Enlightened, but Chilly, at Head of the Charles

Ed was quite a competitive rower in and after college. As I know nothing about rowing, I suggested several weeks ago that we go to Boston to watch the Head of the Charles regatta so he could show me the ropes. He happily agreed, having not been to the event since he used to row in it in 2003, and so we met at the bus stop after I finished work last Friday and set off.

Riverside

The first races Ed was interested in seeing Saturday weren't until the afternoon, so we had a leisurely brunch during which Ed taught me about rowing versus sculling (in sculling, each rower has two oars, whereas they use only one oar in rowing) and all the different events we'd be seeing. As nearly always happens, I was fascinated by all the intricacies of a topic I'd scarcely thought twice about before. We got to the river early and started walking upstream to the Riverside Boathouse, where Ed used to be a member when he lived in Boston. Along the way, we stopped at a particularly interesting point in the course where there was a fairly sharp bend followed nearly immediately by a bridge. Ed explained that the coxswain (pronounced "cocksun"), the lightweight person whose sole job it is to call encouragement and navigation information to the rowers, was responsible for their taking the turn efficiently and effectively by instructing the rowers to pull harder on one side at just the right time. The coxswain controls the rudder, but using it creates drag, which slows the boat and is best avoided. We watched several teams of eight women attempt to take the turn. The first made a smooth turn and sailed right through the center pilings of the bridge, and I suspected that Ed was making a bigger deal out of this than was necessary. Following teams had more difficulty however, among them a boat that nearly hit the piling, two that clashed oars as they fought for position under the bridge, and one boat that had to stop almost completely, turn, then continue on. Ed was right. Again.

The boathouse, once we arrived, was a bit spartan. The lower level was filled with racks of boats and oars stored in easy access to the floating dock, and the upper level featured an erg room with a few weights, a balcony, and little else. We stood on the dock to watch the race, and Ed ran into a few people he used to row with and exchanged pleasantries. We spent several hours watching boats skim by, and Ed told me all about the reputations of the different teams and what constituted good form. It was surprisingly engaging (bear in mind that this comment comes from someone who enjoys watching distance running), though I was pleased when it was time to go because I was absolutely freezing. Standing still by the water for a few hours had driven the feeling from my fingers and toes. After I'd thawed out, we went to a bar to catch up with a few of Ed's rowing friends, where I met several Olympic medalists, one of whom had won the gold; now she coaches rowing at Michigan. They were a fun, raucous, very tall bunch.

Spirited dogs wearing Riverside colors

Boats waiting to cross the starting line.

My friend Mike joined us the next morning, and we spent a few minutes standing at the start of the race. The boats start at 10-second intervals and so the winner is determined based on whose time is fastest, not who crosses the finish line first (though there is a lot of passing during the race). We saw several crews dressed in costumes, one of which seemed to have a video game theme (Mario, Luigi, Batman...) and one of which was outfitted in different kinds of wings. We eventually took a much-needed coffee break, during which Ed and Mike chatted about engineering and I fantasized about climbing into my cup and floating around in the scalding coffee.

All in all, it was a great weekend. I got to learn a lot of new things about a sport I was barely aware of before, and one that was a huge part of Ed's life. Still, I hope the next rowing event I attend is during summer.