SCULLING.
Sculling needs more precision and more watermanship than rowing. The
strongest man only wastes his strength in sculling if he fails to obtain
even work for each hand. A pair-oar requires more practice to bring it
to perfection than any other boat manned by oars, but a sculler requires
considerably more practice than any pair of oarsmen. Strength he must
have in proportion to his weight, if he is to soar above mediocrity, but
strength alone will not avail him unless he gets his hands well
together.
His sculls will overlap more or less. It is practically immaterial which
hand he rows uppermost; the upper hand has a trifle of advantage, and
for this reason Oxonians, whose course is a left-hand one, usually
scull left hand over. The first difficulty which an embryo sculler has
to contend with is that of attaining uniform pressure with square body
and square legs upon a pair of arms which are not uniformly placed. One
arm has to give way to another to enable the hands to clear each other
when they cross; and yet while they do this the blades which they
control should be buried to a uniform depth. How to attain this
give-and-take action of the arms is better shown by even a moderate
performer in five minutes of practical illustration than by reams of
book instruction.
The aspirant to sculling honours had better, when commencing to learn,
take his first lesson in a gig. A wager boat will be too unsteady, and
will retard his practice; 'skiffs' are usually to be obtained only as
teach boats with work at sixes and sevens. A dingey buries too much on
the stroke, and spoils style. The beginner should find a stiff pair of
sculls, true made, and overlapping about the width of his hands. He
should ask some proficient to examine and to try his sculls, and to tell
him by the feel whether they are really a pair. The best makers of oars
and sculls too often turn out sculls which are not 'pairs,' and when
this is the case the action of him who uses them cannot be expected to
be even on both sides of his frame. Having got suitable sculls, let the
sculler arrange his stretcher just a shade shorter than he would have it
for rowing. He can clear his knees with a shorter stretcher when
sculling than when rowing, as he can easily see for himself. A stretcher
should always be as short as is compatible with clearing the knees.
Whether or not the pupil is proficient in sliding, he had better keep a
fixed seat while learning the rudiments of sculling; it will give him
less to think about; he might unconsciously contract faults in sliding
while fixing his mind elsewhere--in the direction of his new implements.
He should see that his rowlocks are roomy. In most gigs there is a want
of room between thowl and stopper. A sculler requires a wider rowlock
than an oarsman, because his scull goes forward to an acuter angle than
an oar, with the same reach of body. Nothing puts out a sculler's hands
more than a recoil of the scull from the stopper, for want of room to
reach out. The sculler should examine whether his rowlocks are true; the
sills of them should be horizontal, not inclined, and most of all not
inclined from stern to bow; the latter defect will at once make him
scull deep. Next, let him examine his thowl. This should be clean faced,
not 'grooved' by the upper edge of the loom of oars which have been
handled by operators who feather under water, and who thus force at the
finish with the upper edge and not with the flat back of the loom. Half
the hack gigs that are on hire will be found to have rowlocks so worn,
grooved, and disfigured, that not the best sculler in the world can lay
his strength out on them until he has filed them into shape. The thowl
should show a flush surface, and rake just the smallest trifle aft, so
as to hold the blade just a fraction of an angle less than a rectangle
to the water, but this 'rake' should be very slight.
Having now got his tools correct, the workman will have no excuse for
grumbling at them if he fails to do well. Let him begin by paddling
gently and slowly. He had better not attempt to work hard. If he sees
some other sculler shooting past him in a similar boat, he must sink all
jealousy. Every motion which he makes in a stroke is now laying the
foundation of habit and of mechanical action hereafter; hence he must
give his whole mind to each stroke, and be content to go to work
steadily and carefully. He must feel his feet against his stretcher,
both legs pressing evenly. He must hold his sculls in his fingers (not
his fists), and let the top joint of each thumb cap the scull. This is
better than bringing the thumb under the scull; it gives the wrists more
play, and tends to avoid cramp of the forearm. He must endeavour to do
his main work with his body and legs, when he has laid hold of the
water. He should keep his arms rigid, and lean well back. Just as he
passes the perpendicular his hands will begin to cross each other.
