DESIGNERS CORNER
Bill Larson is founder and designer of the Little River fleet. Once a competitor in flat water shells, he now enjoys rowing for fitness and open water excursions. Here he writes some of his journal, which includes some design and feature explanations that might help potential clients choose what boat is best for them

Ocean Rowing a Cambridge
Ocean Fishing a Cambridge
Ocean Rowing a Heritage 15

It's the final day of the Miami Boat Show. Yachting Magazine of Asia has just finished a sea trail of the Heritage 12YT, under oar and sail. Watching the editor have fun for more than an hour in the Heritage has me more in the mood to row than to head back to the show, so I unload a Heritage 15, outfit her with airbags, life jacket, water, and a cell phone, and head into Biscayne Bay. The breeze is a stiff 15, maybe more, and in my face as I head south towards the first bridge. But the tide is with me, and the shoreline chugs by with relative ease. The power of sliding seat never ceases to amaze me, with 20 foot of total oar length, and 5+ foot range of motion, rowing is like a diesel locomotive, powerful even at half effort. It can be squandered on a poorly shaped hull, too wide or too heavy or too flat. But when applied to a hull designed for it, sliding seat is pure inspiration.
I'm not sure how far I'll go, but with each island I pass, the next seems even more interesting, with its movie star mansions and mega-yacht marinas. Ahead is an anchorage filled with live-aboards. Maneuvering through them, many captains watch the Heritage with curiosity, and perhaps some envy, for many of them have rowing tenders tied along side. The Heritage races past with an ease a fixed seat hull can't dream of, and in today's conditions I doubt these full-timers have any interest in battling the strong winds and 2 foot seas in their usual tenders. Most fixed seat dinghy's do well at carrying lots of people a short distance. The Heritage was built for the joy and pleasure of rowing, not from ship to shore, but from here to beyond what you can see, to discover, to explore. And that's what I'm up to today.
The next mile is open rough bay, straight into the wind. But the day is young and the trip back, down sea, will be like a jet airplane ride. I pass a sunken sailboat, probably one of many casualties from this year's 4 hurricanes that hit Florida.
The Heritage is pounding into the 2 footers like a youngster jumping from rock to rock. I'm bone dry so far, and enjoy ?catching air? as nearly half the boat clears water between waves. Ahead is the Miami Inlet, Government Cut, and it's angry. But the sun is bright and I'm up for the ride.
At the turn into the inlet, the confused seas are 2 to 3, a mix of wind waves, sea swell, and yacht waves. This is home for 200-foot private yachts, and several are coming and going in this busy inlet. I stay near the seawall for safety, even though the wall is causing a tremendous back swell that sometimes picks the Heritage up and set her back down a couple feet to the side of where I just was. It feels incredibly stable. The boat is actually creaking, like a wooden vessel might, because the waves are twisting the hull one direction in the front and another in the back. I'm glad this is the Classic, a double-hulled design much stiffer than a single skin boat.
There is about a mile of inlet still ahead. The sea swell is on the bow now. There is a boardwalk along the jetty packed with joggers, fisherman, kids and sightseers. Some watch with curiosity, a few with concern, but it's the look on the yacht captains' faces that I really notice. Perhaps it's my imagination, but some of them look as though I'm intruding into a territory that, to them, size matters. So does horse power. Tonnage.
Probably is my imagination, but it makes me pull harder with more joy, so imagine away. My brother Steve christened my office with a plaque that proclaims daydreaming to be a natural right to oarsmen, a childhood pleasure rekindled by the simple joy of pulling on oars for a while?
Near the mouth of the inlet the waves have built to about 4 feet, made steep and close by the outgoing tide. This is the worse combination; a stiff breeze and ocean swell colliding with an out going tide. For a few moments I contemplate plan B: if I have to I could swim to the jetty, time the swells and ? Across the way against the south jetty a sport fish hooks a spinner shark, not very big but what acrobatics! Adrenaline has completely replaced fear, but not respect. This is the biggest stuff I've encountered, and truthfully I don't know where the edge is for this little workboat. Still not a drop of wave or spray has come aboard. A couple times I stop rowing all together, to see how the boat will behave. It is so buoyant, like a bobber. Letting go of the oars, I set down in the bottom and test the ride. Good time for some water. Satisfied the hull is dry and safe, even without oars, its time to round the jetty point.
Making the turn to where the waves were abeam was not bad, but I wouldn't want to be without oars just here. Just past the point I get my first few pulls down sea. The waves pass under me with ease, no broaching sensation at all. As I build confidence in pulling hard to surf down sea, a Cuda suddenly is on my tail, a good 3 footer, racing to see what I'm about. Where's a fishing pole when you need one? Actually, I've still got plenty on my plate just race-surfing the 4 footers back toward the beach. The three-quarter mile is made a quarter mile much too fast, so thinking of the up sea work ahead, it's time to come about.
Back at the mouth of the inlet, both the sea and I have built some confidence. A few faces were 5 foot, and I pulled hard to get as mush surf as I could. Thank you, Abba Father. Thank you for keeping me safe. Thank you for this incredible experience, where I have been taught a great deal about the boats we make and sell, so that we can inform others honestly and first hand.
The 5 or 6-mile trip back was a blur. I had brought a camera, but forgot about it in just living the moment. My mind was still filled with the thrill of the sea, and now heading downwind, it was like I had a motor. The journey was over sooner than expected, but the memory is one that may last long time to come.

