The row to Eddyville is around two and a half miles down and two and a half miles back. I love to stop at the miniature beach on the west bank where the sand is so silty that it makes really cool footprints. The falls are not too far off and I love to listen to them and sometimes I see interesting birds, like eagles, enjoying some snacks on the rocks. The perfect midpoint to a morning row. Tbis one was last Wednesday, June 5th, 2019.
Because the city dock under the Wurtz Street Bridge is no longer (where did it go?) I have to launch from Hide Away Marina. This is a narrow boat launch ramp. Here you see my problem. It is low tide. I have to set up my boat as close to the water as possible. Just a foot or so beyond the water line is a drop off. I have to wade in there and get on my boat, push across into the water but my oar span is so wide I cannot fully deploy the oars. It is tricky. When I have clients or friends go with me I put them in first and push them as hard as I can to get them into the channel where they can deploy the oars. Earlier in the year, when the water temperature was lower than the air temperature it was pretty cold. Now at least the water is warmer.
Despite this I like the entry point as Hide Away is not just a dock but a marina and has a bathroom facility. So nice to have amenities!
Tuesday, August 6, 2018 was the start of yet another beautiful day. It was hot and steamy, around 95% humidity at 4:00am when I awake and file the Rondout Creek TIDES and CURRENTs report on Facebook and on my website.
Then after a coffee and muffin breakfast, I head down to the city docks under the Wurtz Street Bridge to go out on a row — alone. It is now 5:30am and still very dark as sunrise is not until 6:22am. I prepare my oars, rigger, and unstrap the boat on my car top, and pull it down off the car. I posted my FLOAT PLAN and taped it on my car windshield. Soon I am ready to launch and send eCrumbs to Anezka so that she knows where I am while I row.
I start out in the direction of the lighthouse because, well, that’s what everybody does. The Hudson calls—she is the master. Yes. I love the Rondout Creek but it is narrow and zigzagged in comparison with the mighty Hudson and the beautiful sunrise that can be captured there. It will take me 20 minutes to get there.
A quad launches from the Maritime Museum dock as I row past it on the other side of the creek. I try to keep up knowing how futile it is—four rowers against one. Of course I am no match but I enjoy the unintentional race. I press hard as I drive my feet against my footstretchers. I can feel the power through my calves, up my hamstrings, through my backside into my arms which connect to the oars. I am flying just behind and to the left of the quad’s stern rower when suddenly I am jolted into reality. I should have been looking back every 3 strokes but instead I was plowing through the water enjoying how swiftly my boat advances backwards. I had impaled at least 3 feet of my bow into the remains of an old wreck which at slack tide was not easy to see. But I should have known it was there. My vanity, my competitiveness drove me into this very bad situation. I could not row out of the wreck. I tried to row away in vain. So I stood up on my boat and rocked it to and fro until I freed it from the wreckage. The quad crew had stopped, aghast at what I had done. They offered help but I did not respond. Once freed I raced as fast as I could (mind you I am suffering blinding pain in my piriformis muscle) up to the quad and yelled “OK, who put that wreck out there!” They all laughed and the stern rower yelled “I did!” I yelled “I knew it!” and we were both off on our day’s journey on the creek.
But as I sit here and write this I am shocked at my own childish behavior and I ask myself “what is wrong with you?” “You are acting like a child!” So I thought deeply about this and realize that I AM still a child. I am responding to certain club rowers who have told me “you are too slow” or “your technique is clumsy”. I overcompensate. Yes, I am rowing in training boats with outriggers which tend to be heavier than normal single boats. They refer to them as “training wheels”. I hear their whispers and snickering in my head (I am imagining it). It brings back painful childhood memories of feeling inadequate. I can’t believe that I am approaching seventy years of age and have yet to get over the fear and pain of being who I am.
the Rondout Rower 