Whichever hand he prefers to row over, he should stick to. When the
hands begin to cross, he should still try to keep the arms stiff, and to
clear the way by slightly lowering one hand and raising the other. Not
until his hands have opened out again after having crossed should he
begin to bend his arms and to bring the stroke home to the chest. He
should try to bend each arm simultaneously and to the same extent, and
to bring each hand up to his breast almost at his ribs, at equal
elevations. He must try to feather both sculls sharply and
simultaneously.
If he finds any difficulty in this, he will do well to give himself a
private lesson on this point before he proceeds further. He can sit
still and lay his sculls in the rowlocks, and thus practise turning the
wrists sharply, on and off the feather, till he begins to feel more
handy in this motion.
On the recovery he should shoot his hands out briskly, the body
following but not waiting for the hands to extend--just as in a 'rowing'
recovery. When the recovering hands begin to cross each other the lower
and upper must respectively give way, and so soon as they open out after
the cross, they should once more resume the same plane, and extend
equally, so as to be ready to grip the water simultaneously for the
succeeding stroke.
Very few scullers realise the great importance of even action of wrists.
If one scull hangs in the water a fraction of a second more than
another, or buries deeper, or skims lighter, the two hands at that
moment are not working evenly. Therefore the boat is not travelling in a
straight line; therefore she will sooner or later, may be in the latter
half of the very same stroke, have to be brought back to her course. In
order to bring her back, the hand which, earlier, was doing the greater
work, must now do less. Therefore the boat has not only performed a
zigzag during the stroke, but also she has been, while so meandering,
propelled by less than her full available forces, first one hand falling
off through clumsiness, and afterwards the other hand shutting off some
work, in order to equalise matters.
As the sculler becomes more used to his action, he will find his boat
keep more even. At first he will be repeatedly putting more force on one
hand than on another, and will have to rectify his course by counterwork
with the neglected hand. Some scullers, though otherwise good, never
steer well. They do not watch their stern-post, to see if they go evenly
at each stroke; still less, if they see a slight deflection to one hand
after one stroke, do they at once rectify the deviation by extra
pressure on the other hand during the ensuing stroke. A good steerer in
sculling will correct his course even to half a stroke; if through a
bend, or a wave, or other cause, he sees one hand has taken the other a
little round by the time that the sculls are crossing, he will row the
other hand home a trifle sharper, and so bring the keel straight by the
time he feathers. When a sculler gets more settled to his work, and has
got over the first difficulty of clearing his hands at the crossing, he
will begin to acquire the knack of bringing the boat round to one hand,
without any distinct extra tug of that scull. He will press a trifle
more with the one foot, and will throw a little more of his weight on to
the one scull, and so produce the desired effect on his boat.
