Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Mid-morning Saturday and the day is a bit nasty.

Not an excellent spring day to enjoy.

“Dad, it looks like a summer swim meet,” the ten year old observes.

He was referring to all the team tents.

Not the umbrellas.

Then, I realized it must be the high school rowing meet.

I assume it is the Chicago Greater Regional Rowing Championships, but I didn’t get a shot of the sign this year.

The weather was not as windy this year as last year.

I didn’t see the start of any races yesterday, but you can see from the photo below that last year the boats had a difficult time lining up at the West End.

No where near as good weather as two years ago when it was held April 9th, as you can see below.

It was raining as we went by about 10:30 in the morning yesterday.

When we returned about 12:30, the rain had pretty much stopped.

Girls were carrying their skiff across Lake Shore Drive toward the Dole Mansion.

They must have been tired because they took a short cut across the lawn of the corner house.

We found the best view was empty.

It was at Gate 3 in Lakewood on South Shore Drive.

Good view of the finish line.

Next year, I think my Country Club Property Owners Association should rent out Beach 3. No one was using it.

Maybe it’ll bring in enough to keep the dues from going up.

Well, it’s not a beach anymore. There’s still sand.

But the CCAPOA Board decided more boat slips were more important than allowing little kids another place to swim.


says the sign.

That’s where I took these photos of the race from the completely empty boat docks.

I have no idea who won the races I took.

I know I got better pictures last year.

And better information.

Certainly, none of the three races I watched were close.

A man from Upper Arlington, Ohio, rode by Gate 3 and watched the race with me. His screaming for his team as it crossed the finish line first told me that part of the race’s outcome.

This time the most interesting thing came from a boat rowing to the starting line at the West End of Crystal Lake.

“Boy, my butt is wet!”

came the amplified voice.

He repeated it several times.

The guys looked at me when I yelled, “Whose butt is wet?”

But I didn’t get an answer.

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All photos can be enlarged by clicking on them.

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