Plane Answers: “Chit-chat” did NOT doom Colgan flight 3407

by Kent Wien on

Welcome to Gadling’s feature, Plane Answers, where our resident airline pilot, Kent Wien, answers your questions about everything from takeoff to touchdown and beyond. Have a question of your own? Ask away!

Allow me to invoke some commentary in lieu of today’s usual Plane Answers post.

So much has been written about the Colgan Dash 8 accident in Buffalo, NY. As I’ve written before in a “Pilots are either Heroes or Villains” post, I am a reluctant commenter during accident investigations. But the NTSB has released a tremendous amount of information already and I feel the need to shed some light on what the Colgan pilots may have been dealing with before the tragic accident.

We’ve heard that the captain reacted incorrectly by pulling up instead of pushing forward, that he didn’t have much experience in the Dash 8 Q400, that he and the first officer were discussing non-essential topics during the sterile period and that the captain had flunked a number of checkrides while learning to fly. We also heard about their long commute before work and the lack of sleep each pilot had before the trip.

But how much did these facts play a part in the accident? We’ll never know exactly what each pilot was thinking, but when you combine the transcripts with the NTSB recreation, a picture emerges that’s a little more complicated than what’s being reported.

According to the transcripts, the flight from Newark was completely normal until the start of the approach. Checklists were accomplished, altimeters were set, approach briefings were done. There was a fair amount of conversation, but this was mainly while above 10,000 feet. There may have been discussions with their company about where the aircraft would park after landing, but it’s hard for me to determine if this was before or after they flew below 10,000 feet.

The press latched on to the ‘chit-chat’ these pilots were having before the accident. The cockpit voice recorder was installed years ago as a safety device, but it’s sadly being used to satisfy the morbid curiosity of the public. Do we really need to hear the conversations that took place on the ground in Newark before this flight?

Much of that talking while approaching Buffalo revolved around icing and their prior experience in ice. In the last four minutes before the captain asked for the gear to be put down, there was only a single, three-sentence statement made by the captain in response to the co-pilot’s concern with her lack of icing experience.

The Approach

After that, nothing was said for the next two minutes, until the chain of events that would cause this accident would begin.
“Gear down.” The captain called.

The co-pilot responded by lowering the gear and pushing two knobs called condition levers forward. Just two seconds later, the approach controller told her to contact the tower. The co-pilot immediately looked down to change to the tower frequency, while acknowledging the controller. After she had spun some dials to enter the tower frequency in the VHF control panel, she looked at the gear handle to call out that it had extended completely-that it was now down and locked.

Two seconds later, the captain called for the flaps to be lowered to 15 degrees. Before even having a chance to look up and check on the flight’s progress she needed to move the flap handle from 5 to 15 degrees.

In the 22 seconds that it took for the co-pilot to put the gear down, push the condition levers forward, change the frequency, verify the landing gear position and select flaps 15, the airplane had slowed from 180 knots to 133 knots and the stall warning system activated.

She was relying on the captain to fly the airplane or, in this case, monitor the autopilot, while she performed her non-flying pilot duties. Every pilot has been in this situation before, where rapid-fire actions can take the non-flying pilot’s attention away. But usually being out of the loop for twenty seconds isn’t enough to cause a problem. Up to this point, she had done everything right.

Now let’s think about what the captain may have been dealing with:

He was in level flight at 2,300 feet with the flaps set to five degrees. He may have been tired, and so he likely felt like letting the autopilot take care of intercepting the final approach course. The autopilot was holding the altitude and heading and since the Dash 8 Q400 doesn’t have any autothrottles, he was manually setting the power to the proper setting to maintain a speed of about 180 knots.

At one point, the speed picked up to 186 knots. He pulled the power back slightly to let it settle at 180 knots which took about 6 seconds.

A few seconds later he called for the gear to come down. The co-pilot brought the gear down and pushed the condition levers forward. The condition levers essentially control the pitch of the propellors. Pushing them forward drives the prop blades to a finer pitch, resulting in a higher prop RPM, but also more drag. These levers are procedurally moved forward so maximum thrust is available in the case of a missed approach. So putting the gear down and the condition levers are two actions that will result in a significant amount of drag.

But somehow, the captain was distracted. He had just pulled the power back prior to calling for the gear to come down. He didn’t touch the throttles for the next 27 seconds, which means there was no way he had glanced at his airspeed for that half-minute. He could have been checking to see if there was any more ice accumulating or glancing at his approach plate.

