Thursday, 30 June 2011
Next race
Just quickly - we race tomorrow (Friday) against London C at 9:35am GMT, or 6:35pm EST. Much more civilized time for you guys. According to Conrads research, these guys have a strong finishing burst which we'll be looking for. Cheers, Drew
Race #2
Hi all,
As some of you may be aware, we had another win this afternoon, this time against the Elizabethan Boat Club. We had a slightly scrambled start, but still had about 3/4 of a length lead by the Barrier, which turned into 3 lengths by Fawley, at which point we essentially switched off and paddled home, gradually reducing the rate to about 28 and taking the win by about 1 and 3/4 lengths in a time of 7:20 which means basically nothing. Tomorrow we meet another London crew, London 'C' this time who have won through the top eighth of the draw. Should we beat them, it is a likely semi-final match up with the London A crew who are the outright favourites. Deja vu anyone?
Well, that's the basic equation for those of you who are just looking for raw info. Anyone who can be bothered is welcome to read on, I've realised that we haven't said much this year about what it is actually like to race at Henley from a pure rowing perspective, so, using today as an example (because it's fresh in my mind), I'll do my best to give you a 'word picture' now. Some of it is common to all regattas and most of you will recognise and identify with those bits. Some is purely Henley - I'll try to convey as well as I can...
Our race today is at 2:45pm, the morning is spent sleeping late and a leisurely breakfast, by 10am everyone is engaged in their usual pre-race routine. Hatsy is working whilst simultaneously organising the day's guest list - he controls all our official contact with the regatta, distributes passes to those supporters who are in town and organises who gets to go with him on the umpires boat - a very powerful and influential figure indeed! Sam is wandering, eating, stretching, playing games on his phone, productively wasting time. Conrad hangs in the kitchen, makes a coffee, plays with the dog, peruses some cows, makes some more coffee. Shane and I both walk, independently, he to get himself focused on rhythm and drive he needs to deliver today, me to stress quietly over steering.
By 11am, it's 8pm in Australia, so the daily phone calls to home are made and then it's time to get ready to go. There is a flurry of zooties and socks, everybody steals back off Shane what he's managed to 'acquire' in the last 24 hours, Hatsy is suited up and we hit the road. It's only 10minutes into Henley, but we hit walking pace traffic and the last kilometer takes 25minutes. Hatsy is late to meet his godparents, so he takes to the pavement. The rest of us park with no dramas and make our way across the grassy lawns, now covered with parked cars, marquees, lawn chairs, blankets, picnics and lots and lots of Pimms. The gathered throngs are excited, happy, halfway cut and ever so polite as we pick our way through to the boat tent.
We converge at the boat, give it a quick once over, then your time is your own for the next 90min before we reconvene for the warm-up. Conrad disappears to stretch and cogitate, he likes to be alone during this period. Shane is off on his usual walk to the start line, he likes to check conditions at every point on the course. I head for the grandstand in the regatta enclosure where I can sit and watch the world go by for a while. Sam has a stretch, then joins me and we spend an hour or so dissecting the abilities of the various crews out training in the lunch interval. It's a good time to soak up the atmosphere, basically it's like the Melbourne Cup carnival, probably Stakes day before it starts to get messy. From the top of the stand here, I can see maybe 10,000 people, there would be 3 or 4 times that spread along the river today.
1:45pm and we meet back at the boat, head for the changerooms, check our bags in and hit the ergs. There is no point trying to warm up on the water, it's chaos out there, we need to be warm before the boat gets wet. Shane is first away, he needs 20min+ to get the 41 year old bones warmed up. Rad comes and goes 2 or 3 times, getting that extra stretching inbetween. I only need maybe 10min at low intensity to get a sweat up, Sam likes to churn along a bit faster, but for not as long. 2:10 and we are back at the boat. John O'Dowd and his wife Katherine are there and wish us luck. John gets the job of holding our bag tickets while we race. The oars are down, the boat comes off the rack at 2:15.
There are 6 diagonally oriented pontoons poking out into the river directly outside the boat tent, we walk straight out onto the first and place the boat on the downstream side. Rad and Sam hold, Shane and I collect oars. To do this we weave between crowds of rowers, coxes, coaches, well-wishers and the general public wandering past to have a close look at "the entertainment" as we prepare to push-off. Oars in, Rad and Shane push off and my nightmare begins.
It's almost impossible to describe the next 15 or so minutes. The basic mechanics are simple. I need to head up about 500m on the north side of the course, then cross over, travel another 1000m on the south, cross back to the north and continue to the start. Simple, right? Not even.
"Number off from the stern", I call. "Stroke", "3", "2", I get in reply, so far, so good. "Sit forward", I say, then take a look behind me. 2 eights have just finished a race and are paddling slowly my way on the bowside, should be able to cross in front of them, a 30 foot cruiser is chugging ever closer on the strokeside, still should be ok... "Attention, row", we shoot away from the landing and I look again. "Shit!", "Easy! Check it!" 3 men in a boat (I kid you not) have punted out from behind the cruiser and are now 10 feet off my bow. "Rad, touch it around", I can still make it before the cruiser crushes my stern, but those eights are getting closer. "From the back, row". We make another 3 strokes, "Easy! Check hard bowside!" One eight just misses the stern, a speedboat has chosen this moment to back out of it's berth about 3 feet from Conrads blade, that cruiser is really close now. A gap opens up briefly, "Sit forward, row!" The boat leaps for the gap and I just squeeze through between the judges stand and a canal boat steaming upstream. I relax momentarily, then a yelp of surprise comes from over my right shoulder. You guessed it, there is a canoe hiding behind the judges stand with a lady in a lovely dress reclining in the bow - her considerate boyfriend/husband/significant other has seen the same gap I did and we're about to fight over it. She has seen me, he hasn't. I've got about 400kgs with a sharp point moving at 15kph, he's got 60kg of very anxious female dead in the water about 15 feet from my pointy bit. "Crap! Check it hard, all crew!" He's finally seen me, I turn to enquire as to his intentions, he sees the look on my face and retreats rapidly back from whence he came, much to his lady's relief.
No kidding, this continues for the next 400m through the most amazing slop, chop and mayhem you'd ever want to see. On the weekend, you can''t even negotiate this section, competing crews actually row up the course proper for the first section. We finally cross to the south side where there are thankfully hardly any pleasure craft. We are now however under the eyes of the enormous crowds on the South bank and the noise is constant. The crew relaxes and starts to work into the warm-up, the boat starts to send and travel, steering is much easier. We get the occasional "Go, Power House" from the bank, some Aussie accents, but interestingly, plenty of British ones too. We do a 10 stroke surge to wake up a bit, we fluff a couple of finishes but the boat feels bright in the water. Shane turns his head and yells "Thirty-five", the stroke-coach attached to his foot plate giving him instant feedback. That's good for a first piece, I'm happier now as we head back to the north side of the course - there are no marshalls telling you when you can cross the course, you make your own decisions and are trusted to do so, but get in the way of a race...
