You need a rowing boat…
Lloyd Houghton tells us why he built a rowing boat…
and what the experience has meant to him!
That was the response to my question do you have any plans for open canoes.
It is often said that the customer is never wrong about what his problem is, but that he is often wrong when he thinks he knows the solution. That was exactly the case here. The rocket scientists among you will have figured out that I was talking to John Welsford.
My need? Something to get out on the many Rotorua lakes that I had driven past, walked around, but never been on for the last 5 years. Also, my wife has been reminding me that my belt was getting hard to see. A bit of exercise wouldn't go amiss.
The big journey began by asking the ‘canoe plans’ question in December 1999. The answer I got "you need a rowing boat" resulted in me building a John Welsford Joansa I named Alice Ward. Building here is another story for another time.
Today’s trip started for us at 6.30am at the Lake Tarawera landing. Who is us? Just Alice Ward and me.
You'll be wondering why we were out at that hour of the morning. The end of daylight saving has put an end to getting out after work. A list of jobs often means that we can't get out twice on a weekend. The solution? Go for a big one on Sunday. Why a big one? Because I've set a target of rowing 1000km this year. (Yes, there is meant to be three noughts there).
The routine at the lake edge is like clockwork now. This is the 37th time we've done it this year. Put the bike rack on and tie Alice Ward’s transom to it. Lift her bow, carry it around to that back of the car. Lift her transom off. Right side up. Rub some Vaseline on my cheeks - the two that rub together and hurt in the shower afterwards. In and off. (If that's confused you, check next months newsletter for some pictures which should make it a bit clearer.)
Go to the Lakes map to see where todays story takes place. There is a link to bring you back.
It's a little bit chilly, so the track pants and the long sleeve sweatshirt stay on this morning. Getting into Alice without getting your feet is jolly nice on mornings like this. A few strokes to get clear of the jetty gives room to set the oars and fire up the little handheld GPS. The engineer in me needs to know how far I've been, how long it's taken, and my average and maximum speeds.
The sun is just starting to poke its’ nose over the top of Mount Tarawera now. That starts to warm things up a bit. I need that, my hands are still a bit numb on the pull. Flat water and no wind allows just over 4 knot progress. It takes half an hour of this before I feel warm enough to get the sweatshirt off. A couple of swigs on the water bottle and we're off again.
The sun is coming from down the river end of the lake so staying on course is easy. Just keep the big yellow ball right behind me. I've chosen to go straight down the lake and then take the northern shoreline home. When the body is screaming out to stop, the mind finds it easier to keep going when the scenery is constantly changing.
Its easy to get bored on this long, straight (well it's meant to be!), Drag to the other end. This is when I find myself playing the ‘count 100 strokes before you're allowed to check for quiet, slow moving trout boats’ game. The other monotony breaker is to change the stroke. My normal for these ‘no load’ exercise trips is a relatively short stroke at up around 30 per minute. When I need a change, I reach further back and pull right through at just on 20 per minute. The normal stroke is quite aerobic, the monotony breaker needs big strong muscles to keep it going all day. Those of you that know me will understand why the aerobic suits me better.
The south easterly has got up. That's not good news. It could be a long slow trip back. At the moment the lake waves are 600-700 mm high and pretty much beam on. Not a problem to the shape of the Houghton modified Welsford designed Joansa. (More of that in the next newsletter too)
As we get closer to the river outlet, the topography funnels the wind and waves to be almost stern on. This is good news/bad news stuff. The good new is that the rowing is easier. The bad news is that head on waves will make going home slower, harder work. Still, can't complain – it will help the waistline problem.
Another half an hour has gone. Good, the preflight plan says I can have another couple of swigs on the water bottle. Time to take the track pants off too. That feels better - the thick seam was starting to rub. It's probably psychological, but Alice always seems easier to row with my legs out. The wind and waves have now got us going at around 5 knots. Its fun surfing! I have to concentrate to ensure that we keep straight. It's too cold to have a swim.
We've made the river in good time - 6.2 nautical miles in 90 minutes, an average of 4.1 knots. Two more swigs of water. The bailer gets used for its’ secondary (but most often employed) use – I can't keep drinking that amount of water and not have a disposal problem.
Back into ‘it’. ‘It’ being the bad news stuff - the stuff that makes Alice’s flat bottom thump on the bigger waves. The wind is strong too. Strong enough to give significant resistance on the return air stroke, even though the customised oars are only 110mm wide. We pick our way along the shore, keeping as close as I can. The wind is not quite as strong in close to the trees. Three boat lengths from the edge keeps me from getting mixed up among the rocks. I have to keep glancing over my shoulder plenty to keep an eye out for the odd rock or log that has embarrassed me in the past.
Parts of this end of the trip are in the shade. It's still quite cold. A couple of times we venture away from the edge to find the sun. It's much warmer out there. The wind seems to be dropping a little so it's tempting to stay out there. But the different colours of the rocks at the waterline and the sound of the water on the rocks can't be seen or heard from out in the sun – so back in we go.
