With this spring heat wave have you been daydreaming about the good ol’ days rowing crew? Or have you always wanted to row, but did not know how to get started? Now is your chance.
Rock ‘n’ Row, also known as the Marblehead Rowing Club, will host its second annual community Open House on Thursday, May 3 at The Landing from 6-8 p.m.
Partially sponsored by the Ipswich Brewing Company, this is the perfect opportunity to come on down, meet club members and learn about the excitement of saltwater recreational rowing, while enjoying R ‘n’ R’s hospitality, not to mention the great food and beverage.
All you need is an interest and a positive attitude to join. R ‘n’ R has the equipment, lessons for beginners and lots of opportunities to row with club members throughout the day.
“Marblehead is fast becoming a haven for saltwater recreational rowing,” said Paul Mazonson, club’s president and co-founder. “We are now entering our sixth season with a strong returning membership, which is a wonderful testimonial to how this sport can change your life.”
R ‘n’ R is expanding this year, so they are reaching out to the community via this Open House.
R ‘n’ R member Thomas Vogel shares his thoughts: “For every former collegiate rower on the club’s roster, there’s a virgin rower joining R ‘n’ R. We are thankful to have Emily Greten as our club coach. She coached for Simmons College, and a number of other clubs. She offers a great Learn To Row Program with an introductory membership fee and lesson package to introduce people to the sport.”
So, whether you have never rowed before or have had some experience on the water, now’s the time to check out the club and the full schedule of activities planned for the 2012 season. Drop by The Landing on Thursday, May 3 for the Open House for more details.
Any questions about the club and saltwater recreational rowing, contact R ‘n’ R at info@rocknrow.org, or visit www.rocknrow.org, or “like” R ‘n’ R on Facebook at Marblehead Rowing Club.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
AN INCREDIBLE STORY THAT FRANK SENT AROUND THE GROUP
Rowing an Ocean
What is it like? Bryan Shares His Thoughts...
On the second day of the row about 100 miles out, I leaned forward and called out to Paul Williams, our watch leader, and asked, "So Paul, does this make me an ocean rower?" Paul had done a row two years previously with one other rower and was quick to answer back in his typical dry way, "Which ocean have you rowed?" Now sitting at my desk in my comfortable chair I can say, well the Atlantic Ocean, of course. I try to let that sink in, but like the row it is still a little vast. Many times during the row I had difficulty envisioning home and my life before the row. Now, after the row is over, I find myself also saying how did I ever do that?
I remember when I first set myself to the task; I found that I was on the wrong end of more than a few jokes in the locker room. To be fair, they were more right than wrong. I was taking on a mission that was well beyond my understanding. No one should be able to sign up for something this big in October and row just four months later, yet there I was.
In the end, I am going to be recognized in the Guinness Book of World Records as a member of the fastest 8-man team to cross, be recorded by the Ocean Rowing Society as the forth-fastest team and to have the distinction of being the fastest American to ever row across the Atlantic. Humbly, I would say, "you shouldn't underestimate a veteran", but no one was most surprised than me of the results. The funny part was that I didn't even learn about the fast American part until the row was almost over, the captain casually told me during one of our three swimming breaks. Guinness is still the coolest part by far. They are even going to send me a certificate to frame.
Just re-reading this I have to laugh, as fastest rower and my name should never be in the same sentence. Anyone who has had the displeasure of rowing with me would know that I am not even in the top three rowers for our small Veteran Group. Yet, there it is. The really funny part is that I was probably the second best rower on the whole team and it wasn't even that close. The best rower by a lot was my friend Toby, two-time winner of the Comp Men's Cambridge - Oxford race and a competitive rower for 13 years. After myself, the skill set dropped off considerably. Virtually none of the remaining 6 rowers had any professional coaching. Several rowed with just their upper body, some with just arms, and at least one person rowed one arm at a time, which made the boat rock back and forth like a cradle. The opposite shift rowed at a crazy 45 strokes per minute compared to our 24 strokes per minute and no, I am not exaggerating. I thought they were kidding when I rowed one set with them. Yet, here we are, just two and a half days away from setting the record. In actuality, we should have had it. In a total of 34 days, we probably has 8 that were positive weather days and 26 that were either nothing or negative. Only 3 of those 8 were really terrific too. Most crews that do the crossing count on 70% rowing power and 30% wind and waves. We were probably more like 90% and 10%, but luck has as much to do with it as anything. The previous record holding team, Sara G, was attempting to break their own record just a couple weeks ahead of us. They had to be rescued after capsizing just 500 miles from Barbados. So, all things considered, it worked out pretty well.
