Tech Tip: Returning to Water
by COC Sculling Camp Coach Kevin McDermott
GRP athletes at the beginning of a sculling session on Great Hosmer Pond
Like most people who row, scull, or coach in New England, I expect to spend several months away from the boat over the winter. Though in recent years, I’ve had occasion to get on the water mid-winter to coach sculling clinics in Tempe, Arizona out of the Rio Salado Rowing Club. During my trip last month, I was able to scull eight times. Given that my first sculling outing on the Connecticut River in Hartford typically falls in early to mid-May, I was thrilled to take advantage of the water in Tempe in January.
Getting back on the water safely and productively after an extended break, whether it was a few months, a few years, or even a few decades, requires an extensive investment of time, energy, and attention. During my first few outings in Arizona, or whenever I return to the water after an extended layoff, I always focus on the same two goals: to have fun and to connect to the equipment correctly.
While the first goal of “have fun” is becoming easier for me to reach, I still struggle to achieve it and to fully immerse myself in the joy and excitement that should define my return to the water. During my initial outings, the voice in my head pops up to ask questions like, “Why isn’t the boat perfectly set? And why are my meters per stroke so low? Why can’t I hold my line more consistently than this? Why am I so bad at sculling now?!?!” These are unproductive questions to ask and belie unrealistic expectations to have after not sculling for five months. But I still think them and think them often. And I bet you may, too. So, I have to tell that voice to keep quiet, to stop robbing my joy, and to come back to pester me after I’ve been on the water consistently. Once that process repeats a few times, then I find that I can “have fun” on the water.
The second goal, to focus on connecting to the equipment correctly, has been immensely helpful in accelerating my comfort when getting back in the shell. I want to allow the equipment to do its job. In a properly rigged shell, the seat, shoes, oars, and riggers are all designed to function pretty darn well. For example, the oarlock and sleeve interact perfectly to allow the blade to move between the feathered and squared positions; my thumb and fingers need to initiate and direct the movement, but the equipment does a top-notch job of holding the oar in its proper place. If I mash my hands tightly and chunk the handle around like a goon, the oarlock and sleeve function poorly and the boat feels lousy. But, if I place my hands carefully and manipulate the handle correctly with care, the oarlock and sleeve can do their job and the boat feels nice.
For example number two, I’ll quote my great and wise colleague Ric Ricci who offered that, “Blades don’t go deep. A sculler causes them to go deep.” Oar manufacturers design their blades to achieve an effective and efficient position in the water. My connection to the handle can either compliment or interfere with this design. If I offer tight and stressed shoulders, thick and stiff arms, and beefy paws to the oar, it will function poorly and the boat feels lousy. But, if I lower my shoulders, employ long, loose arms, and bring responsive hands to the handle, the oar can function well.
If I go too fast, or try too hard in these early-season sessions, I end up mauling the equipment, fighting the water, and having no fun at all. Conversely, through a careful process of trial-and-error, of deliberate practice, and by sculling slowly, I feel like I achieve these goals within the first couple of sessions back on the water.