Pontoon Boat Plans | Meander 2011 Part 2 Ending with a fizz

Pontoon Boat Plans

Day 2 of our "meander" by skiff from Lechlade to Teddington (you can read the story so far here) saw our little flotilla of six boats taking to the water at 6am. Which was a bit grim, but also extremely beautiful. 

Our first lock of the day was Abingdon, and once out of that we rewarded with the iconic sight of Didcot Power Stations cooling towers looming above the reeds in the distance. 

The next site of note was a little older: Wittenham Clumps are two plump little hills that pop up incongruously from the surrounding landscape which youd struggle to call undulating with any accuracy. Grass covered, some early humorous arboriculturalist (or an arboricultral humourist) planted a small group of beech trees on the top of each. This makes them look somewhat like giant versions of these cress-grown-in-the-top-of-a-potato projects that children used to be encouraged to produce, though probably havent been since the 1970s.

Checking the facts for the next stretch.

One of my crewmates was a professional archaeologist, so she filled us in with interesting details about hill fort features of the Bronze and Iron Age, some of which the Clumps displayed.

Did you say "a pineapple"?
Two of the crews, including mine, contained members of the same family, and had been supplied with extensive notes about the various locks and the surrounding area, which the matriarch had researched. We particularly enjoyed reading how the first pineapple in Britain was allegedly grown by the gardener of Dorney Court, and was subsequently presented to King Charles II. Which probably explains, serious rowers, why the pub just before you turn right for Dorney Lake after coming off the M4, is called The Pineapple. Hope you love that little factoid as much as I do, and that it makes you smile as you head towards Wallingford, Metropolitan, or Marlow Regatta this summer.

Education is more effective when not stuck in the bushes.

One of the other crews was equipped with a guidebook, from which the person coxing read relevant extracts. This is actually quite hard to do whilst also steering, and led to some small episodes of practical forestry.

Oh go on, wave!
By mid-morning the sun had burnt off the mist, and it was a truly glorious late spring day. Members of the high-performance Wallingford Rowing Club were enjoying post-outing cups of tea outside their clubhouse in the sun as we passed, although they didnt wave, which was slightly disappointing. Maybe they were too consumed with jealousy of the fun we were having compared with their serious training?

Approaching Moulsford Bridge and its
must-see arch engineering.

A bridge about which I sigh
The Wallingford stretch is home to my favourite bridge on the whole of the Thames – Moulsford Bridge. Without a doubt its best viewed from the water, and whats clever about this Brunel masterpiece is that it crosses the river at a angle, yet the arches are parallel with the river, meaning that they are set at an angle relative to the rest of the bridge, and the brickwork inside sweeps round in the least utilitarian way imaginable. Brutalist modernism this is not. What it IS, apparently, I discovered on researching this later, is a great example of "elliptical screw arches". So now we all know. Do try to find a way to row under them!

Day 2 ended at Reading Canoe Club with nearly 68 of the 125 miles under our oars (no one was wearing a belt), and to our delight chocolate mini-eggs were served after dinner, because it was Easter-eve.

By Day 3, some of us had run out of
clean kit that was also co-ordinated.

By Day 3, we were well into the swing of things and we romped along the Shiplake stretch, imaging what it would be like to live in some of the houses we could glimpse through carefully landscaped gardens above beautifully manicured, sweeping lawns.

This ogling stepped up a gear later in the day as we rowed through Maidenhead and past whats known as Millionaires Row, although the more hyper-critical amongst us felt that while most of these buildings were all very well in themselves, and certainly had great views, they were unimpressively close to the neighbours in most cases, and the discrete and secluded mansions between Shiplake and Marsh locks had more going for them. Although a million almost certainly wouldnt get you much more than the thatched shed for the ride-on mower in one of those.

