Cock of the Fleet
Sports competitions in the Navy were encouraged as a significant factor for developing team work, camaraderie, esprit du corps and, especially unit pride. Of all the team sports that ships and units competed in the most prestigious trophy was the Cock of the Fleet for the Annual Atlantic Command Fleet Regatta. Sailing, boatmanship and seamanship skills were displayed in an intense contest of professionalism.
Submariners at a Disadvantage
Submariners didn't compete in many sports and seldom made it to the finals vying for a first place finish. We were too small a group, too busy and, besides, we already had enough of all those attributes to make us the finest sailors in our Navy.
It was a Day Like Any ...
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It was about 1400 on Tuesday, 28 June 1977. We were on 1300 secure routine and most of the guys from Ojibwa, alongside for a short work period, had already thinned out to go home.
A gaggle of us, a couple of squadron people and the rest of us Ojibwa, had remained in the inboard mess for the past two hours over a few cold beverages when our Cox'n, CPO2 Terry Shergold walked in. One for the Gipper
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Terry was a big man who commanded respect merely by his presence, but everyone knows about volunteering. You simply don't!
Four guys in work dress downed their beverage and with an, "I've got to get back to work Swain", slid past the cox'n out of the mess. That left only 5 of us, heads down, painstakingly studying the carbonation in our beverages.
Four guys in work dress downed their beverage and with an, "I've got to get back to work Swain", slid past the cox'n out of the mess. That left only 5 of us, heads down, painstakingly studying the carbonation in our beverages.
We're It
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"All right you lot. There's a Fleet Regatta going on and the Squad Boss has decided that he wants to enter a team in the Chief and Petty Officers' Whaler pull race, and we're the only ones available".
"Awww Swain, that's skimmer crap. We don't row whalers. We don't even own one." |
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"No problem. They have one down at Jetty three chamber for us; that's where the race starts and we have to be at the start line by 1500. Away you go; I'll come do it with you to make up the team."
"Can we get changed?"
"No time for that, get in the truck as you are."
"Can we get changed?"
"No time for that, get in the truck as you are."
The Competition
Whaler race from earlier era - as this epic event does not appear to have been captured on film.
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As we arrived at Jetty Three we climbed out of the truck and looked around. There were about 15 teams stood in 6 man groups along the edge of the Jetty listening to a muscle bos'n (Physical Education and Recreation Instructor, PERI) giving instructions for the race. He stopped as we approached, knitting his brow in an amused expression, and looked us up and down.
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New Trend in Whaler Wear
Everyone else was wearing running shoes, track pants and T shirts with their unit names and badges emblazoned on their chests. Some had sporting gloves, perhaps to protect their delicate hands. The Fleet Diving Unit especially stood out among them. They looked particularly fit with T shirts straining over their muscled frames. Each one stood rigid with a custom carved whaler oar held at the order arms like a rifle on parade.
They were looking very smug as they scrutinized the other underwater warriors of the dolphin. The other teams looked almost as impressive. All of the ships and fleet school divisions were represented. We had observed many of them training in the harbour for the past couple of weeks but didn't pay too much attention to that skimmer crap.
They were looking very smug as they scrutinized the other underwater warriors of the dolphin. The other teams looked almost as impressive. All of the ships and fleet school divisions were represented. We had observed many of them training in the harbour for the past couple of weeks but didn't pay too much attention to that skimmer crap.
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So… dress shoes or steaming boots, dress pants and short sleeve dress shirts formed our pitiful whaler race apparel. But our chests were proudly emblazoned with shiny gold dolphins.
The muscle bos'n reluctantly re-ran the race rules for our benefit. That was mostly a waste of breath because we really didn't understand the boat or race terminology anyway. |
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Do What They Do
"Geezuz Swain, what are we supposed to do?"
"Don't worry, just watch what they do and follow the leader. We'll get this thing over with and maybe get back before the bar shuts down."
Everyone started down the gangways to the chamber floats where the tiddley whalers with ship and unit badges on their bows were tied up 3 and 4 abreast. We waited at the top and watched.
Terry pointed down at the whalers and asked the muscle bos'n, "Which one is ours?"
The PERI grinned and said, "Oh no, yours is over there." pointing down to a real scow of a boat tied up to the Jetty below a ladder.
"Don't worry, just watch what they do and follow the leader. We'll get this thing over with and maybe get back before the bar shuts down."
