Bathed in a nostalgic aura all its own, rowing on the Charles represents to the world outside Cambridge a contrast to legendary Harvard indifference. While current sports-writers rhapsodize over Gannons and Mariaschins, the College's "old grad" elements gather in their Clubs or at class reunions to reminisce about the great Crimson crews and the numerous, almost unbroken string of victories over Yale. It's a monopoly, they say, and glow the cocky glow of a giant in Yale-Harvard competition.

Plucked from the far North-West, Varsity coach Tom Bolles is relatively foreign to this Crimson crew tradition, even though he has consistently added fuel to the fire of crew talk with an undefeated record against the Elis. But Bolles is no foreigner to crew.

Four years as an "almost good enough" oarsman at the University of Washington under Rusty Callow, now at Penn, were good enough training for Bolles to rate a Freshman coaching berth at his Alma Mater. Nine years as a Washington coach were also enough to convince College athletic officials that Bolles was the man and he was lured away to be Varsity mentor here in 1936. Since then, except for a three-year so journ in the Navy, he has reigned with a battered, grey felt crown on his head, at the Newell Boat House.

Bolles brought the Washington system to the Charles, one he learned from Callow, who in turn coached under the crew-great Hiram Conibear. Reluctantly, Bolles has tried to summarize the system for the layman. "Our stroke is a short body swing," he says; but he adds that the shortness is only relative to length used by oarsmen such as those at Syracuse.

Tall men comprise most of the Bolles eights; but neither height nor weight are his criteria. Long arms and optimum application of strength are what the coach looks for. He finds that tall men usually fit this category, which also requires legs long enough for a 36-inch slide.

Following practice sessions from the coach's launch, Bolles watches his charges for evidence of number one boat ability. Since some men can go through the motions beautifully but lack the power to make a shell go, Bolles has to resort to a trial-and-error method to pick his leading crew. "What counts in crew," he says, "Is how far you can push the boat, not how many strokes you can make."

Adding to the difficulty of judging a crew and its oarsmen is the fact that course times are of little value. Although the Charles' current is relatively stable, the wind varies from day to day. Natural phenomena, such as the tides at New London, can change conditions enough to make as much as a 15-minute difference.

The all-winter grind in the Newell tank and the miles of arduous pulling on the river, Bolles likens, picturesquely, to a historian's reading in the Widener stacks. It is a self-satisfying labor, accompanied by a feeling that "we have made the effort, even if we don't excel." Of the American sports enthusiast who follows and plays football, baseball, and basketball for his team athletics, and who wonders why anyone would take up crew, Bolles smiles wisely and asks, "Have you ever rowed?"