Up here closer to the start the crowd is thinner, as are the pleasure boats. We are now in the warm-up area which takes us around the island. We do another 15 stroke surge, "36", Shane calls as we drop back, this is good, the boat is feeling nice, that rate was achieved with little effort and the rhythm is good. It's 2:33 as we pass the start blocks, time enough for another km of paddling, which we do beyond the start, coming back up directly behind the blocks. I stop the crew about 200m short and we follow the standard routine, check the gate and footstretcher, empty waterbottles (and other things...). "Sit forward, 5 stroke start." I call "Go", and the boat jumps like it's been shot. "41" says Shane, and we're ready.
Conrad and I gently ease the boat forward past the 'stake-boats' or starting pontoons. There is only just enough room between pontoon and bank to sneak through. We are on the Berkshire station today, so we are right underneath the crowd on the south bank. The Elizabethans are already on station, they look tall and competent, but opposition crews always do to me at this time. I search for a weakness as is my want at these times. I know I shouldn't but I can't help it. I concentrate on the bowman, my opposite number, he looks strong, but I spot a tiny bit of gut as he sits back that makes me feel better. This takes all of 2 seconds and I refocus on the task at hand.
Shane and Sam back the boat down to the holder and I can feel him grab the stern. Shane yells "Contact", and I concentrate on getting a line. The first 300m of the course is buoyed on both sides, but there is nothing to separate the crews. You have to thread an imaginary line down the centre of the course and keep to your side of it, whilst keeping off the buoys as well. Hitting a buoy is not a big deal, but in 300m, those buoys turn into timber posts about 6 inches square and this one fact sits in the back of my mind like a lead weight.
While he's sitting forward at the catch, I can just see past Rad's left ear to the 'tell-tales' behind the stake-boat which I can use to get a line. Now it's just a light touch from Rad or me to keep a line, we're protected from the wind here. The umpires boat pulls in, it's about 40 feet long and powered by what sounds like a low revving diesel, big anyway. Standing up front is the umpire, resplendent in his Henley blazer and boater hat, a white and red flag in hand. Sitting behind him, I can see Hatsy's dark curls and Shane's mum Amy sitting quietly - no barracking, cheering or signalling to the crew is allowed from the umpires boat. Nevertheless, Hatsy inclines his head ever so slightly to the crew and I know he's happy that all is good. On the bank I can see Simon, Lindy and Tora who have come down to watch us race, an unknown individual just behind us says quietly, "C'mon House" in an Aussie accent, still don't know who.
The umpire signals his driver forward and announces, "Power House. Elizabethans. When I see that you are both straight and ready, I shall start you like this... Attention (red flag goes up), Go! (Red flag goes down). Get ready please". There is a pregnant pause, I sit still, Rad has brought me beautifully straight, now if he'd just move his bloody head an inch to the right... "Attention.... Go!" The flag drops and both boats leap away.
This is where I'm flying blind and it scares the crap out of me. I've now lost the tell-tales behind Rad's head and there are not enough buoys past yet to get a line from them. I take a quick glance over my right shoulder, but the rating has just touched 47 and I've got bugger all time to get a reference point. I can feel the Elizabethans drifting in on me to the left and I kick the rudder a touch to stay away from their blades, but I don't want to put Rad and Shane onto the buoys. The umpire lifts his white flag, "Elizabethans!" he yells, and directs them back to their side. They go and I have a bit more room, but the buoys have just gone red and I'm too close to them now. In another 10 strokes we'll be into the wooden booms. At the same time, we clear out of the protection of the island and the cross-breeze will hit my bow and push me even closer to the timber. My heel comes over before the thought is all the way through my head and I spend the next 3 strokes praying that the thing will respond. Finally it does and we flash past the first of the posts still rating 42, Shane's blade missing the post by over a metre. I had more room than I thought.
Finally I can concentrate on the rowing, and we're in a bit of a mess. The Elizabethans know that we are the quicker crew, so they've put all their eggs in a familiar basket. They are cooking it big time and maybe have us just shaded as we clear the island. We've got a bit of a panicked feel in the boat, the rate hasn't settled as it normally does and we're just a touch rattled. These guys did beat a seeded crew yesterday. I get caught on a finish and then blow the following catch, water sprays over the boat from my blade and I curse myself mentally, "Get it together, you goose!". I sit up and try to relax my inside hand, the water is rough here, we need to be loose and clean, absorb the waves and slop, not let it push us around. The rowing improves slightly, then "Power House!" Shit, I've let myself drift into the centre, now it's me cramping them for room. I kick my heel across again, but remember to correct early and stay away from those damn booms.
Now we're starting to make an impact, we've eased out to half a length and you can feel the boat relax. Length improves and the catches clean up. Almost immediately we are out to a length lead. I return my attention to the steering and make sure I'm not offending the umpire. I'm warned twice more, but so are the Elizabethans and I'm keeping Rad happy by keeping his oar away from the timber. In the next 500m, the difference in class between the crews becomes obvious and we slip away to about 3.5 lengths. We get to the Fawley mark well clear and the mood in the boat is good. Shane turns and snaps something to Sam, I can't hear what it is but the rate drops half a point and the finishes pick up 5%, so I match it. All of a sudden we are in the zone. Boat is traveling beautifully and all the effort has gone out of it. We are well clear and under no pressure. We flow through to the mile marker and the result is beyond doubt. Normally, I'll make no calls, but I sense here we may not all be of one mind.
We have some hard racing to come, you get no points for winning big, just winning. I call "500 to go, relax, extend!" Shane knows exactly what I mean, the rate drops down to 32, pressure stays on, boat is flying. We reach the enclosures, "Down 2 more!" I yell, and the boys in the stern oblige, they've got it under control. Then the applause starts, no yelling and screaming here, just the polite clapping from a couple of thousand well-heeled rowing devotees in the Stewards Enclosure. It's surprisingly loud, and given we are now down to 28 strokes per minute, we can hear every bit of it. It feels good. I make one last check to ensure I don't embarrass myself (and lose the race) by stacking the boat, then sit back and enjoy the last 10 strokes. Rad has his obligatory look for the line, and I can reassure him, "5 strokes mate", he's happy, we cross the line in good shape.
We reach the pontoon to be met by the usual suspects, all just as happy as we are, this is when Henley feels really good. The Elizabethans are the next pontoon over and having their bow number removed, it could all too easily be us instead. But not today!
Cheers, Drew
As some of you may be aware, we had another win this afternoon, this time against the Elizabethan Boat Club. We had a slightly scrambled start, but still had about 3/4 of a length lead by the Barrier, which turned into 3 lengths by Fawley, at which point we essentially switched off and paddled home, gradually reducing the rate to about 28 and taking the win by about 1 and 3/4 lengths in a time of 7:20 which means basically nothing. Tomorrow we meet another London crew, London 'C' this time who have won through the top eighth of the draw. Should we beat them, it is a likely semi-final match up with the London A crew who are the outright favourites. Deja vu anyone?
Well, that's the basic equation for those of you who are just looking for raw info. Anyone who can be bothered is welcome to read on, I've realised that we haven't said much this year about what it is actually like to race at Henley from a pure rowing perspective, so, using today as an example (because it's fresh in my mind), I'll do my best to give you a 'word picture' now. Some of it is common to all regattas and most of you will recognise and identify with those bits. Some is purely Henley - I'll try to convey as well as I can...
