Clash of the Titans

The century-old tradition of the Roundstone Regatta made its annual big splash again this weekend as currach, man and oar took to the Connemara waters for a day of fierce contest, writes ROSITA BOLAND

THE 99 ICE-CREAM cone is a great age leveller at any event during the Irish summer. Grown men and women on the pier at Roundstone in Connemara this Saturday were unabashedly licking ice-cream cones spiked with Flakes, as were the small children scampering in and around the village’s harbour.

It was regatta weekend in Roundstone; an event that has been taking place in some form or other for over a century. It’s a weekend that celebrates both traditional boats, such as Galway Hookers and currachs, and the skill demanded to race them. Saturday was scheduled for rowing competitions: a calm, misty, humid day with a sea as smooth as the surface of a floor.

At the makeshift office on the pier, the regatta’s organiser, Michael King, was writing down names of teams for the first competition, the Men’s Senior currach racing. Each racing currach takes a team of three, and this competition is acknowledged to be the most prestigious of all the rowing races.

“Fellas would have been turning up with different boats in the past and they’d have an unfair advantage, so now all the racing currachs are the exactly the same size and length,” King explains. Roundstone has four identical committee racing currachs, and it’s these boats that competitors race.

Today there are 10 teams, and three heats, and people gather round to witness the names being pulled out of an empty sweet box. Their main interest is not so much on what heat they are in, but what position their boat has drawn. The boats are numbered one to four, and the team whose name is called first is allocated boat one, and so on. Although the organisers insist the starting point for each boat is precisely fair, competitors favour boat number one, which has an inside position, and can – in theory – slip faster round the course buoy than the others, thus gaining vital seconds.

“You want to have the inside line for the buoy,” explains Declan Griffin, of the Maharees team. “If you don’t get round it fast, you could spend the rest of the race getting back the half-length you missed.”

First heat out is Spiddal, The Rosses 1, Oughterard 1, and Inis Oirr. Hiking boots, lightweight trousers and bare chests – apart from the mandatory lifejacket – is the uniform of almost all. Or, as the entertaining and eloquent MC John Leyne quips over the tannoy during one heat: “To cut down on the weight, a lot of them have gone topless.” Later, Leyne confides: “I’ve seen some of them take out the holy water bottles that are in each boat to keep the weight down.”

Looking down the lists of names in each team, one thing is immediately striking. Many surnames crop up again and again. One team consists of three brothers. Another has two brothers. Yet another, the Rosses 1 team, has a father and son, James and Paul McGonagle. As Paul McGonagle explains: “We all live near the sea at home, and all our fathers and fathers before them have done this kind of racing in their time. It’s a tradition between families.” He says he’s proud of competing alongside his father. “Not many people get the chance or opportunity to do this in sport.”

The four boats in heat one each take a rope attached to a buoy and wait in position for Martin King, co-referee for the day with Paddy McDonagh, to sound the starting pistol. They are in a fourth boat, which will follow the race to ensure the rules are being kept. I am in also in this boat, but as Michael King pointed out earlier, one of the inclusive things about Roundstone Regatta is that onlookers on the pier have a great view of the race, which is within sight in the bay at all times.

As the men await the starting pistol, hands gripped on oars as if carved into them, each one has an utterly focused expression. They look openly ruthless, because, when it comes to racing, they are. As Declan Griffin says later: “We all know each other, and we’re great friends, but when we’re out there, we’ll do anything to beat each other.” At the pistol, the boats surge forward with such speed that our boat – which has an engine – takes some time to catch up. Nobody seems to know exactly what the distance raced is. It’s counted in minutes, rather than metres.

“This race is harder than the Olympics,” John Leyne insists. “The Olympic boats race in a straight line, but the currachs have to go round bouys and race in a circle.” “How long is the course?” Michael King thinks. “Fifteen minutes? Twenty minutes? It’s about three miles. In or around.” “What makes a great team?” reflects Martin King, while simultaneously watching the boats for any signs of unsportsmanlike behaviour. “Technique. Skill. Dedication. And a great hunger to want to win.” Then he starts yelling, “Keep it clean, lads! Don’t hit them! Keep away!” The Spiddal and Inis Oirr boats have veered close to each other, and once the long narrow oars intersect, each boat loses time. “It spoils the race,” King says. Sometimes boat crowding is tactical, other times, it’s accidental. King yells anyway.

“You don’t like shouting at them, and I don’t know if they listen to me anyway,” he confesses.

After watching all three heats from a nearby boat, my guess is that they don’t listen, possibly because they’re concentrating so hard, they just don’t hear anything else other than the sound of the canvas and the oars furiously slicing in and out of water and air.

During the summer, many of these teams can be on the road each week, as there are regattas most weekends throughout Connemara, Clare and Kerry.

What motivates people to travel to Connemara from as far away as the Rosses in Donegal to compete? “Connemara is where the real competition is. The highest standards of racing,” explains Griffin. “It’s a challenge. If you win here, you really know where you stand.”

The skill of all these teams at the Roundstone Regatta is profoundly evident. Racing currachs are notoriously difficult boats to manoeuvre. The speed and fluency with which these boats streak across the water is thrilling and beautiful to watch. The currach race may not look as dramatic as those races with the striking sail action of hookers and gliteogs, but they are fabulous, pure examples of sheer manpower and technique. The crowds on the pier ritually applaud each boat in turn as it passes the finish line back in the harbour. They deserve their applause. It’s very hard won.

“We’d start training after Christmas, and spend four nights a week in the gym,” recounts Griffin, whose Maharees team won their heat. “On the first of March, we start training in the sea. About 40 minutes four nights a week. And we’d run about five miles every night. A team has to be three fully committed men. Two and a half men won’t do it at all.”

This training ritual is more or less the same for all teams. Why do they do it? Griffin grins, a wide beaming half-circle of a grin. “We like to win,” he says simply.

As the men await the starting pistol, hands gripped on oars as if carved into them, each one has an utterly focused expression. They look openly ruthless, because, when it comes to racing, they are