When a sculler promotes himself to a light boat, he must be very careful
not to lose the knack of even turns of wrists which he has been so
assiduously studying in his tub. In the wager boat, far more than in the
tub, is the action of the sculler's body affected and his labour
crippled by any uneven action of either hand. The gig did not roll if
one hand went into the water an infinitesimal fraction of a second
sooner, or came out that much later than the other hand. But the fragile
sculling boat, with no keel, and about thirteen inches of beam, resents
these liberties, and requires 'sitting' in addition, whenever any
inequality of work takes her off her balance. The sculler must
especially guard against feathering under water. He is more tempted to
do so now, while he is in an unsteady boat, than when he was in his
sober-going gig. He feels instinctively that if he lets his blades rest
flat on the water for the instant, when his stroke concludes, he
obtains for the moment a rectification of balance; the flat blades stop
rolling to either side; when he has thus steadied his craft, then he can
essay to lift his blades and to get forward. If he once yields to this
insidious temptation, he runs the risk of spoiling himself as a sculler,
and of ensuring that he will never rise beyond mediocrity. The hang
back, and the sloppy feather, which are to be seen in so many
second-class scullers, may almost invariably, if the history of the
sculler be known, be traced to want of nerve and of confidence in early
days to feather boldly, and to lift the sculls sharp from the water,
regardless of rolling. Of course, for the nonce, the sculler can sit
steadier, and therefore make more progress, if he thus steadies his
craft with his blades momentarily flat; and it is because of this fact
that so many beginners are seduced into the trick. But let the sculler
pluck up courage, and endeavour to imagine himself still afloat in his
gig. Let him turn his wrists as sharply as when he was in her, and lift
his blades boldly out, not even caring if he rolls clean over. There
really is little chance of his so capsizing. If he rolls, his one blade
or other floats in the water, and being strung over at the rowlock,
cannot well let his boat turn over, so long as he holds on to the
handle. Meantime, he must sit tight to his boat, and use his feet to
balance her with his body. He must not try to row too fast a stroke; a
quick stroke hides faults, and speed tends to keep a light craft on an
even keel so long as her crew are fresh; but style is not learned while
oarsmen or scullers are straining their utmost. If the sculler finds
that he really cannot make progress in his wager boat, he must assume
that he wants another spell of practice in his tub, and must revert
again to her for a week or two, or more. If he will only persevere in
studying even and simultaneous action of hands, he will get his reward
in time.
He should not be ambitious to race too soon. Many a young sculler spoils
himself by aspiring to junior scullers' races before he is ripe for
racing. It is a temptation to have a 'flutter,' just to see how one
gets on, but it is of no use to race unless the competitor has had some
gallops beforehand; and it is in trying to row a fast stroke before they
can thoroughly sit a boat that so many scullers sow seeds of bad style,
which stick to them long afterwards, and perhaps always. When at last
the sculler has learned to sit his boat, to drop his hands in
simultaneously, to feel an even pressure with both blades, to see his
stern-post hold on true, and not waver from side to side; when he is
able to drop and turn both wrists at the same instant, to lift both
blades clean away from the water, and to shoot out his hands without
fouling either his knees or the water, then he has mastered more than
half the scullers of the day--even though he can only perform thus for
half-a-dozen strokes at a time without encountering a roll. He can now
lay his weight well on his sculls, and can make his boat travel. He will
have done well if all this time he has abstained from indulging in a
slide; he does not need one as yet, he is not racing, and the fewer
things he has to think about the better chance he has of being able to
devote his attention to acquiring even hands and a tight seat. Once let
him gain these accomplishments, and he can then take to his slide, and
in his first race go by many an opponent who started sculling long
before him, but who began at once in a wager boat and on a slide.
[Illustration: A SPILL.]
A very good amateur sculler--J. E. Parker, winner of the Wingfield
Sculls in 1863--used to say that he always went back until his sculls
came out of the water of their own accord. As a piece of chaff, it used
to be said of him, by his friends, that there was a greasy patch on his
fore canvas, where his head came in contact with it at the end of his
stroke. Of course this was only a jest, but undoubtedly Parker swung
farther back than most scullers, perhaps more than any amateur. The
secret of his pace, which was indisputable, as also his staying power,
probably lay to a great extent in this long back swing of his. He also
sculled exceedingly cleanly, his hands worked in perfect unison, and his
blades came out clean and sharp. The writer cannot recall any sculler
whose blades were so clean, save Hanlan and also W. S. Unwin in 1886.
Much of the secret of each of these scullers lay in the evenness of
their hands; they wasted no power. F. Playford, junior, was a more
powerful sculler, and apparently faster than either of the above-named
amateurs (_ceteris paribus_ as to slides, _qua_ Parker); but taking his
reach and weight into consideration, it is not to be wondered if
Playford was in his day the best of all Wingfield winners. The late Mr.
Casamajor was a great sculler. He also had a very long back swing, and
clean blades. He never had such tough opponents to beat as had Playford,
but at least it could be said of him that he was unbeaten in public in
any race.