Our race today is at 2:45pm, the morning is spent sleeping late and a leisurely breakfast, by 10am everyone is engaged in their usual pre-race routine. Hatsy is working whilst simultaneously organising the day's guest list - he controls all our official contact with the regatta, distributes passes to those supporters who are in town and organises who gets to go with him on the umpires boat - a very powerful and influential figure indeed! Sam is wandering, eating, stretching, playing games on his phone, productively wasting time. Conrad hangs in the kitchen, makes a coffee, plays with the dog, peruses some cows, makes some more coffee. Shane and I both walk, independently, he to get himself focused on rhythm and drive he needs to deliver today, me to stress quietly over steering.
By 11am, it's 8pm in Australia, so the daily phone calls to home are made and then it's time to get ready to go. There is a flurry of zooties and socks, everybody steals back off Shane what he's managed to 'acquire' in the last 24 hours, Hatsy is suited up and we hit the road. It's only 10minutes into Henley, but we hit walking pace traffic and the last kilometer takes 25minutes. Hatsy is late to meet his godparents, so he takes to the pavement. The rest of us park with no dramas and make our way across the grassy lawns, now covered with parked cars, marquees, lawn chairs, blankets, picnics and lots and lots of Pimms. The gathered throngs are excited, happy, halfway cut and ever so polite as we pick our way through to the boat tent.
We converge at the boat, give it a quick once over, then your time is your own for the next 90min before we reconvene for the warm-up. Conrad disappears to stretch and cogitate, he likes to be alone during this period. Shane is off on his usual walk to the start line, he likes to check conditions at every point on the course. I head for the grandstand in the regatta enclosure where I can sit and watch the world go by for a while. Sam has a stretch, then joins me and we spend an hour or so dissecting the abilities of the various crews out training in the lunch interval. It's a good time to soak up the atmosphere, basically it's like the Melbourne Cup carnival, probably Stakes day before it starts to get messy. From the top of the stand here, I can see maybe 10,000 people, there would be 3 or 4 times that spread along the river today.
1:45pm and we meet back at the boat, head for the changerooms, check our bags in and hit the ergs. There is no point trying to warm up on the water, it's chaos out there, we need to be warm before the boat gets wet. Shane is first away, he needs 20min+ to get the 41 year old bones warmed up. Rad comes and goes 2 or 3 times, getting that extra stretching inbetween. I only need maybe 10min at low intensity to get a sweat up, Sam likes to churn along a bit faster, but for not as long. 2:10 and we are back at the boat. John O'Dowd and his wife Katherine are there and wish us luck. John gets the job of holding our bag tickets while we race. The oars are down, the boat comes off the rack at 2:15.
There are 6 diagonally oriented pontoons poking out into the river directly outside the boat tent, we walk straight out onto the first and place the boat on the downstream side. Rad and Sam hold, Shane and I collect oars. To do this we weave between crowds of rowers, coxes, coaches, well-wishers and the general public wandering past to have a close look at "the entertainment" as we prepare to push-off. Oars in, Rad and Shane push off and my nightmare begins.
It's almost impossible to describe the next 15 or so minutes. The basic mechanics are simple. I need to head up about 500m on the north side of the course, then cross over, travel another 1000m on the south, cross back to the north and continue to the start. Simple, right? Not even.
"Number off from the stern", I call. "Stroke", "3", "2", I get in reply, so far, so good. "Sit forward", I say, then take a look behind me. 2 eights have just finished a race and are paddling slowly my way on the bowside, should be able to cross in front of them, a 30 foot cruiser is chugging ever closer on the strokeside, still should be ok... "Attention, row", we shoot away from the landing and I look again. "Shit!", "Easy! Check it!" 3 men in a boat (I kid you not) have punted out from behind the cruiser and are now 10 feet off my bow. "Rad, touch it around", I can still make it before the cruiser crushes my stern, but those eights are getting closer. "From the back, row". We make another 3 strokes, "Easy! Check hard bowside!" One eight just misses the stern, a speedboat has chosen this moment to back out of it's berth about 3 feet from Conrads blade, that cruiser is really close now. A gap opens up briefly, "Sit forward, row!" The boat leaps for the gap and I just squeeze through between the judges stand and a canal boat steaming upstream. I relax momentarily, then a yelp of surprise comes from over my right shoulder. You guessed it, there is a canoe hiding behind the judges stand with a lady in a lovely dress reclining in the bow - her considerate boyfriend/husband/significant other has seen the same gap I did and we're about to fight over it. She has seen me, he hasn't. I've got about 400kgs with a sharp point moving at 15kph, he's got 60kg of very anxious female dead in the water about 15 feet from my pointy bit. "Crap! Check it hard, all crew!" He's finally seen me, I turn to enquire as to his intentions, he sees the look on my face and retreats rapidly back from whence he came, much to his lady's relief.
No kidding, this continues for the next 400m through the most amazing slop, chop and mayhem you'd ever want to see. On the weekend, you can''t even negotiate this section, competing crews actually row up the course proper for the first section. We finally cross to the south side where there are thankfully hardly any pleasure craft. We are now however under the eyes of the enormous crowds on the South bank and the noise is constant. The crew relaxes and starts to work into the warm-up, the boat starts to send and travel, steering is much easier. We get the occasional "Go, Power House" from the bank, some Aussie accents, but interestingly, plenty of British ones too. We do a 10 stroke surge to wake up a bit, we fluff a couple of finishes but the boat feels bright in the water. Shane turns his head and yells "Thirty-five", the stroke-coach attached to his foot plate giving him instant feedback. That's good for a first piece, I'm happier now as we head back to the north side of the course - there are no marshalls telling you when you can cross the course, you make your own decisions and are trusted to do so, but get in the way of a race...
Up here closer to the start the crowd is thinner, as are the pleasure boats. We are now in the warm-up area which takes us around the island. We do another 15 stroke surge, "36", Shane calls as we drop back, this is good, the boat is feeling nice, that rate was achieved with little effort and the rhythm is good. It's 2:33 as we pass the start blocks, time enough for another km of paddling, which we do beyond the start, coming back up directly behind the blocks. I stop the crew about 200m short and we follow the standard routine, check the gate and footstretcher, empty waterbottles (and other things...). "Sit forward, 5 stroke start." I call "Go", and the boat jumps like it's been shot. "41" says Shane, and we're ready.
Conrad and I gently ease the boat forward past the 'stake-boats' or starting pontoons. There is only just enough room between pontoon and bank to sneak through. We are on the Berkshire station today, so we are right underneath the crowd on the south bank. The Elizabethans are already on station, they look tall and competent, but opposition crews always do to me at this time. I search for a weakness as is my want at these times. I know I shouldn't but I can't help it. I concentrate on the bowman, my opposite number, he looks strong, but I spot a tiny bit of gut as he sits back that makes me feel better. This takes all of 2 seconds and I refocus on the task at hand.
Shane and Sam back the boat down to the holder and I can feel him grab the stern. Shane yells "Contact", and I concentrate on getting a line. The first 300m of the course is buoyed on both sides, but there is nothing to separate the crews. You have to thread an imaginary line down the centre of the course and keep to your side of it, whilst keeping off the buoys as well. Hitting a buoy is not a big deal, but in 300m, those buoys turn into timber posts about 6 inches square and this one fact sits in the back of my mind like a lead weight.
