Everest

Last weekend, saturday to be precise, I in a team if four, took our traditional working curragh ( A Naomhóg Curragh) out in an event called the Ocean to City Race here in Cork. It happens once a year, and is a 15 mile race in "fixed seat, traditional type, rowing boats". Rowing is something I have only recently taken up. On the team was my brother, rowing for 8 weeks after a break of 10 years from it, my cousin who has ben rowing 8 weeks, a friend if my cousin's who has been rowing 3 weeks, and myself, who has been rowing 6 weeks.

We only really started training for the race 3 weeks ago, with long back breaking row's across the rough and windswept Lough Mahon, and up and down and across the waters between Crosshaven and Cobh, no mean feat for the inexperienced rower. Out to Roches point, with the swell reaching up to 2 meters at times. Our 26 foot, 4 man currach seemed so small and vunerable, yet she never took in water, or at any stage threatened to let us down. The Meithel Meara built Naomhóg "White Whale" was the boat we were allowed use for the race.

As we set out from Crosshaven on race day, the rain stopped, the clouds fled and the sun came out to bake us slowly on our way. We set off a good deal faster than we had trained for, I suppose the natural competitiveness took over, and we certainly didn't want to let the other Curragh's in our own class dissappear from view. So Tariq set a good steady pace, that soon had us neck and neck with another Curragh from Namhóga Chorcaí. The boat Rinceoir na Greine (Dance of the Sun / Sundancer) was holding true to her name as she danced through the sunlight, making light work of the winds and tides that hammered her. Her crew were smiling and obviously enjoying the challenge. We took a slightly different route, and though ours seemed longer at first, it meant we has less trouble from the currents and winds further on when we had to turn around the marker bouy's at cobh.

We swept up the coast, staying close to Cobh so the current along her shores helped us a little, though the wind blowing against us was probably cancelling the benefit of the current. In the distance behind us we could see the skiff's and dragon boats had set out and were rounding the first bouy. They weren't long in catching up with us. We passed a few Curragh's on our way up that straight, the winds were strong and caught the curragh's like sails spinning us if our man on steering didn't hold us steady. My brother Daragh put in a champion effort, calling when he needed assistance, Pull right, pull right, and we did, we held her straight on course, gaining ground. As we came to the last marker on the straight, before we turned right for Monkstown, Daragh roared to ship left oars, we did and as he roared again to pull hard right we saw the last marker bouy inches away from our left, as our Curragh pulled an almost "hand braked turn" around the bouy. It was gratifying to see the coast guards cheering our manouver.

We were reinvigoured to hear the cheering at Monkstown as we swept by. It was a little soul destroying to see the skiffs, the river boats and the little kayaks sweep by at what seemed an astronomical speed, but our determination was fuelled by the sight of Rinceoir na Greine close on our heels at all times. We continued up the channel, our arms, and backs leaden, we took turns in dropping our oars and taking a drink of water while the other 3 carried the Curragh ever forward, ever gaining on our goal. Between Little Island and Passage West we passed a 3 man Naomhóg, "Mananán". Her 3 rowers looking exhuasted but determined. As I suppose we all were. It was in Loch Mahon we really saw the multitude of skiffs, whalers and longboats drive by us, the shouts of the cox of each boat thundering across the waves, grim determination on their faces, these were no fair weather, sunday morning rowers, which, I will admit I am.

When we past Blackrock Castle we overtook a 3 man (3 woman to be more accurate) skiff that had passed us earlier in the day, they had given all they had early on and were finding the increased current as the river narrowed, a tough challenge. I felt at that point I had given all I had to give too, we all had blisters on our hands, aches from head to toe, this was no training session, there had been no stopping for a cigarette break for 10 minutes here and there, no long breaks to relax, enjoy the sun on the water and have a chat. The last turn before home was ahead, and Daragh and Rona shouted encouragement. Infront of me I could see the grim set of Tariq's back as he set a faster pace again, drew from hidden reserves he didn't know he had. I don't know where I found the energy, or even the will to keep pace with these 'machines' I was lucky enough to have on the team with me, but from somewhere it came, I couldn't think, or talk, there was nothing but following the stroke of Tariq's oars. Praying silently in my head, perhaps to Mananán Mac Lír himself to grant us the strenght to finish what we had started, to ensure that I wouldn't fail my team and let them down so close to the end, perhaps the others were doing the same in their own minds, I don't know.

I heard the shout from Daragh as we passed Pairc ui Chaoimh, the end line was in sight. I would have liked to be able to write here, that I redoubled my efforts and raced gloriously over the line, as they would in the stories and books, but there was no surge, no burst of energy, no herculean final push, but I am proud to say we kept our pace and crossed the line, then as the current would only push a drifting curragh back down stream we rowed to the side where we threw a line up to one of the many waiting helpers, who were fantastic, helped us out of our curragh, though for myself and at least one of the others our knees were hard pressed to support us. Then they took the White Whale and put her up on the grass above for us. Where I laid out on the grass with no desire or strenght in me to rise again.

Overall, we came in 37th place. Time wise we were 39th. And out of our class, the 4 man Naomhóg's, we were 4th. I am honoured to have been a part of such an amazing event, I sat on the banks of the Lee and watched many more boats come in after us, seeing the struggle, knowing the pain those rowers were in. The achievement of having completed that course, regardless of position in the race, is one I am proud of, and I admire each and every other rower who did. Now that I have done it, I set out to accomplish my own little "Everest" and I succeded, I did better than I had hoped, we ran the whole course in 3hrs 2min and 45 seconds I'm told. I have a certificate from The Cork Port Authority and Meithel Meara among others to congratulate me on it, that certificate will be placed in a frame on my wall.

I am no Edmund Hillary nor Tom Crean, my accomplishment to many is a small paltry thing, am I egotistical to feel I have conquered my own Everest? Perhaps, nevertheless I feel proud, and I feel stronger and more capable of handling life than I ever did before. I think sometimes we need to set ourselves challenges that seem insurmountable, challenges that you really think might be pushing the boundaries a little too far. For when we rise to that challenge, when we push our limitations beyond the point we thought to be our peak, then we are all a little like those giants of history, the Edmund Hillary's, Roald Amundsen's, Shackleton or Scott.


The story after the race can be left for another time, not quite as thrilling, my parents waiting on the banks of the Lee, the lost mobile phone, a few friends there to cheer us, (thanks Sibylle and Inga) a few pints, bad sunburn, an early night and waking stiff as a board. Perhaps I'll leave it out altogother, so in years to come when I read back back on this nostalgia can take hold and I'll only remember the accomplishment, and forget the price. :-)


Regards,
Conor