Locks: not entirely skiff-friendly
This lower part of the Thames is popular with motor cruisers, which has its plus and minus points. The Minuses include wash, and the fact that the Good Lock-Keeping Guide states that little rowing boats should go into locks BEHIND motor cruisers when going downstream, so that if one of the big cruisers managed to untie itself during the descent, it wont crush the little rowing boat into the downstream gates. Which is all very considerate (I have no idea if this envisaged scenario has ever actually happened), but the problem is that us wee rowing boats go faster than the cruisers which are bound to an 8km/hour speed limit. So, on exiting a lock behind the cruisers, we have to wallow through their wash before we can overtake and get back to having a nice time again. We then arrive at the next lock, invariably just as the lock keeper is closing the gates, wait for 20 minutes till the cruisers all catch up with us, and then watch them being loaded into the lock ahead of us again.

Locks are also an opportunity to
relieve pressure on the bottom.

However, in my attempt to offer balanced reporting, an advantage of cruiser traffic is that lock keepers get all entrepreneurial to make the most of this literally passing traffic, and this can take the form of ice-cream stands at locks. This is a Good Thing.

We pulled in for the night at Eton Excelsior Rowing Club where we admired some expedition double sculls made by Rossiter Rowing Boats for a trip down the Zambezi later that year. Which sounded very exciting, though the crocodiles and hippos would be a bit of a worry.

A gratuitous scene of fluvial charm.

Her Majesty has the pleasure of inviting...
Earlyish on Day 4, the Thames passed through the crown estates attached to Windsor Castle, and this being only a week before Wills and Kates wedding, there were numerous marquees in the ground and clearly tight security along the banks. No chance of hopping ashore and hiding in the bushes to gatecrash the bash the following weekend, then.

After that it was on to our home stretch through Walton – which was not THE home stretch for this trip, of course, but it was nice that a couple of stalwart members were standing by the boathouse to wave us past.

The real home stretch was from Hampton Court to Teddington down the Kingston stretch, which we reached in the early afternoon - along with half the cruisers in England, it seemed, and the kind of stiff headwind you often get with high pressure (aka sunny) weather.So it took ages, and was a right old slog. But no matter, we were nearly there!

And over the line!
Glossing over some misdemeanours we didnt understand at Teddington Lock, for which the Lady Lock-keeper soundly told us off, we lined up across the river (the skiff equivalent of holding hands) for the final few yards through the boundary stone. We then beached the boats, and gathered around the stone for the obligatory photo, whereupon a rowing friend of mine from Kent happened to walk by after lunching with friends. Unexpected, but a pleasure.

Our land team, who could not be praised enough for their wonderful support up to this point (including producing bacon butties at the mid-morning stopping points in various fields), surpassed themselves by producing several bottles of champagne.

Thames Valley Skiff Club Meander 2011.

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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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Boat Blind Plans | Tour du Leman 2012 The year with the nutter in the single

Boat Blind Plans

The 40th edition of the 160km Tour du Léman à lAviron was memorable for two reasons. First, although it is usually a race for touring coxed quads (which allows each competitor to alternate rowing and coxing), a German gent was given special permission to complete it in a touring single to celebrate his 25th participation in the event.

Second, the weather was dire. Really dire. So dire that I spent quite a lot of the race convinced I was going to get hypothemia until I did what I should have done hours earlier, and was happy as Larry after that. Although Larry wasnt taking part.

The calm before the storm
The day before the race was idyllic: the lake was calm, skies were blue, and the biggest danger was getting sunburnt.

But the events pet forecaster was gloomy and predicted that "la Bise" (the French like to give their winds names, although doing so doesnt seem to encourage the meteorological phenomena to be more friendly than if they were just referred to as "a nasty cold, north-easterly") would arrive early afternoon and tear down the lake. As a result, the race start was brought forward an hour (which was a good idea full stop and we hope that it will always go off at 8am in future – otherwise were just wasting good daylight rowing time), and we were told that instead of going right round the outside of the lake as usual, wed go out the northern, Swiss shore, and turn either at Lausanne or Montreux, depending on how the meteo developed, and come back the same way. None of us had ever started a race whose length wasnt known in advance, but we saw the point.

Three of the 79 women who, at that time, had rowed
an ocean: all taking part in the 40th Tour du Léman

The traditional cocktail party the night before the race was a little less lavish than usual, as the event was no longer being sponsored by a Swiss bank, but it was still a great opportunity to get to know competitors from other countries, and the organisers made a point of calling me, one of my crew mates, and a French woman up to the front, as three competitors who were ocean rowers. 

