Instead of the two hours band-aid naps as we would have been taking on the boat we pushed thorough the entire day rolling past the border around seven pm, giddy with exhaustion, singing both USA’s and Canada’s national anthems, of which the three Yanks in this crew will have to return the honor of learning Adam’s (beyond the first two words which we could sing with gusto) as well as he could sing all of the Star Spangled Banner.
No one really expects an ocean rowboat and border guard was no exception. Upon learning of our trip and its mission we experienced the unexpected charm of both a laugh and smile from a boarder guard as he contemplated our boat.
Victoria smelled like fall that next morning, wood fires burned in the bright blue sky and sharp chill in the air had the promise of turning to t-shirt weather later in the day.
All of us had slept like logs thanks in large part thanks to Adams Mother in law and her husband lodging Rick and I in real beds so as not make a flop house of Becca, Adam, and now baby Kalev’s apartment.
It was hard not to row out to Ogden Point and look out at the calm water with the Olympic Mountains in the background and not feel some frustration that we had not used our own power to pull ourselves from Tacoma. But there were no regrets in our decision. Greg and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, and it’s a lesson that Adam and Rick have by now fully grasped, that rowing long distances don’t often mix well with scheduling.
Fortunately Harold, Mia and Andrea of Whitehall Rowing had managed to get a flotilla of white hall rowboats out to meet us at Ogden Point without suffering the weather troubles we had experienced and a full escort of fellow oarsmen pulled us into the heart of the city.