Steerage apparatus is in these days fitted to many a sculling boat. The
writer, as an old stager, is bound to admit that he had retired from
active work before such mechanism was used, he therefore cannot speak
practically as to its value for racing. So far as he has watched its use
by scullers, he is induced to look upon the contrivance with suspicion.
On a stormy day, with beam wind for a considerable part of the course,
such an appendage will undoubtedly assist a sculler. It will save him
from having an arm almost idle in his lap during heavy squalls. But on
fairly smooth days, or when wind is simply ahead, a rudder must surely
detract more from pace (by reason of the water which it catches; even
when simply on the trail) than it ever will save by obviating the
operation of rowing a boat round by the hand to direct her course.
Again, the fittings which carry the rudder must, when the rudder is
unshipped, hold a certain amount of water to the detriment of speed.
Also, if a boat is pressed for a spurt, there must be some risk of the
tiller of the rudder (however delicately made), and the wires which
control it, pulling and drawing the water. When the canvas ducks under
water on recovery, it is important that the water should run off freely
when the boat springs to the stroke. If a post stands up at the stern,
however thin and metallic, this must to some degree check the flow off
of the water. Again, the feet must be moved to guide this rudder; while
they are thus shifting, the fullest power of the legs can hardly be
applied. A sculler who is in good practice, and who is at home with his
boat and sculls, should be able to feel his boat's course through each
stroke, and to adjust her at any one stroke if she has deviated during
the preceding one. On the whole, barring circumstances such as a stiff
westerly wind at Henley, or a gale on the tideway course, scullers will
do best without rudders; and if a competitor desires to provide against
the contingency of weather which will make a rudder advantageous, he had
better, if he can, have a spare boat fitted for that purpose, so that if
the water after all is smooth he will not be carrying any projecting
metal at his stern to draw the water and to check his pace.
There is another objection to the use of rudders, especially for young
scullers. It tempts them to rely on the rudder to rectify their course,
instead of studying even play of hands so that the boat may have no
excuse for deviating at all in smooth water.
All that has been said of the use of slides applies equally to sculling
as to rowing. The leg action, as compared to swing, should be just the
same when sculling as in rowing. That is, the slide should last as long
as the swing. Now, in sculling, a man should go back much further than
he does when rowing an oar. When he has an oar in his hand there is a
limit to the distance to which he can spring back with good effect. His
oar describes an arc; when he has gone back beyond a certain distance
the butt of his oar-handle will come at the middle of his breast or even
more inside the boat. In such a position he cannot finish squarely and
with good effect. Therefore he cannot go back _ad lib_. But the sculler
is always placed evenly to his work, it is not on one side of him more
than another. He should, when laying himself out for pace, swing back so
far that his sculls come out just as his hands touch his ribs. In a
wager boat, when well practised, he can afford to let his sculls overlap
as much as six or even seven inches. But, after all, the extent of
overlap is a matter of taste with so many scullers, that it would be
unwise to lay down any hard and fast rule, beyond saying that at least
the handles should overlap four inches, or, what is much the same, one
hand should at least cover the other when the sculls lie in the rowlocks
at right angles to the keel.
To return to the slide in sculling. Since the back swing should be
longer in sculling than in rowing, and as there is a limit to the length
which any pair of legs can slide, and since also it has been laid down
as a rule that both when sculling and when rowing the slide should be
economised so that it may last as long as the swing lasts, the reader
will gather that the legs will have to extend more gradually when
sliding to sculls than when sliding to oars. Therefore a man accustomed
to row on slides, and whose legs are more or less habituated to a
certain extension coupled with swing when rowing, must keep a watch upon
himself when sculling lest his rowing habits should make him finish his
slide prematurely, when he needs to prolong his swing for sculling.
Unless his slide lasts out his swing, his finish, after legs have been
extended, will only press the boat without propelling her.