I explained that rowing the Tour du Léman was the start of my fascination with increasingly long-distance rowing, and the organisers should feel very responsible!

Pitter patter
It was still dark when everyone started boating on race day, but by 8am the day had dawned grey and gloomy. As we gathered on the start line, it started to rain. Oh good.

Rain at the start.

The bad weather made for poor visibility of other crews, and this was a particular problem for us as our GPS, which was not in its first youth, had shown itself to be temperamental the day before, and fairly soon stopped working. Lac Leman is a big place, and you certainly cant see the next way point from, so being able to follow others would have been useful.

However, with the rain continuing to fall persistently (at least it was pretty calm at this point), I rapidly found out that my rowing waterproof wasnt, and I was soon getting colder and colder. Usually, after the first few hours, coxing was a welcome rest, but this time I dreaded it because even with a foil blanket over your knees, and the thick coxing coat on, your temperature just plummeted over your half hour stint.

About turn!
As we neared Lausanne, we realised that none of the leading crews had yet passed us coming back the other way, and so the organisers must have elected to take us on to Montreux, which was a good two hours further on. Feeling increasingly chilled to the bone, and having a constant debate with myself about what the correct balance was between "shut up and row" and not causing a medical emergency by not speaking up soon enough, the prospect of a further four hours rowing was not an attractive one.

Not long after, though, we saw the first boat pass us coming back, and by the time the second was passed, we had our wits about us enough to ask where they had turned. The answer was Rivaz, a point about half way between Lausanne and Montreux: good news! And it actually stopped raining.

As we got there, and enjoyed an impressively cheery wave from the group of timekeepers, some breaths of a bitterly cold wind blew in from the north east - the direction of La Bise! If this was going to be the temperature on the way back, drastic action was needed. So I apologised to the crew that I would have to get my dry bag out of my deck hatch (a somewhat time consuming operation) so I could get my fleece out. Putting this on under my useless waterproof was a turning point – at the turning point.

Soon I was back to a normal temperature, even though I was still wet, and whilst the whole experience was far from idyllic, I actually started quite enjoying it.

La Bise failed to materialise in its full menacing form, and our progress was aided by a screaming tailwind that was at least a normal temperature.

The water was pretty rough, because of the wind, so we were forced to feather our blades. We were all individually (though no one mentioned it at the time, of course), concerned that this could give us blisters, especially as our rowing gloves were all soaking wet, but to our surprise, our paws were fine. We speculated later that the fact that our hands were still fairly cold may have helped ward off the blisters.

Craning our necks
Darkness fell, and everything was wet, but after my Atlantic experience at the beginning of the year, I was reveling in the fact that at least it was good fresh water (Evian is one of the towns on the shore of Lac Léman, after all) rather than revolting, lethal-to-drink sea water. And also that after only a few more hours of battling these conditions I would be back in a nice warm building, having a shower and eating a hot meal. It really was a new perspective on this event for me.

It might not have been much fun, but we did make it.

We had a somewhat hairy moment about two hours before the end when the crewmate who was coxing called out "Helena, is there something moored in the water ahead of us?", and as I was at bow, I turned round to see a giant floating crane looming in the blackness only about 20m ahead. Youd think that the sensible Swiss would require things like this to be lit, but then maybe the people in charge of health and safety dont expect rowers to be out after dark. 

Somewhere around here, we noticed that a mens crew from St Petersburg who had been behind us, pulled into a bay, and stopped moving. We found out later that they had retired from the race at this point, and so it was with little fanfare that we finally crossed the line, although we were greatly relieved to get back safely.

Oh, and just for the record, we beat the nutter in the single by 3 minutes. He is the definition of tough!

What happened to YOU?!
The next day, we found out how lucky wed been. Ive mentioned before that many of the same people come to this event year after year, and that it was most enjoyable getting to know long-distance rowers from other countries. One of our particular "Geneva buddies" was a German from Hamburg, who had a strong crew that was well ahead of us. 