The point is, he had become distracted and the co-pilot was out of the loop while she accomplished her required duties. The motion of the gear coming down and the condition levers coming forward meant that there was little time to react with the throttles.

This wasn’t the first time a pilot failed to notice a loss of airspeed while on approach. In fact, less than two weeks later another accident occurred while flying an approach on autopilot. Turkish flight 1951 which crashed short of the runway in Amsterdam was equipped with an autothrottle system, but it had failed at 1950 feet, when it reduced the power to idle slowly without the crew noticing.

In an age when the flying public seeks comfort by thinking airplanes just land themselves, it appears that a reliance on automation may have led to two separate accidents in the month of February alone. Autopilot use is generally encouraged by many airlines as a way to reduce a pilot’s workload.

But I’m certain that if the autopilot had been off in either accident, the pilots would have found it difficult to maintain altitude as the airplane slowed, which would have made it immediately obvious that more power was needed.

In both of these cases the autopilot masked this, making it easier to become distracted.

The Stall

When the stick shaker activated on Colgan flight 3407, the autopilot turned off automatically. Somehow the captain let the nose of the airplane reach nearly 30 degrees, and even though he correctly responded with full power, it wasn’t going to prevent the continued loss of airspeed as long as he had the nose pointed up between 20 and 30 degrees.

The co-pilot had been thinking about ice for the last half of the trip because of the build-up she had seen earlier, and this might have been going through her mind as she heard the stick shaker activate at the exact moment she was moving the flap handle from 5 degrees to 15. She very well may have associated her flap selection with the stick shaker, and if a movement in the flight controls results in something going wrong, I could see most pilots tempted to move the flap handle back where it was before the problem began (in this case, back up).

This is exactly what she did, which made the recovery much more difficult for the captain, since an extra 20 or 25 knots would be needed to fly at the reduced flap settings. Bringing the flaps up is also a recovery technique in high-wing turboprops that encounter enough ice to stall the tail. So this may be further proof that she was convinced tail-icing was their problem.

The captain may have also thought tail icing was his problem and the reason the nose wanted to drop, completely misreading what the ‘stick pusher’ was trying to tell him. Reports have indicated that the captain had watched the NASA video on tailplane icing recoveries during training just a few months earlier. This is a video which will definitely leave a lasting impression on any pilot.

Considering the lack of sleep both pilots had, it’s easy to come up with a scenario where a misdiagnosis of the problem–deciding between a tailplane stall or traditional stall–led to the accident.

The Aftermath

Non-essential chatter wasn’t a factor in this accident since the pilots had been quiet for more than two minutes prior to the airplane slowing. The NTSB will likely look at the training these pilots had received and how fatigue may have played a role in the accident.

It’s been verified that a lack of sleep can be equivalent to drinking while on the job, so the NTSB will likely factor this into their final report. And perhaps some attention will be given to the audible alerts pilots receive with specific attention given to how accurately they’re interpreted and how long the reaction time is with various warnings.

The airplane manufacturers may determine that a warning prior to the stick shaker is warranted. A “caution, too slow!” warning may be all that’s needed.

But first, training and procedures need to be considered to avoid this scenario. A great deal of time is spent during recurrent training on FAA mandated scenarios and emergencies that become repetitive. A program that introduces an even wider range of failures and scenarios in the simulator might be a better way to prepare pilots.

The NTSB will also likely criticize the turnover that has resulted from commuter airlines that see themselves as a stepping stone to the majors. An airline that decides $16,000 a year is an acceptable salary for a pilot might have to rethink their strategy as the flying public recognizes the need to continue to attract the best pilots possible.

This accident could become a catalyst for a number of changes that have been needed for a while. Proper crew rest, adequate training, and upgraded safety warnings could be around the corner. Let’s hope so.

Do you have a question about something related to the pointy end of an airplane? Ask Kent and maybe he’ll use it for next Monday’s Plane Answers. Check out his other blog, Cockpit Chronicles and travel along with him at work.

Galley Gossip: What to do when the flight crew yells brace!

by Heather Poole on

You’ve just boarded the airplane, stowed your large bag in the overhead bin, smaller bag completely under the seat in front of you, and taken your seat. As passengers continue to file past you down the aisle, you place those headphones in your ears, crank up the Ipod, and recline your seat way back. This flight is just like all the other flights you’ve been on before. After the safety demo is over, an evil flight attendant comes sauntering down the aisle, stops at your row, and asks you to put your seat back up and turn your Ipod off. When you ignore her, she tells you again, reminding you that anything with an on and off switch needs to be stowed and put away for takeoff. You give her a look. What’s the big deal?

