The Tour du Leman that wasn't

Lake Geneva is mostly calm as well as enchantingly beautiful at the end of September when the 160km Tour du Leman a l'Aviron takes place, and I've had some dream sculling experiences there on mirror-flat water surrounded by stunning scenery. However, because it's so big, and surrounded by mountains, it also has its own microclimate, which can turn nasty in quite a short space of time, before turning back again, as if to say, "Storm? Me? No, you're making it up!" Frustratingly, this often seems to happen on a Saturday.

Over the 13 runnings of the event since I first did it in 2006 and including this year, there have been no fewer than five occasions when the conditions were so awful that either the course had to be shortened or most of the crews sank (like us) or pulled out before they did so. Despite this unpromising statistic, the lure of the Lac pulls most of us back again and again to take on this relentlessly hard challenge, in the most gorgeous of surroundings.

Cheese and chocolate and rowing - oh my!

The Netherlands - basically Xanadu for expedition rowers with its circular routes, respect for this form of rowing, and friendliness to eccentric Brits - produces a rowing marathon calendar every year (I mean, just brilliant or what?) and I'm working my way through it, ticking off one event a year.

2018's little taste of paradise was the 70km Nord Holland Tocht which, let's be quite clear, is a challenge ("tocht") in the region of North Holland which is part of the country that patiently wishes the English-speaking world would call it the Netherlands.

Because who wouldn't want to win a stork?

As far as I'm concerned, the Netherlands is marathon rowing heaven. I mean, they have an actual marathon CALENDAR, so many are the 50km+ events that take place each year. Compare that with the UK's single event of that distance... Occasionally I wonder about moving there just so I could take part in them all, but then I'd have nothing to look forward to afterwards (and recent political events have put paid to the idea unless I got on with it very quickly), so instead I'm working my way through their list at the rate of about one a year. But how to choose which one to do next when you're feeling like a kid in a sweet shop?

Actually, the 54km Haegsche Bluf Marathon (trans "the Hague Bluff Marathon" - despite being almost unpronounceable, a lot of Dutch is quite easy to decipher in writing) was an easy pick for two reasons. First, most of my Dutch marathon rowing friends are members at De Laak, the club that organises it, but second, the prizes are STORKS! Soft toy ones, I hasten to add. And wearing club scarves too. Other events take note.

12 reasons why the Great River Race really is great

In a fine example of that "six degrees of separation" thing, I got an email last Thursday evening from, let's call her A, who is a member of my skiff club. It was passed to her by a member of another rowing club she belongs to, now known as B. B had received it from C, who had taken a pretty scattergun approach after receiving a plea from D who had belatedly been told that the crew which someone else (not worthy of a letter) was going to provide for Saturday's Great River Race in London was not going to happen, and he needed five shipmates pronto. Owing to the C's broadcast, D had actually filled his empty seats by the time I replied, but by then D's wife (E) needed another rower for her crew as someone was ill.

And so it was that around 36 hours after I first got that email (and the lack of preparation was a guilty pleasure), I met what I was expecting to be a bunch of complete strangers under the clock in Waterloo Station on Saturday morning, only to discover that one of them was F, who I've known for nearly 20 years. Although, let's be honest, using rowing to prove the six degrees theory is no more scientific than using kittens to prove that wool tangles.

Getting to the Heart of the Hart van Holland

"Do the Hart van Holland," my Dutch marathon rowing buddies told me. "It's in the Green Heart area and it's really pretty," they said. I looked it up. 90km: lovely! Long enough to make it worth the flight over there. I sought some crewmates, and finished up with a four-boat team of 18 which made up 10% of the total entry. Great!

Which made the fact that two of our crews, including nine, were stopped before the final timed section all the harder. Some of it was our fault. Most of it wasn't. Still, in the 70km we did complete we found out how you can get 40 boats in a lock, how to get through a passageway that's so narrow you can't get your blades out on either side, and what happens when you don't stick to the "swap the cox every 30 minutes" plan. We also saw some windmills.

Ringvaart Regatta 2015: Time for a little lie-down

What with sofas for marshals; floating bananas; llamas; a 25km row to the start; mid-race chips; a stork on a stick; loads of students who could hardly row; but then loads more students who excelled at bilingual organisation, the 100km Ringvaart Regatta is probably the wackiest rowing event I've ever taken part in.

Though I have to say it was an unusual choice for a first sculling race for the only other British entry in the event, "Jim the Sculler".

Ring-a-Ring-a-Rowers

Several people have asked me recently what expedition rowers do in the Winter. Despite partly subscribing to the maxim "There's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothing", there's no getting away from the fact that rivers flood, locks are closed for repairs and the days are much shorter. So, whilst I do go out on the water (including with lights at night), and also spend some time on the erg, an important wintertime activity is planning next year's expedition rows. The first of these will be the 100km OC&C Ringvaart in Holland, which is previewed here using the medium of Lego.

Tour du Leman 2014: How we went Dutch... and won!

The start: I just love a good melée.
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One of the questions I find I'm most often asked after completing a major expedition row is "Would you do it again?" Which, on closer analysis, is faintly irritating. I mean: if the answer's "No", does that mean my achievement this time is somehow reduced? However, in the case of this 160km race round Lake Geneva, the answer keeps being "Yes", and so it was that in early July I turned my attention for the sixth time to the challenge of finding suitable crewmates.