A lot of people have asked me about ocean rowing and how it differs from flat water. I simply say, ocean rowing isn't hard; it is impossible. The physical rowing part is simple enough and I would have a tough time finding one person at Community Rowing who couldn't handle the burden. It is the all of the other parts that make it unbearable. The remarkable part was that I had a lot of people supporting me who had done it before, but I somehow was still largely unprepared.
The race officially began on Sunday at 7 AM. We launched from Port de Mogan in Gran Canaria. This port is considered the benchmark against all other launching points which means that all other launch points are prorated for time against this distance. It was not an easy first day. While we logged a respectable 71 miles, we were fresh and eager to go. The crosscurrents and mixed waves made for a brutal start. When I say brutal, I mean painful. For most of us who have never rowed 40 miles off shore, we were unprepared for waves coming in two directions. These cross-waves would cause the boat to dive to the port or starboard side depending on which way they traveled. When the boat would list quickly like this, you would generally catch the oar in the knee, shin, or groin. By the end of the race, we could predict these waves in the dark; however, that didn't prevent the first week or so of knee smashing. I wound up rubbing a couple of layers of skin off on the front of my legs with the oar handle from my shin to my hip.
My real problems came at the end of second day when I was climbing into the cabin. I had taken my shoes off to let my feet air out and was on my hands and knees. One of the other crewmembers was already seated in their bow seat. That person wasn't paying attention and they ran their seat over the back of my ankle tearing a 2-inch coin on my heel. This cut ultimately would never fully heal for the remaining 32 days, though it eventually healed enough that the last 2 or 3 days were relatively pain free. Cuts in general, even the smallest ones, don't heal when they are exposed to salt water. Something about the saltiness of the water keeps them from closing. They just stay open and eventually turn white. But, the real problem with this cut was that I wound up favoring my left foot. I favored it so heavily that I developed bone bruise and deep blister on it by day 11, which was worse than the gash in the right foot. Day 11 was easily my worst day physically. When I lanced the blister on deck with a rusty pair of scissors, the pain was so excruciating that I almost passed out. That was the start of my 4-hour shift. Oddly, we as a crew were not really prepared for this medically. We had one bottle of antiseptic, which I accidentally dropped over board on day three when I was passing it back to the aft cabin. Let that sink in, we brought exactly on small spray can of antiseptic for the entire crew for the entire trip. This will be a reoccurring theme. Fortunately, one of the guys on board brought an extra pair of slippers that were soft enough for me to wear and I was able to continue. I wore them for almost 28 days. There was virtually nothing left of them when I swapped back to regular shoes.
Along with the blisters, sleep was the other real issue. In order to row for 12 hours a day, you really had to be able to sleep for enough hours to recoup. By my estimation, you had to have deep sleep for at least 5 hours to make it work and then just rest for the remaining hours. Our watches were broken down roughly into 1 hour, 1.5 hour, 2.5 hour, 4 hour, 2.5 hour, 1.5 hour, and 1-hour repeating cycles with a break equaling the amount of time we rowed. Some of these breaks were so short, maybe 45 minutes with the change-over, so sleep wasn't really an option. The majority of the sleep had to come at the 2.5-hour and 4 hour shifts during the night. The challenge for me was that the conditions we slept in were constantly changing. In the beginning, it was very cold at night, maybe 50 degrees. Also, because it was so warm during the day, the cabin would actually drip with condensation all night. All of my gear that I brought was soaked. I was cold and wet for the first 7 or 8 days, which made it pretty difficult. The next challenge came from the boat and us getting lighter. If I slept to the left or the right hand side of the bow cabin, which were longer and allowed me to stretch out, the boat would lean to either of those sides, ruining the trim. This meant I had to sleep in the middle. Unfortunately, my cabin mate slept in the coffin, which is a padded tube that runs under the deck and it's opening is in the middle of the bow "v". I wound up sticking my head into the point of the bow and scrunching up into a ball. This worked like a charm until the heat came in the last 10 days. The bow cabin had no vents and with the temperature on the outside reaching 100+ each day the cabin would get up to about 120. I remember stepping out into the sun in the afternoon thinking, wow it is really cool out.
