This suites my exercise program very well as I prefer to row nights in the summer heat.  Not only is it cooler, but I often have the Inter-coastal to myself, surreal and abandoned for South Florida, a reminder of the undeveloped Florida of my youth.  At night, the many mansions that line the river are gracefully illuminated, providing enough light to feel safe but not detected.

Occasionally a few Tarpon join the Snook for the nightly feast.  Just at the turn of both tides, you can find fisherman casting into the shadows. Problem is, these Snook are pretty wise to the typical spin caster’s presentation, and they are very hard to trick. 

I think we’ve found a way: a fly, well presented in the drifting tide, especially from the quiet, stealthy Heritage, is something they are not used to.  Place it under the dock and it is deadly!

The row to good fishing grounds is as much a joy as the fishing. 

 Rowing at night, one tends to use different senses than daytime.  The eyes do much less– sound and touch are your primary senses.  The oars, the touch of the blades to the water,  The feel of the rhythmic strokes, is so mesmerizing it seems to me to lend itself to longer outings.  In the day I typically row 45 minutes to a couple hours.  At night, 4-6 hours on the water is typical… I just don’t want to quit.  Of course, I’m usually rowing half that time and casting the other half. 

Some nites I’ve caught a dozen Snook, others one or none, but I’ve never returned to the dock anything but refreshed mentally, well used up physically, blessed and thankful.

My last trip was on the way to the Palm Beach Boat Show.  My 7 year old son, Chase,  was along, a tremendous treat for me.  We left the dock about 10 pm to time the tide changes.  My son is a good little rower and was excited for his turn at the oars at night.  It was his first time.  The still night was a little intimidating to him at first, but once he was on the oars, he completely forgot his fears, caught up in moving the boat at what seemed record speed. 

We rowed a couple miles to the first dock I knew to hold Snook.  And we weren’t disappointed, we could see several fish outlined in the dock light.  I took a few casts to the side, to get the distance right, then laid a glass minnow fly almost perfectly next to a pole.  Two or three strips and WHAM! the fight was on.  Chase couldn’t believe we had a fish on that quick (neither could I, thank you Jesus, for making my son’s night!)

Now the test was to start.  Hooking snook this way is the easier part.  Keeping them off the barnicle-covered pilings is another story.  But this guy turned seaward for me and I was able to get him to the boat in deep water.  Chase handled the net– a nice 24 inches.  Now he wanted a chance.  At 7, I haven’t really had time to teach Chase to cast a flyrod.  And pitch dark is not a very good classroom.  He tried for a couple minutes, then we switched him over to a spinning rod.  We had some shrimp with us, but as I suspected, the Snook just weren’t to be fooled–they’d seen this presentation too often.

Having spooked this honey hole, we rowed up river to find better pickings.  I returned to fly fishing and managed a few more nice fights, but my rowing partner was losing interest.  I made him a cozy bed in the bow of the   Heritage and he quickly fell asleep.  Watching my son sleep quietly in the cool night air, the silence of the night, rowing with a mixture of peace and adrenaline, what a perfect night.

It was about 2 am when I slipped back to the dock.  I carried my sleeping son to the truck, loaded the Heritage and headed for the Hotel.  How did I get so lucky?

The plan is to head out at dawn to reach the fishing grounds under my own power. Captain Bobby will stop on the reef, launch the Heritage and load up on live bait.
The seas laid down quickly and the rowing was great. Two live baits proved plenty to deal with. The water color was perfect and I headed for deeper water. I saw bait spray behind me and in a few moments I had a knock down … Was that him? After a bit I checked the bait. He was a bit roughed up but no teeth marks, just like a Sail. Now I’m excited!
A little while later I get another hit, and get cut off, then my chase boat reports they get cleaned out by toothy critters. We must’ve found Kingfish. We both switch one pole to a short piece of leader wire while leaving the others straight mono for Sails. In no time we each hook up a King. It’s a fast short fight to the Heritage when I realize I don’t have a gaff! Planning on sailfish I didn’t bring one, so I flip the king in the boat like bass fishermen, only bass don’t have a mouthful of teeth like a King Mackerel. Thankfully the rowing monorail kept us apart till he calmed down. The Doctor T was now along side and I handed off the King, reloaded fresh bait. And went back to work.
Hard to call this work… I rowed and fished for a few hours, enjoying the view of the Florida Keys coastline, the purple-blue water, and a handful of sport fish yachts. I guess I was a strange sight to them out here, but I felt completely at home. I didn’t want the day to end.   A couple Frigate birds showed up, always a good sign. Time to check the bait on my deep rod, and then came a tug. Didn’t feel like a King this time, more like the jerk of a grouper. A few minutes later I boated a nice 12 lb Red Grouper. What a pretty fish and great eating!  Time to call it a day. Thankful, I had a chance to reflect how lucky I am to be enjoying God and His playground.
Bill Larson, Little River Marine

