Rowing magic

Peter A. Morris

I have always enjoyed rowing, since I was a young teenager.  I started with the heavy old clinker-built boats off the beach at Hastings.  It was something that came to me naturally - 'through the blood' as they say. There was a history of seafaring on both sides of my family, and I often sensed the presence of my predecessors.

Until I had a pacemaker fitted and was advised to cut down on strenuous exercise, I was still rowing, keeping a ten-foot boat on the beach at Oak Bay near Victoria. I would drag it into the water and row offshore, putting out a few crab traps, and often being lucky. The main thing I liked about rowing, though, was that it presented an opportunity for meditation - something to do with the sound of the boat pushing the water away from the bow, and the way one could just keep going. My early days on the River Thames in England introduced me to sculling, a true art form in a combination of flowing movement, flexing muscles and deep breathing. The body, compressing into a tight ball then exploding full length while drawing the sculls through their maximum length of travel, is a wonderful pattern of movement. In 1975 when I moved to BC I was delighted to find the Vancouver Rowing Club and was able to continue this great sport in False Creek.

Rowing on the sea is different almost every time: the wave pattern and height, the wind and tide all give a different feel. The rhythm of one's movement must match the movement of the water; as you fall into the pattern the boat flows along with little effort. While I was living in various places on the Sunshine Coast of BC - Sechelt, Madeira Park or Halfmoon Bay, being on the water was part of my life.

Rowing in almost any weather is a release from everything else. Often I would row for hours, losing track of time, and would finish up getting home in the dark, which has its own pleasures. Hearing sounds that do not make sense allows one's imagination to run wild as to what may be lurking at the tip of the oar!

There were bright sunny days with a light, warm wind, when all one needed was a pair of shorts. It was just such a day, and I was stroking away, my mind drifting with the sights and sounds, when I became aware of something that sounded like deep breathing, faint at first, then becoming stronger and louder. I looked over my right shoulder and saw a pod of grey-sided porpoises just a few feet away. These streamlined beauties rolled and breathed, sparkling in the sunshine, their big, deep eyes looking at me. I wondered what they were thinking, as they seemed to breathe my name - Peeeetaaaa, Peeeetaaaa. Our meeting lasted only a few minutes before they headed toward Welcome Passage, between South Thormanby Island and the Sechelt Peninsula, heading north.

These days I row only in my dreams, but I can still feel the magic!