The last major issue came in the final 10 days. Because the boat is set up with sliding seats, we were dependent on our wheels working well. Unfortunately, salt water splashing on them really did a number on them and eventually they all needed replacing. We did bring spare wheels, but these were salvaged from one of the other boats and had significant wear and there wasn't that many of them. The replacement wheels broke almost as fast as we installed them. As the seats became increasingly hard to slide, our backsides suffered. Other than the seats, sleep and the feet, I have no real complaints. I never had any muscular problems. My back and hands were never sore and I am already basically ready to get back on the water again.
All of this is fine, but what is ocean rowing really like? How does it compare with flat water rowing? There is a psychological aspect that river rowing just cannot compare. Ocean rowing is long long hours of introspective thought. I spent the better part of 34 days staring at Toby's back with little or no conversation. I would pass the hours thinking about everything that I have ever done in my life, every meaningful conversation I ever had, mistakes I made, and what I really wanted from life. I would spend hours at a time just counting. I would count stroke rate, songs, waves sets, anything. In a lot of ways, it was very Zen like. Other times, I wrote in my head. I penned a new children's story, wrote my vows, thought of what I would say to veterans about the row, I even came up with some new recipes. Music helped, and I spent a lot of time listening to my iPhone. I don't want to say it was boring, but I can't recall a time in my life when I was so singular to a task. I didn't need to be anywhere, do anything; I just had to row. It is harder than you think to just sit quietly and row for 12 hours a day.
I know, that doesn't sound to hard. How is ocean rowing hard, never the less impossible? It is hard because you are tired, sore or my case in pain. You are isolated. You quickly begin to forget what dry land is like as you are confined to 10 square feet for an indeterminate amount of time. That is really the hard part. It feels like it could go on forever. My toughest day emotionally came on day 3. My foot was a mess, I hadn't eaten hardly anything in the first 3 days because I hadn't developed a routine, and I couldn't sleep because of the noise and the cold. I just hadn't settled into anything. I was worn down and we had barely gone 150 miles. It was sunset at the end of my shift and I tried using the satellite phone to call my fiancé Van again. I had tried a couple of times but I couldn't get though. This time I had success. We had a 3m 56s phone call in which she said, "I love you" a dozen times, "I am constantly checking your progress every half hour", and "so many people were pulling for you, they call me every day". I suddenly remembered I was here to make a difference in people's lives. I was here because so many people supported me. I am little ashamed to admit it, but I broke down. My pain turned into shame. I turned off the phone and crawled into my cabin where I had the first good night sleep. Ocean rowing is hard because there is no stepping off the erg and grabbing a snack and shower. Ocean rowing is hard because you are alone even with a crew full of people. Ocean rowing is impossible because there are no short cuts, no just one more push, no heroics, but seemingly endless ocean. It can wear you down if you let it.
It did come together eventually. By day 17, I was in a pretty good routine. I wasn't eating much, but that was by choice. I had one meal a day and supplemented it with Peronin (invented by NASA), PSP, Crew Fuel, and Hi5. I was generally sleeping pretty well and the shifts, even the long ones, became manageable. We were still only halfway, with no idea if it would be 32 or 52 days, but the process was set and understood by everyone. I won't say it was enjoyable, but it wasn't too bad.
Just a note about sleeping on board such a small ship. It is surprising what you can adapt to. The boat was exceptionally noisy from gurgling water, knots on the safety line banging the hull like a hammer, the fan spinning on and off above my head, but none of this mattered much. Even with the boat crashing up and down waves, I slept peacefully through it. Also, the dreams you had on board were like nothing I have ever experienced. They were so vivid and colorful with a complex story, each morning when I awoke I would remember them perfectly. I spoke to the other members of the crew who said much the same. I liken it going from a small black and white TV to a giant LED flat screen. You will just have to take my word on this one. This alone could almost make the effort of the trip worth it.