But when we returned to the club the next morning in daylight to clear up, we were horrified to see his boat with mangled riggers on one side, and considerable damage to the sachsboard of the boat too. It turned out that when they were just finishing the race, the wind coming down the lake was much stronger than it was by the time we got there. The final 1000m of the race involved turning across the lake to get back to the club. Being sensible Germans, they stopped and bailed every drop of water out of their boat before turning broadside to the waves, and also deliberately rowed with the boat down on bowside as the waves were coming from strokeside. However, a particularly huge wave swamped them, and they had to be rescued into their safety boat (the one allocated to them was more helpful than ours, fortunately).

Having recovered the people, the cruiser then managed to crash sideways into the swamped rowing boat in attempting to get it back, and that was when the damage occurred. Very nasty. And expensive. And not our buddys fault.

I realise that this tale isnt really selling the event when read in isolation (youll find accounts of other years at the Tour du Léman in the Categories menu on the right). And admittedly, one of my crewmates hasnt rowed since. Another declined an invitation to return in 2013, explaining that she "didnt feel the lake love", but three of us did, and had a splendid time. More about that soon! 

"Winners are grinners": we won the Womens Category.

Oh, I nearly forgot: Sealskinz Waterproof Socks. Brilliant.

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Canoe Boat Plans | Skiffing with the Olympic Torch Relay

Canoe Boat Plans

Rowing has provided me with many fantastic experiences, and one of the best was taking part in the final stage of the London 2012 Olympic Torch Relay. 

Despite the (very) early hour, the riverbanks were lined with people. The brand new Royal barge Gloriana, launched for the Queens Diamond Jubilee River Pageant, only a few weeks earlier, and crewed on this occasion by former British Olympic rowing medallists, had had a special flame cauldron installed in her bows, ready to take the flame when Sir Matthew Pinsent arrived with the torch. 

But this wasnt a voyage that Gloriana would be making alone...

The swan and the ugly ducklings
The official plan was that the flame would travel from Hampton Court to the Olympic Park in Greenwich, on board Gloriana. For the first part of this river progress, as far as Richmond, this majestic craft, covered in gold twiddly bits, including a couple of heraldic lions, and with eight flagpoles mounted on her indescribably ornate cabin, was to be accompanied by Thames Skiffs; from Richmond, her escort would change to junior rowers in quads (I think); and finally some cutters, possibly associated with various.

When you see a skiff on its own, many people remark on the beautiful wooden craftsmanship. But next to Gloriana, we were definitely the "ugly ducklings". But that was the point. So, whilst Gloriana was moored right outside Hampton Court Palace, we mustered above Hampton Court Bridge as part of a flotilla made up of about 30 skiffs from the racing skiff clubs, and also including private boats, some of which were definitely traditional, wooden, and rowed, although not actually Thames Skiffs (one was a Shetland yole, for example). 

After the whole flotilla set off, a few plastic kayaks tried to join in, and were swiftly removed from the fairway by the Police boat!

My club, Thames Valley Skiff Club, owns seven double skiffs, and numerous members had expressed enthusiasm for being there at 5.15am to take part. Rather than leave anyone out, we crammed four to a boat, or in the case of my boat, five, but the girl squeezed in the bows was only 11, so we were only a little bit low in the water.

The skiff in the foreground contains our clubs
Olympian in his previously-unworn shorts.

One member of our club rowed at three Olympic Games (1984-1992), and turned up for the event wearing some casual shorts that were official GB team issue from Barcelona. "How appropriate!", we remarked, and he explained that today was the first time hed taken them out of their packet – exactly 20 years after hed competed. Perfect.

Colour scheme
Every boat had been issued with a white and gold flag – the theme colours of the torch relay, and wed been instructed to wear tent-sized white shirts that had been issued. Keen to stand out in pictures, Id managed to buy a bulk order of yellow caps (our club colours are yellow and black), which proved very useful for distinguishing us from the other boats full of white-shirted skiffers. 