Everyone started down the gangways to the chamber floats where the tiddley whalers with ship and unit badges on their bows were tied up 3 and 4 abreast. We waited at the top and watched.
Terry pointed down at the whalers and asked the muscle bos'n, "Which one is ours?"
The PERI grinned and said, "Oh no, yours is over there." pointing down to a real scow of a boat tied up to the Jetty below a ladder.
Not Exactly Ship Shape
It looked like something right out of McHale's Navy. It had obviously been used as a work boat and not cleaned up very well after. The oars, haphazardly scattered over the thwarts, were well used and poorly maintained. There were darker spots of paint at the bow where ship's badges were once displayed. There was a small plastic garbage can (bailing can?) under one of the thwarts. The tiller looked like it had been split at some time in the past and repaired with mousing wire and tarred marline.
Perfect! How appropriate. We were all laughing now as we climbed down the ladder fouled with grease and marine growth. P2NS Wilfie Broyden was the first down the ladder and climbed aft to sit beside the tiller.
"Where do we put our caps swain?" "Oh s#!t! Just put them under your seat."
"Can we just sit anywhere?" "I told you to watch the others!." So we did.
Perfect! How appropriate. We were all laughing now as we climbed down the ladder fouled with grease and marine growth. P2NS Wilfie Broyden was the first down the ladder and climbed aft to sit beside the tiller.
"Where do we put our caps swain?" "Oh s#!t! Just put them under your seat."
"Can we just sit anywhere?" "I told you to watch the others!." So we did.
Musical Thwarts
P2SN Al Frohler climbed up to the bow, CPO2 RM Terry Shergold went forward, just aft of AL, I went aft, just forward of Wilfie. P2ET Charlie McManus sat behind me and P2RP Bill Howatson took the center thwart behind him. There, musical thwarts was over and everyone had a seat.
It took us a few minutes to untangle our oars and figure out which side they were supposed to stick out of. A couple got tangled up with the old wood pylons under the Jetty.
It took us a few minutes to untangle our oars and figure out which side they were supposed to stick out of. A couple got tangled up with the old wood pylons under the Jetty.
Wilfie Takes Charge
Then Terry said, "let go the lines and push us away from the Jetty. Wilfie? You took the cox'n seat, take charge!"
Wilfie beamed. Oars continued to be tangled and we were way out of sync banging blades and splashing water. We were making way; but, Wilfie was steering the tourist route all over the chamber with the rest of us cursing and shouting at him to straighten her out.
Finally, we were headed out of the chamber and making our way to the start line behind all of the others. Wilfie realized that the other whaler cox'ns were all calling the cadence, "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" So he did the same. And to our surprise we actually got in sync and picked up a little speed. As we approached the start line, we could hear the other cox'ns giving orders, "Oars". "Hold water". "Easy". "Back together". They were sharp.
Wilfie beamed. Oars continued to be tangled and we were way out of sync banging blades and splashing water. We were making way; but, Wilfie was steering the tourist route all over the chamber with the rest of us cursing and shouting at him to straighten her out.
Finally, we were headed out of the chamber and making our way to the start line behind all of the others. Wilfie realized that the other whaler cox'ns were all calling the cadence, "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" So he did the same. And to our surprise we actually got in sync and picked up a little speed. As we approached the start line, we could hear the other cox'ns giving orders, "Oars". "Hold water". "Easy". "Back together". They were sharp.
Wilfie is Indisposed
Wilfie ordered, "OK, stop rowing. Don't let us drift into one of the other boats. Damn! I had too much beer. Pass me that garbage can."
Precise boat drill commands!
I had to lean aft to move the tiller because we were starting to round up, towards another whaler, while Wilfie concentrated on his emergency bodily function.
Precise boat drill commands!
I had to lean aft to move the tiller because we were starting to round up, towards another whaler, while Wilfie concentrated on his emergency bodily function.
We're Off - Except for Al
Bang! The start gun sounded and all cox'ns in unison yelled "TOGETHER! STROKE! STROKE!" except for Wilfie who was putting himself away. He was saying, "Let's give this thing a try. Maybe we won't come in last."
All finished, he copied the others' orders and we all dug in. On the initial pull there was a loud snap and a curse from the bow. Wilfie cracked up laughing. We all stopped pulling and looked forward to see Al Frohler had broken his oar and fallen backward off his thwart. All we could see was his feet and legs.