Ocean Rowing a Cambridge
March 29th

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It?s a perfect cloudless morning on Ft. Lauderdale beach, where the ocean color is still as coral blue as anywhere. With a mere one-foot shore chop, launching the Cambridge will be easy. My wife offers a bottle of water, always looking out for me, which I thank her for and shove off. I head north in the shallows a few miles, enjoying the crystal clear view below, catching glimpses of coral and rock formations and a few reef fish now and then.

Since the first warm up mile, the heart rate monitor tells me I?m maintaining a steady 146, about 8 clicks above the recommended rate for my age. But this is normal for me when I offshore row as compared to gym work. The sights, the salt smell, the sunshine, the blue water. The rush of catching a wave and gliding 100 feet on a stroke. It?s hard to hold back.
Offshore the sport fish yachts are at their game, and the lure to investigate pulls me eastward. In salt water the Cambridge easily does 30 feet per stroke, due to the increased buoyancy of salt water. As the hotels lining the beach get smaller, the watercolor turns from vivid blue to deep blue to almost purple blue. This is fine fishing water. I?m about 5 miles offshore as I approach a 65-foot Striker just deploying his fishing kite. Named the Southside, the skipper lets me know we?re not quite in the Gulf Stream, and the fishing?s good. They released a Sailfish earlier, and thought they?d try to raise a shark for the pleasure of the guest on board. I take up vigil to starboard. While well to the side of the Southside, I hadn?t realized the tenacious live bait they had set out had apparently seen me afloat, and to a little fish in the middle of a big ocean, anything afloat is a refuge. Before I new it, a 6-foot hammerhead goes on the attack 30 feet from me. He is all over the live bait, which is racing straight towards me for cover. The hunt is intense, right off my oar tip! The mate on board sets the hook, and another hunt begins as the reel screams its song that a fish is on! What a show.
A bit further offshore the birds are pounding the surface, so I nod a thanks to the skipper for a great front row seat, and pull away. I may have made it to the Stream because the sea swell grew to 4-5 feet or so, and very wide. So wide I couldn't get any great surfing because the faces were so flat.
With a bit of the adrenaline subsiding, I began to remember I was a tiny boat in a big sea, that sort of half-fear, half-humility that the sea can so easily bestow its guests. Time to head in. The trip is amazingly fast with the ocean swells at my stern.
Just before leaving the deep blue, a sailfish takes to the air behind me. She free-jumps twice, perhaps to get a look at the Cambridge, a strange fast Creature out playing in her back yard. For me, it?s a? your welcome? from a great God who has once again showed me a brush-stroke of His marvelous creation.
Thank you, my King.
Please remember always bring safety gear, and fill your craft with air bags, for any offshore or near shore rowing.
-B. LarsonIf you have an adventure, share it with us and we?ll put it on the web to inspire others.