In rowing an oarsman is guilty of fault if he meets or even pulls up to
his oar. In sculling, with a very long swing back it is not a fault to
commence the recovery of the body while the hands are still completing
their journey home to the ribs. The body should not drop, nor slouch
over the sculls while thus meeting them. It should recover with open
chest and head well up, simply pulling itself up slightly, to start the
back swing, by the handles of the sculls as they come home for the last
three or four inches of their journey. Casamajor always recovered then,
so did Hanlan, so did Parker, and any sculler who does likewise will sin
(if he does sin in the opinion of some hypercritics of style) in
first-class company. The fact is, this very long swing back (with
straight arms) entails much recovery, and yet materially adds to pace.
The sculler can afford to ease his recovery in return for the strain of
his long stroke. Also lest his long swing should press the boat's bows,
he can ease her recovery as well as his own, so soon as the main force
of the long drag comes to an end. In the writer's opinion, unless a
sculler really does go back _a la_ Casamajor & Co. with straight arms
and stiff back, and until his sculls come out of the water almost of
their own accord as he brings his hands in, it is not an advantage for
him to pull himself up to his handles to this trifling extent at the
finish. A sculler who does not swing back further than when he is
rowing, will do best to row his sculls home just as he would an oar.
In racing all men like a lead. If a sculler can take a lead with his
longest stroke, swinging back as far as he can, and can feel that he is
not doing a stroke too fast for his stamina, by all means let him do so;
but let him be careful not to hurry his stroke and thereby to shorten
his back swing simply for the sake of a lead. Many a long-swing sculler
spoils his style, at all events for the moment, by sprinting and trying
to cut his opponent down. It is almost best for him if he finds that his
opponent has the pace of him, and if he therefore relapses to his proper
style, and bides his time. If he does so, he will go all the faster over
the course for sticking to his style regardless of momentary lead. Some
scullers lay out their work for pace, regardless of lasting power. When
Chambers rowed Green in 1863, he tried to head the Australian, flurried
himself, shortened his giant reach, lost pace, and, after all, lost the
lead. When he realised that, force pace as much as he could, Green was
too speedy, the Tyne man settled to his long sweep, and at once went all
the faster, though now sculling a slower stroke. It was not long before
Green began to come back to him, and the result of that match is
history.
Similarly, the writer recollects seeing the celebrated Casamajor win the
Diamonds for the last time, in 1861. He was opposed by Messrs. G. R. Cox
and E. D. Brickwood. Cox was a sculler who laid himself out for fast
starting: he used very small blades, he did not swing further back than
when rowing, and he sculled a very rapid stroke. He had led both
Casamajor and H. Kelley in a friendly spin earlier in the year, and it
was said that it was to vindicate his reputation as being still the best
sculler of the day that the old unbeaten amateur once more entered for
the Diamonds, where he knew he would encounter Cox in earnest, and no
longer in play. (Casamajor was by no means in good health, and the grave
closed over him in the following August.)
In the race in question Cox darted away with the lead. Casamajor had
hitherto led all opponents in real racing, and _amour propre_ seemed to
prompt him to bid for the lead against the new flyer; he quickened and
quickened his stroke, till his long swing back vanished, and his boat
danced up and down, but he could not hold Cox. Brickwood was last,
rowing his own style, and sculling longest of the three. After passing
the Farm gate, Casamajor suddenly changed his style, and went back to
his old swing. Maybe, Cox had already begun to come to the end of his
tether; but, be that as it may, from the instant that Casamajor
re-adopted his old swing back, he held Cox. (It did not look as if the
pace was really falling off, for both the leaders were still drawing
away from Brickwood.) In another minute Casamajor began to draw up to
the leader, still swinging back as before. Then he went ahead, and all
was over. Brickwood in the end rowed down Cox, and came in a good
second. Casamajor at that time edited the 'Field' aquatics. His own
description therein of himself in the race seems to imply that he
realised how he had at first thrown away his speed by bidding for the
lead, and that he purposely, and not unconsciously, changed his style
about the end of the first minute and a half of the race. His
description of his own sculling at that juncture (modestly penned) was
'now rowing longer and with all his power.' This was quite true--he was
not using his full power until he relapsed to his old style. These
illustrations of two of the best scullers ever seen bidding for
impossible leads, and then realising their mistakes in time, may be
taken to heart by all modern and future aspirants to sculling honour.
