bucks found that there wasnt enough room for all of the young ladies that theyd like to take with them on their outings (only one each, you understand, but even so), and so a second boat was built, with the rowing seats nearer the bows, allowing a U-shaped coxing seat that could accommodate everyone they wanted to take with them.

Swapping the coxes in rough-ish conditions

The Plan
Through a family contact, eight of us from Thames Valley Skiff Club were lucky enough to be the guests of five "Westies (including two gents pushing 72, and a 14 year old), to do a three-day round trip, rowing out from Greenock, round the island of Bute, then on to Cumbrae (home to Britains smallest cathedral), and then back up the coast to home.

But it turned out that we werent the only ones with Bute on our travel plans that week: when we arrived in Greenock, whaddya know, Roman Abramovichs ("yon chappie whit owns Chelsea FC") superyacht was moored in the bay, having been over at Bute the previous weekend so that the oligarch could indulge in a spot of cycling. Bute was clearly 2015s must-see destination! 

Expedition rows often seem to present an unforseen social discovery or experience: this time, it turned out to be a series of noteworthy boats, of which the ridiculously large "Eclipse" was only the first. 

Day 1: Mostly windy. Then rainy.

A bedraggled "Highland Goat"

Having packed dry clothes, enough snacks to feed... well, 13 rowers, and some spare blades into the two boats, and attached what someone claimed to be a "goat" (in case something needed to be sacrificed to the weather gods) that one of the Westies immediately rumbled as "a Highland Coo", and my plastic duck, we headed out into the open seas, or at least what felt like them to those used to rowing on the inland Thames. The tide was with us, but in the contest of Wind vs Tide, wind was making short work of tides batting order. 

Impressively, we all faithfully stuck to the 3rd "Rule" of Expedition Rowing and didnt draw attention to how long it took to get past various salient features on the shore.

We were joined for some of this stretch by a couple of sea kayakers from the club, whose low, light boats moved a lot faster than our high-sided "heavy fours" (not my judgement, but what the club calls them). And talking of sea kayaks, its time to sort out the mild inaccuracy in the Royal West of Scotland Boating Clubs name. Unlike most rowing clubs in Britain, it is a boat club in the broadest sense of the word, with rowing, sea kayaking and sailing sections, much more on the continental model. Given such inclusivity, its perfectly reasonable that theres an open-water swimming section too: its just the pedant in me that would have renamed the club the Royal West of Scotland On- and In-water Activity Club. Less catchy, though.

Anyway, after several hours battling the conditions we literally turned the corner, and headed up the east coast of Bute where it was calm enough to observe both the 1st "Rule" of Expedition Rowing (thank goodness for Mars bars), and a muckle big sailing yacht heading in our direction. This turned out to be Drum, originally owned by Simon Le Bon (given he was the lead singer of Duran Duran, youd think he might have called it Microphone, but maybe thats just me being pedantic again). 

Soon, the Scottish weather made sure we got the experience we had all expected, i.e. it started to rain heavily. Still, these boats are as easy to row whilst wearing a large waterproof and a lifejacket as not, and our spirits were not at all dampened (unlike our bodies). Rounding the top of Bute, I waved waved cheerily at a couple of yellow cagoule-clad hillwalkers, only for the locals in our boat to explain that these were the "Maids of Bute", – two large painted rocks. I didnt take a photo: it was raining too hard.

Day 2: An uninhabited island (with its own website) and a lot of seals

With flat water and "light airs", the rowing consitions were excellent as we left the Kyles of Bute ("kyle" being a Scottish term for a straight).

Thoroughly into our rhythm now we changed the two coxes every 20 minutes, which meant rowing stints of only 40-minutes, that felt a doddle compared with the 2-hour shifts on my favourite long-distance race round Lake Geneva. But then, as the septugenarian in our crew pointed out, in his wonderful Scottish burr, "This is a pleasure row". 