Royal progress
The torch was behind schedule arriving on Gloriana, which was quite an achievement given it was the start of the day, but before arriving at the river bank it had been taken, iconically, round Hampton Court maze. Presumably someone got lost?

Spot our yellow caps in the foreground.

But we were eventually off, the river churned with so many boats vying for position, whilst also taking photos, and waving to the vast crowds lining the banks, not just at Hampton court, but on down the river. 

We were all under strict instructions NOT to pass Gloriana, who was to remain at the head of the Royal progress; inevitably, our former Olympian skiffer felt that this was a "challenge" and almost made it before being "marshalled" back.

We were more than happy sitting near the back of the pack, soaking up the atmosphere and pointing out the sights. All of the cruisers and narrow boats that are permanently moored along this stretch are usually deserted – but today every single one seemed to be hosting some kind of breakfast party, most were decked out with bunting and balloons, and we particularly like a baby that someone was holding up, which was dressed as a Olympic Torch with a "flame" hat. And dont forget, this was before the games had actually started, and Britain developed Olympic fever. It was definitely a taste of things to come.

Gloriana at Teddington Lock.

Five kilometres or so later, we got to Teddington lock, which has two chambers: Gloriana had a private one, and us skiffs crammed into the next one. Even there, the crowds were three deep, and it wasnt even 8am yet. 

Some flapjacks were shared out in our crew - and with neighbouring skiffs. The whole flotillas was buzzing with excitement, and some drizzle did nothing to dampen our spirits.

How many skiffs can you get into a lock?

there were still TV helicopters buzzing overhead ass we left the lock, and swept on past Ell Pie Island, Ham and eventually through Richmond Bridge, where the heavens opened and just as we sadly, but obediently, left Gloriana to continue down river on her historic journey.

Unexpectedly, I spotted a friend, who works in nearby Sheen, on the bank at this point, taking photos and running along with the skiffs. "Shouldnt you be at work?", I called: it emerged that his patriotic boss had decided to open two hours later than usual that day so his staff could enjoy the spectacle: a great example of the Olympic spirit of bonhomie that was soon to take over London, and much of the rest of the country. 

Of course, this isnt an example of expedition rowing that is likely to be repeated in any of our lifetimes, but I hope youve enjoyed reading about how much a few ordinary rowers enjoyed taking part in just a tiny piece of what definitely became the biggest show in the World in 2012.

Some of Thames Valley Skiff Clubs Olympic
Torch Relay participants in the rain at Richmond.

The video below shows just a little of the atmosphere of the event: points to note include the a brief view of some of the skiff flotilla at about 20sec in; massive crowds;  and Glorianas side-thrusters in action. We might have been totally powered by oars, but she was built with quite a few pieces of modern technology aboard!

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Boat Plans Building | Screwing around with the timer on my camera

Boat Plans Building

Im in the process of gluing the forward seat into place. This will seal the forward water-tight compartment. I have epoxy-sealed the compartment, now I just need to glue the seat down. In a final fitting session, I cut open the hole for the mast and the inspection port. However, I noticed that I needed to push down on the starboard side in order to make contact with the seat cleat. I thought I had everything pretty level but apparently not. Its not much, but to be sure I took pictures from inside the compartment with the seat in place, using the automatic timer on my computer. These were taken before I epoxy sealed the ply.

The bow, notice the faint shadow smudge on the starboard side:


More pronounced in the aft section of the tank:


Nice fit on the port side:


Anyway, neat idea to see what was going on in there. Its not perfect, but close enough. I also slightly angled the seat cleats up from the BHs to the stem in order to facilitate draining so water didnt pool up front, so that may have skewed some things a small amount.

No glue yet, just still fitting and getting ready.

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Boat Trailer Plans Australia | Going Just Some of the Wey A Mini Expedition Row

Boat Trailer Plans Australia

Expedition rows can come in all shapes and sizes. And fond as I am of more epic challenges, there are only so many of those you can plan and fit into a year. 

But that still leaves the odd spare Saturday when a short, slightly out-of-the-ordinary row can be fitted in. And so it was that a small party of just six of us, including two who had only been rowing a single-figure numbers of times, set off on a 14 mile round trip up the Wey Navigation Canal in Surrey.