Three minutes after take-off you hear a loud bang. The crew, still strapped into their jumpseats, begins yelling Brace! Brace! Brace! Do you know what to do?

Hopefully you’ll never find yourself in the brace position, but if you are told to brace most likely the flight attendants will stand in the aisle and actually show you the different brace positions, as well as brief you on how to open the emergency exit doors and windows – in case the crew is injured and unable to get to the exit. That’s why it’s always important to look over the briefing card, particularly if you are sitting in an exit row. Because sometimes things happen without warning, like it did for those who crashed into the Hudson River onboard US Airways flight 1549 yesterday. Amazingly everyone onboard survived, including an infant, thanks to the heroic efforts of Captain Chesley B “Sully” Sullenberger and the entire cabin crew who popped opened those doors, inflated the slide / rafts, and commanded the quick evacuation!

THE BRACE POSITION:

  1. Standard brace position (facing the cockpit): Sit as far back in the seat as possible with lap belt low and tight across the hips. Keep feet flat on the floor, out from underneath seat. Rest chin to chest and bend over as far as possible, chest to knees, wrapping your arms around your legs and clasping hands under knees
  2. Standard brace position (facing the tail of the aircraft): Sit as far back in seat as possible and press head against seat back. Keep feet flat on the floor, out from underneath seat. Rest hands on knees or hold onto the seat arm rest.
  3. Pregnant women: Pad stomach area with blankets and pillows. Seat belt should be worn under the stomach, not over. Cross wrists and rest forehead on the back of hands against the seat in front of you
  4. Lap children: Place child in an approved safety seat. If a car seat is unavailable, make sure the seat belt is secured only around the adult. Place child on the seat, between the legs of the adult. Lock arms around the child and bend over child. Infants: provide support to head, neck, and body.

While it’s important to know how to brace, it’s also important to have room to brace. This is why flight attendants ask you to keep your seat backs in the locked and upright position on take-off and landing. When seat backs are upright passengers are able to get out of their row and into the aisle much easier, which makes for a quicker exit. Every second counts when it comes to evacuating an aircraft, particularly one that is sinking in the Hudson river on a snowy day in freezing temperature.

Not only is it important to keep your seat upright, it’s just as important to place all your carry on bags in an overhead bin or completely under the seat in front of you. Again, it makes for a faster evacuation when there aren’t bags blocking the aisles and tripping passengers on their way out the exit doors and windows. This is also why the exit rows must remain clear and why the seats don’t always recline in these rows. So next time I come to your row, the emergency exit row, to brief you on the window exit, it is very important to pay attention. It could just save your life.

Photo courtesy of Derek7272

Galley Gossip: Bids are out! (my schedule, a little airline lingo, and a flight attendant poll)

by Heather Poole on

“Bids are out!”

Those three words are exclaimed each and every month by flight attendants (and pilots) around the world. Perhaps you’ve even witnessed a crew of four (or more) call out the three words above as they briskly walk through the terminal and pass another crew of four (or more) on their way to the gate.

Maybe you’ve wondered, what does that mean, as you stood waiting for your delayed flight to board. And while you continued to stand there impatiently waiting, you watched as four (or more) cell phones were simultaneously flipped open and placed to the ear. Rest assured that call must be made upon hearing those three words. If it can’t happen right then and there, it will happen very shortly, even if the flight attendant has to hide in the lavatory during the boarding process to make it happen. Why? BECAUSE THE BIDS ARE OUT!

BID, BIDS, BIDDING, BID SHEET – a request of choice routes made by each flight attendant to fly specific monthly schedules. At the airline I work for, our bid sheet offers over hundreds of lines to choose from. Bids are awarded by company seniority, which is why those flights to Asia and Europe always have the most senior flight attendants working the trip.

LINE, LINE HOLDER – a sequence of trips a flight attendant is offered each month. A line holder is not on reserve and works each of those trips in consecutive order.

RESERVE – Reserve flight attendants do not have a line. They bid for days off only. When they don’t have a day off, they remain on-call, meaning the company can (and will) assign the flight attendant a trip at any time of day (or night), with at least two hours time to get to the airport. Reserve duty is much like an on-call doctor. We must stay within a manageable radius of our base (mine covers three airports JFK, LGA and EWR). The flight attendant must be duty ready whenever on reserve. This means you must be ready to board a flight within one hour of its departure, which means there are no late nights out and absolutely no alcohol, since you can (and will) be called out to work any time of day or night. I remember one night having a quiet evening at home with a movie and Chinese take out. The food had not even arrived to my apartment and I was already leaving for a trip to London! There’s no warning, no lead time, and no excuses.

