Category: rowing

Steering Through the Muck – A Rowing Story

Two days after the presidential election, I went rowing on the Anacostia River in Washington DC. Our season usually ends after the first weekend in November, so it was a last-hurrah kind of moment before the weather grew too cold. A poignancy more pronounced by my extreme dismay over the election outcome. 

Trees along the river glowed red, gold, and various shades of green. A perfect blue sky reflected like a postcard image in the water. I rowed downriver backwards, two ten-foot oars sticking out on either side of the narrow racing shell, and considered how lucky I was to have this sport, this river, this scenic beauty, especially on a day when, like so many others, I desperately needed solace and release. 

Near the docks, a dredging barge lay in wait, ready to suck the sludge from the bottom of the river so the Bladensburg Waterfront Park harbor could still host the large Anacostia Watershed Society pontoon boats, their fleet of canoes and kayaks, and the seven different private rowing clubs that launch from the park. 

Muckraking. They were literally muckraking. 

The dredging crews have to wait until the end of the season, when high school rowing teams are finished for the year. And before river creatures begin their winter hibernation.

A transitional time in nature and a transitional time in our country.

I turned to starboard and steered clear of the enormous underwater boom marked by large orange buoys. Further downriver, I navigated through a series of Surface Water Passive Samplers that suddenly appeared (I only learned later that they were placed in the river by the Department of Energy and Environment for a multi-year being undertaken by the District to mitigate toxic sediments (https://restoretheanacostiariver.com/). Great work, but a huge hazard for boaters if improperly marked.

At the river bend just upstream from the National Arboretum, I gasped in awe. Such spectacular beauty could not be captured; I pulled my phone from its ziplock pouch to snap a photo anyway. The wall of colorful trees against a bright blue sky soothed my eyes. The rhythm of rowing calmed my nerves. They may have won the election, but they can’t take this away from me, I thought.

“How far are you rowing?” I asked Bob, who often rows a single at the same time as me. We’re the Odd Timers, a rag-tag group that goes out whenever we can get a few people together. 

“Until I forget the worries of today and prepare for the worries of tomorrow.” 

I probably need to keep rowing for four more years, I thought.

I turned around just above the Langston Golf Course and headed back to the dock. The dredging barge was still there, clearing the channel to make it navigable for the rest of the year. Then my oar hit a rebar post sticking up with no buoy or flag to indicate a hazard. It could have easily pierced my rowing shell.

I’ve been thinking about all the obstacles and chaos coming our way starting January 20. The president-elect promised to “drain the swamp.” But when you actually remove the mud, it clears the way, opens new channels, and allows water to flow smoothly downstream.

I predict a lot of metaphoric dredging booms and unmarked hazards in our future. We will all have to navigate through the muck of this new administration. When their time is over, the muckrakers will clear the path and natural beauty will prevail. Both on the river and in our country.

Beaver attack!

Two days after the full moon of November, I was attacked by a wild beaver in the middle of the Anacostia River. It swam toward me as I fumbled to take out my phone and capture it on video. So cute! I’d just seen a flock of turkeys, so I thought it was a good wildlife day. Until it swam aggressively under my rigger, leaped over the gunwale, and chomped down on my right hip. 

This is not the only thing in my life to go completely wrong this fall, but it’s certainly the most extraordinary. I could never have predicted, for example, that my husband of 31 years would decide to retire and move to Maine on the same day, leaving me with a developmentally disabled son to manage alone. The irrational behavior of my siblings before and after my mother died hurt me more than I can admit. But rowing has always been my place of refuge, recreation, and relaxation. The river is my antidote for all that ails me.

Some people would take an attack like this as a sign to stop rowing all together. The cold weather usually forces us off the river from mid-November until late February. However, a crisp 50-degree, sunny afternoon lured six of us to launch our singles and head out together. I’m a seasoned rower, a coach, and a strong advocate of safety precautions. In fact, I’d just reviewed with Anthony how to avoid hypothermia if he flipped his boat and fell into the water.

Sarah caught up with me just south of the New York Avenue bridge while we waited for the others. She said she’d hit a beaver with her boat! Minutes later, Ben confirmed that he’d seen a beaver, too; maybe it was the same one. Rowers out of Bladensburg Waterfront Park are more accustomed to Great Blue herons, osprey, kingfishers, geese, and the occasional bald eagle. It’s unusual to see a beaver in the river but November is the time of year that they are busiest, preparing their lodges for winter. Why would it swim in front of a rowing shell?

I turned around first to head back to the dock, rowing pretty much ahead of everyone else, when I heard a big splash and looked over. Nothing. A few minutes later, a beaver emerged just off my stern. So exciting! I thought. I hustled to take my cell phone out. The thing started moving toward me at an alarming speed! Maybe it was looking for food? It had a large, open, pink sore on its head. 

In survival scenarios, victims often find a strength that they didn’t know they possessed. I screamed at the top of my lungs, grabbed the beaver’s front paw, and beat it on the head with one hand while desperately holding the oar handles steady to keep from tipping into the river. My waterproof bag was open, and everything would have tumbled into the river. Water splashed up onto my lap, soaking me from knee to waist in frigid water. 

I will never forget those orangey-brown incisors coming at me! 