The Sulkava Rowing Race: 15 have fun in Finland

A 60km rowing race, in a historic style of wooden boat, through beautiful countryside, in the height of summer. On reflection, our hastily-thought-up team name, "What's Not to Like?", said it all.

And to make it totally irresistible, the boats are coxed 14s (and no, the 1 is NOT a typo – I don't mean coxed 4), with bowside and strokeside sitting NEXT to each other. I mean, really, what's not to like?!

Although actually, there WAS something that was definitely not to like about some of the boats...

Elfsteden (11 Towns) Rowing Marathon: Give us a HUG!

Which would you rather do on the last weekend before Christmas? Go shopping, or go rowing with a bunch of people you hardly know, in a foreign country, over the longest night of the year?

Obviously, it was a no-brainer, and so it was that I spent a freezing weekend having a tremendous time, rowing past the occasional windmill.

And as so often, but still unexpectedly happens with events like this, it was a cultural eye-opener too.

Tour du Leman 2013: Like how you DREAM sculling to be

The problem with my fifth experience of the 160km Tour du Léman a l'Aviron, round Lake Geneva, was that everything was so perfect, there's a serious risk that all future participations can only be a disappointment: the weather was idyllic; our safety boat driver kept us entertained in ways no safety boat had ever tried before; and we even found a solution to one of our major food issues.

Mind you, we did struggle a bit with a wonky rudder, and a trapped nerve in my neck meant that I found out my left arm didn't work properly during the race when the rate went above 24, but it would be boring if it were simple...

Tour du Leman 2012: The year with the nutter in the single

The 40th edition of the 160km Tour du Léman à l'Aviron was memorable for two reasons. First, although it is usually a race for touring coxed quads (which allows each competitor to alternate rowing and coxing), a German gent was given special permission to complete it in a touring single to celebrate his 25th participation in the event.

Second, the weather was dire. Really dire. So dire that I spent quite a lot of the race convinced I was going to get hypothemia until I did what I should have done hours earlier, and was happy as Larry after that. Although Larry wasn't taking part.

Rowing the Atlantic: When you need to be a Tiger

If you hang around long enough with ocean rowers, and find that you've developed a taste for expedition rowing (albeit in events you can fit into a weekend), sooner or  later you're going to come to the conclusion that, if your piggy bank can cope, there's really no good reason NOT to row an ocean yourself.

And so it was that my husband and I set off from the Canary Islands in our tiger-striped boat, and landed in Barbados nearly 11 weeks later. Along the way, we'd lost a rudder, been brought another, seen dolphins for 30 seconds, enjoyed eating biltong in bed (only one of us), listened to all seven Harry Potter books, and been reminded almost every day that ocean rowing is much more about the ocean than it is about rowing.

Tour du Leman 2009: Never again?

The story so far: in 2006, I amazed myself by completing the Tour du Léman à l'Aviron in a mixed crew. In 2008, I set out to do the race "the hard way" without those big-engined blokes in an all-women's crew. Unfortunately, the weather got the better of us and we "swamped" after an hour and 20 minutes of battling through breaking waves.

Disliking unfinished business, the five of us returned to Geneva the next year, more practised, equipped with an electric pump, and with an updated flag.

The Rallye du Canal du Midi: The salad is being served

This event in southern France is so much more than a rowing expedition, or so we eventually figured out. It was equally a water-based opportunity to explore the thing that the southern French care most about – food, and wine.

But after various faux pas and misunderstandings, the organisers eventually realised that we weren't deliberately trying to be rude; rather, it was just that we were British and didn't understand. 

It was very, very HOT.

Tour du Leman 2008: The one that got away

When I first took part in the 160km, non-stop Tour du Léman à l'Aviron around Lake Geneva, I was thrilled to have completed what I felt at the time was a very daunting challenge, and was quite clear that there was no need ever to do it again. 

But some months later, the other woman from that mixed crew and I decided that we SHOULD do it again. And actually, make it harder this time by doing it in an all-women's crew.

Having pulled together a carefully chosen quintet of ladies who can "shut up and row", we set off for what we thought was going to be a tough row. In fact, it turned out not to be about rowing that year, but about the pumps. Of which  we only had one, and it was rather inadequate.

Vogalonga: Why Venetians do it standing up

The Vogalonga is a priceless opportunity to row round the Venice lagoon, passing through the islands of Murano and Burano before making triumphant progress down the Grand Canal itself, and finishing outside St Mark's Square.

Participants take to the water in what's probably the widest variety of different, oar-powered craft you'll ever see in one place, mostly flamoyantly dressed, and as determined to have good time as they are to take on the 30km rowing challenge.

There were just so many reasons why we kept saying "Oo, look at that one!"...

Tour du Leman 2006: It can't be done

This 160km, non-stop race round Lac Léman (Lake Geneva) was the first big expedition rowing challenge I actually rowed (rather than coxed) in. 

Completing it changed my whole mindset, gave me a belief in what I could do on the water, and taught me the No.1 rule of long distance rowing, as far as I'm concerned.

Celtic Challenge: You're heading towards France...

When I set off to cox most of 90 nautical miles across the Irish sea (my first ever rowing expedition) my idea of a long outing was less than 2 hours, and on a river.

But somewhere along the way, after the fabulous sunrise, the sight of the Welsh coast after a night of rowing out of sight of land, and then the arrival on it made me realise the incredible sense of achievement you could feel, despite being second last in a race (and I'm normally a bad loser).