Maryland Journal

The Baltimore Sun

You may not have heard, but Maryland has gone Irish of late: a new archbishop named O'Brien, a governor named O'Malley with a fondness for Celtic rock, and a fourth Irish pub coming to the state's capital city.

That's not quite an invasion, but it was enough to bring some extra solidarity on a recent night to a peculiar group of Murphys, McGlincheys, Boyles and others who get together every few days to hone their skills in a grueling, 2,000-year-old Irish pastime.

Rowing at a steady speed in a 25-foot canoelike boat called a currach, members of the Annapolis Irish Rowing Club stand out in this part of the Chesapeake, as they battle for space with the small yachts, powerboats, sailboats and kayaks that predominate here.

But for about a quarter-century, a couple dozen members - mostly first- or second-generation Irish-Americans with a few Irish immigrants - have taken to the bay three times a week to build biceps and connect with their heritage.

"Once you do it, you get hooked on it," said Shane Boyle, an Annapolis resident who's been rowing for about six years. "It's a very addicting sport in many ways: the team effort, the cultural connection, the brutal races. You have to be the right kind of stupid to do this sport."

Rowing in a currach is no picnic. For starters, the boat - still used on the coast of Western Ireland, mostly for fishing - is heavier than a canoe, made with a wooden frame and wrapped in canvas. Unlike in crew, the seats are fixed, so rowing is largely left to the back muscles rather than the quadriceps. And oars are shaped not like feathers but flattened straws, designed to help avoid waves when brought back for a stroke or to push off from coasts, like those in Ireland, dotted with rocks.

For first-timers - such as, say, a reporter - a few paddles can do you in unless you catch on to the Zen in each stroke: pushing the oars down and forward to lift them above the water before dipping them in and pulling with your back until your belly faces the heavens, only to bring them quickly forward for another round.

The click of the oars with each stroke can be a much-needed guide for a novice, and speed picks up only as the rowers begin to synchronize perfectly. Honed to an art, speeds can reach 10 knots, Boyle said - about 12 mph.

As they row, many in the group are mindful of their hobby's distinctive past. One of the first currachs they used - on hiatus now for remodeling - is named Tir na nOg, after the promised land or "Land of the Youth" sought by St. Brendan the Voyager. In Irish lore, Brendan, a sixth-century monk, is said to have made it all the way to Newfoundland, Canada, in a currach, stopping along the way to spread the Gospel over several years.

Racing traditions on the vessel in Ireland go back centuries, and competitions on the Western Coast, in such areas as Kerry and Galway, are widely attended.

Money for the Annapolis Irish Rowing Club's first currach was donated 25 years ago by the local chapter of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, an Irish fraternal society.

The first official currach race in the U.S. was held as part of St. Brendan's Regatta in Annapolis in 1983. The Annapolis team competed with a group out of Boston made up almost entirely of Irish nationals who spoke to each other in Gaelic, said Egan Nerich, the last surviving original member of the group.

"We were all young guys, and they didn't look like much," recalled Nerich, whose leathery chest and heavily callused hands were on display during practice. "Those guys dusted us."

Now there are seven groups that compete from June to October all over the U.S., awarding trophies to the winners of races in Philadelphia; Pittsburgh; Columbus, Ohio; Milwaukee; Boston; Albany, N.Y.; and Annapolis. Teams accumulate points for wins in each place, and the North American Currach Association crowns one champion annually.

Last year, Annapolis beat the rest of the pack rather soundly, including the native Irish who rowed for Boston - much to their chagrin - but this year, they haven't done as well, Nerich said.

Nerich, who lives on a farm in Calvert County, relishes the competition and the hijinks that often make it brutal. Unlike in professional sailing, where rules govern even how a ship uses the wind, there are no rules in currach racing once the boats leave the starting point.

Crashes are common, as well as pelts in the face from an errant oar. Years ago, a competitor angered by an entanglement of currachs, blamed Nerich and attempted to smash an oar over his head in the middle of the race.

"Anything goes on the water, but our rule has always been that as soon as we get back on land, we have a beer about it," he said.

Drinking after the race is an integral part of each regatta, which the club members pay to travel to out of their own pockets. Boyle jokes that they're "a drinking team with a rowing problem," and after the competition, all are expected to drink and party as well as they row, he says.

It might not sound like the most kid-friendly pursuit, but Jenn Murphy of Severna Park brings her daughters Lauren, 11 and Jessica, 7, to many practices and says she hopes they'll be as involved in rowing as she is.

"What really impresses me is how competitive it gets in the water, where we're all working hard against the other teams," she said, "And then when it's over, we all come together as a family and put our beers up in the air."

bradley.olson@baltsun.com

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