The beaver would not let go. Martin and the others appeared around the bend, but they were too far away to hear me. Dang! I continued scream-shouting and hitting the beaver on the head. It finally let go. I slapped my blade on the water to warn it away. It looked at me, like it wanted more, so I rowed like it was the last 250 meters of a sprint race all the way back to the dock. 

What I’ve learned about myself from this incident is that I am resilient and determined. When faced with unprecedented challenges, I will fight to stay upright. This lesson applies to my personal life as well. Some days feel like I’m rowing upstream against invisible enemies. Other days, I can stop to enjoy the beauty surrounding me.

I will never stop rowing. 

Weather warning: magical morning

After torrential rains and coastal flood alerts, it was not at all clear that I’d be able to row on Saturday morning. But I got up before dawn any way, and dressed in my tights and performance tee — the one that stays warm when it’s wet. I drove out to the waterfront in the dark drizzle, easily found a parking spot, and watched the sun rise from the Bladensburg boat house.

A few other rowers were already on the dock sweeping off goose droppings and pushing heavy debris away from the launch area. Coaches had pulled their motor boats onto the dock the night before so they wouldn’t float away in the storm. The strong current washed the logs easily downstream. As the sun rose, the rain stopped, and instead of the usual mud banks, the high, flat water of the upper Anacostia River stretched out wide across from me. High tide. Cool air. Perfect rowing conditions.

My stress level started to fall once I shoved off — it had been a crazy week. At school, several fights had broken out, and a medical emergency sent us into a shelter-in-place. Rumors were flying that someone had been stabbed (not true, thank god). Every day, a different student was crying at their desk. Senior essays were overdue, college application deadlines loomed, and Halloween hijinks forced school administrators into high alert. 🚨 My own anxiety about paying utilities and the mortgage on time spiked my cortisol levels.

The upper Anacostia is so different than the lower part of the river – with the stadium, Navy Yard, several yacht clubs, and industrial-building landmarks – that fellow rowers at Capital Rowing Club have named us Narnia (after the children’s fantasy). In fact, on that very morning, CRC was hosting their annual Narnia Chase regatta downriver.

What most people don’t know is that our section of the Anacostia River is a lush greenway, full of wildlife and unexpected natural beauty. Normally I row past Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens, the National Arboretum, and down past Kingman Island. Osprey flying with fish in their talons, turtles sunning on a log, great white egrets, black cormorants with outstretched wings that look like little Draculas, noisy geese, beavers, and the occasional bald eagle pop into view.

So when Sue suggested we head upstream, it didn’t take much to convince me. Even though I’ve been rowing out of Bladensburg Waterfront Park for 15 years, I’d never rowed upstream. Here’s why: that part of the river, even at high tide, is not usually navigable due to the mud and silt that washes down from the streams further north. The mud is so bad that once every couple of years, the Army Corps of Engineers has to dredge near the docks so that we can continue accessing the river there.

We rowed under the footbridge that normally signals danger, and kept rowing north to the confluence of the Northeast Branch Stream and the Northwest Branch Stream — the headwaters of the Anacostia. Only ducks and geese witnessed our historic adventure. The calm quiet juxtaposed against the fierce current and the surprisingly warm sun created a magical effect. Who needs fiction when such an extraordinary moment can transform us? We turned around at the Route 1 bridge, and I unsealed the plastic case around my phone camera to record the event. I smiled with child-like delight all the way home.

Rowing upstream

To paraphrase a Greek philosopher: “You can never step in the same river twice.”

For the past 13 months the river has sustained me while the rest of the world turned upside down. I’m so lucky to engage in an outdoor sport where social distancing is the norm. My happy place is a single in the middle of the river.

I’ve been rowing and coaching on the Anacostia River in Washington, DC since 2006. Every year, a new group of young people learn how to row. They learn new vocabulary: port, starboard, feather, catch, gunwale, coxswain, oarlock. And they learn sportsmanship and team work. They learn technical skills and how far they can push themselves physically.

Every year, we row the same river, but it’s always a different experience. The winds, the rain, and the currents shift the sand bars regularly. At high tide, we avoid the muddy edges, and steer through bridges carefully, following a known traffic pattern. Students who are too young to drive are guiding a 64-foot rowing shell expertly around kayaks, downed trees, and other teams out practicing. Every year I am amazed at how much students learn and grow.

On a school poster somewhere, a rowing shell heads into the sunset. There’s no I in TEAMWORK, it says. Rowers push themselves hard, and hold each other accountable. This year, I have focused on the novice rowers who are learning the technique and the culture of rowing. We do a distanced team cheer after practice. In a short time, some newcomers will show leadership, and others will come just to socialize with other teens. Some will develop amazing rowing skills and might earn a scholarship to college. Every year a different group of rowers will learn that it’s harder to row upstream than down, and they will figure out how to pace themselves.

Since the beginning of the pandemic, rowing and coaching has buoyed me when I felt hopeless or lost. The smells, sounds, sight, and feel of the river is in my heart and deeply ingrained in my memory. A river is constantly changing even while it remains the same. Everyone should have a place that pulls them like the river pulls me.

I hope everyone can find their river.

High school teams practicing on the Anacostia River, Washington DC.