JUNIOR, SENIOR, SENIORITY – Refers to a flight attendants years of experience. Years of experience with an airline is based on date of hire. Seniority is everything at an airline, which is why the merging of most airlines does not happen smoothly. Junior flight attendants have to serve on reserve. In order to avoid having to do reserve duty , I commute from my home in Los Angeles (one of our most senior bases in the system) to New York (our most junior base). For me it is better to commute and be a big fish in a little pond than to work from home and have the uncertainty of my schedule loom over our family.

BASE – City in which a crew member originates and ends a trip. All trips start and end from ones base.

COMMUTE, COMMUTER, COMMUTING – the process of getting to your base city. I commute to work from Los Angeles to New York before each trip. Most airline employees who commute to work spend the night in a crash-pad. Like many flight attendants, my crash-pad is located very close to two of the three airports in my base city.

TURN, TURNS, TURNAROUND – any trip that originates from and returns to the same city on the same day. It is not uncommon for a flight attendant to see several cities over the course of 48hrs, only to arrive back to the city they left from. I have flown from LGA to ORD to DFW back to ORD and arrived back in LGA only to come home, shower, sleep and do it all over again the very next day.

Last week, after spending a good four days in a row staring cross-eyed at the bid sheet, I found out that for the month of November I was awarded line 50. Chicago turns. My particular trip will depart to Chicago a little after noon and return to New York just before midnight on the same day. Turns, are not my trip of choice, but we’ll get to that later.

Flight attendants bid once a month, near the end of the month, for a schedule the following month. I know, it’s confusing, but stick with me. Each line shows exactly what days and which trips a flight attendant will be working for the month. So whenever you see a couple of crew members sitting in the terminal, or on the jump-seat, with their noses glued to a packet of papers for hours on end, nine times out of ten they’re studying the bid sheet. This is not the time for chit chat, so unless you have a serious concern to discuss, or food to share, do not disturb the flight attendant. Bidding, for a flight attendant, is very serious business.

TRANSCONS – a transcontinental, across country, or coast to coast flight.

TRADING, DROPPING, PICKING UP – the act of swapping, giving away, or taking another flight attendant’s trip.

BACK UP, BACKING UP: working several trips in a row in order to have several days off in a row.

WIDEBODY – any aircraft with two aisles. The bigger the airplane, the more senior the crew.

NARROWBODY – any aircraft with a single aisle.

When I bid, I choose to work the transcons because they are easy to drop. I’m a commuter, and because I don’t want to waste my precious days off flying back and forth across the country, I back my trips up. That means at some point during the month I’ll fly to New York as a stand by passenger, spend the night in my crash-pad, work back and forth across the country as many times as possible in seven days, and then fly home to Los Angeles, which is where I’ll stay because I’m done for the month. Yeah, I know, it’s a good life – until all the flights to base are oversold, canceled, delayed and I’m unable to make it to work.

But remember, unlike most of my colleagues, I’m a low time flier, which pretty much means I work part time. In order to do this, I have to hold something desirable, not necessarily what I want to work, but what others prefer to work. Transcons on the widebody are the most sought after trips. Since I’m now a domestic flight attendant, I bid the flights to Los Angeles from New York. They’re easy, worth a lot of money, rarely ever cancel, and if I do decide to work one, I can layover at home with my family, not the layover hotel.

The reason I bid Chicago turns, and not transcons, for the month of November is because that line was the first line I could hold with Thanksgiving off. Yes, believe it or not, this will be the first Thanksgiving I’ve held off in thirteen years of flying. I’m way too junior to hold a holiday off on a line of transcons. In fact, I can barely hold transcons on non-holiday months, and if I do, I’ll most likely be working in business class, the most junior position on the aircraft, which is not a position you want to work if you’re trying to drop the trip.

TRIP TRADE, TRIP TRADER – the act of trading trips with another flight attendant. As this can prove to be a daunting task, flight attendants hire a person who manages, (for a fee), several different flight attendant schedules at once.

The first thing I do when bids are finalized is call my trip trader. She is one of the most important people in my life. Without her I don’t know what I would do. She makes my life work. Actually, what she does is make it possible for me to work, because it’s not easy when you have a two-year old child at home and you are married to a man who travels over 100,000 miles a year, and you don’t have family around to help when you’re out of town.

