How not to get thrown in the river.

Today, I am procrastinating writing my essay. It's on philosophy of science. I haven't written an essay in months, so this might be a warm-up. But instead of Popper and Lakatos, I'm going to talk about coxing.

I've never wanted to row. I don't get enough pleasure out of that kind of physical activity. But I decided that it would be a shame if I left Oxford after three years without ever having got into a boat. So I signed up for coxing. Lucky for me, the college boat club is rather cox-starved, so I'm getting a lot of attention, opportunity, and gratitude.

For those of you who don't know, the cox is the chap who sits at the back (usually) of the boat, and doesn't appear to be doing very much, at least as far as the observer on the banks is concerned. He is usually a lot smaller and lighter than the rowers, as he doesn't need any kind of muscle to do his job. But that job is as vital as any of the other rowers. Lose a rower, and the boat doesn't go anywhere, except possibly in circles. Lose a cox, and something worse happens. The boat DOES go somewhere. Usually into another boat.

The cox's job consists of two things. First and foremost, safety of boat and crew, in that order. Apparently boats cost more. I asked about this, thinking that family's suing for negligence would be more expensive, but I was told we get people to sign their rights away, so it's all good. Since safety is the number one, this means I have the right to interrupt the coach whenever I like. Not usual for most sports.

The cox's second job is a bit more complicated. It involves many things, but boils down to getting eight people to work together seamlessly. I get two tools to do this; a rudder and a microphone.

At the moment, I'm just working on steering the boat. I've more or less learnt how to keep it in a straight line, and to spin it around when we reach the head of the river. Anything more than that is advanced stuff.

You may think that keeping a boat in a straight line is child's play. For most boats, yes. I've steered longboats and motorboats in the past, the they're pretty straightforward, provided you remember that you are on water and not on a road. But they usually have nice big rudders, near-perfect, non-shifting balance, and engines that push constantly and tell you exactly how much power they have and when they're going to run out of fuel. You also don't have to worry about them having a tantrum and throwing you in the river because you managed to say the wrong thing.

Disclaimer: None of my rowers have had any tantrums or been in the slightest bit uncooperative. They've actually been very sympathetic and understanding. But that doesn't mean I don't worry about it!

So when I first got in this boat and started steering, I realised that it was not as easy as I had thought. It was as long as a bus, had a rudder the size of a credit card, and the handles did not align, so I didn't know when it was centred. I also realised that if one of the rowers missed a stroke, I would have to slam the rudder to one side until they had got it back, as we'd be unbalanced. Half the time all eight oars were in the air, so the boat was much less balanced. Then you have to take into account the current and the wind, which make a big difference in a little boat. So just steering, without issuing any commands, was tough enough.

Then you have to get eight people to row, in time, with the right pressure, all whilst sitting with your knees just below your chin. You have to remember that side is bow, that side is stroke, odd numbers on the right, even on the left, that motion is feathering, that position is backstops, rower will get you to that position, and those guys coming up behind you at full steam probably haven't noticed you...

So it's rather tricky. Add to all this the coach cycling down the riverbank, yelling instructions, and it becomes a very interesting afternoon.

However, I have to say I loved every minute. I loved watching eight people slowly getting more and more in time, feeling the boat speed up. I loved the grins on their faces as we overtook a slower crew. I loved issuing the orders so that we ended up in just the spot I wanted, especially if I'd done it in fewer strokes than last time. And I loved the challenge of moving this bus around the river, whilst getting eight people to do exactly what I needed, and making sure they were happy about it.

Keeping rowers happy is important. A happy crew works better together and is prepared to put in more effort. But from a purely selfish point of view, I want a happy crew because my life becomes very difficult if they're not. As soon as we step onto shore, and get the boat put away, any authority I have vanishes, and they are at liberty to tell me exactly what they think. So I work hard to make sure that, after two hours of full-body exercise on a chilly late October morning, with a light wind and the perpetual risk of being dumped into a large body of very cold water, they still smile and thank me for getting the best out of them.

They thank me! I sit at the back and shout at them!