While he's sitting forward at the catch, I can just see past Rad's left ear to the 'tell-tales' behind the stake-boat which I can use to get a line. Now it's just a light touch from Rad or me to keep a line, we're protected from the wind here. The umpires boat pulls in, it's about 40 feet long and powered by what sounds like a low revving diesel, big anyway. Standing up front is the umpire, resplendent in his Henley blazer and boater hat, a white and red flag in hand. Sitting behind him, I can see Hatsy's dark curls and Shane's mum Amy sitting quietly - no barracking, cheering or signalling to the crew is allowed from the umpires boat. Nevertheless, Hatsy inclines his head ever so slightly to the crew and I know he's happy that all is good. On the bank I can see Simon, Lindy and Tora who have come down to watch us race, an unknown individual just behind us says quietly, "C'mon House" in an Aussie accent, still don't know who.
The umpire signals his driver forward and announces, "Power House. Elizabethans. When I see that you are both straight and ready, I shall start you like this... Attention (red flag goes up), Go! (Red flag goes down). Get ready please". There is a pregnant pause, I sit still, Rad has brought me beautifully straight, now if he'd just move his bloody head an inch to the right... "Attention.... Go!" The flag drops and both boats leap away.
This is where I'm flying blind and it scares the crap out of me. I've now lost the tell-tales behind Rad's head and there are not enough buoys past yet to get a line from them. I take a quick glance over my right shoulder, but the rating has just touched 47 and I've got bugger all time to get a reference point. I can feel the Elizabethans drifting in on me to the left and I kick the rudder a touch to stay away from their blades, but I don't want to put Rad and Shane onto the buoys. The umpire lifts his white flag, "Elizabethans!" he yells, and directs them back to their side. They go and I have a bit more room, but the buoys have just gone red and I'm too close to them now. In another 10 strokes we'll be into the wooden booms. At the same time, we clear out of the protection of the island and the cross-breeze will hit my bow and push me even closer to the timber. My heel comes over before the thought is all the way through my head and I spend the next 3 strokes praying that the thing will respond. Finally it does and we flash past the first of the posts still rating 42, Shane's blade missing the post by over a metre. I had more room than I thought.
Finally I can concentrate on the rowing, and we're in a bit of a mess. The Elizabethans know that we are the quicker crew, so they've put all their eggs in a familiar basket. They are cooking it big time and maybe have us just shaded as we clear the island. We've got a bit of a panicked feel in the boat, the rate hasn't settled as it normally does and we're just a touch rattled. These guys did beat a seeded crew yesterday. I get caught on a finish and then blow the following catch, water sprays over the boat from my blade and I curse myself mentally, "Get it together, you goose!". I sit up and try to relax my inside hand, the water is rough here, we need to be loose and clean, absorb the waves and slop, not let it push us around. The rowing improves slightly, then "Power House!" Shit, I've let myself drift into the centre, now it's me cramping them for room. I kick my heel across again, but remember to correct early and stay away from those damn booms.
Now we're starting to make an impact, we've eased out to half a length and you can feel the boat relax. Length improves and the catches clean up. Almost immediately we are out to a length lead. I return my attention to the steering and make sure I'm not offending the umpire. I'm warned twice more, but so are the Elizabethans and I'm keeping Rad happy by keeping his oar away from the timber. In the next 500m, the difference in class between the crews becomes obvious and we slip away to about 3.5 lengths. We get to the Fawley mark well clear and the mood in the boat is good. Shane turns and snaps something to Sam, I can't hear what it is but the rate drops half a point and the finishes pick up 5%, so I match it. All of a sudden we are in the zone. Boat is traveling beautifully and all the effort has gone out of it. We are well clear and under no pressure. We flow through to the mile marker and the result is beyond doubt. Normally, I'll make no calls, but I sense here we may not all be of one mind.
We have some hard racing to come, you get no points for winning big, just winning. I call "500 to go, relax, extend!" Shane knows exactly what I mean, the rate drops down to 32, pressure stays on, boat is flying. We reach the enclosures, "Down 2 more!" I yell, and the boys in the stern oblige, they've got it under control. Then the applause starts, no yelling and screaming here, just the polite clapping from a couple of thousand well-heeled rowing devotees in the Stewards Enclosure. It's surprisingly loud, and given we are now down to 28 strokes per minute, we can hear every bit of it. It feels good. I make one last check to ensure I don't embarrass myself (and lose the race) by stacking the boat, then sit back and enjoy the last 10 strokes. Rad has his obligatory look for the line, and I can reassure him, "5 strokes mate", he's happy, we cross the line in good shape.
We reach the pontoon to be met by the usual suspects, all just as happy as we are, this is when Henley feels really good. The Elizabethans are the next pontoon over and having their bow number removed, it could all too easily be us instead. But not today!
Cheers, Drew
Wednesday, 29 June 2011
Whew!
Hi all,
Just a quick one this morning. We've managed to win our first round against a well credentialled London 'B' crew. We had a reasonable start, only a minor steering blemish and held a length lead by the Barrier (600m). From here, according to Hatsy in the umpires boat, we handled the rough conditions better than the lighter London crew and eased out to about 2.5 lengths at the 3/4 mile. London worked hard to pull back, their finishing burst brought them up to a length down, Shane and Sam just tweaked the rate a couple of points and we held them there til the post. Not totally comfortable, but we have certainly all been in more distress. The time was 7:09, the equal fastest for the day, however some of the races were won easily by crews easing up at the line, so hard to tell.
Tomorrow's race is against the Elizabethan BC (old Etonians, apparently), whom once again, we know bugger all about. They beat the seeded New Zealand crew today, so imagine they'll be quick enough! The race is at 2:45pm GMT so 11:45pm EST (tonight) for all you guys. You souls be able to get either a radio feed, albeit a quite eclectic one, via the Henley Royal Regatta website. At the very least, you'll also find live and regularly updated results there.
We're off to bed, got to race again in 15hrs. More soon.
Cheers, Drew
Just a quick one this morning. We've managed to win our first round against a well credentialled London 'B' crew. We had a reasonable start, only a minor steering blemish and held a length lead by the Barrier (600m). From here, according to Hatsy in the umpires boat, we handled the rough conditions better than the lighter London crew and eased out to about 2.5 lengths at the 3/4 mile. London worked hard to pull back, their finishing burst brought them up to a length down, Shane and Sam just tweaked the rate a couple of points and we held them there til the post. Not totally comfortable, but we have certainly all been in more distress. The time was 7:09, the equal fastest for the day, however some of the races were won easily by crews easing up at the line, so hard to tell.
Tomorrow's race is against the Elizabethan BC (old Etonians, apparently), whom once again, we know bugger all about. They beat the seeded New Zealand crew today, so imagine they'll be quick enough! The race is at 2:45pm GMT so 11:45pm EST (tonight) for all you guys. You souls be able to get either a radio feed, albeit a quite eclectic one, via the Henley Royal Regatta website. At the very least, you'll also find live and regularly updated results there.
We're off to bed, got to race again in 15hrs. More soon.
Cheers, Drew
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Pre-Race Day
Hi All,
Some insights from our strokeman on the last day of prep...
