PicoMicroYacht pays homage to a fallen oarsman, 'Tony' Ross

This is a bit personal for PicoMicroYacht, but I read recently that a fellow oarsman Anthony Ross had passed on. In 1975, his last year in school, I rowed with him in three crews. Firstly, we were in a coxless pair in a winter squad, trying out for our school eight. I was on bow side and steered using my foot, attached by wires to the rudder. Tony set the rhythm at stroke. We did quiet well, but not enough to make the eight that year. Tony was designated the eight's spare man and helped them win at the National Schools Regatta. We also raced in the summer in a double sculling boat, both of us keen scullers. Tony was initially in the bow and steering, which he did by issuing orders about which side to pull harder. Tony's long eyesight was poor and in our first rowing race at the Cambridge Regatta we went spectacularly into the bank. We switched and I was quite glad that Tony was setting the aggressive rhythm and I was steering. We then won at Reading Regatta.

Tony and I setting off at Reading Regatta, our boat on the right with Tony at stroke.
(From Ronnie Howard's book - Knowing Rowing)

That year Tony's first cousins, the Brigg twins, lost their crewing role in a quadruple sculling boat with  John Truswell and Alasdair Jelfs, the latter international junior scullers for three years running. The Briggs, who had been junior internationals with Truswell and Jelfs the year before, teamed up with Tony and I for another quadruple sculling crew. I was the least able in the crew and we eventually came second in the National Youth Championships, missing out on being junior internationals.

The Briggs went on to become distinguished doctors and Tony a chartered surveyor, eventually winning the National Championships in sculling in 1983. Tony was modest, kind, quietly spoken, and well liked.

I remember he rued the fact when we lost; he would say in an Eeyore fashion:  'nobody remembers it when you come second.' But they have, Tony and eventually you came first.

Tony in later years. A back injury forced him to give up rowing and he did nordic skiing instead.

At the end of this year I reflect on the passing of the seasons. I was looking through the old blog of another fallen friend, Ivor Reveley, who encouraged me to row on  several of the voyages recorded here. As well as many other things, Ivor was a poet, and had posted on his blog an elegiac poem about long distance country running in the Autumn and the call of the trail.  I hope I will be forgiven for shamelessly stealing his style and writing a poem about the call of the sea when rowing in midwinter:

On contemplating sea rowing in the winter

A distant sea is calling,
Lit by a winter's glow.

At the coast the sun has risen, 
And a voice is calling:

“It is time for you to row.”

The storm is over, 
The waves are calmed, 
Blessed by the winter's glow.

Among proud cliffs and slow sea mists, 
A voice is calling:

“It is time for you to row.”

I must have heard that voice,
As I wondered when to row.

The voice now calling from the sea, 
And saying: “It was time for you to go.”

After writing this I  read from a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson, written when on Blackdown, the highest point on the North Downs, looking over the Sussex Weald to the distant sea.

You came, and look'd and loved the view
Long known and loved by me.
Green Sussex fading into blue
With one grey glimpse of sea.

From the same viewpoint as used by Tennyson, signals were passed onto London concerning the approaching Spanish Armada in 1588.

Looking towards the sea from Blackdown  - National Trust

The Chichester Harbour Entrance Is a Pussy-cat When You Get it Right

PicoMicroYacht sea voyaging is limited during the winter months because of the cold sea.

The sea temperature in December is such that, with no protective clothing, dexterity is lost in about ten to fifteen minutes of immersion, and exhaustion and loss of consciousness within one to two hours.  My rule is to only go to sea at this time of year if there is no wind, a neapish tide and no overfall areas.

An alternative is to row in the many estuaries around the South Coast of England, including Chichester Harbour.

Yesterday I set off from the west side of this harbour and crossed the entrance, reaching a popular mooring spot, called East Head. The route passed the East Winner bank.

Screenshot of the entrance to Chichester Harbour. The East Winner Bank is in the centre, with the main entrance to the left of this. East Head is the triangular shaped dune area that 'hinges' off the main coast to the right in the picture.

The voyage involved scooting across the entrance, with some largish waves coming in, but protection from the shingle banks.

The Chichester Harbour entrance is to be respected. According Brendan Chandler, the Chichester entrance is a 'pussy-cat when you get it right and a b******d when you get it wrong'  (from: David Rainsbury's book Fearsome Passages: A Personal Exploration of Some Infamous Waters).

I was mindful of this as I set off, hearing the roaring sound of the surf as it crashed across the fearsome East Winner shingle bank.  The inky grey sky and sea added to the atmosphere. Nobody was about.

Soon I was opposite the East Winner and making sure I kept a reasonable distance. As the light faded I watched the waves breaking in a line across the bank. Many ships have run onto this bank and been wrecked.

As I neared East Head, the sea calmed and the wind moderated. I was able to focus more on my rowing rhythm.

Returning to my starting point, I was greeted by some cheery yacht sailors and we drank beer in a sailing club, exchanging stories of yachting adventures.

Mine was about a tug close to the  Chichester Harbour entrance as I returned in the dark, The tug was towing a huge barge and it let out it's towing line to about 200 metres. It then exited the harbour, shining a flashlight on the line and checking the barge position. We reflected on the steering skills needed to avoid wrapping the line round a navigation buoy when in such close quarters.