Rowing:  Easy, healthy, thankful.  Have you noticed that when we treat ourselves the way we are supposed to: an honest day’s work, eating what’s good, using our muscles and lungs, honoring God, that everything else seems to go well with us.  Life is good.  

 I have wanted to find out if  it was possible to solo row moving rivers while fly fishing.  The trout rich waters of the Rio Grand in Colorado are descended upon every June by fly fisherman from all over. They typically use drift boats, which are large heavy rowboats, aptly named ‘drift” rather than “row” boats, as they don’t row well at all, but are very stable.  They are steered by a oarsman amidships.  He does not fish, but can carry 2 fly fisherman fore and aft.  It is a good design for the job.

Heritage on an Alpine lake at about 11000 feet

  But I wanted to get my day’s exercise and enjoy the art of fly fishing at the same time. And I wanted to go alone, anytime, not just when a friend could get join me. Great news: it works!

I put my Heritage 15 Carbon Single in at the end of an area called Rainbow Run near South Fork, Colorado.  This is a mile-long stretch worth fishing more than one pass, so I fished it, then  rowed upstream through this stretch, then fished it again.  No other rowboat I know of could do this.  The water was running at 500, which the locals tell me is 5-7 knots.  To row against this, plus avoid numerous rocks and log jams, is a great workout.  It took about 20 minutes to row upstream, and 10 minutes to float back.  The last time I fished this stretch yielded a 24 inch rainbow, but this time no luck.  I just hadn’t figured it all out yet: casting, stripping line, steering the boat, avoiding rocks, holding on a good hole for an extra cast or two…  So I stopped rowing upstream and concentrated on developing a system.

Here’s what worked for me. I positioned the boat at about a 45 degree angle to shore, with the stern down stream so I could see what’s coming.   I would hold both oar handles in one hand, and by feathering, I could make small arm-only strokes with both oars in one hand, to move me a little closer or further away from shore.  Rather than stripping line, I kept the casting length of the fly line constant, casting with my right hand.  After a while, I got pretty good at it, moving the boat rather than changing the line length to cast closer or further away to shore or eddies.  If a spot was red hot, I could clamp the rod between my knees and row back upstream to take another pass.

The first hook up was tucked into a log jam.  I let the reel fight the fish, and at first the fish turned towards midstream, which I really needed because I could not row upstream and fight the fish at the same time.  But he turned back toward the log jam as though he knew I was one-handed.  I had no choice but to clamp down (one-handed) on the reel and hope I could drag him over the log without breaking the line. I once fished with a reel with a broken drag, and learned you can jam the back of the hand holding the reel against the reel and create drag.  This keeps the other hand free row.  My line dragged the fish out of the water, about half way over the log jam, before the line broke. 

The next fish was less lucky. A clean strike, I again let the reel fight the fish as I one-hand rowed towards shore.  I needed to plant a foot in the shallows to land the fish. I needed both hands.  I could have landed while the boat was still adrift, but the water was low and there were exposed rocks everywhere.  Stopping the boat movement was safer, and allowed me to focus on a clean catch and release,  reviving the fish before letting it go.  In these waters, it is unclear if touching the bottom is allowed, especially in privately owned lands.  I’ll ask forgiveness, for the health of the fish.

The Heritage handled these waters wonderfully. I would say any water a traditional drift boat can go, so can the Heritage, except perhaps some very big whitewater.  In Colorado, when the water is that big, the color is nasty and no one is fishing anyway.  Later, as the water recedes, fisherman float in rubber rafts rather than hard bottom boats, and they can handle the rock impacts without issue.  I’d say the shallow draft of the Heritage is good for most of these skinny water days.  I hit several rocks with my 15 Carbon.  One hit was particularly hard as I had a fish on and didn’t want to try hard to miss it.  A later inspection showed no damage, but I’m not ready to add this to the guarantee.  If you row waters with exposed rocks, eventually you’ll do some damage. Carry a roll of duct tape, which will patch anything and get you home.  Just like the drift boats, if you float rocky water, sooner or later you’re going to learn how to do small patch jobs (I’ve written a small manual on this available with our patch kit).