During the trip there was plenty to look at. While we only saw one ship the whole time, there was quite a bit of wildlife and the sky was constantly giving us something new to watch. In all we saw 5 or 6 whales, 1 marlin, 2 schools of yellow fin tuna, dolphin fish, sea turtles, Portuguese Man-o-War, and a million flying fish. The flying fish were the only things that were pests, as they constantly attempted suicide by leaping into the boat. I have no idea how many hit me in the face alone. While they weren't very big, 2 - 8 inches at best, they were oily and smelled terrible. Each morning we had to return their remains to the sea. Yuck. Actually, the only time I was nervous the whole trip was because of wildlife. The third whale we saw on day 2 came up right behind our boat, missing us by just 10 feet. This was a really big gray whale, maybe 40 feet long, like a house emerging from depths. It actually circled back and came up along side of us and rose to where its eye came out of the water maybe 20 feet off our starboard side and looked right at us before turning around and heading off. I spent a lot of time contemplating that whale. The sunsets, sunrises, and stars were stunning. I easily saw more meteors than airplanes. Some of the meteors were so bright that at least one time I thought it was a flare signaling for help. We spent a lot of time identifying constellations, which led to a lot of oar clanging. I had never really seen the Milky Way before, but having seen it now, I can't help but be impressed. Towards the end of the trip, we could even see the Southern Cross, though it looked like the Southern Rhombus to me.
What are my take aways? I remember thinking when I landed in Bosnia for my second tour I kept saying to myself, "how the hell am I here again"? I thought I would never be back. That is pretty much how I feel about ocean rowing. I don't think I would ever do it again. That being said, if a team of American veterans sponsored by the military wanted to make a run at the record, I might consider leading it. I doubt Uncle Sam will be handing me a check anytime soon though, so I won't hold my breath. I was talking to Tom Mailhot before I left about his trip in 2001; many of you saw his terrific yet painful film. His trip in a lot of ways was way harder than mine, and here he was ten years later pining away for another chance at it. So, who knows? I do know that I am sick of sunsets, terrific night skies, and the ocean in general. If there is salt on it, it better be french fries or I don't want any part of it. I have dedicated my summer to growing things in our garden and all things soil related. I am grateful for the opportunity to live out a dream and promote something I am so passionate about. Towards that end, I have had some success with radio and newspapers. I am hopeful that the story will have a little more legs and attract some more veterans to the program. I don't see Letterman or a trip to the White House in my future. Sadly, we missed that by a couple of days, but who knows maybe someone will be excited by the prospects of rowing an ocean and take it to the next level.
In closing, I wanted to thank the people of Community Rowing and not simply for teaching me how to row. I will probably never be any good at it and in truth, the rowing is only a small part of the reason why I come back to CRI again and again. I want to thank CRI for their passion and dedication to everyone who steps through their doors. I have never been part of an organization that so positively changed my life. The staff and rowers of Community Rowing have allowed me to appreciate my time in the military in a way I never allowed myself to and even given me a base to help other veterans in the process. For that, I am grateful.
What is it like? Bryan Shares His Thoughts...
On the second day of the row about 100 miles out, I leaned forward and called out to Paul Williams, our watch leader, and asked, "So Paul, does this make me an ocean rower?" Paul had done a row two years previously with one other rower and was quick to answer back in his typical dry way, "Which ocean have you rowed?" Now sitting at my desk in my comfortable chair I can say, well the Atlantic Ocean, of course. I try to let that sink in, but like the row it is still a little vast. Many times during the row I had difficulty envisioning home and my life before the row. Now, after the row is over, I find myself also saying how did I ever do that?
I remember when I first set myself to the task; I found that I was on the wrong end of more than a few jokes in the locker room. To be fair, they were more right than wrong. I was taking on a mission that was well beyond my understanding. No one should be able to sign up for something this big in October and row just four months later, yet there I was.
In the end, I am going to be recognized in the Guinness Book of World Records as a member of the fastest 8-man team to cross, be recorded by the Ocean Rowing Society as the forth-fastest team and to have the distinction of being the fastest American to ever row across the Atlantic. Humbly, I would say, "you shouldn't underestimate a veteran", but no one was most surprised than me of the results. The funny part was that I didn't even learn about the fast American part until the row was almost over, the captain casually told me during one of our three swimming breaks. Guinness is still the coolest part by far. They are even going to send me a certificate to frame.
