Adventure with Rowers – Sharing the Thames

 

Adventure with Rowers – Sharing the Thames

It was one of those crisp mornings on the Thames – wind light but promising, the current doing its usual thing, and Paul and I in the RS Toura ready for some gentle upstream tacking practice.

Except it wasn’t just us.

As we came around the first bend, a flotilla of rowers appeared, slicing through the water in that hypnotic, synchronised rhythm that suggests they’ve done this before breakfast. Which, of course, they had.

Now, you might think, “That’s fine, plenty of river for everyone.” And you’d be right, in theory. But rowers are facing backwards. And sailors are never quite sure which way they’re going even when they’re facing forwards. Combine this with a zig-zagging tacking course, a few tree-lined wind shadows, and a narrow reach of river, and you’ve got a ballet with absolutely no choreography.

We tried to anticipate their line, but they were coming fast — very fast — and we had just tacked right across their invisible racecourse. I shouted a friendly warning, Paul leaned the boat over to get us through the turn quicker, and the rower… didn’t hear a word. Or see us. Or alter course. We missed them by a whisker and a polite wave (from us – not them).

Over the next hour we developed a new skill: reading sculler body language. The slightly hunched shoulders meant “don’t talk to me.” The erratic wobbles meant “I didn’t expect you here.” And the laser-focused stare from the bowman in the quad? That meant “You’re in the way and you’d better move because I can’t.”

We ducked, dodged, tacked wide, gybed cautiously, and smiled a lot. It became something of a game: How many rowers could we avoid without altering our course too much or getting tangled in reeds? (Answer: most of them. The reeds, however, had the last word.)

At one point we were sailing by feel alone — the wind gone completely, and only the slap of oars and shouted encouragement from the coaching launch to guide us. We drifted. They powered past. And we waved as though it was all part of the plan.

Eventually the river cleared. We made our way back to the club, no collisions, no capsizes, just a slightly higher blood pressure and a renewed respect for backward-facing speed demons.

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What we learned:

• Rowers can’t see you – it’s not personal.

• Speak up early if you’re going to cross their line.

• Smile and wave, even when you’re thinking “port has right of way.”

It’s all part of the fun of sailing on a river – sharing the water with people who move in straight lines while we dance from side to side. Harmony, eventually.