Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

The Summer of 1966 is unforgettable for me in so many ways. I went from Kansas where I went to school to California to attend summer school at Stanford. What left a lifetime impression on me was not the classes I took at Palo Alto, but the mix of culture and politics in California in heady sixties. I spent most of those months soaking up California Dreamin’ including protests at Berkeley and beach parties at the Bay. I had also heard it would be a trip to take a day trip to Lake Tahoe. So, when the young professor I befriended at the Stanford International House invited me to join him, his wife and baby for a weekend at Lake Tahoe, I was thrilled about the potential adventure.

On a bright sunny Saturday, Professor Maxell, his wife, their one-year-old daughter, and I were cruising down Highway 80 and then Route 50 to Lake Tahoe. The rowboat was strapped on the roof of his Ford station wagon. The Prof, Mark, was extra cheerful that morning. With his long hair and beard, you could easily mix him with many of his students with exception of his silly Panama hat. A happy-go-lucky guy, he loved to talk about his travels, especially his stint with the Peace Corps in Ethiopia.

Mark turned around to me and said, “Are you ready for Lake Tahoe, Dan?”

“Yes, Prof. I cannot wait,” I replied.

I wish he had not called me Dan. My name is Daniel. But I have given in to this American habit to abbreviate names.

We were at Lake Tahoe before we knew it. We passed busy campsites before arriving at the popular beach on the west side of the sea-size lake. As soon as Mark’s wife, Betty, picked a convenient site to soak up the sun, Mark asked me to help him bring down the rowboat from the top of the car. After he kisses Betty and the baby, we push the boat into the sparkling waters and we push off to Mark’s favorite destination, Fannette Island. Mark sat at the front seat, and I was behind him as we began rowing. I was imitating Mark’s long precise strokes. I was not sure if I was doing it right, but it felt like we were making a headway toward the rocky island. We were cutting through the dark blue water with shimmering waves leaving behind a white foamy trail. Mark was trying to make a conversation loud over the splashing noise and looking straight ahead.

“Do you know how deep this lake is?” Mark asked me.

I shouted back, “I don’t really know.”

He had a ready-made answer, “Over 1600 feet. One of the deepest lakes in North America!”

I did not reply. Quietly nervous. As I looked out at the calm lake, I could only think of the saying “still waters run deep.” Looking back, beyond the wake we were making, I could hardly make out the beach we had left behind except the distant hills behind it.

Mark made me jump when he shouted with excitement, “We are here. We are at the rock!”

I saw ahead of us the contour of a large rock island. Half hour or so later, we settled in a cove after securing the boat down on the shore. From Mark's cave, my paradise as he calls it, you have a breathtaking view of the lake. Mark pulled out a book to read. I preferred to just soak up the sun, scan the horizons, and take naps in between. I could see why Mark was obsessed with place. I was so relaxed, I must have dozed off.

I hear my name first and then what Mark was saying, “It is time to go back to the beach, Dan. I do not want Betty to worry.”

A few minutes later we were in the waters rowing leisurely under the gorgeous sun. My daydreams were interrupted when Mark was saying something. I could not make out what he said at first.

He repeated loud, “I think we are losing the sun.”

It had gotten dark suddenly. An eerie feeling descended upon us. I couldn’t help thinking about Mark’s remark about Lake Tahoe being one of the deepest in North America! I even imagined a monster down and under stirring things up. I noticed the wind was picking up, unfortunately against us. It meant we had to row deep and hard to advance.

“I didn’t see that coming. Don’t worry, let us just focus” Mark said.

He must have felt my nervousness. We were fighting against the current. It is like we were rowing in one place. The lights on the beach were way off in the distance.

I bet Betty is worrying right now, I said to myself, and to Mark, “Do you have a radio to make a distress call?”

Mark replied, “I do. I have an old AM radio, but taking time out to find the distress channel to attract other boats nearby would be a waste of time. We are not there yet. We should just push on for now.”

Just as he finished those rallying words, the wind swept off his Panama hat from his head. I could hear Mark cursing under his breath as the hat sailed into the dark skies.

“Sorry, Mark,” I screamed over the howling gust.

“Don’t worry. Just give your row handles all you have got!” Mark said.

And as an afterthought, he asked me, “Do you believe in prayers, Dan?”

I shouted back, “I DO now!”

Thoughts of prayer might have crossed my overly stressed mind, but he needed all the help he could get. We were utterly exhausted, in despair, and controlled panic when something celestial or divine took place. The wind shifted so fast, we lurched forward by our own force and volution.

“Oh my God. We made it! This is a miracle,” Mark screamed.

I responded, “Yes! But I am too occupied to give you a high five!”

The sky seemed to lighten up. I could see migrating gulls flying in formation above us. There must be a rainbow somewhere. And angels descending.

We are approaching the shore fast. We see lights, red flashing lights, and people at the beach. From behind the emergency vehicles and the crowd, Betty emerges with her little girl in her arms. We dragged the boat to the bank and made a dash to meet Betty and the baby!

As we hugged, Betty kept saying, “I was so worried. I was going out of my mind!”

In spite of our brave show to comfort Betty, the truth is Mark and I had the scare of a lifetime and we had learnt the hard way the enticing beautiful Tahoe has secrets to keep.