Stardate No????? The vacuum before big race day
And so the annoying ‘hurry up and do nothing’ day before competition is upon us. This is a tricky time since the aim is to keep occupied enough to distract, but not become too engrossed or overtaxed. Essentially it is a fine balance between rest and active recovery. The worst case scenario is to become too agitated through unnecessary worry or repeatedly overemphasising the significance of the very near future before it is upon us. Everybody knows but none of us mention that by this time tomorrow many hours of time and effort, not just ours but all those who have helped get us here, may be over in roughly 7 minutes. Yesterday I ran into a very old rowing comrade, not only a former coach of mine but also an East German national and ex West Australian institute of Sport, head coach. He was one of the former Eastern Bloc coach’s who did a runner shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Unfortunately his current crew, all the way from QLD, was eliminated in yesterday’s pre-selection trials by less than one second, a very long way to travel to narrowly miss qualifying for the actual regatta itself.
This might be a good time to mention how we’ve decided to tactically tackle tomorrow’s race. Although we can’t or don’t have any direct influence over what our competition is going to do, based on our experience so far we can have a fairly educated guess. Most crews at Henley tend to bolt out of the block at a furious rate and don’t seem to slow down till at least “The Barrier” approximately 400m into the race. The course keeps a record of fastest times for all boat classes to the ‘Barrier’, since it is apparently a prestigious title to hold. Except perhaps for a certain Fawley Cup crew that last year smashed the ‘To the Barrier’ record but still managed lose the race. At Henley, there seems to be a culture of retaining the psychological advantage of covering or controlling the race by remaining in the lead at all costs. This tactic is pretty effective if you happen to find yourself in 1) an extremely powerful and aggressive crew and 2) racing against a crew that is likely to become rattled or intimidated into making mistakes or losing confidence.
Unfortunately we are not, comparatively speaking, a particularly powerful crew, but fortunately rarely become overly stressed, since we are expecting it, when crews annihilate us out of the blocks. Therefore our tactics will be and have pretty much been for the last couple of years, to grind our way through the middle 1000m. We tend to make very few, often no calls throughout the race. Usually our starts consist of 30 strokes rating 40-43, before settling down to 33-36 strokes per min. However, if we find ourselves too far behind after 600m Sam (3seat) and I (stroke) seat will start the push for the line early, slowly adding half a point to the rating till we fight our way back. Personally when stroking boats against powerful and aggressive crews that have opened up a significant lead I often pretend that the race is now over 1500m not 2000m. It is one of those do or die situations, if you do not get within striking distance within 400 – 450m to go then you’ve just lost. Conrad’s (2 seat) job will basically to work and transfer the rhythm changes to Drew (bow) seat. Drew, who is usually in the position to make calls, will have his hands, or shall we say feet full, steering the boat.
This evening we had our last training paddle for the regatta. Typically it wasn’t our best, but then again before a major race it never is. Good to get all the average rowing out of the way.
Shane
We'll post again after our race, hopefully in a positive frame of mind! Once again, the race will be 6:45pm GMT or 3:45am EST. Thanks for the overwhelming number of messages of support, sorry we haven't had time to reply to all of you but you have been heard!
Cheers, Drew
Monday, 27 June 2011
Day 8
Monday 27th June
Morning Australia,
Apologies for the 48 hour delay since last post, hasn't been much to tell. Yesterday, Sunday, was our rest day. The weather finally turned warm and sunny, we touched 30degrees in the afternoon, much to the thrill of the locals. Shane spent Saturday night and Sunday with friends in London and I dropped Rad into Henley in the late morning so he could consult doctors about his thumb growth... It was really just an excuse for him to roam the regatta scoping out our potential opposition. He returned with information, and after belting his thumb with a rock a couple of times, a smaller lump too.
Sam, Hatsy and myself took to the hills around the farm, walking across fields, through forests, up hill and down dale until we happened, accidentally of course, on a pub. Then another one. After a very satisfying lunch, and the discovery that Gammon is in fact pig (who knew?), we set off for the trek home. Late as usual, we discovered Conrad wandering the Waitrose carpark and then remarkably, stumbled across Sam's friend Jemma at the railway station where we were hoping to find Shane. With no sign of our stroke, we headed back to the farm where Hatsy as usual, was planning a feast.
Offered the use of our hosts Weber BBQ and their beautiful front garden, complete with gazebo, stone walls, rose garden and vegie patch, Hatsy, "assisted" by Rad loaded up the Weber with a leg of lamb, spuds, pumpkin and the rest. Our hosts, Simon and Lindy, joined us for dinner with a bottle of wine as the sun descended ever so slowly over the orchard at the end of the garden. All this much improved Sam's chances with the lovely Jemma, despite the conversational standard to which she was subjected by the remainder of the company.
Shane eventually returned, just after dusk, covered in mud and grass, clambering over the south wall with the remains of a pheasant clamped between his teeth, muttering, "I've already eaten..." Not really, he arrived in a taxi, but he had already eaten.
This morning dawned hot and sunny again and it was off to the course for a paddle. The river is becoming more congested with pleasure craft as the regatta approaches and we got our first real taste of the 'Henley slop', that we will have to deal with when racing. At the start, several of the boat holders were on duty to assist with practice starts. I was very keen to make use of this, as I've been having a few issues with holding a line out of the blocks - fortunately the boat holders make this much easier and we managed a 30-40 stroke full pace start on each lane with no steering errors. The remainder of the session was steady paddling, with a couple of 20 stroke pieces thrown in. We are becoming comfortable with a race rhythm at around 35spm which seems to be most effective into the stiff head conditions which have been prevalent over the last few days.
The session was completed with good energy levels throughout the crew, we docked to a very sweaty Hatsy who'd just completed a 40min erg in what amounts to a canvas tent - sticky. A quick trip to the supermarket then home for lunch and afternoon nap. As I write, the guys are showering, ironing and generally making ready to head off to the International Crews Reception which is on tonight at the River and Rowing Museum in Henley. Should be a bit of fun and another chance for Rad to do some research!
As to the racing, Wednesday's timetable has been finalised, we are racing at 6:45pm GMT or 3:45am EST, so I doubt whether anyone will want to stay up for that one! All we know about the London 'B' crew that are our opponents is that they will be quick, which is no more or less than we would expect.
Until tomorrow.
Drew
Morning Australia,
Apologies for the 48 hour delay since last post, hasn't been much to tell. Yesterday, Sunday, was our rest day. The weather finally turned warm and sunny, we touched 30degrees in the afternoon, much to the thrill of the locals. Shane spent Saturday night and Sunday with friends in London and I dropped Rad into Henley in the late morning so he could consult doctors about his thumb growth... It was really just an excuse for him to roam the regatta scoping out our potential opposition. He returned with information, and after belting his thumb with a rock a couple of times, a smaller lump too.
Sam, Hatsy and myself took to the hills around the farm, walking across fields, through forests, up hill and down dale until we happened, accidentally of course, on a pub. Then another one. After a very satisfying lunch, and the discovery that Gammon is in fact pig (who knew?), we set off for the trek home. Late as usual, we discovered Conrad wandering the Waitrose carpark and then remarkably, stumbled across Sam's friend Jemma at the railway station where we were hoping to find Shane. With no sign of our stroke, we headed back to the farm where Hatsy as usual, was planning a feast.