A bit further on and the hills move further back from the shoreline. Sunshine is able to find us now, a very welcome guest. The wind continues to drop and slowly the waves reduce in size. As we have moved further away from the river valley where we turned around, the waves have slowly changed direction until they are now nearly beam on again. When we catch the bigger ones, slicing along the face of them is fun. I enjoy this. I'm sure Alice does too. My narrow beamed friend doesn't follow the shape of the waves like her broader beamed cousins. There is no fear of being turned out at all. Rate of progress is picking up now, we're making over 3.5 knots.
There are signs that we are starting to get closer to civilisation again. Time to exercise the bailer in its secondary employment again before we get amongst the people. One more swig on the bottle. It has been three hours now and the tiredness is starting to set in. I've only rowed for 9 minutes more than this before, so I know I'll be sore for a few days. The bones of my bottom are starting to hurt, even though I'm sitting on a piece of closed cell foam. Oh for a nice soft, comfortable chair.
I start working out how long it will take to get back from here. It's tempting to cut a straight course back to the landing. There are two more bays (that I can remember from last nights map work) to get past, both of them getting me further downwind from the landing. Taking into account the head wind that will slow us down, I reckon another hour will do it. Straight to the landing would probably knock half an hour off that. There is a moment of indecision. Very tempting. But no, the goal was to traverse all of the shoreline.
I tell myself I'll have half of the remaining water when I get to the most downwind point. The decision made, I get back to my work. The wind has dropped a little, the waves are only 400mm and completely astern. So the work is a bit easier now. The trick now is to pull the oars fast enough to keep the time down, but not so fast that I run out of steam for the windward leg.
At last I find the end of the downwind bay. A quick swig and we're off again. It is completely sheltered in here. Hardly a ripple. This is paradise. I spy a funnel poking out of the raupo. This is an old steam powered launch of some sort. Looks in pretty good nick.
Out of the protection of the bay and I get a measure of what the next leg is going to hold for us. From here back, half of the trip will be directly into the wind, and the last leg should be sheltered again. The muscles don't take kindly to the monotony breaker now, so it's all aerobic stuff. Progress ranges from 2.0 to 3.5 knots, depending on the state of mind and the wind. As we get further into the leg it is more dependent on the state of my mind than the wind.
At last we find the turning point for home. Around the corner and it will be a straight and sheltered row to the landing. My spirits start to lift, as does the stroke length and rate. Wait, what’s this. Oh no! There is one last bay that I had forgotten about. Too bad. There is no indecision now. The sights of that bay can wait for another day.
It’s amazing what the smell of the finish line will do to a tired athlete – and a worn out, middle aged rower! Progress at 3 knots instantly turns into over 4 knots. I even start singing. Anyone watching would not have guessed that this was the same boat that had been making its sorry looking way around the windswept bays an hour or so earlier.
As the last few metres slip away under Alice’s transom, I reflect on the last few hours. Cold to start with, but the water was flat. Wind astern pushing us down the second half of the outward trip. In and out of the sun on the first half of the return, but always against the wind and waves. Directly into the wind and waves making the second half of the return trip the hardest. The fast sprint to the finish on flat, quiet water. Hard work. But, as always, the pain is worth it. I always enjoy the peace, the lack of people. The space to unwind in is great.
The GPS tells me I’ve been rowing for 4hours and 40 minutes, that I’ve travelled 16.6 nautical miles (over 30km), that 3.6 knots was my average speed, and that the maximum speed reached was 5.2 knots. The numbers look good, but the body feels shot. Would I do it again? Yes, but not today.
As Alice beaches, a tourist type sits on the grass to wait for the berthed gin palace to take her out after the trout. I carefully step over the bow onto the sand. Nearly five hours is a long time to sit in one place, and my legs remind me of that. As I stretch, the legs wobble a bit. Walking around the boat to prepare for loading is a slow job. The tourist notices a few staggers and that I’m having difficulty staying upright and in a straight line. She suggests that I’m having trouble finding my sea legs. Trying to be very polite, I explain that the sea legs are fine, it’s the land variety that seems to have gone missing. She smiles as if she understands. I resist the urge to suggest that she might look a little funny on her feet if she were ever to sit down for 4 hours and pull hard on some levers.
Back at home again, there is great satisfaction as I enter the day’s achievement into the K1000 log. Today’s addition brings the total distance for the year to 193 nautical miles, or 358 kilometres for those that like to row longer distances. I’m 12 miles ahead of the calenderised year to date target. That’s the first time I’ve got ahead since January. That feels good.
I remind myself, again, how fortunate I was to make that phone call to John Welsford. His response to my question was the right one for me. I didn’t need a Hiawatha, I definitely needed an Alice Ward. I could not have done the length of Lake Tarawera in a solo open canoe in today’s weather in less than half a day. No way! A rowing boat was just the thing I needed.
I lean back in my soft and comfortable chair and wonder where Alice and I will get to next weekend?
This is my story about roofracking Alice Ward