Learning to row boats with sliding seat mechanisms, specifically single sculls, had long been on my list of water sports to try when I discovered one early spring some time ago, that the opportunity existed with a club based at the Jericho Sailing Centre on Vancouver’s English Bay. I signed up and was soon in a single scull, under instruction and trying to stay upright and dry! Experienced with river and sea kayaks as well as sailboats, sailing dinghies and keel sailboats, along with non-sliding seat engineless boats of various genres, I nonetheless found single sculls quite challenging due to their inherently low stability, especially when stationary.
In sculling, each person uses two oars. There are single, two (doubles) and four (Quads) person sculls. In competitive rowing (or sweeping) each person uses only one oar hence rowing cannot be done with an uneven number of crew short of going round and round in circles! Competitive rowing boats are crewed by from two to nine depending on whether there is a coxswain. A single person in a conventional rowboat, as opposed to a single scull, does of course use two oars whether using a sliding seat or not.
The addition of a sliding seat platform to a boat propelled by oars adds the legs to the motive force. Roughly 60% of the effort then comes from the legs with the balance spread fairly evenly between the arms and the core. Sliding seat mechanisms are by no means limited to sculling and racing rowing shells. They are also fitted to large and small recreational row boats, sea going hulls designed for long distances — even trans-oceanic crossings and most latterly, paddle boards. Additionally, exercise rowing machines such as the Concept 2 have long been a land based application of the sliding seat. Owning one and having some if limited experience with single sculls, I can attest to its efficacy and it’s realistic replication of the sliding seat sculling experience and ‘feel’.
The sculls at Jericho were of the coastal or open water variety which are specifically designed to be more stable and more robust than those designed strictly for flat water. The Jericho site is on unsheltered open ocean. Flat water sculling sites in contrast are generally well sheltered. E.g. a well protected part of Vancouver’s inner harbour is the home of the Vancouver Rowing club where flat water sculls are the norm and where they are raced. I knew sculls would be inherently ‘tippy’, however I had no idea of just how unstable they can be in the hands of a rookie. Both types of single sculls have low stability and like kayaks and sailing dinghies, are definitely not for non-swimmers. Coastal sculls and river kayaks I would roughly equate in terms of stability.
I went through the basic training which included demonstrating that I could get back into a scull having deliberately capsized it close to shore but in deep water thus challenging one’s swimming capabilities along with balance skills. Having re-entered the scull to the instructor’s satisfaction and his being comfortable with all other aspects of my training he OK’d me for operation without the presence of an on water instructor. (typically in another scull.) Initially I did not stray too far from shore and the comforting reassurance of shallow water. My swimming is fine, however since I carry very little fat, our cold waters would soon cause me to succumb to hypothermia if I did not quickly deal with a capsize and re-board the scull.
Enamoured with the sport I started to venture farther away from shore gaining more confidence with every excursion. Typically there were lots of other sculls, kayaks, and sailing dinghies close by to offer assistance if needed and of course I always wore a life jacket. Unfailingly I also carried a very loud whistle around my neck. I soon started to get perhaps a little too confident.
About a nautical mile off shore and roughly three miles from where the sculls are stored is a navigation bouy — the Point Grey bell bouy. On approaching Vancouver harbour ships absolutely must leave it to starboard (pass to the left of it going into port and conversely to the right of it outgoing). If they do not, they will soon run aground as will on low tides, even small boats such as my own 6’ draft, 30’ in length Yamaha sailboat. Draft not being remotely an issue with a scull, I decided that at some point I would challenge myself to a sculling circumnavigation of the bell bouy, something I do routinely in my sailboat staying close in to it to give the shallows a wide berth.
Fall and winter came and I continued sculling providing there was little in the way of wind and waves. Such was the case on New Year’s Day. Arriving at Jerico mid-afternoon, I decided that my circumnavigation of the bell bouy by single scull, long postponed, would be an excellent way to bring in the New Year – much better than swimming at Vancouver’s annual English Bay Polar Bear swim which long ago I did once and once only. I did not last very long, however the very cold water sure cured a hangover I had at that youthful time. I readied the scull, launched and suddenly realised that I was literally the only one headed out. No kayaks, no sculls, no sailboats — nothing was on the water or about to be. Nor given the almost complete absence of people on the beach or in the clubhouse, was anyone likely to launch any time soon. I made the dubious decision to press on with my plan regardless.
Three nautical miles distant, the bell bouy, about ten feet high, was not visible from my launching position. It was in fact over the horizon. This because the distance to the horizon in nautical miles is 1.15 times the square root of one’s eye height above the water measured in feet. Seated in the ultra low freeboard scull, my eye height was barely 4 feet. The square of four being two the horizon is 1.15 x 2 = 2.3 miles away. Thus the bouy, being beyond that distance and not very high, would not become visible until I was much closer to it.
Regardless of the nature of the outdoor activity, water borne or otherwise, I always carry a small hand held compass. From the chart of the area, I knew the magnetic bearing to the bell bouy from my Jericho starting position. I headed out in the calm, cold yet sunny mid-afternoon conditions. I had not gone very far before I was joined by a fellow mariner – a harbour seal. Occasionally they will follow small engineless boats. In a kayak that can be a problem as they will sometimes try to climb aboard. Since a kayaker faces forward and is usually blissfully unaware of the seal, this can be quite the surprise and does on occasion lead to a capsize. In a scull and thus facing backwards, one has easy eye contact with the seal. No worries, one hopes. (Also known as pinnipeds, seals are of the order carnivore i.e. meat eater).