Oh, and did I mention it basically involved going to the pub?

The plan was straightforward: to skiff from our club, Thames Valley Skiff Club in Walton on Thames in Surrey, via the Wey Navigation canal, to the Anchor Pub in Pyrford. And then back again. Maybe with a wee stop for refreshment at that turnaround point. 

The group had varied levels of experience: some of us had done numerous skiffing trips including "meanders" down the entire, 123-mile non-tidal Thames, and so for us, this was literally a picnic. Or perhaps a "skiffnic"? But two of the group had only started skiffing 6-8 weeks earlier, and for them, the prospect of the trip was a real voyage into the unknown, a challenge which one had rightly identified as being at least as much mental than physical. 

And it was their achievement that qualified this little trip as an expedition row according to the third element of my definition:

• Takes at least the best part of a day? Check. (Especially after substantial faffing around at locks.)
• On a piece of water you dont usually row on. Check.
• You get a sense of achievement just by completing it. Check for them, and it was a pleasure for the rest of us to help (as well as being a pleasant little trip too).

Slow, slow, slow, slow, slow (note there is no "quick, quick" in that)

The cheery lock keeper, hard at work.

That faffing I mentioned... There were various reasons why the coming of the railways spelled the end for canal transportation, and one of them was that canals were slower. Which is one of the attractions of them when it comes to leisure use. 

True to form, when we arrived at the first lock, the lock keeper had put up a sign saying, "Tending to weir. Back soon." Just in case his definition of soon was different from the one we had in mind, we went to find him, purchased the required licenses, were given the special lock-winding handle that wed need because, after this first one, none of the locks on this waterway are manned (its just too small a canal to justify that), and were eventually released eventually to rise up through the lock.

Despite not needing to find multi-tasking lock-keepers at the other three locks, these werent any quicker, not helped by some less-than-competent boatmanship and sluice management by a couple of narrow boats, and we rather missed the presence of chains to hold on to, which you get in Thames locks. Ah well, served me right for forgetting to bring ropes.

The little black thing at the top of the gable
is a cormorant. Honest.

But when the pace of life is slower, you have time to see things you might otherwise miss, and at Coxes Lock, whilst simultaneously clinging to wet, green stone steps, and eating plums, we spotted a cormorant drying its wings on top of one of the converted mill buildings, and shook our heads in a superior manner at the sight of people pounding on treadmills in the gym there. I mean, it was a  beautiful English summers day (i.e it only rained for about five minutes): what a waste to spend it exercising indoors, not out in fresh air!

Botanical ignorance
The Wey Navigation is a water world quite different from the busy, wide stretch of the Thames we usually train on. The canal is wide enough for two boats to pass but thats about it, its heavily shaded by trees, and the atmosphere is cool and tranquil, in contrast to the energetic bustle back on the main river.

A poor photo of Himalayan Balsam. (Fortunately, Im
better at rowing than I am at photography).

"What pretty pink flowers!", I remarked to my crew-mates, eyeing some tall plants that lined a long stretch of the bank. One of them, a good friend whose wide knowledge kept me entertained on our meander earlier this year, gasped in horror, before explaining that this was Himalayan Balsam, a dangerously invasive weed, only slightly less evil than Japanese Knotweed. I had heard of it, but had no idea what it looked like, and now I do. 

All of which only supports my theory that you always finish up learning something on an expedition row that you couldnt possibly have expected.

Moving on
With narrow bridges to negotiate, and a broad range of back gardens to peer into and evaluate, the miles just flew by, and soon we were there! 

And then, after suitable refreshments, not only of the liquid kind, we set off back, enjoying ticking the landmarks off in reverse order.

All in all, this was a very peasant little trip, requiring minimal planning (sometimes this is a relief after the numerous checklists required for more ambitious expedition rows), enjoyable for all of us, and a great way to initiate two new novices into the Honourable Order of Expedition Rowers. 

Next time, well go "all the Wey" to Guildford. Im quite sure theyll be up for it.

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