Just re-reading this I have to laugh, as fastest rower and my name should never be in the same sentence. Anyone who has had the displeasure of rowing with me would know that I am not even in the top three rowers for our small Veteran Group. Yet, there it is. The really funny part is that I was probably the second best rower on the whole team and it wasn't even that close. The best rower by a lot was my friend Toby, two-time winner of the Comp Men's Cambridge - Oxford race and a competitive rower for 13 years. After myself, the skill set dropped off considerably. Virtually none of the remaining 6 rowers had any professional coaching. Several rowed with just their upper body, some with just arms, and at least one person rowed one arm at a time, which made the boat rock back and forth like a cradle. The opposite shift rowed at a crazy 45 strokes per minute compared to our 24 strokes per minute and no, I am not exaggerating. I thought they were kidding when I rowed one set with them. Yet, here we are, just two and a half days away from setting the record. In actuality, we should have had it. In a total of 34 days, we probably has 8 that were positive weather days and 26 that were either nothing or negative. Only 3 of those 8 were really terrific too. Most crews that do the crossing count on 70% rowing power and 30% wind and waves. We were probably more like 90% and 10%, but luck has as much to do with it as anything. The previous record holding team, Sara G, was attempting to break their own record just a couple weeks ahead of us. They had to be rescued after capsizing just 500 miles from Barbados. So, all things considered, it worked out pretty well.
A lot of people have asked me about ocean rowing and how it differs from flat water. I simply say, ocean rowing isn't hard; it is impossible. The physical rowing part is simple enough and I would have a tough time finding one person at Community Rowing who couldn't handle the burden. It is the all of the other parts that make it unbearable. The remarkable part was that I had a lot of people supporting me who had done it before, but I somehow was still largely unprepared.
The race officially began on Sunday at 7 AM. We launched from Port de Mogan in Gran Canaria. This port is considered the benchmark against all other launching points which means that all other launch points are prorated for time against this distance. It was not an easy first day. While we logged a respectable 71 miles, we were fresh and eager to go. The crosscurrents and mixed waves made for a brutal start. When I say brutal, I mean painful. For most of us who have never rowed 40 miles off shore, we were unprepared for waves coming in two directions. These cross-waves would cause the boat to dive to the port or starboard side depending on which way they traveled. When the boat would list quickly like this, you would generally catch the oar in the knee, shin, or groin. By the end of the race, we could predict these waves in the dark; however, that didn't prevent the first week or so of knee smashing. I wound up rubbing a couple of layers of skin off on the front of my legs with the oar handle from my shin to my hip.
My real problems came at the end of second day when I was climbing into the cabin. I had taken my shoes off to let my feet air out and was on my hands and knees. One of the other crewmembers was already seated in their bow seat. That person wasn't paying attention and they ran their seat over the back of my ankle tearing a 2-inch coin on my heel. This cut ultimately would never fully heal for the remaining 32 days, though it eventually healed enough that the last 2 or 3 days were relatively pain free. Cuts in general, even the smallest ones, don't heal when they are exposed to salt water. Something about the saltiness of the water keeps them from closing. They just stay open and eventually turn white. But, the real problem with this cut was that I wound up favoring my left foot. I favored it so heavily that I developed bone bruise and deep blister on it by day 11, which was worse than the gash in the right foot. Day 11 was easily my worst day physically. When I lanced the blister on deck with a rusty pair of scissors, the pain was so excruciating that I almost passed out. That was the start of my 4-hour shift. Oddly, we as a crew were not really prepared for this medically. We had one bottle of antiseptic, which I accidentally dropped over board on day three when I was passing it back to the aft cabin. Let that sink in, we brought exactly on small spray can of antiseptic for the entire crew for the entire trip. This will be a reoccurring theme. Fortunately, one of the guys on board brought an extra pair of slippers that were soft enough for me to wear and I was able to continue. I wore them for almost 28 days. There was virtually nothing left of them when I swapped back to regular shoes.