Offered the use of our hosts Weber BBQ and their beautiful front garden, complete with gazebo, stone walls, rose garden and vegie patch, Hatsy, "assisted" by Rad loaded up the Weber with a leg of lamb, spuds, pumpkin and the rest. Our hosts, Simon and Lindy, joined us for dinner with a bottle of wine as the sun descended ever so slowly over the orchard at the end of the garden. All this much improved Sam's chances with the lovely Jemma, despite the conversational standard to which she was subjected by the remainder of the company.
Shane eventually returned, just after dusk, covered in mud and grass, clambering over the south wall with the remains of a pheasant clamped between his teeth, muttering, "I've already eaten..." Not really, he arrived in a taxi, but he had already eaten.
This morning dawned hot and sunny again and it was off to the course for a paddle. The river is becoming more congested with pleasure craft as the regatta approaches and we got our first real taste of the 'Henley slop', that we will have to deal with when racing. At the start, several of the boat holders were on duty to assist with practice starts. I was very keen to make use of this, as I've been having a few issues with holding a line out of the blocks - fortunately the boat holders make this much easier and we managed a 30-40 stroke full pace start on each lane with no steering errors. The remainder of the session was steady paddling, with a couple of 20 stroke pieces thrown in. We are becoming comfortable with a race rhythm at around 35spm which seems to be most effective into the stiff head conditions which have been prevalent over the last few days.
The session was completed with good energy levels throughout the crew, we docked to a very sweaty Hatsy who'd just completed a 40min erg in what amounts to a canvas tent - sticky. A quick trip to the supermarket then home for lunch and afternoon nap. As I write, the guys are showering, ironing and generally making ready to head off to the International Crews Reception which is on tonight at the River and Rowing Museum in Henley. Should be a bit of fun and another chance for Rad to do some research!
As to the racing, Wednesday's timetable has been finalised, we are racing at 6:45pm GMT or 3:45am EST, so I doubt whether anyone will want to stay up for that one! All we know about the London 'B' crew that are our opponents is that they will be quick, which is no more or less than we would expect.
Until tomorrow.
Drew
Saturday, 25 June 2011
Sam's Take
Morning everyone,
Apologies for our silence of the last 2 days, we've been absorbed with our last heavy water sessions, fine-tuning boat and oars and dealing with last-minute organisational issues. Following is Sam's eloquent summation of the last 2 days...
Apologies for our silence of the last 2 days, we've been absorbed with our last heavy water sessions, fine-tuning boat and oars and dealing with last-minute organisational issues. Following is Sam's eloquent summation of the last 2 days...
Saturday, June 25.
Days Four and Five.
Friday.
After the Adonis had surveyed his domain - strong, luscious curls glistening in the gentle morning sun; the caffeine addicted Count Radisich had necked his requisite dose of French pressed Lavazza; Darwin’s missing link had re-fuelled; the ectomorphic regimental steersman downed some Vegemite toast and I had my fill of nectarine, orange juice, muesli, tea and Tawny Orange marmalade toast, we were ready to depart at a leisurely 0900 for a longer row of three laps in our Irish/Italian coxless four.
The session began with a 6km lap of steady paddling. Nice and long. On the second we raced for 4min, then 2 off, 2 on. The third was on for three, paddle, on for one. We tried a harder gearing on the oars which felt good in this morning’s more gentle conditions; however, we might stick with the 376cm length...
Let’s hit the showers gentlemen. The showers themselves are actually more brutal than gentlemanly, with a complete lack of any hot water. Furthermore, I was surprised to learn that the Henley Royal Regatta is also severely lacking in space for women. Sir Radisich tells me that the fairer sex once upon a time did not actually race at Henley at all. They would, rather, be judged purely on their technique and, presumably, its degree of correctness, precision and beauty.
On the way home I sat in the middle rear seat of our average priced family car that, as Drew described it, “steers like a cow and has the turning circle of your regular lorry.” I sat between my fellow mesomorph Shane and Count Radisich who, at one point, were sharing some light hearted banter. Hatsy was not satisfied with the calibre of conversation and challenged Shane – “What’s going on – are you sharing a neuron with genius over here!?” I collapsed, once more, into a fit of laughter. I am continually in hysterics as a result of Hatsy’s colourful and very original commentary on our daily activities. Hats has also been of great help and encouragement with his precise and insightful coaching and he must be thanked sincerely for his extraordinary efforts and commitment to our crew of five.
Back at the cottage Hatsy and I attempted to learn Scopa, an Italian card game, with dreams of one day playing with such passion and skill as you might see on exhibition somewhere in Carlton. Facing a combination of fatigue from rowing and the apparent incredible complexity of the game’s scoring formulae, we decided we were better off heading back into town to our own spectators’ picnic to watch the qualifying time trials for the other events.
The farmer’s daughter (Victoria or Tora) had been invited to join us for the picnic and she brought Marbles along with her – the farm’s adorable seven month old black Labrador. We enjoyed some delicious rolls prepared by Chef Hatsy and a desert of assorted bakery cakes. The most exciting treats, however, were the Scotch eggs with mustard mayo, brought by Tora, made by her mum Lindy. Delicious!
The trialling became a little tiresome in the spitting rain so we headed for a pint at the Angel, the quaint pub by the quaint Henley bridge. Tora had to head home at this point to meet a friend but assured us that she hadn’t come simply under duress. However, we suspected that she had simply enjoyed enough of Rad & Drew's inane farm questions and overly complex rowing explanations, and was taking her chance to make a getaway. Later, Rad asked Hatsy why he hadn’t leant over to join in on the friendly discussion on the river’s bank. Hatsy said he was trying to steer as far away as possible from that particular train wreck. The Guinness went down very well.
We were all quite tired and satisfied, content to head home and then to bed soon after.
Saturday.
This morning, unlike the last two days, I slept straight through the 5am sunrise to be woken by my alarm: any jetlag I had is gone. We left at the normal time for our last hard session before some rest and taper to race day on Wednesday. We pulled the oars back in to 376 today and rowed two full two-thousand-one-hundred-and-twelve meter race pieces. In the first we started against what may have been the London B crew in our event. They raced flat out for only the first 400m to gain a length in front but we completed the full course at our pace of around 32 strokes/min. The second piece was 10sec faster, at 7min25sec, and we rated a few points higher with a step to 37 strokes/min over the final 300m. We’re all pretty happy with this morning’s pace as we’ve rowed fairly long and hard over the last few days. The legs were fatigued but bodies should be in fine form after a rest day and some short sharp stuff on Monday.
Weigh-in. The crew was called in by the quite proper stewards from bow; Holman, Tulloch, Bailey and O’Connor-Smith. I was relieved to hear my name in its correct position: there was some concern yesterday when Drew was told he had missed the crew substitution cut off by one day. Thankfully, the English rowing stewardship aren’t at all similar to our authoritarian officials in Victoria and showed some compassion... “Steersman?” Asked the steward. “I try” said Drew. He’s actually doing a fantastic job and, aside from the obligatory brush of the barrier on their first day, he’s been steering wonderfully close and straight lines on course and threading the gaps in the downstream leg perfectly.
