Our Rough Water Department

        When we are at a show, when the question is asked, we turn and point to the photo below and say,  "That's how our boats handle a little chop."

     Tom Lawler, a long-time rower and the Chair of the Blackburn Challenge Race Committee, came up to our shop to order a boat. When he saw that photo on our wall he put his hand over it and said, "We are so ashamed we let that race go on that day. If we ever have conditions like that again, we are going cancel the race." 

     Which is all to the good...but we're glad we got that photo. It was taken, by the way, by David Stookey, publisher of Open Water Rowing.

      The secret as to why our boats are so seaworthy is .... There is no secret. Put your center of gravity low and the boat will stay upright. The only way you can put your center of gravity low in a canoe is to put your butt on the bottom...and it's not possible to paddle from that position.

      Of course, gale force winds don't have to be blowing for you to take your boat out. They make wonderful fishing boats and are ideal boats for youngsters, oldsters and anyone else who would appreciate a light-weight, compact, sea-worthy craft.   

      We wish we had photos to accompany this next story, from Marty Cooperman, in Ohio. Once you read it, you'll see that photos were very much the last thing on his mind. 

       "Saturday on Lake Erie saw a forecast for between 5-15 knots…then it changed to 10-20. Big rollers were tumbling into shore and there wasn't a boat to be seen. Men stood around their sizeable fishing boats, still on trailers, discussing things. I got the idea & headed to the bay. I rowed south with some large rollers following me. 

     The boat started to sway sideways but never broached. The winds had increased. Probably 15-25 knots (confirmed later by the small craft advisory on the radio). The winds caught me 60 degrees to the bow. Rowing became clumsy as steep waves disrupted my rhythm. My right arm became sore as I tried to counteract the waves' push downwind and off my intended course. I'm guessing the waves were 3-4 feet as the higher ones came to eye level. I get into a bit of a trance in this kind of situation, where my body is doing the rowing and my mind is somewhat disconnected, half numbed by the rough motion of the waves and the grim sight of them, half analytically studying just where I am, how far I have to go, what angle to best point the boat, and how far I'd have to swim should worse come to worst. 

     I figured I had about an hour and a half of rowing to slowly fight my way across the exposed part of the bay. A big dark cloud came across the sun making the bay look more gloomy and ominous, the water a nasty gray green. Then a wave more properly belonging to the Lake managed to sneak its way into the bay. I was just past the light tower when I heard it. A sharp hissing sound, too fast for me to turn around and look, and then a breaking wave slammed into me and the boat. I felt the water hit my lifejacket, saw some come aboard, felt the spray whiz past my face and watched, amazed, as the boat slewed about 5 feet sideways. 

      Adventure gave way to panic. There wasn't much water in the boat, not enough to bail. Oddly, the boat had not tipped. Instead of catching and tripping, it seemed to just skid sideways. Not facing the wave, I never saw it and wasn't doing anything to brace or steady the boat. I guess the boat just took care of itself. It's a refined dory shape and I suppose that's what dories do. I looked around for the next big one, figuring I was now in an area where breaking waves were the norm, but they returned to their 3-4 foot size and I returned to the oars a bit shaken, but oddly reassured. It was another hour back into the protection of Baypoint which broke the waves and then Johnson's Island which did the same for the wind. Several big 50+ foot motor cruisers came past, probably to check out how I was doing. They likely saw a head occasionally appearing above the waves and wanted to know if anything was attached to it. My last adventure was finding both the remaining wind and waves driving straight into the launch ramp opening and trying to maneuver past the docks without bashing one. Then I lassoed a dock cleat, made fast, and hopped out. Terra Firma at last. Some 22 miles on the water. As a distinctly land-bound friend once said: 'the more firma, the less terror'. Thanks for building a great boat. Marty 

    As to your question, "would Edie be up for another similar adventure?" Edie doesn't like it when the boat gets yanked around by confused waves, and frankly I don't like it that much either, but in a different way. To her it's scary since she's not that used to open waters and questions like “is this safe?” have to be answered by me. She's not got comparable experience. To me it's uncomfortable - the rowing gets goofy as I catch an occasional oar, find my cadence messed up, and realize we're spending as much time going up and down as forward, etc. but I can see what the boat's doing and measure that against other experiences. I'm comfortable as long as it's not taking on much water - the first sign that we're getting into trouble. All we were doing was bailing out a few scoop with a Clorox bailer. We never had to resort to a bucket. To Edie, used to the safety of land, heading in to a beach looks appealing. To me, a beach landing is far more risky than carrying on a safe distance from shore until we reach a good harbor. So, yes, Edie said she will continue to go out with me and hopefully gain confidence that the boat will take care of us. At day's end she said she was horrified at the waves but amazed that such a small boat could handle them so well. Me too. Thanks for building a great boat.

       Marty

       This photo is of Mary when he was first trying one of our boats. 

 May we build one for you?