Along with the blisters, sleep was the other real issue. In order to row for 12 hours a day, you really had to be able to sleep for enough hours to recoup. By my estimation, you had to have deep sleep for at least 5 hours to make it work and then just rest for the remaining hours. Our watches were broken down roughly into 1 hour, 1.5 hour, 2.5 hour, 4 hour, 2.5 hour, 1.5 hour, and 1-hour repeating cycles with a break equaling the amount of time we rowed. Some of these breaks were so short, maybe 45 minutes with the change-over, so sleep wasn't really an option. The majority of the sleep had to come at the 2.5-hour and 4 hour shifts during the night. The challenge for me was that the conditions we slept in were constantly changing. In the beginning, it was very cold at night, maybe 50 degrees. Also, because it was so warm during the day, the cabin would actually drip with condensation all night. All of my gear that I brought was soaked. I was cold and wet for the first 7 or 8 days, which made it pretty difficult. The next challenge came from the boat and us getting lighter. If I slept to the left or the right hand side of the bow cabin, which were longer and allowed me to stretch out, the boat would lean to either of those sides, ruining the trim. This meant I had to sleep in the middle. Unfortunately, my cabin mate slept in the coffin, which is a padded tube that runs under the deck and it's opening is in the middle of the bow "v". I wound up sticking my head into the point of the bow and scrunching up into a ball. This worked like a charm until the heat came in the last 10 days. The bow cabin had no vents and with the temperature on the outside reaching 100+ each day the cabin would get up to about 120. I remember stepping out into the sun in the afternoon thinking, wow it is really cool out.
The last major issue came in the final 10 days. Because the boat is set up with sliding seats, we were dependent on our wheels working well. Unfortunately, salt water splashing on them really did a number on them and eventually they all needed replacing. We did bring spare wheels, but these were salvaged from one of the other boats and had significant wear and there wasn't that many of them. The replacement wheels broke almost as fast as we installed them. As the seats became increasingly hard to slide, our backsides suffered. Other than the seats, sleep and the feet, I have no real complaints. I never had any muscular problems. My back and hands were never sore and I am already basically ready to get back on the water again.
All of this is fine, but what is ocean rowing really like? How does it compare with flat water rowing? There is a psychological aspect that river rowing just cannot compare. Ocean rowing is long long hours of introspective thought. I spent the better part of 34 days staring at Toby's back with little or no conversation. I would pass the hours thinking about everything that I have ever done in my life, every meaningful conversation I ever had, mistakes I made, and what I really wanted from life. I would spend hours at a time just counting. I would count stroke rate, songs, waves sets, anything. In a lot of ways, it was very Zen like. Other times, I wrote in my head. I penned a new children's story, wrote my vows, thought of what I would say to veterans about the row, I even came up with some new recipes. Music helped, and I spent a lot of time listening to my iPhone. I don't want to say it was boring, but I can't recall a time in my life when I was so singular to a task. I didn't need to be anywhere, do anything; I just had to row. It is harder than you think to just sit quietly and row for 12 hours a day.
I know, that doesn't sound to hard. How is ocean rowing hard, never the less impossible? It is hard because you are tired, sore or my case in pain. You are isolated. You quickly begin to forget what dry land is like as you are confined to 10 square feet for an indeterminate amount of time. That is really the hard part. It feels like it could go on forever. My toughest day emotionally came on day 3. My foot was a mess, I hadn't eaten hardly anything in the first 3 days because I hadn't developed a routine, and I couldn't sleep because of the noise and the cold. I just hadn't settled into anything. I was worn down and we had barely gone 150 miles. It was sunset at the end of my shift and I tried using the satellite phone to call my fiancé Van again. I had tried a couple of times but I couldn't get though. This time I had success. We had a 3m 56s phone call in which she said, "I love you" a dozen times, "I am constantly checking your progress every half hour", and "so many people were pulling for you, they call me every day". I suddenly remembered I was here to make a difference in people's lives. I was here because so many people supported me. I am little ashamed to admit it, but I broke down. My pain turned into shame. I turned off the phone and crawled into my cabin where I had the first good night sleep. Ocean rowing is hard because there is no stepping off the erg and grabbing a snack and shower. Ocean rowing is hard because you are alone even with a crew full of people. Ocean rowing is impossible because there are no short cuts, no just one more push, no heroics, but seemingly endless ocean. It can wear you down if you let it.