[Illustration: SCULLING RACE, WITH PILOTS IN EIGHT-OARS.]
Another reason why scullers like a lead is that it saves them from being
'washed' by a leader, and, conversely, enables them to 'wash an
opponent.' In old days of boat-racing under the old code, lead was of
importance, to save water being taken. Under new rules of boat-racing
(which figure elsewhere in this volume), water can only be taken at
peril. There is not, therefore, so much importance in lead as of old. As
to 'wash,' if a man can sit a sculling boat, he does not care much for
wash. Anyhow, he can, if in his own water, and if his adversary crosses
him, steer exactly in his leader's wake; the wash then spreads like a
swallow's tail on either side of the sternmost man, and does not affect
him. His opponent must get out of his way, if not overtaken, so he need
not disturb himself; and if the leader insists on steering to right or
left simply to direct the wash, he loses more ground by this meandering
than even the pursuer will lose by the slight perturbations of a
sculling boat's wash for a few strokes. It is good practice for any
sculler to take his boat now and then in the wake of another sculler,
and try to 'bump' him. It will teach him how to sit his boat under such
circumstances, and he will be surprised before long to find out how
little he cares for being washed by another sculler.
A sculler, when practising over a course, especially when water is
smooth, may with advantage time himself from day to day at various
points of the course. He will thus find out what his best pace is, and
will ascertain whether his speed materially falls off towards the end,
if he forces extra pace at the start or halfway or so on. He must be
careful to judge _proportionately_ of times and distances, and not
positively; for streams may vary, and so may wind.
On the tideway in sculling matches, it is usual for pilots to conduct
scullers. The pilot sits in the bow of an eight. The sculler may rely on
the pilot to signal to him whether he is in the required direction; but
when he once knows that his boat points right, he should note where her
stern points, just as if he were steering upon his own resources, and
should endeavour so to regulate his hands that his stern keeps straight,
as shown by some distant landmark which he selects. This straight line
he should then maintain to the best of his ability, bringing his
stern-post back to it, if it deflects, until his pilot again signals to
him to change his course, for rounding some curve or for clearing some
obstacle. The pilot cannot inform his charge of each small inaccuracy
which leads eventually to deflection from the correct line; this the
sculler must provide against on his own account. It is only when the
course has to be changed, or when the sculler has palpably gone out of
his course, that the signals of the pilot come into play. Some scullers
seem to make up their minds to leave everything to their pilots; the
result is that their boats are never in a straight line; first they go
astray to one side, and then, when signalled back, they take a stroll to
the other side. Such scullers naturally handicap themselves greatly by
thus losing ground through these tortuous wanderings. The simplest
method of signalling by pilot is to hold a white handkerchief. In the
right or left hand it means 'pull right or left,' respectively. When
down, it means 'boat straight and keep it so.' If the pilot gets far
astern, or if dangers are ahead which are beyond pilotage, taking off
the hat means 'look out for yourself.'
When wind is abeam, a pilot cutter can materially aid a sculler by
bringing its bow close on his windward quarter, thereby sheltering his
stern from the action of the wind. Races such as that of Messrs. Lowndes
and Payne for the Wingfield Sculls in 1880, when Mr. Payne did not row
his opponent down until the last mile had well begun, should remind all
scullers that a race is never lost till it is won, and that, however
beaten you may feel, it is possible that your opponent feels even worse,
and that he may show it in the next few strokes.
[Illustration: PUMPED OUT.]
[Illustration: THE LAST OF THE THAMES WHERRIES.]