Diane Jacobson: A Rower's Route

Diane Jacobson shares about why she enjoys rowing.

I’m a rower. Not a great one, but a dedicated one. I set my alarm for 4:20 a.m. to row with my crew on Smith Slough, a tidal waterway in the Bay. Sometimes, I’m in a boat with seven other people and a coxswain. 

Usually, we leave the dock by moonlight and see the sunrise along the way. During the winter, the first glow of sun only shows up as practice ends. We row along Bair Island, a wetland loaded with marsh plants and waterfowl. Curious seals pop up and watch us pass; a rare few even nuzzle our oars when we stop. I’ve seen the wakes and wings of bat rays. Sometimes currents, wind or choppy water force us to turn back. But often, calm water mirrors a black starry sky or low periwinkle clouds. 

It is far from quiet. The oars thunk. The rowers breathe heavily. The coxswain shouts. The coaches give instructions through megaphones. We row alongside conveyor belts and chutes filling cargo ships with scrap metal. Over our heads, on 200-foot-tall towers, power lines shuttle hundreds of kilovolts. 

Two blocks from our dock runs the ever-busy Highway 101. This intersection of industry and nature that swirls, booms, and tiptoes around me is something I’ve come to love. I see 50 orange-legged birds bob for breakfast on one side and a huge cargo ship awaiting tons of recycled cement on the other. 

Next to a major highway, in acres of restored pickleweed, the tiny salt marsh harvest mouse is slowly chipping away at its endangered species status. And, in the spring, a harbor seal rookery thrives with silvery babies and their reddish-gold moms. I’m instructed to “keep your head in the boat,” meaning focus only on the rowers and my technique. The worst thing I can do is disrupt the rhythm. And I try to focus. But, just between you and me, I sneak a peek. A few peeks. It’s too amazing not to. With a Perspective, I’m Diane Jacobson.

Diane Jacobson lives in San Carlos with her husband and dog, where she writes, rows and texts her college-aged son too much.