…words by your on the water reporter Duncan McKay, and more photos and videos from the crews on Flickr here
St Ayles Skiff Adventure at the Great River Race 2025
If rowing around Craigleith in a headwind feels daft, then towing a St Ayles skiff 400 miles all the way to London for 21 miles on the Thames surely deserves its own category of lunacy. But on the 20th of September, that’s exactly what two North Berwick crews did: two skiffs, each skiff having four rowers, one cox and, in a nod to the London river taxis, one passenger.
Pre-Launch – “Flying Boats galore”
Boats were craned in or launched down a slipway at Richmond on the Friday and towed downstream overnight to the start. Our own convenor looked on nervously wondering if the club’s insurance covered damage from being dropped from a large height. Packing those carbs via a BBQ and an early night ready for a 6am coach ride across the city to the start beckoned for all crews.
The Launch – “Not the Bass Rock”
The starting line in Docklands looked less like a rowing race and more like an aquatic carnival, albeit with a bit of mudlarking and wrestling as crews negotiated launching before the rising tide meant they had to swim to the boats. A flotilla including Gigs, Whalers, Skerries, Yoals and Celtic Longboats, and even something that looked like a floating sofa, waited for the start lashed together midstream to avoid going over the start line too soon. Our starting coxes Ann and Clive assured us it would be “just like a normal club row, only with landmarks instead of gannets.” True enough, except the gannets don’t usually wave at you from Tower Bridge.
Mid-Race – “The Thames is Long. Very Long.”
Once past Westminster, conversation in the boats dried up. Even our resident font of all Thames facts and figures (some of it very suspect) Dave H in bow seat was reduced to grunts somewhere around Battersea. We fuelled ourselves on jelly babies, wine gums, and the occasional reminder that “at least it’s flatter than going round the North Dog of the Lamb.”
- 28 bridges were navigated with the occasional carnage and industrial language from crews trying to squeeze through the designated arches
- Cox and passenger changes were as slick as a John Sergeant strictly dance (!!!)
- At Hammersmith we overtook a number of other boats (some of them to a purr of sweet satisfaction of cox Amanda).
- At Kew we discovered what lactic acid really means.
- At Richmond we began to wonder if a skiff could be legally converted into a floating pub.
The Finish – “Ham, Sweet Ham”
The last stretch into Ham was… emotional. Our sprint finish looked less like a sprint and more like a group of people trying not to cry in unison, but somehow both skiffs surged over the line. The cheering crowds must have mistaken us for elite athletes — or perhaps they just enjoyed the sight of Scots looking slightly sunburnt and confused. Blisters, backache, and mild mutiny all subsided when the St Baldred crew realised they were the first St Ayles skiff over the line.
Lessons Learned
- Blisters heal faster than pride when a Spanish boat with a cox stood in full naval uniform overtakes you.
- The Thames is dirtier than the harbour and full of more debris, but the seals and puffins don’t stare quite as judgmentally.
- “Just one more stroke” and “I can see the finish line” are the cox’s biggest lies, whether in North Berwick or London.
We didn’t bring home a trophy, but we did bring home a story, some very tired arms, and the right to say that North Berwick has conquered the Thames — and still prefers the Forth.