I was having a great time.  So much so I drifted right past my take out, where the car had been left, and just kept going.  I knew the next takeout was several miles down, but this was too much fun to end now.

After a few more hours fishing, the afternoon storms moved in, and I had a mile or two to go to the takeout.  This area was less rocky and a bit wider.  I put the rod down, spun the bow downstream and pulled.  Wow!  Sliding seat rowing over top of a 7 knot current… I must have been breaking some kind of speed limit.  Easily 10 mph, and I easily outran the storm.  At this speed it is important not to hit a rock, so watch closely and choose a clear path.  If you come into questionable water, just spin the boat back to stern-first, so your eyes are facing where you’re headed.  It is amazingly easy to navigate and control the course of your Heritage this way.

Arriving at the takeout, with no car, the next step was to hope some passerby would take pity on me a give me a lift.  I took my rod and the oars with me and climbed the bank to the road.  This being an outdoorsmen’s haven, the first vehicle stopped, the kind fellow anxious to learn about my extra long oars and escapades fishing the great Rio Grande.

Kayak fishing has become a popular idea as late.  While I’ve never kayak-fished, I have kayaked a good bit, and used to own the local kayak dealership.  I must say, I believe we have a better mousetrap. For several reasons:

1, The low seat of a kayak is no longer comfortable for me compared to the high seat of a Heritage.  At age 53, I get cramps seated so low for very long.

2. The Heritage is literally twice the speed of a fishing kayak at cruising speed.  No kidding.  So you easily cover more real estate.  And more powerful for bucking a wind, tide or current.

3. Sliding seat is universally recognized as the best cardiovascular exercise known. Why not get this huge advantage while fishing?

The idea of getting the world’s best form of exercise while enjoying one of my favorite past times, is heaven.  I no longer own a powerboat of any kind.  This is too good.  I’m planning an Everglades trip soon, camping and fishing in the Heritage for several days.  Then hopefully next year to Ascension Bay in Central America.

So, what’s on your wish list? 

Nice Brown cought on the fly while solo rowing the Heritage

It was a long shot: fly fishing for trout in the Heritage on snow covered lakes of the Rockies. But my guide, Mike McCormick of Wolf Creek Anglers, knew how to raise fish. The scene was surreal, the quiet white snow falling, the lake ringed in white, and our white Heritage looking somewhat out of place to this Florida oarsman so used to the vibrant colors of the tropics. We worked the banks and did well enough that I knew I had to try the fast moving rivers next summer.

Heritage 18 on Lake Pagosa

These boats are designed for open waters, but I couldn’t resist the trout-rich waters of these famous rivers. The plan was to row and fish the Rio Grande River, the Animas River, the San Juan, and some more smaller lakes.

Heading west we packed a Heritage Classic 18 Double and an Ultra light Carbon 15 Single. The single lived on top of the Xterra for the entire trip, and I fell in love (again) with the Carbon’s light 60 lb weight. Loading and deploying was a breeze and I took full advantage, dropping in wherever the local waters beckoned.

The 18 was the more appropriate fishing platform as one could row and navigate while the other fished.

One of the first outings was a small lake known for large but shy, trout. The fly hatch hadn’t really come yet, so we left the fly rod behind. My 5 year old, Chase, was with me, and I set him up with a small spinning rod. Casting into several fishy looking spots yielded nothing, so for fun I let him cast into some baitfish pods, hooking several small perch. Leaving one on, I slow-trolled a bit. In a few minutes he had pole bent a reel screaming off line: his first Rainbow.

Of the rivers to challenge, the San Juan was the most rocky. I wanted to discover what could and couldn’t be done. I launched the 15 Carbon for a nice 5 mile run. It was a stretch I’d done a few days earlier in a large inflatable whitewater raft, so I was familiar with what to expect. The first 3 miles held too many rocks to head bow first and cruise, plus the excitement and diverse water conditions were a thrill. I headed stern first “push-rowing” like a traditional river guide. The nimble Heritage would do just about anything I asked. I could power row for control, out-rowing the current to navigate left or right. Or I could use the shape of the Heritages keel as a rudder and row into the current, turning the keel left or right and using the current to pull me sideways… It took a while to get used to this type of rowing, but it was highly controllable. I could slip down a small drop, row dead-sideways, around a rock, back to the other side, and hold steady on another little rapid or wash.

