Port Townsend or (probably) bust
I’ve always thought that the best way to accomplish something difficult is to make the pain of failure much, much worse than any pain one might encounter on the path to success. And the best way to make failure painful is to ensure that it will be tremendously, excruciatingly, and embarrassingly public. So, with that idea as the foundation for all that follows here, I have an ambition. Something that I would like to accomplish, but for which there is no guarantee of success and every likelihood that I will fail. As I work towards that goal I intend to document my progress here for the edification and entertainment of all who may be interested, but also to prevent myself from back pedaling, loafing, gold-bricking or otherwise avoiding the task at hand. Babe Ruth pointing at the bleachers it ain’t, but it’s the best I’ve got.
My ambition is one that I have come to slowly, not really knowing where I was headed. It started as a vague idea that I could really use more exercise (read "any at all"). For many years rowing was my activity of choice, and one to which I would like to return. So a few weeks ago I began thinking about the things I would need to do to get back in a boat. Time, for one thing. A suitable boat. A place to store the boat and a way to transport the boat to and from the water. All of those practical concerns needed to be resolved of course. But, and more importantly, I also needed a challenge.
Outdoor activities are easy in the summer. Who doesn’t want to get on a bicycle or go for a hike or a paddle or a row when the sun is out? And in the fall, when the afternoons turn purple and smell of wood smoke, that sharpness lends its own energy to the exercise. Then I’m happy to add a layer of fleece and keep rowing. But once the true Salish winter sets in, with that damp cold that takes up lodgings in your soul and refuses to be evicted by any number of sweaters, I tend to prefer my warm bed to a wet morning on the water. On those days a cold-averse rower is faced with the prospect of spending long hours strapped to the medieval torture device known as the “erg”. Of which I will say no more. Those who have experienced it know it’s nature. Those who have not are better left in happy oblivion.
I dislike the erg. Passionately. But equally I dislike rolling out of bed on dark, cold, rainy, miserable mornings and dragging a boat around the bay for “fun”. So for those times I could use a little something to work for. When I was bicycling, for example, I found motivation in riding up mountain passes. Which is an activity that I’m not very well suited to. Nor is it one that I am very good at. On any given climb I was routinely the slowest rider, grinding away for hours while lighter, stronger riders receded around the curves above me. But perversely I found that my ineptitude only made my eventual arrival at the summit that much more sweet. And the memory of that feeling kept me going on the days when I really didn’t want to get in the saddle for another training ride.
I needed something similar for rowing. Something sufficiently difficult. Something maybe even a little bit… crazy. And where in the Pacific Northwest would one find such an activity? One that would combine distance and hardship and self-reliance with maybe a little sleep deprivation thrown in? Well, R2AK, of course, but that mountain is far too tall for me to climb. So instead I am my aim is to attempt R2AK’s younger offshoot, SEVENTY48.
Most people who have read this far will probably be familiar with this little bit of organized aquatic madness but for anyone who has somehow missed it, here is the detail: https://seventy48.com/. TL;DR. Seventy miles in 48 hours. From Pt. Defiance in Tacoma to the Port Townsend public dock by human power only. No motors. No wind assistance. No support. Paddle, pedal or row.
So. Here I am. A bit past the mid-century mark. Not as trim as I once was. Haven’t spent much time in a shell recently either. If I’m being honest I might admit that while I have quite a bit of experience rowing various types of watercraft, the majority of it was in my twenties and since then my actual time spent butt-in-seat with my hands on a pair of oars has been spotty at best. I think I have some work to do.
First order of business, I need a boat. Actually, if you ask my wife she will tell you that quite the contrary, I need to be relieved of a boat. Or several. But let’s not get tied up in trivialities. One cannot tilt at windmills on just any old horse. Where would Don Quixote be without Rocinante? Fortunately a likely boat appeared on the Bellingham craigslist a few days ago. So yesterday my son Dash and I drove up there to have a look.
She’s a tubby little thing isn’t she? Purely recreational of course. Too short, too wide and too heavy to be even remotely competitive in any sort of race. An indifferently-sculled Maas 24 would disappear into the distance and even the middle-of-the-pack SUP-ers will probably paddle right by. But at 3:00 am when my coordination is not at its peak, and the tide rips off of Pt. No Point are churning the water into a confused mess, I’m going to want a boat that won’t dump me off if I catch an oar. And for that I think she’ll be perfect.
Cash was exchanged and the boat was strapped to the top of my car for the ride home, which proceeded without event despite a few nervous looks through the sunroof to make sure all was still well tied-down. And this morning I took my Rocinante out for a short piece on Salmon Bay.
I’m very rusty and out of shape. Rocinante is rigged for someone several inches shorter and with a different rowing style. The water was choppy from traffic on the Ship Canal. The entire experience was very far from any ideal vision of the solo sculler gliding across the water, leaving perfectly-spaced whirls at the release. But damn that felt good.
And so it begins. Days until SEVENTY48, 2020: 342. Miles in the boat: 2.0. List of things to do: Endless.
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Originally Posted by wizbang 13
thanks Bruce
