Kicking Sand

Reprinted from Open Water Rowing Magazine, December, 1997

By David Stooky

It’s a cultural tradition. The Jeers at the tortoise; the football star teases the shy kid; the Corvette makes the mistake of revving up at a stoplight beside the sleepy old Dodge. Then POW!

Ron Rantilla’s boat had to be among the sleepiest at the Mystic Seaport Small Craft Weekend last June. A short undistinguished fiberglass canoe, with a wooden contraption sticking up from the center of it. There’s no other word for that pyramid of posts, strings and pulleys. The Frontrower, he calls it. Looking closely we could see the stubby oars – aluminum shafts with wooden blades – and rubber grips in the middle of the shafts. And the seat had a backrest! Lying next to three fast rowing skiffs at the dock, Ron’s boat looked as if someone might kick sand in its face.

In the afternoon, Ron stepped aboard, made himself comfortable in the seat, and shoved off. He swung the oars overboard, their inner ends attached to the contraption, and rowed smartly away from us. The oars dipped, pulled, feathered and recovered. The boat was moving quickly. If you squinted it looked like rowing, but something was not right. Ron was looking over his shoulder at us and waving.

He was facing forward not aft as all the other rowers did. And he didn’t even have his hands on the oars. They dipped, pulled, feathered and recovered without him, powered entirely by his legs – the catch, recovery, and feathering controlled automatically by the contraption. Then he reached for the oar grips and added arm pull to leg push. The boat disappeared quickly down the river. No bobbing of bow and stern because the rower stays almost stationary. Surprisingly fast, it seemed, but of course the view from land can be deceptive.

The three sleek skiffs, a St. Lawrence River, a Muskoka Lakes, and a Merrimack Screamer, were among the most popular and attractive boats all that afternoon. Dozens of rowers took them out. Some of the gizmo-curious took out Ron’s boat, but not many. At the end of the day, the three skiffs held informal races, smoking up and down the river. The finishes were all close, but the St. Lawrence River Skiff nosed ahead in each. As the sun dropped, the three speedsters swaggered back to the dock for the night.

The next morning, most of the boats cruised out into the fog for the last formal event of the weekend, breakfast on Morris Island. After the boats were beached, the coffee drunk, the tall tails exchanged, and the whaleboats on their way back to Mystic, everyone was on their own. Ron’s boat and the St. Lawrence River Skiff found themselves rounding Morris Island together in the fog.

The tempo crept up, the skiff leading, the Frontrower right behind, the two rowers looking into each other’s eyes. Eventually, as the pace passed any pretence of cruising, Ron said, “If you want to race, let’s start together.” The boats stopped and lined up. Ron reached down and came up with more contraptions, small handles like stirrups, which he attached to the oars outboard of the handles. Then they started.

The winner of last evening’s races, the sleek black St. Lawrence River Skiff, three feet longer on the waterline, sporting Shaw & Tinney’s latest wide spoons, got off to the better start and led the short oared canoe by a boat-length for the first minute. The two rowers grimaced at each other. Sweat began to drip in the foggy humidity. Ron began to overtake. Two minutes later, when the boats ran out of water, Ron was in the lead and inching away. The St. Lawrence River Skiff managed congratulations, and then edged off into the fog, looking around, hoping no one had witnessed the race.

Sidebar notes:
At racing speed, the rower holds extension handles instead of the oar grip itself, allowing him to pull further outboard on the oar. Again, the rower uses no wrist effort to feather and unfeather the oars. Note also that while the rower is using a full extension of his legs, his seat is stationary and only his torso moves fore and aft. Thus his center of gravity is relatively still, and the boat bobs very little.

A year or so back, Ron put his Frontrower in an Alden Single, and beat all the sliding-seat touring shells in the 22-mile Blackburn Challenge, setting a coarse record. If you would like to look under the hood of the Frontrower, read the series of articles and letters in Messing About in Boats (August 1, September 15, and November 15, 1997 issues).