All finished, he copied the others' orders and we all dug in. On the initial pull there was a loud snap and a curse from the bow. Wilfie cracked up laughing. We all stopped pulling and looked forward to see Al Frohler had broken his oar and fallen backward off his thwart. All we could see was his feet and legs.
Keep Rowing!
Wilfie shouts "keep rowing, stroke, stroke, stroke…….." and we did.
Wilfie proudly informed us that, "I can steer better now with the same number of oars on each side. Stroke, stroke, stroke!" I was looking aft and indeed, our wake had straightened out a little. After a few strokes I looked forward to see if Al was OK. He was fine, laid back with arms resting on the gunnels with a cigarette between his lips.
Wilfie proudly informed us that, "I can steer better now with the same number of oars on each side. Stroke, stroke, stroke!" I was looking aft and indeed, our wake had straightened out a little. After a few strokes I looked forward to see if Al was OK. He was fine, laid back with arms resting on the gunnels with a cigarette between his lips.
Honest Effort
Terry spoke up and said "come on team; let's give this an honest effort. Dig in." Wilfie sped up the cadence a bit and the four of us put our backs into it.
We were gaining on the last whaler in the pack, still last but gaining.
Wilfie, "Geezuz, we're catching up, STROKE!" "HARDER" "We caught one!" "Let's go!" "We can do it!"
The look on their faces as we slowly passed each of them was priceless. The more of them we passed the harder we worked. Even Al got into the act offering encourage-ment, whooping it up, and yelling obscenities at the other whaler crews as we pulled ahead of them.
We were gaining on the last whaler in the pack, still last but gaining.
Wilfie, "Geezuz, we're catching up, STROKE!" "HARDER" "We caught one!" "Let's go!" "We can do it!"
The look on their faces as we slowly passed each of them was priceless. The more of them we passed the harder we worked. Even Al got into the act offering encourage-ment, whooping it up, and yelling obscenities at the other whaler crews as we pulled ahead of them.
Beautiful Buoy
We had to round a buoy and head back to the start line which was now the finish. Wilfie cut it so close that we almost hit it. Both Bill Howatson and I had to stop pulling and lift our oars out of the water so we wouldn't hit the buoy with them. Charlie and Terry dug in on their outboard oars and we made the sharpest turn possible around to buoy. As we straightened out we found ourselves miraculously abeam of the lead whaler. The Diving Unit!
Several others had been closer to the lead but the bunch up in the lead forced them to go wide around the buoy losing distance and setting them aft in the pack. The divers looked incredulous. Looking in disbelief at us caused them to get out of sync and lose a couple of strokes. And we were in the lead.
Several others had been closer to the lead but the bunch up in the lead forced them to go wide around the buoy losing distance and setting them aft in the pack. The divers looked incredulous. Looking in disbelief at us caused them to get out of sync and lose a couple of strokes. And we were in the lead.
We Are Pumped
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The adrenalin pumped up and we found a second breath. With the rest behind we had to shout at Wilfie to pay attention when he kept looking back in amazement. Our wake wobbled a couple of times but we were stoked.
After the finish line we had a hell of a time getting our whaler back into the chamber and alongside the closest float. The others couldn't get around us because we were steering such an erratic course while high five-ing each other and boisterously chanting, "We won, we are the champions!" 
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That's right. We were the champions and not about to climb that scaly ladder either. We had beaten the fleet. Clean sweep. And short one oar for the entire course at that. We could fly the Jolly Roger if we had one on board.
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Those on the jetty were dumb struck. All except for the Squad Boss and a couple of other inboard wankers who had seen the action in the harbour and made their way to Jetty Three to be part of the presentation ceremony they never thought they'd ever see. They were grinning like Cheshire Cats.
It's All a Matter of ...
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There is only one explanation for that improbable victory by such an unlikely rag tag team of misfits among surface pukes. Deep down, we had the right stuff.
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l to r. Standing:
P2SN Al Frohler, 'Bow Oar', (our one stroke wonder); P2ET Charlie McManus, 'Second Stroke"; P2RP Bill Howatson, 'Midships Oar'; C2RM Terry Shergold, 'Second Bow' Kneeling: P2SN Jim Lucky Gordon, 'Stroke Oar' and P2NS (Naval Stores) Wilfie Broyden, Coxswain |