The scenery is breathtaking, the quiet of nature remarkable. Being here helps me understand my new friend Yettie, a mountaineer who was hiking the Continental Divide. Yettie is making his 40^th major high county hike, and I asked him why he kept returning. He told me that on the trail, every turn is new, no mater how many times you’ve done it, and it just doesn’t get old. Now, here on the San Juan, every turn of the river brings a new vista of beauty, Every elk sighting or rising fish a part of you feels new, just as Yettie was describing.

I had a rod with me, but there was no way to row this and fish alone. I could probably fish, but not catch, and what a shame, because fish were rising everywhere. Anchors are not allowed here, nor are you supposed to go ashore, so I settled for the thrill of the ride, knowing I’d be back with the 18 Double and a friend…

On the last two miles the water was more calm and deep. So I spun the boat around for some full pulls. Wow, I was flying. Blew by some river rafts, canoes, fisherman, adrenaline high. 

The next river trip was the Lower Animas, just above Durango. I hadn’t scouted the river, but felt we shouldn’t encounter any trouble we can’t walk away from since this stretch of river is flanked by the highway. The family was game, especially my wife, Dawn, who proclaimed it an Adventure– lets row! So we loaded all 5 of us, Dawn and I, Sarah 13, Chase 5, and Conner 3, in the Heritage 18. It can easily handle this, plus backpacks, plenty of water, camera and fly rod. And the 10 lbs of rocks my sons collected along the way.

By highway, the river was 9 miles- or so I thought… to our pull out point. The 18 was not as responsive at up-river maneuvering as the 15 Single was. This was a new challenge. Quickly Dawn found shipping her oars and letting me handle the rapids from the stern seat was the best form of team-work. The whitewater and drops were all small, but what a thrill. The kids screamed with delight. The Animas is sand bottomed so the water color is like the Caribbean, and easy to see deep water from shallow. Very few fish rose, so I didn’t fish, which would have been too much going on anyway. We did the entire river bow-first, as there were few rocks to look out for. Still it was important to always watch out.

After a couple miles we came to a 2 foot rapid. I thought our trip was over , but Dawn would not here of it. “Drop us off and row over it!” she said, and I did. We never scraped a single rock on the trip, so I can’t report how much of an impact the fiberglass hull could take. In the Carbon 15 I bounced off rocks several times, and a later inspection proved no damage. Good advise would be to take along a roll of duct tape, which would patch about anything that could come at you.

The landscape is incredible as this valley is flanked on both side by 1000 foot cliffs. We saw deer, beaver, turkey, snakes, pheasant, and a couple over-friendly horses. My girls love horses so we stopped to pet, and one was determined to get in the boat. I managed to change his mind, but not before he topped the camera into the wet bilge. We turned it off and prayed it might dry out.

The river rowed fast downstream, with 2 experienced rowers, we enjoyed the cadence. Dawn and I haven’t done a big row together in a few years. We used to compete together. She is very good, never quits. 

This whole trip has been an opportunity to redesign how we do Family. Dawn and I rise before the kids and go for a hike (but not on row days). Sometimes for miles, we talk about kids, changes, friends, Jesus. I notice this time makes her feel so much more connected the rest of the day. Intentionally, we volunteered as a family for several community projects, and the greater blessing was ours. In between rows our kids helped paint a high school, nanny sit an elderly lady, made meals for the sick, taught vacation bible school. We ate every meal together. The simple things are the most important things.

Back on he river; I thought this stretch was about 9 miles? Well, 6 hours later, with some pretty tired, and sun drenched kids, we arrived at our pull out point. A later look at the satellite view of the river showed it was more like 19 miles or more as the river did switch-backs the whole way. It was a great challenge a great family memory.

I also took a guided trip down the Rio Grand to see what those waters looked like, and it was very promising. And the fishing…wow, I think I caught 100 browns, and a rainbow that went 24“. But before I could return in the Heritage, the spring melt receded, making it too shallow to float, even in the Heritage. These river stretches are only floatable for a few weeks, maybe 2 months, during the early summer snow melt. We now have a warehouse in Colorado, so I’ve watched them turn from ice, to torrent, to meandering stream. If you stop in Pagosa Springs this June, perhaps you’ll join me on the Rio..

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 its 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.

by B. Larson

Rowing a Cambridge

March 29th
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.

by B. Larson

If you have an adventure, share it with us and we?ll put it on the web to inspire others.

Rowing a Heritage 15

February 19th
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.

by B. Larson