When rowers think about their fall seasons, their minds go to one thing: Head of the Charles. It is the most renowned regatta in the world with over 9,000 competitors and well over 300000 spectators. I have been to the HOCR twice in the past as an alternate, but this past fall I was given the opportunity to race. I was the coxswain of the Men’s Varsity 4+. The term “coxswain” refers to the person with one of the most important jobs. A coxswain is responsible for steering the boat, making calls and commands, ensuring the safety of his or her crew, and acting as a coach in the boat. This was a major deal partly because racing at the Head of the Charles had been on my bucket list for about 8 years, but also because, as a freshman, there were quite a few older coxswains who held seniority. Head of the Charles is known for its many turns and six bridges that a coxswain must navigate; for this reason, it is often referred to as THE coxswain race. Steer a little too far in one direction and you can add 30 seconds to your final time or hit another boat or even a bridge abutment. A coxswain needs to be on her A game at all times to ensure safety but also that the boat takes the fastest route down the course.
My team and I arrived at the race course in Boston, Massachusetts on Friday morning and immediately got to work preparing the boats for racing the next day. The parking lot where all of the boats were kept was already bustling with people. Crews lined up to get some practice time on the water and you had to constantly listen for the call “heads up!” in case a boat was coming towards your head. Vendors such as Brooks Brothers, Sperry TopSider, New Balance, and a variety of rowing brands set up their tents. Everything was abustle with activity and people preparing for the weekend’s events. Once we were ready for the next day of racing we headed home for a good night’s sleep.
When my crew and I arrived at the course on Saturday morning, we were ready to go. I checked the boat to make sure all of the parts were in place and then we had a while to wait before our race. To kill some time, we weaved our way through the mass amounts of people and visited some of the vendors. The smell of clam chowder in a bread bowl permeates the air and well dressed people laugh in the warm October sunlight. There are cheers as boats row by and the announcers call out team names; the excitement is tangible.
An hour before our race and it was finally time to launch. We got out on the water and started making our way up to the starting line. There are hundreds of boats in the starting area, waiting to race down one of the most difficult courses in the world. My crew and I entered the starting chute and the officials told us to start taking it up to the line. 5 strokes from the line…4…3 strokes…2…1 “Penn State you’re on the course” and we were off. We flew through the BU/Railroad bridge and started coming around the Magazine Beach turn. We came under the River Street bridge and went through the straightest part of the course until we hit the Western Avenue bridge. When Western spit us out we immediately started the first major turn of the course. I took it wide and then had my rowers on one side add more power to swing us around. We nailed the Weeks Footbridge and then started to set up for the Anderson Bridge. We popped out of Anderson and started to prepare for the hardest and most daunting turn of the race: the Eliot Bridge turn. The Eliot Bridge is infamous for the amount of collisions that take place here. We came around the steepest part of the turn and I had a perfect line through the bridge…until two boats behind us started to walk, or gain, on us. We were three across in the narrowest part of the river, the other two boats having the highly sought after inner lines. I was pushed out which added seconds to my boat’s time. It did not look like we were going to make it through the bridge until one boat finally pulled ahead. We were able to safely pass two across, this time I gained the inside turn. We slingshotted out of Eliot and were able to walk away from the boat that had gained on us. We gave it absolutely everything we had for the last 500 meters of the grueling 3 mile (4800 meters) race. We finally finished and I could feel the levels of exhaustion coming from my crew. The entire race had been a blur, we could not remember the cheering or announcers that we knew were there; the only thing that mattered was our row. We made our way back to the dock, knowing that there was nothing we could have done to improve our race.
