I am ankle-deep in freezing seawater, clutching the side of a rowing boat that is rocking alarmingly in the wind. “Rachel, you’re in first,” shouts Alison, the cox. I take a deep breath and clamber aboard, feeling more than a little nervous about being the sole occupant of a four-man skiff in rough weather. But as Jenny Skylark is pushed into deeper water, the rest of the crew hop in one by one, and they are soon rowing confidently out to sea.
I have come to Portobello, on the Firth of Forth near Edinburgh, to find out why coastal rowing is growing increasingly popular. Alison tells me this was a fashionable seaside resort in the late 19th century, with two thriving rowing clubs, but by the 1970s rowing had all but died out. She founded Rowporty a few years ago to revive the traditional sport, and today the club has about 130 members. Coastal rowing has since caught on among communities all around Scotland and a governing body – the Scottish Coastal Rowing Association was established in 2010, and clubs have since been set up as far away as Australia. They all build and row St Ayles skiffs, a modern take on a traditional Fair Isle skiff, which was in turn descended from Viking boats. Clubs also take it in turns to host regattas from May to September – competitive but sociable affairs often rounded off with beach barbecues, when bucketsful of prawns are cooked over driftwood fires.
I’ve joined the Rowporty club on a Sunday, their social rowing day, when novices are encouraged to have a go. Emily, who lives locally, is also there for the first time. “I was walking along the beach last year and I came across Rowporty’s regatta. I’m not very sporty and thought rowing wasn’t for me,” she says. “Then my friend encouraged me to try it, so here I am. “
Watersports aren’t completely new to me – I’ve done some kayaking before – but being in a bigger boat feels very different.
It isn’t the best day for a nervous sailor: it’s almost too windy to go out. But I’ve teamed up with some experienced rowers who assure me that it is safe. The club motto is: “If in doubt, we don’t go out.”
I perch in the stern at first, a mere passenger, watching as the rowers take the boat beyond the waves near the shore and out on to flatter water. Alison counts us down – “Ready to row in three, two, one, now !” – and we begin.
I try to keep in time with the rower in front, while keeping an ear out for Alison’s commands. It requires intense concentration to stay in rhythm, but I’m surprised by how quickly I start to enjoy it. There is a meditative quality to rowing: the regular beat, the splash of blade on water, the movement forward and back. Alison calls for a bow-side turn, which means the two rowers on the stroke side stop rowing, and the other two row for all they’re worth to turn the boat around. I’m not convinced that my feeble strokes will have any effect at all, but I row as hard and fast as I can, and the boat spins around in seconds. I feel absurdly proud as the other rowers, who have been shouting encouragement, turn to congratulate me.
Perhaps I’ve got overconfident, because I relax, stop concentrating quite so hard – and immediately “catch a crab”; my oar gets stuck in the water and knocks me flat on my back. The crew are kind enough not to laugh (much), and say it’s just part of learning to row.
By now my arms are starting to ache, which is a sure sign of bad technique – I should be using my legs, back and core more. Again, the others reassure me that this is normal for a first-timer, and say it’s time to head back to dry land.
We drag the boat up on to the beach and hoist it on to a trolley, then keep it steady as it is wheeled back to the boat shed. The club built the boat themselves from a flatpack kit, using DIY skills they didn’t know they had, and do all the repairs and maintenance, too.
With Jenny Skylark safely tucked up in the boathouse, we head to the Beach House Cafe next door. Rowporty members gather here for coffee and cake – and to dry out. Alison says: “We make a mess, leave puddles on the floor, but they don’t mind.” Further along the prom is the Espy pub, another club hangout.
Socialising is a big part of the appeal, explains Pam, a member for three years. “It’s such a nice community thing,” she says. “I’ve met so many new people.” Alison agrees: “It’s all about making connections. With the sea, with each other and with other clubs.” And now, to get the full experience, I suppose I really ought to order a pint.
Rachel stayed at Hotel du Vin & Bistro Edinburgh, doubles from £145.
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