"but we didn't mean to go to sea!"
what with my nose to the grindstone, i guess i'm a little out of the loop of rowing gossip that usually circulates around boathouses following regattas. i didn't find out until yesterday (when my copy of rowing news arrived in the mail) that during the 42nd running of the head of the charles a crew from peking university sank as they came under the eliot bridge. i've seen boats collide at regattas before -- perhaps the u of t men's 8+ t-boning the brock men's 8+ as both boats came out of the chute at the 2005 head of the trent is my most vivid memory; the brock boat all but sank and the rowers had to be to picked up by launches -- but i've never seen an 8+ sink completely in such shallow water as that on the head of the charles course. i've heard and read different versions of what happened and the consensus seems to be that after bumping a boat earlier in the race, the peking u boat continued rowing with a damaged bow until, when taking a turn, the bow opened, and the boat quickly flooded with water. here's some choppy youtube footage shot from the bridge above:
the title of this post comes from my own memorable bang-up rowing experience. one cold, dark and blustery morning toward the end of the fall season of 2005, our crew went out on the water in the bay by the boathouse. the water looked choppy so we decided to stay off the course proper and keep within the confines of the bay where there weren't quite as many whitecaps. in retrospect (ah, hindsight!) we shouldn't have gone out at all.
very shortly after pushing off the dock, our boat got caught up in the wind and waves and, with water splashing in alarming amounts over the gunwhales, we were blown under the causeway bridge and onto lake ontario. flipping was quite possible. the lights of the ferry that was making its early morning crossing (i think it was about 5:45 am or so) seemed to be bearing down on us. i am not ashamed to say that i was very scared. rowers do not wear life jackets; a coaching launch, that according to federal boating regulations has to be out when crews are on the water, usually carries enough for a rescue. little did we know, all of the other crews had gone in and docked and no one back at the rowing club was aware we were in danger. there was a coaching launch making circles of the bay, looking for errant crews, but we were no longer within the bay and had no way of signalling from our position. and the water in lake ontario in october is cold ... very, very cold.
with some rather sharp tongued prompting from our coxie, we managed to get our heads in the boat and the boat back under the causeway. immediately, the wind picked us up and threw us against the rocks that sit at the base of the causeway. we had damaged our stern, and in the dark, it was difficult to tell how much water we were taking on, if any. the boat already had a large lake in the bottom from the blowing spray and crashing waves. swearing, spitting, cursing everyone and, i'm sorry to say, each other, we drove our heels into the foot stretchers and hauled on our blades like madwomen. we docked, shaking, wet and cold several minutes later.
as our coach saw us come in, he ran down on to the dock, and after ascertaining that we were all alive and unhurt, began to scold us. one of my crewmates looked up with a rather too-innocent look on her face and in response to a question from our coach wryly quoted the title of one of her favourite childhood books from the swallows and amazons series: "but we didn't mean to go to sea!"
okay ... you know you miss being on the water when your rowing disaster stories are retold, both at parties and over the internet, with a certain degree of warm, fuzzy nostalgia. is it may yet?
the title of this post comes from my own memorable bang-up rowing experience. one cold, dark and blustery morning toward the end of the fall season of 2005, our crew went out on the water in the bay by the boathouse. the water looked choppy so we decided to stay off the course proper and keep within the confines of the bay where there weren't quite as many whitecaps. in retrospect (ah, hindsight!) we shouldn't have gone out at all.
very shortly after pushing off the dock, our boat got caught up in the wind and waves and, with water splashing in alarming amounts over the gunwhales, we were blown under the causeway bridge and onto lake ontario. flipping was quite possible. the lights of the ferry that was making its early morning crossing (i think it was about 5:45 am or so) seemed to be bearing down on us. i am not ashamed to say that i was very scared. rowers do not wear life jackets; a coaching launch, that according to federal boating regulations has to be out when crews are on the water, usually carries enough for a rescue. little did we know, all of the other crews had gone in and docked and no one back at the rowing club was aware we were in danger. there was a coaching launch making circles of the bay, looking for errant crews, but we were no longer within the bay and had no way of signalling from our position. and the water in lake ontario in october is cold ... very, very cold.
with some rather sharp tongued prompting from our coxie, we managed to get our heads in the boat and the boat back under the causeway. immediately, the wind picked us up and threw us against the rocks that sit at the base of the causeway. we had damaged our stern, and in the dark, it was difficult to tell how much water we were taking on, if any. the boat already had a large lake in the bottom from the blowing spray and crashing waves. swearing, spitting, cursing everyone and, i'm sorry to say, each other, we drove our heels into the foot stretchers and hauled on our blades like madwomen. we docked, shaking, wet and cold several minutes later.
as our coach saw us come in, he ran down on to the dock, and after ascertaining that we were all alive and unhurt, began to scold us. one of my crewmates looked up with a rather too-innocent look on her face and in response to a question from our coach wryly quoted the title of one of her favourite childhood books from the swallows and amazons series: "but we didn't mean to go to sea!"
okay ... you know you miss being on the water when your rowing disaster stories are retold, both at parties and over the internet, with a certain degree of warm, fuzzy nostalgia. is it may yet?
posted by Amanda Bonner at 8:33 a.m.
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