Holman; 12 stone, 11 pounds (81.2kg)
Tulloch; 14 stone, 8 pounds (92.5kg)
Bailey; 14 stone, 0 pounds (88.9kg)
O’Connor-Smith; 13 stone, 11 pound (87.5kg)
Tulloch; 14 stone, 8 pounds (92.5kg)
Bailey; 14 stone, 0 pounds (88.9kg)
O’Connor-Smith; 13 stone, 11 pound (87.5kg)
Another alarmingly cold shower. An apple for some energy and water. We dropped Shane at the station – he’s visiting a friend in London tonight. We came home for some lunch. Hatsy and I tried Scopa again and, with a minor sticking point in the gameplay overcome, managed to get the knack of it quite quickly. Hatsy won 11 to 7.
We headed back into town to watch “The Draw”. It’s held in the Henley town hall and has, like so much else about this wonderful place I’ve landed myself in, an amazing air of tradition and decorum about it. I really like how everything is very formal, polite, and proceeds with a degree of organised calmness. For example, in a supermarket carpark in Australia you would not expect to have a motor-home received by the attendant with much good grace. Here, however, instead of lambasting the poor trip maker, the carpark attendant simply enquired to be sure everything is in order and to wish the gentleman in the caravan a lovely holiday! Quite!
But, I digress! We have been matched against London B for our first race. If that was them we raced this morning then Hatsy is confident that we’ll mow them down without too much trouble. Nevertheless, our draw seems pretty challenging: provided we win round one, we may well meet the seeded New Zealand crew in round 2. Well, it was never supposed to be easy! We will, of course, just have to row as hard and fast as we can and we’re confident that we are paddling fast enough to be more than just competitive.
It’s actually another beautiful sunny afternoon here in this English summer. We have beef stroganoff planned for dinner, with some nice French wine, and Butterscotch icecream for desert! In the mean time Hatsy has just served me some amazing canapés: mouth watering stuff! Tomorrow’s a rest day and we think we might visit a nearby pub for a meal.
It’s been smashing thus far, old chap, what what... mmyess, quite!
Sam
Note: As Sam observes, we don't have much clue about the form of other crews in our event. Whilst our draw looks tough, we have no hard data to draw on. Of course, the same holds true for other crews wondering about us. I'm certain the grapevine will do it's usual pointless work in the coming days, and we'll all find out on Wednesday! We shall, as always, keep you posted.
Cheers Drew
Thursday, 23 June 2011
Conrad Gets Busy
Morning All,
As promised, here is the Rad Man's contribution to the blog. Names have remained exactly the same to expose the innocent. Drew
Thursday 23rd June 2011
Day 4 Henley Tour PHRC
I woke at approximately 7:00 pm and the front door of the cabin was open. In the doorway was a Greek Adonis in his “Bonds” boxer shorts and his body shimmered in the sunlight. As luck would have it, this was the exact time of the day that Tora, the farmer’s daughter drove past on the tractor as she headed off to tend the fields. She is a very capable young woman, with broad shoulders and common sense beyond her years.
Unfortunately Tora’s head did not turn as she passed the Adonis and she continued on her way. It appears that a new strategy will have to be devised to attract the attention of the fit young female farmer.
I had a coffee, one sugar and milk.
Sam had recently arrived from Melbourne and we felt it was important that he got to go for a row before the jet-lag set in. We munched down our cereal and packed ready to head off to the Henley rowing course.
At this stage Shane was struggling with his technology, the phone did not work, the internet did not work and he was certain that the computers were conspiring against him. We felt it was best that he be removed from the technology and taken away for a row.
I had a coffee, one sugar and milk.
Hatzi had to stay back to complete some urgent work.
I had a coffee, one sugar and milk.
It is approximately 6 miles to the rowing course from the “White Pond farmhouse” along windy, picturesque roads passing through the quaint town of Henley.
The traffic in the town of Henley is significantly increasing as all the preparations are well underway for the start of the regatta (mowing the course, setting up marquees, setting up the temporary structures for the race officials and competitors. The infrastructure for the Henley Regatta is greater than that used at the Melbourne Grand Prix (the event is also better attended).
As you approach the course you can see the historic buildings and the marquees that run along the river.
We entered the competitor’s enclosure, a massive white marquee with beautiful thick grass and hundreds of brand new pairs, quads, fours and eights.
We hit the water and headed off for two laps. We rowed over the course at 24 strokes per minute on the first lap and the second lap at 26 strokes per minute. There were strong winds and we made good progress through the heavy conditions. We appeared to be moving well compared to all other boats on the course.
After the row we intended to make a crew change. However we advised that the date had passed that allowed for this change. We headed back to the cabin and the leaders of the group decided how to best address this issue.
Fortunately the Stewards who run the Henley Regatta, allow for more flexibility than Rowing Victoria. At the Henley Regatta the rowers are treated more as a customer/guest than an inconvenience to the race officials.
Back at the farm we were offered the opportunity to assist with the “farming”. The Carlton city farmer yesterday appeared to believe that all the spotted beasts in the adjacent enclosure were all cows. However the main activities at the farm is breeding and raising the Angus cows and bulls. This activity requires both the female cow and the male bull to reproduce (much like humans).
I had a coffee, one sugar and milk.
Although the rain appeared imminent the fair weather farmers headed out. We herded up the cows and bull into the crush one at a time. Both Sam and I were given the opportunity to inject the bulls for foot root.
I had a coffee, one sugar and milk.
Although the cows and bulls appear to be docile, they move quickly and at 300-400kg they are a formidable beast.
We headed back to the course for our second row.
After much deliberation with race officials (Stewards) PHRC were allowed to make the crew change.
On the banks we head from spectators that MUBC eight rowing in the Thames Challenge Cup as the Upper Yarra Rowing Club were the crew to beat. They have elected to row at UYRC as they were not eligible for the event as MUBC.
We headed out for the second row. We lined up for training piece against an American four. They were in a coxed four and appeared to be young, fit and strong. The American’s rowed at 33 strokes per minute and maintained that rate. We were able to reduce the rate to 25 strokes per minute and still stay in front of the Americans. At the thousand metre make we lifted the rate to 32 and took four lengths over the next two hundred metres.
Against the American’s our pacing seemed good and we will continue to increase the intensity as the race day approaches.
After the row we headed off to Tesco Supermarket. Surprisingly, with the dollar so strong food is cheaper than Coles or Safeway.
I had a coffee, one sugar and milk.
Back at the cabin a meal of pasta was prepared (lots of vegetables and meat).
I had a coffee, one sugar and milk.
Movie (DVD), and bed.
Conrad
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
Day 3 - Hatsy's take
Hi all,
An eventful Wednesday as described by resident wordsmith, Nicholas Andreou...
An eventful Wednesday as described by resident wordsmith, Nicholas Andreou...
The four cows that live in the barn beside Rad and my bedroom let us know it was time to start our day. I’ve named them Bertha, Mary and Betty. I offered Rad the option to name one of the cows, he chose “Frank”. Rad assured me that he knows that cows are female.
The restored barn that we live in has two bedrooms, massive exposed termite munched beams, bathroom, kitchen and a Shane that lives on a couch. We wake him for meals.