Now I have no idea how my trip trader does what she does, but the girl works magic, and I love her for that! In fact, I just checked my schedule and most of my Chicago turns have already disappeared. YES! And I’ve got two fantastic San Francisco transcons backed up in the middle of the month on my schedule! WOO-HOO! I love my trip trader, and life is good.

So good, in fact, I’m about to purchase three airline tickets to fly home to Dallas for the Thanksgiving holidays. Remember, this is the first Thanksgiving I’ll be celebrating at a home, and not in a dumpy airport hotel. Yes, I can fly for free as a stand by passenger, but like I said, I actually want to make it home for the holidays. What I don’t want to do is spend the holiday weekend getting bumped from flight to flight traveling with the family on the busiest holiday of the year. Oh no, I want to eat delicious turkey and dressing at my mother’s house, not a turkey sandwich and fries at Chili’s in the Los Angeles Airport.

Are you a flight attendant? If so, take the following poll. If not, check out this cool website and test your knowledge of even more airline lingo.

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Photos courtesy of: (flight attendant legs) Laszlo-photo , (airplane interior) Carrib, (turkey) Xbermathew

Connecticut Journal: Rowing for Yale (part 2 of 2)

by Jerry Guo on

Read part 1 of this story first.

A couple weeks later, with a little more confidence under our belt and a little more knowledge in our heads, we come back to the boathouse to race against some of the other freshmen. After a short motivational group meeting, the coach hands us over to the coxswain, who leads us to the “garage” where the racing shells are housed. Like a general surveying his regatta of warships, I try to absorb the sight of racks after racks of gleaming, slick long shells made of ultra-light, high-tech carbon polyurethane.

“Hands on,” Alfred commands us to grab onto the shell.

“Ready to lift … Ready! … Lift! Shoulders and walk it out.” Working in unison, the eight of us manage to move the unwieldy, shell down to the water. Without the cooperation of the entire team, this “ultra-light” shell would easily crush a single rower.

“Weigh-enough … Up and over heads … Ready! Lift! Roll to waists … Ready! Roll! And out and in together!”
The shell effortlessly slides into the river without even a splash and we nimbly strap in.

“All eight sit ready! … Ready! Row!”

I forget about the problem sets due tomorrow or the Yale Daily News article I have to write this weekend. The serene, gliding river becomes my world, stretching on forever. The sun casts a warm glow over the water.

Then boom! Our shell charges off the starting line as Alfred explodes in our ears.

“Give me three short strokes … half … full! Good, keep it there. Lengthen and stretch.”

1500 meters left. No time for stray thoughts. Instead, all I can concentrate on is the rough feeling of the oar rubbing against my calloused hands and the water splashing on me from the rower ahead. My legs already burn as I gasp for air between each measured stroke. The sweat pours from my face, blurring my sight as Alfred continues yelling. 1000 meters.

“Harder! We’re five strokes to six. And push with those legs … and push.” The eight oars slice the water at exactly the same instant. I begin to feel the rhythm, the splashing and roughness of the oar no longer on my mind.

Yes, this is what rowing was all about. We finally see the payoff to our grueling workouts on the tanks in the dungeons of the Payne Whitney Gym. Like one eight-legged beast, we ram through the water, each one of us rowing as part of the unit. Our bodies slide in synchrony, and all I hear above the din of the cries to push harder, row faster, is the grinding of eight oarlocks, which gives off an almost musical and most definitely even beat. Eight have become one.

500 meters. The final stretch, the sprint that would make or break us. At this point, our slow-twitch muscle fibers have been flooded with lactic acid buildup for several minutes. The same muscles that power some people through 26.4 miles now struggle to keep our blades driving through the molasses; the lactic acid has quickly depleted our blood sugar supply so our lung cells desperately crave oxygen.

With all the fancy hi-tech improvements like the aerodynamic racing shell and sliding seats, the race still remains about man versus man, pitting the collective strength and mental endurance of our boat against the others. We are indeed contemporary Vikings, waging a continuous battle against the limits of our own body and lactic acid build-up!

We have no strength left. Yet somehow from mysterious reserves, we force ourselves to push harder, row faster. My heart beats as fast as a hummingbird’s while my head pounds with blood. Just when I feel like collapsing from sheer exhaustion, we glide through the finish line, two boat lengths behind.