And indeed it was, with stunning scenery; changing light as the sun made spirited attempts to peep round the ever-moving clouds; and much to our delight, the odd seal popping up behind the boat, intrigued at the unusual sound of oars.

Around lunchtime, we landed on the uninhabited (by humans – there were loads of "coos") island of Inchmanock where those who cared were amused to find the best mobile reception since theyd left the clubhouse. #cattleonline? 

You dont get an island to all yourselves
on most expedition rows...

As we pushed off, four of five curious heads popped up out of the water, staring, but not rudely, at the funny-coloured upright things clambering clumsily into the big lumpy wooden things. Some came close enough that we could see their bushy whiskers, and further down the shore there was a small colony with pups being instructed by their parents about the mystery of rowing boats ("look, dont touch"), before flicking their tail flippers and disappearing below the swell again.

OK, so the colour palettes are a bit grey compared with all that swimming with dolphins in Florida thing, but being blade-to-eye with wild seals was a rowing experience Id certainly not had before!

The day was scheduled to end on the small island of Cumbrae, home to the Cathedral of the Isles, Britains smallest cathedral. 

We were met about a mile out by members of the local coastal rowing club in their St Ayles skiff (a new type of craft thats literally gone from zero to hero in abut five years with boats built by communities all round the Scottish Coast). 

After being unable to resist a little bit of a race in, we landed on the beach, amid the jellyfish (yet another new rowing experience), which is guarded by the Crocodile Rock (they do seem to like their rock-painting in these parts).

Day 3: We couldnt resist
By now, our crew was like stilton. And yes, all that rowing in wellies was possibly taking its toll on our socks, but what I mean was that the longer it went on, the better we were, and we now found ourselves ahead of the others, no matter which combinations were rowing,and despite the fact that our boat continued to leak fairly substantially such that we had to bail at every swap. Of course, thats old wooden boats for you, but we entirely understood why we had been advised to wear wellies for the whole trip!

Wellies, water and one-size-fits-all footplates.

For those of you wondering how wellies worked with the type of footplate found in your average touring rowing boat, it wasnt like that. Your feet rested on a wooden bar (which was no help at all if you got stuck in at the finish owing to the pesky water having moved at the relevant moment, and there were a couple of humorous "boots in the air" moments), and if you were a bit shorter in the leg than the boat was designed for, you could "adjust" by placing a chunk of wood in front of the bar. Or even 2 chunks of wood. Several were carried in the boat for this purpose. Which didnt actually make a material difference to the weight of the boat in the slightest.

Anyway, the day passed quickly with more seals, wind turbines, and avoiding the ferries that are so essential to keeping these island economies going (and despite the short crossings, they must be busy as most of them operated in pairs, going in opposite directions like cable cars do, though without the weight-balancing necessity, I rather wondered if it wouldnt have been cheaper to have just one, larger ferry, but Im sure theres a good reason for the way its done).

We decided to pull into the beech by the ferry terminal at Wemyss (pronounced Weems) Bay for lunch, and having waited a little before this for the other crew to catch up, it once again turned into a race to the shore. Sat at bow, our septugenarian called that it was "100 or 200 yards to the shore". Stupidly thinking of the usual 10m a stroke you get on an ergo, I started giving it some beans. Hmm. 130 strokes later, he called "Wind down". By then I was definitely ready for my "Scotch pie".

Ducky (in a blue waterproof)

On our final stretch in, we were treated to see the Waverley, the the last operational sea-going paddle steamer in the WORLD, before it was time to get on with some serious "connect and send" for the last 4km or so in. We benefited greatly from the local steering knowledge of our septugenarian, who urged us on mercilessly, though nearly ruined the whole thing by reminding us, "This is a pleasure row!". Fortunately, my body didnt have any effort to spare for the giggling my brain considered appropriate. The other boat couldnt get past us, and the Scotch Pies stayed down: job done!

Oh, and the bedraggled "coo" was given to our hosts daughter brushed the salt out of its fur and took a hair dryer to it after which it looked much better. Though still not much like a goat.

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