Attacks on humans by seals are rare but not unheard of. In the marina where I moor my sailboat one grabbed a little girl who (unwisely) was trying to feed it herring. It pulled her into the water by grabbing on to the life jacket she was (wisely) wearing. Luckily her parents were able to snatch her from the seal more or less immediately, and she was unharmed save for the scare. I kept a close watch on my visitor. The seal showed no sign of departing nor, mercifully, of wanting to board the scull. He or she held formation as it were as we continued on the direct course to the bouy leaving the shallows and the shelter of the shore and out towards deeper open water. We were it seemed the only two sentient beings around save for the occasional passing seagull.
After about half an hour at a point roughly two thirds of the way to the bouy, given the continuing absence of other boats anywhere in the vicinity and with the tide against me, I began to wonder if I should turn back. The amount of daylight left began to concern me. I chose to press on, holding my course but speeding up as, consorting with me, did my visitor. I wondered if the seal was acting as my guardian angel by shepherding me or, more likely, as a hungry predator eyeing me as a potential source, albeit a lean one, of meat?
In a single scull in calm conditions such as I had, it is fairly easy to maintain about five to six knots. Knots being mph x 1.15. Competitive single scull rowers can travel at up to about 11 knots. I was and am not one of them. By this point and just visible on the horizon, I figured the bouy to be about two nautical miles distant. I again quickened my stroke and estimated I would reach it in about twenty minutes. Sooner still I would hear the mournful, unrhythmic tolling of its wind, current and wave activated bell. ‘For whom the bell tolls?’ Indeed.
It was quickly getting significantly colder and this made me wonder if fog might be in the offing. Had I checked the weather forecast I would have know. If the temperature drops below that of the air’s dew point, fog forms in situ. I didn’t have to wonder long. I soon heard the bell and turning my head around, the bouy had become visible from my position. However, minutes later and in spite of my being by then fairly close it disappeared from sight completely, obscured by newly formed dense fog. Had I not had a compass I would have immediately turned around and headed at full speed for the nearest beach. I should have done so anyway but I did not. This close to the prize, I was determined to round it.
The fog randomly came and went as indeed did my fellow traveller. On reaching the bouy the fog lifted just in time for me to witness, in some astonishment, an ‘armada’ of about twenty would be thirty to forty foot racing sailboats close by alas without benefit of wind or a race. I chatted briefly with one of them and discovered they had planned a New Year’s Day race starting at the bell bouy. They had just decided to give up on any wind developing and head back to their various home marinas.
Rounding my target then in quick order with the seal again in close attendance, I quickly took a compass bearing on the closest point of land on the Jericho shore. I knew if I rowed directly to the nearest shore, I could then safely follow it in shallow water the two miles or so back to our clubhouse no matter how thick the fog. The direct open water route to Jericho, the reverse or reciprocal of which I had followed to the bell bouy, I judged now held far too much risk. A capsize or loosing the compass overboard from my very cold and wet hands might well spell curtains. In fog without a compass it is all to easy to travel in circles ad infinitum. With our very cold winter waters (Typically 7C/44F) and especially with my lack of ‘blubber’ I did not fancy my chances of survival for very long in or out of the water.
It was by then late afternoon and the fog inducing air temperature was plummeting (average Vancouver January lows are 0C, 32F and certainly it was already less than 5C, 41F.) With sunset and soon after it darkness barely an hour away, my room for error was almost zero. Other than the whistle around my neck and with almost certainly no one within range to hear it, I had no means of summoning help. If I needed it for whatever reason — lost in the fog, lost in darkness, hyperthermia from the cold air and sea spray or worse, from the water if I capsized and had difficulty getting back into the scull, even perhaps if I could. I was clearly faced with a self rescue situation and my plan was simple. As fast as possible get to the nearest point of land. The seal to my surprise, delight and yes somehow comfort, continued to accompany me.
Without mirrors on the boat to see astern as I sculled (there are such accessories) the shore was at my back unobservable short of stopping sculling and twisting around. To assist my navigation and taking advantage of a brief dissipation of the fog, I scanned the terrain on the other side of the bay. Sighting along the reciprocal of the compass course that I was on, that is 180 degrees away from it, the exact opposite if you will, I looked for a prominent feature in the distance. A mountain top well beyond the West Vancouver shore aligned with that reciprocal bearing as did a high-rise building right on the West Vancouver shore. By keeping those two features aligned with each other fog density permitting, I could tell that I was on course without continual reference to the compass and/or glancing behind. At this point, I was shivering uncontrollably (the onset of hypothermia.) I rowed as fast as I possibly could.
I owned a waterproof hand held marine VHF radio. Why did I not bring it? I owned a wet suit. Why did I not wear it? These thoughts played on my mind. I did not own a cellphone, waterproof or otherwise. They had not been invented yet! My wife knew I was taking a single scull out from Jericho but not of my spontaneous decision to round the Point Grey bell bouy. When I didn’t return she would raise the alarm but by then it could have been too late.
Thanks to my compass and more than a little luck, I was fortunate enough to make it safely to the beach. I did not land at that point on the shore but simply ‘hugged’ i.e. followed it closely eastward until our Jericho clubhouse eventually emerged out of the by then more or less continuous fog. As night fell the fog quickly thickened and as it turned out, stayed that way completely blanketing Vancouver for several days. Good thing the coast guard was not engaged in a search for me!
The seal by the way departed just as I reached the safety of the beach. I like to think it had been my shepherd after all, seeing me back to safety. Certainly it provided me with an element of comfort just knowing that I was not alone. With no other club members or passers by to help the frozen, shivering and yes shaken entity that was me, it was all I could do to put the boat away, lock up and head out through the dank and the murk for my car and its heater.