After docking, we jump out of the boat, elated at completing our first race. We gave it our all, and so we congratulated each other. The other freshmen came over, brimming with excitement at our performance and gushing about the successful season we will have. Like Yale in 1852, we lost by two boat lengths, but like the Vikings, the war was meant to be won another day.

Over the past century and even millennia, rowing surprisingly hasn’t changed; the races still came down to slow-twitch fibers and Viking aggression, and of course, we still despised Harvard Crew. I turn around to admire the sparkling sunset one last time and walk off to the locker room.

Connecticut Journal: Rowing for Yale (part 1 of 2)

by Jerry Guo on

Against the backdrop of a crispy clear afternoon in early September, I eagerly wait to see the historic Yale boathouse at the head of the Housatonic River in Derby, Connecticut, the training grounds for over 150 years of athletes, scholars, and gentlemen. As I ride the big yellow school bus to Gilder Boathouse in Derby with the other rowers, the pure energy and anticipation of catching a glimpse of this mystic place reached a crescendo.

Taking a deep breath and snapping out of a daydream of gliding across the finish line two lengths ahead of Harvard, I take my first step off the bus and raise my head. In front of me looms a sprawling wooden complex that resembles a canoe tipped over. I immediately likened the awe-inspiring boathouse to a huge Viking ceremonial hall. I easily imagine the walls carved from the undisturbed beauty of Scandinavian forests, the hanging tapestry exotic treasures from raids across the sea. We were contemporary Vikings marching towards the battle against the unforgiving currents of the Housatonic. Along the way, I hear a few grunts and wild yells, perhaps paralleling the Viking stereotype too well.
We step through a wide open entryway as a group, bordered on each side by a row of metal oars that were melded together into a majestic gate. The entrance cuts through the body of the boathouse and takes us onto an endless deck out back with a panoramic view of the river. The river morphs into a silver expanse that continuously laps at the boat deck below and pours off into the horizon. The still green hills behind the river bring out the light reflecting off the rippling water and gentle waves. A few jet skis flutter around, creating miniature whirlpools and a whirling buzz that disturbs the otherwise tranquil scene.

I cross the deck and peer into a vast common room with vaulted ceilings and a towering fireplace. Long wooden tables line the room, again conjuring up images of Viking gatherings, and I’m sure if they were still around, they would have used the audiovisual equipment there to recount their various heroic conquests. The Vikings were rough, but disciplined and determined people who had the ingenuity to build grand halls. The architect had aspired to recreate the grandeur of Viking design and function, to shock and awe while providing a close-knit community meeting place. Even with all the hi-tech shells, oars, and ergometers (rowing machines) around, nothing much has really changed in rowing since then.

One side of the room caught my eye. Lined from wall to wall and floor to ceiling are a century of glittering trophies, the contemporary rower’s way of recounting various heroic conquests; and there is only room for the most memorable races.

“Final Round, Head of the Charles – 2004”
“2005 Lightweight Crew National Champions”
“EARC Sprints Winner, Freshmen Team”

“Harvard Wins Inaugural Regatta against Yale,” read the 1852 headline from a local newspaper clipping immortalized on the wall. The Crimson Cantabs got lucky that day, or at least that’s the story passed down the countless generations of Yale crew teams. Just nine years earlier, a few Yale rowing fanatics had formed the first college athletic team in the country, with the Whitewall, a rickety, scrawny boat that occasionally kept the river water out; it had no sliding seats and came with oars cut from the rough oaks of Connecticut hills.

On that historic Saturday morning, the Yale crew team had no idea they were about to row their way into a sport now steeped in tradition, and of course, herald in the most storied intercollegiate rivalry. But the battle was lost that day for the Bulldogs as Harvard sped away at the finish of the two-mile course on Lake Winnepesaukee, New Hampshire, winning by more than two boat lengths. Of course, Yale stormed back in the next few years with spectacular performances a fan described as, “the best memory of my college experience.”

The overwhelming achievements of past rowers who have already set the bar as high as the vaulted ceiling rattled my nerves and undermined my hopes in finding a home here. We enter the sprawling locker room to change into spandex shorts and a crew t-shirt. I sure didn’t feel like a heroic Viking at this moment, but rather a dazed freshman feeling very exposed in stretchy spandex, stumbling down to the deck by way of the sweeping stairs that spills to the river. We spent that afternoon on the training barge practicing fundamentals like turning, rowing straight, and stroking.

Stay tune for part 2 of this story tomorrow.