I had loved rowing with the boys of the previous two days on the Henley course. Henley for rowers must be like Mecca for the Muslims, Graceland for Elvis fans and a 24 hour gym for Angelo. Unlike the rest of the crew, the last time I was in Henley was about 7 years ago, I was hung over and bitterly disappointed that the local lass at the Angel pub had not responded to my praises about the improved state of British dentition.
Imagine a river, with manicured lawns on flat broad banks, where serene white people lounge on polished wooden yachts that cruise quietly by. Think of miles and miles of marquees all with wide vertical blue and white stripes on their external walls. Think of polite stewards, perfectly dressed, assisting you to find your boat, gently moving commoners off the pontoons and picking up leaves that have strayed onto magazine cover perfect rose bushes. Was I in rowing heaven? Where was the Rowing Victoria salute of “Power House! Power House! Check your boat Power House! Yellow Card! Yellow Card for delaying Melbourne Uni!”? Ah this was bliss.
You may have read about the issue of the boat equipment. You’ll recall that the boat was delivered without seats. We had to borrow some seats, which we initially thought were for our boat, but turned out to be someone else’s. Conrad volunteered to play dumb if asked about the seats. I knew we had our best man on the job.
Before we headed off for our drive down to the course, we had our breakfast. Breakfast involves the following ritual. I’m usually awake first, replying to emails and making phone calls to Melbournians just about to end their working day. Conrad gets up and attaches himself to the coffee plunger. He will not release the coffee plunger until about 30 seconds before departure for the course at which time he will take with him a mug of coffee... his 5th for the morning. Drew will wake up, ask how everyone slept, ask how they are feeling today, try to clean a spot on the bench to prepare some breakfast and then ask if anyone would like some toast. I’ve already had a bowl of cereal because I know that if you don’t eat before Shane gets up, you may not get to eat. This man has the ability to inhale cereal.
A knock at the door. It’s Tora, our host, she’s the farmer’s daughter. More about her later. We open the door, she sees the breakfast scene, she has bowl of farm fresh eggs, steps back and with outstretched arm hands them to us. The look on her face tells me she wished she’d kicked the bowl under the door and ran like an apprentice zookeeper on lion feeding duty.
We bundle into the car, and Drew’s skills as a former ambulance driver are evident. Patient, careful and economical. Everything I wouldn’t be with a hire car. Shane utters something about the morning’s training session, numbers spew out of him, I don’t really listen unless he says any number above 36, then I panic. Drew listens carefully and I can tell from the intonation in his voice that he is taking what Shane is saying very seriously. We trundle along narrow country roads, dodging tractors, passing places that have names that have been pulled out of Wind in the Willows. Conrad and I are in the back of the car, he removes his lips for just a second from the coffee mug to say something along the lines of “yeah.. nah... Mckenzie-Mcharg... er... yeah...2008 nationals...Drew Ginn... yeah nah” before mercifully putting his lips back on the mug.
We arrive at the course. The car numbers are building up and we are parking progressively further from the course. We walk out to the boat. It’s missing the seats. Disaster. I was so keen to have another row on that course I was prepared to surgically attach wheels to my arse. We walk the course instead as Drew has organised for a courier to deliver the seats to our farm house. There’s a headwind that is making me cringe. None of us say it, but we’re all looking for coxless fours on the river. We want to know the form. None are out that we can see during our walk. The course seems to take forever to walk. Shane and Drew walk ahead, deep in conversation about the wind, the currents, the atmospheric pressure and the position of the moon. Rad and I talk about lawn mowers and associated grass maintenance equipment the whole way back.
Back at the farm, the seats finally arrive by courier. A meal of scrambled eggs for lunch. Conrad has some more coffee. We discovered last night that Conrad has anaphylaxis to fish. Fortunately he told us before we tucked into Drew’s (now) famous tuna risotto. I was dubious about his claim as it appeared to extend to ‘...and that foreign stuff, you know... chinese and curries and stuff’.
Back at the course and we put the seats into our Italian made boat. The seat are white. How Italian. Out on to the course. I had for the previous two days been rowing on bow side. Not my usual side, but I have ability on both sides. Not because of any great design, but simply because I forgot which side I rowed on 10 years ago and have been swapping around ever since. The consequence however is known to rowers. Your hands turn into something that someone with leprosy would flinch at. I had taped my hands up but with no luck. They were leaking and I was scaring small children. When it was determined that I was to give my hands a rest, I was put into the stroke seat.
Well my friends, it was like been handed the keys to the Maserati. Because once inside the boat, the coffee addict, the fastidious risotto maker and Darwin’s missing link are formidable generators of rowing power. I could hardly contain my childish grin.
There was a headwind and the brains trust had reduced the length of the oars from 377cm to 376cm. The warm up was steady, but the tail wind was letting us know that we would have our work cut out for the trip down the course. At the starting line. The plan was a start and do a 30 stroke piece. Out of the blocks at around 40 strokes per minute, we continued and settled at about 38 strokes per minute. At each finish, like the compression stroke of a steam engine, a hiss would come out of Shane and the boat launched. I was blinking back the tears of joy. I was lost in the moment and forgot to end the piece and we went hammer and tong for about 60 odd strokes. I kinda knew it was wrong, but this was Henley. We settled at 29 strokes per minute. The Temple Island started to shrink into the distance. The wind played havoc, from headwind to head cross wind. The gods were testing Drew who was in charge of the strings. I didn’t care. When I wanted 31 strokes per minute into a headwind, I got 31 strokes per minute. If I wanted 29, or 30 or anything really, the engine obliged.
We lined up again, out of the blocks at 40 odd and settled at 29 strokes per minute. We had already done some work into the head wind on the first trip and the wind was no different this time round. After about 1200 meters I thought of the hire car. If I was going to hand the keys back to Shane at the end of this trip, I was going to make sure I had got some value out of it. I didn’t care what the insurance excess was going to be. So, up the rating went. Anyone sensible would realise that a higher rating makes everyone work, including the stroke, but I was happy and ready for an early grave.
We returned the boat to its rack. I was laughing on the inside. I played it cool. Drew could see though it all. The change rooms are an experience. The shows are cold. Cold showers in England. For such a civilised people, this was a streak of sadism that I was not expecting. Shane had jumped into the showers the day before and in so doing stared at me and yelled “I am Spartacus! I am Spartacus!” whilst beating his chest. I had backed away slowly, nodding, turned on my heel and ran.
We returned home. Tora was working. She works 7 days a week. We were all like school kids with a crush on the teacher. We peered out the kitchen window. Tora could drive tractors. She could actually drive 3 different types of tractor. Tora had a handshake that could crush quartz. Tora rolled up her sleeves, picked up chickens with one hand and pushed 1500kg cows out of the way with the other. We were certain she was interested in our rowing war stories. We were boys on tour and loving it. We needed to get all our best lines in before Sam arrived.
Drew and Conrad picked up Sam from the airport. Despite 22 hours of flying, Sam still managed to get us all smiling. I’ve cooked lentils tonight. Conrad mentioned his interest in fibre and in lentils. I’ve offered to swap bedrooms. With anyone. Including Frank the Cow.
Hatsy over and out. Till next blog rotation.
Rad's next. Be ready! Drew
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