It did come together eventually. By day 17, I was in a pretty good routine. I wasn't eating much, but that was by choice. I had one meal a day and supplemented it with Peronin (invented by NASA), PSP, Crew Fuel, and Hi5. I was generally sleeping pretty well and the shifts, even the long ones, became manageable. We were still only halfway, with no idea if it would be 32 or 52 days, but the process was set and understood by everyone. I won't say it was enjoyable, but it wasn't too bad.
Just a note about sleeping on board such a small ship. It is surprising what you can adapt to. The boat was exceptionally noisy from gurgling water, knots on the safety line banging the hull like a hammer, the fan spinning on and off above my head, but none of this mattered much. Even with the boat crashing up and down waves, I slept peacefully through it. Also, the dreams you had on board were like nothing I have ever experienced. They were so vivid and colorful with a complex story, each morning when I awoke I would remember them perfectly. I spoke to the other members of the crew who said much the same. I liken it going from a small black and white TV to a giant LED flat screen. You will just have to take my word on this one. This alone could almost make the effort of the trip worth it.
During the trip there was plenty to look at. While we only saw one ship the whole time, there was quite a bit of wildlife and the sky was constantly giving us something new to watch. In all we saw 5 or 6 whales, 1 marlin, 2 schools of yellow fin tuna, dolphin fish, sea turtles, Portuguese Man-o-War, and a million flying fish. The flying fish were the only things that were pests, as they constantly attempted suicide by leaping into the boat. I have no idea how many hit me in the face alone. While they weren't very big, 2 - 8 inches at best, they were oily and smelled terrible. Each morning we had to return their remains to the sea. Yuck. Actually, the only time I was nervous the whole trip was because of wildlife. The third whale we saw on day 2 came up right behind our boat, missing us by just 10 feet. This was a really big gray whale, maybe 40 feet long, like a house emerging from depths. It actually circled back and came up along side of us and rose to where its eye came out of the water maybe 20 feet off our starboard side and looked right at us before turning around and heading off. I spent a lot of time contemplating that whale. The sunsets, sunrises, and stars were stunning. I easily saw more meteors than airplanes. Some of the meteors were so bright that at least one time I thought it was a flare signaling for help. We spent a lot of time identifying constellations, which led to a lot of oar clanging. I had never really seen the Milky Way before, but having seen it now, I can't help but be impressed. Towards the end of the trip, we could even see the Southern Cross, though it looked like the Southern Rhombus to me.
What are my take aways? I remember thinking when I landed in Bosnia for my second tour I kept saying to myself, "how the hell am I here again"? I thought I would never be back. That is pretty much how I feel about ocean rowing. I don't think I would ever do it again. That being said, if a team of American veterans sponsored by the military wanted to make a run at the record, I might consider leading it. I doubt Uncle Sam will be handing me a check anytime soon though, so I won't hold my breath. I was talking to Tom Mailhot before I left about his trip in 2001; many of you saw his terrific yet painful film. His trip in a lot of ways was way harder than mine, and here he was ten years later pining away for another chance at it. So, who knows? I do know that I am sick of sunsets, terrific night skies, and the ocean in general. If there is salt on it, it better be french fries or I don't want any part of it. I have dedicated my summer to growing things in our garden and all things soil related. I am grateful for the opportunity to live out a dream and promote something I am so passionate about. Towards that end, I have had some success with radio and newspapers. I am hopeful that the story will have a little more legs and attract some more veterans to the program. I don't see Letterman or a trip to the White House in my future. Sadly, we missed that by a couple of days, but who knows maybe someone will be excited by the prospects of rowing an ocean and take it to the next level.
In closing, I wanted to thank the people of Community Rowing and not simply for teaching me how to row. I will probably never be any good at it and in truth, the rowing is only a small part of the reason why I come back to CRI again and again. I want to thank CRI for their passion and dedication to everyone who steps through their doors. I have never been part of an organization that so positively changed my life. The staff and rowers of Community Rowing have allowed me to appreciate my time in the military in a way I never allowed myself to and even given me a base to help other veterans in the process. For that, I am grateful.
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