Offsore Fishing in a Cambridge
March 30th

Watching the Southside fight a 6-foot shark yesterday was too much of a temptation. I just couldn?t resist trying my own luck out there today. I rigged a Rapalla diving plug on a heavy spinning reel, and headed out. The boat I have is a 2003 Cambridge recently traded in, which I just grabbed off the shelf on my way south. I didn?t have a chance to outfit her with any special gear, but I discovered the ?v? of the wing rigger and the crossbar of the foot stretcher make a great pole holder.
The sea was again becalmed, a foot or so rollers and an occasional set of 2-3 foot ocean swells. I head straight out for the offshore reef, about 90 foot of depth, according to a conversation I had yesterday with a dive boat. Today there are no sport fish further out. Everyone seems to be trying his or her luck on the reef.
The Cambridge rides this so effortlessly. I can?t imagine a better open water boat. I?ve been out here in flat bottom designs. When the sea is abeam, they stick to the wave face, forcing the down sea rigger toward the water and the up sea rigger into the air. The catamaran designs have an even more pronounced ?forced roll? problem. The semi-round bottom seems to best allow the oarsman to use his body English to keep the craft level in a beam sea.
Almost immediately I see some bait getting harassed. I quickly change course to intercept, but after several passes with no action, I head north towards the bulk of the fishing fleet.
Offshore rowing is not much different than near shore. Extra precaution should be taken in carrying safety gear, water, and a cell phone in a watertight bag. Be sure someone knows your intentions, a planned time for your return, and keep it. Most important, fill your craft with airbags. Stuff them everywhere you can. I?ve been in
seas where the boat creaked like an old wooden staircase, the power of the waves twisting the bow one direction and the stern another. Respect the limits of your boat and your skills. Here is a good rule: never row to someplace where you couldn?t swim back. After all it only takes a small oarlock failure to disable you.
Solidly in the fishing fleet, I watch one boat bring up a small kingfish. This is what I was hoping for, as Kings and Barracuda are the species I most likely could coax into taking the Rapalla. The adrenaline is running high. Knowing I?m at sea in a 20-inch wide shell, with a rig that could hook a 30 or 40 pound fish, is heart pumping. Several miles of rowing feels like half a mile because of the thrill of not knowing what might crash my lure.
The rowing is tremendous, circling bait pods and floating debris just like a big boat on the troll. Gotta love it! There is a good bit of Sargasso and Eelgrass, but so far I?ve managed not to snag any at all. The surface weed is avoidable buy timing a good left or right pull just as the weed approaches the fishing line. Being that one rows backwards, my eyes are constantly on the rod tip and line. Occasionally the shell rises, then pounds the sea, but no water has entered the cockpit, protected by the oversized splashguard on the Cambridge. She likes it out here.
I don?t have a self-bailer installed on this boat, and don?t usually recommend one, except on a flat-deck boat like our Regatta. Once a friend and I rowed to the Gulf Stream and back, him in a Cambridge, me in a Regatta. I was waterlogged a third of the way out, yet he retuned bone dry. If you plan to row open water larger than a foot, I recommend the Cambridge. Or at least the optional splashguard on the Regatta.
What a good feeling. The anticipation of a strike, the surging speed as the boat surfs a swell, the muscle pump, the sights, sounds and smells?, all giving back much more than a workout. To quote a good friend, I?m feeling younger every year!
Twice more I locate pods of bait, but nothing happens. I?ve been at it a couple hours, and I?m running low on water. Time to head for the inshore reef and perhaps a chance at a Grouper.
On the long trip in, the steady unbroken cadence of the oars sets me psychically in a zone, and my mind drifts to loftier thoughts. To love God, enjoy His creation, to use the body and mind and spirit He gave us? it?s just natural to praise Him and give Him thanks for the incredible experiences life offers. On shore I have two beautiful children being cared for by an incredible loving wife. They are the greatest gifts a man could ask for. And at 48 years young, God has humbled me by giving me another child on the way. Another son, we learned last week. I pray for their health, and happiness, not because I feel a need for anything at this moment, but because in Your word to us you ask us to. What Father wouldn?t want his children to ask him to care for them?
The water is bathtub clear as I pass over the inshore reef. I can clearly see boulders and fan coral. It is less deep than further south and the chance of snagging the bottom is pretty high. The swell is bigger here, and a lot of fun to surf.
Suddenly my cadence is broken by the sound of the reel singing. That?s the sound I?ve been waiting for, even though it is likely a snag on this shallow reef. Despite knowing better, I reach for the reel. In a 20-inch wide shell, letting go of the oars to fight a fish is not the plan. Let it run, you?ve got plenty of line, I remind myself. Get the foot strap loose to fasten tightly around both oar grips. That?s the plan.
I?ve fought Redfish from shells in the shallows. The Reds love to burry themselves in the grass, forcing you to row over while keeping the line taught. It?s a tremendous challenge. Part of the time the oars are locked between your knees and chest, with arms over top of that, hands free to reel. When the fish is close, one can stroke both oars in one hand, tiny strokes to make a bit of way. The real challenge is boating the fish. Once it sees your oars, it is as though the fish has used oars as a tool for dislodging hooks all it?s life. This is definitely a challenging way ? some would say a ridiculous way ? to catch a fish. If your goal is to actually catch fish, your odds are much better in a Heritage than is a shell.
Before I can get the foot strap set, the boat motion stops and the slack line tells me I?ve only snagged the bottom. Freeing the ten-dollar lure from the bottom turns out to be its own worthy challenge, which I?m determined to beat and eventually do.
Back at the beach, my daughter greets me, anxious to hear about the trip. Like many fisherman, all I have to show is a new bruise or two, and an excitement to try it again soon.