I was looking north up Colvos Passage, straining against the oars of my 9-foot Minto rowing dinghy. As the sun set, hundreds of lights began to twinkle, marking the other rowboats like little shining stars. Despite the beauty, I felt only disappointment.

A few hours earlier, the Seventy48 human-powered boat race had begun. No motors, no sails—just muscles, determination, and grit. The excitement was palpable as teams staged their boats on the public dock in Tacoma’s Foss Waterway. Most of us were meeting for the first time, walking up and down the dock, checking out each other’s boats, commenting on interesting setups, and sharing route-planning ideas.

And then it was time! 131 teams made final adjustments before piling into their boats at the starting line. The excitement and buzz grew even more intense.

My little Minto caused quite a stir. Though it’s a beautiful boat, it’s not the most efficient for distance rowing. People loved it anyway. There was one other rowing dinghy smaller than mine, a 7-foot Chesapeake Light Craft rowing dory. That guy had guts!

The crowd of well-wishers began chanting, “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. GOOOOOOOOOOO!”

We were off! With so many boats in such a small space, there was a bit of bumper boat action as we all jockeyed for position. I successfully avoided the bigger, faster boats and quickly settled into a pace I knew I could maintain indefinitely from my training.

Mount Rainier rose majestically against the stunning blue evening sky. As I rowed backward, the mountain was beautifully framed in the fading light, transforming into golden hour before the sun disappeared behind the Olympic Mountains.

But I had a problem. Earlier that week, I had caught a bug. Though I felt better during the day, in the evenings I experienced exhaustion and brain fog. I wanted so badly to complete this race, but I knew how treacherous Puget Sound could be. A seventy-mile trek against wind, current, and waves, dodging ferryboats and nighttime traffic, is no small task even for the healthiest person, let alone someone already exhausted and not thinking clearly.

I was concerned that in an emergency, I wouldn’t be able to respond quickly or properly. Because I love my wife and want to watch my kids grow up, I decided not to push it and shortened my course. A year ago, we moved our sailboat to a marina in Gig Harbor, WA. That became my destination. Only 12 of the 70 miles would be rowed, but it would still be an accomplishment few achieve in our modern era.

From my nine-foot rowboat, Commencement Bay in Tacoma, WA, looked massive. Even on this “short” course, I had to dodge one ferryboat, cross the commercial traffic lane, and avoid the smattering of recreational craft—all as the sunlight quickly faded.

I managed to pull ahead of nine other rowers, which I was quite proud of. A couple of them retired before they even left the bay! The guy in the seven-foot rowboat slowly fell behind. He had built a short sliding seat and had proper rowing scull oars. From California, this was his first time on Puget Sound. I shared some quick tips with him while awaiting the start signal. He was determined, but I had my doubts. He finished, though! At the after-party, I caught up with him. A couple of his buddies from home had come to cheer him on. What a stud.

The southern entrance of Colvos loomed ahead. Sigh… it was time to angle south and head into Gig Harbor. Though I had been rowing continuously for a few hours without a break, I didn’t feel fatigued. It was tempting to turn north up Colvos and head to Blake Island for the night. After a brief internal battle, during which I reminded myself about my kids, I slowly turned south.

A bright light suddenly appeared around a corner up north, somewhere in Colvos. I couldn’t identify it, but it seemed to be moving quickly and right at me. That kicked me into high gear. I was smack in the middle of the southbound commercial lane, with lights that kept turning off. Not that anyone would see me in such a tiny boat in the dark anyway.

I huffed, puffed, pulled, and strained until I made it close to shore. Safety. Instead of heading south, I had gone straight to the beach. As the bow of the boat angled southward again, I heard a new sound—the droning of a motor, close by, too close. My eyes strained to pierce the shadows. I couldn’t see the boat. Once again, I sprinted with the oars. The boat sounded like it was coming right at me!

Swiftly, I darted through the harbor entrance, but the boat seemed to be heading straight for me. “Perhaps they are coming into the harbor too,” I thought. Looking around, I spied the dock in front of 7Seas Brewery. It was lit. Surely, if I got over there, I would be visible and safe. But still, the sound of that shadowy boat approached!

Then I had to laugh. It was my friend Preston in his black inflatable dinghy! He had gone out to find me and cheer me on but had cruised right past me in the dark when my lights went out. We had a good laugh as my heart slowly returned to a normal rhythm.

Though I was disappointed I couldn’t complete the Seventy48 race, I still had a lot of fun. I love my little Minto dinghy, but in the future, I think I’ll sail the distances instead of rowing them!

Photo courtesy of Robert Dall