Here is a link to an old thread that might interest you:
https://groups.google.com/forum/#!msg/rec.sport.rowing/SegjlDAoLBc/lCQsxUayiyUJ
And here from that thread is a post describing my dunking:
Mike and Carl,
We all know there are not many things in this world that taste as bitter as
humble pie. Nevertheless it is possible to make this dish more palatable if
you season it with a lesson well learned.
I’ll put it simply. You are right and I am wrong.
This morning, Mike, I took your advice and started practicing stopping,
river turns and backing up in the classic way, that is, with the blades
reverse feathered and placed in the water with the blades tips pointing to
the sky.
Morgan says that blades reverse feathered and placed in the water with the
blades tips pointing to the sky is the way she learned how to back up, and
turn, but that she doesn’t use it to stop. She also says that she finds it
difficult to teach this method to novices, particularly in our water.
But I said that I was going to take your advice and practice this method for
a few weeks and test whether it was an improvement over my current method of
backing up, stopping, and doing river turns.
So I pushed off from the dock and sculled into the outer Marina where the
water was protected. Then I started spinning donuts. And as I was going
around I put the port blade in tip up towards the sky.
Wow! The blade held on to the water so firmly that the shell started to spin
around it. I have never turned such a tight donut. I also, however, don’t
know how I didn’t go over. Turning had a completely different feel to it.
Needless to say this got my attention. Who doesn’t want a better method of
stopping, backing up, and turning? I was short for time, however, and didn’t
want to spend what little I had doing drills, I decided to put off work on
all this until tomorrow.
I did a minute of King of the Mountain drills, and then took off.
The water wasn’t very nice. I would say that in the channel it was Force 2
on the Beaufort Scale, a noticeable breeze, small wavelets, crests of glassy
appearance, not breaking. Also I was rowing against a flood tide. Water
washed over the stern deck almost every stroke.
But all in all I thought I was doing pretty well. I was firm on my feet with
a good connection to the stretcher and got the shell moving. I was
confident. I had a good feel for the blades. The shell stayed level and went
straight. And I was making good time.
Then it was time to turn around and head back to the Club.
As I was turning I thought, why not put the port blade in the way Mike
suggests and see if I can’t make a tighter, faster turn?
So I did.
And over I went.
I can tell you that water was cold. It was freezing! And it wasn’t all that
easy getting back into Carl’s shell. The water was bouncing the shell all
over the place, and I was out of practice, and the cold numbed my brain and
made my thinking slow.
It was minutes before I was back in the shell and sculling. By that time I
had an audience. A from one of the anchor outs, a sloop, came up to me in a
kayak to see if he could help, and two power boats motored up. I think there
must have been a total of six or seven people watching over me. I cannot
tell you how impressed I was with their generosity and kindness, or how
em-barrassed I was at my own klutzines.
At one point, about the third or fourth try of righting the shell and
reaching for the starboard oar handle, I must have knocked against the deck
right about where the cutwater ties into the coaming. Or maybe I just
knocked into the coaming. Or the deck! In any event I heard a cracking
sound, similar to the sound of a a sheaf of dry spaghetti snapped in two
over a boiling pot. Instantly I realized that I had cracked my lower rib on
my left side. Or maybe I had torn loose the cartilage around it. I don’t
know. It was painful and I was too embarrassed to tell anyone.
Finally, about the sixth or seventh attempt, I succeeded finally in righting
the boat while keeping hold of both oar handles at the overlap. From that
point on it was easy. I held on to the coaming with my left hand and a quick
scissor kick put me up, over, and straddling the splashbox. Once the boat
felt stable, I slid the seat under my butt, strapped feet into the shoes,
and was back in the business of sculling.
I called a hearty and heartfelt thank you to the knights in shining armor
who were watching over me, explaining that I was late and had to get to
work, and then started sculling as best I know how. My rib hurt, but there
was nothing to be done about that, so I put it out of my mind and
concentrated on getting long and looking smooth and relaxed.
It was amazing how fast I got back to the Club’s dock.
And the lesson learned? That you and Carl are right! Practice the correct
method. Make it second nature, so that you use it without taking time to
deliberate about it. It is the superior method. You will stop faster. You
will turn more tightly. And you will hold water better and back up better.
Thanks once again,
Charles