Tag: Anacostia River

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.

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.