The 1935 Pacific Coast Regatta turned a strained season into a Washington sweep. On the Oakland Estuary, the Washington Huskies rowing team won its freshman and junior varsity races, then edged the California crew in a close varsity finish. That last result was announced first as a California victory and then corrected: Washington had crossed the actual finish line six feet ahead. The regatta’s importance lay not only in the championship, but in a day when three Washington crews answered different doubts about their standing and future.

A western rivalry with national stakes

By the 1920s, collegiate crew could draw crowds and press attention on a scale approaching baseball and college football. Eastern institutions had long shaped rowing’s prestige, with schools modeled on elite British traditions feeding oarsmen into prominent universities. The Intercollegiate Rowing Association regatta at Poughkeepsie had become a major national sporting event, attracting as many as 125,000 spectators in 1929 and millions of radio listeners. Yet western programs had fewer resources: their coaches earned much less than eastern counterparts, their crews generally raced one another, and neither Washington nor California had money for recruitment or substantial wealthy patrons.

The University of California, Berkeley and University of Washington rivalry, dating to 1903, helped build a western following. Their annual April contests drew tens of thousands of students, alumni, and local spectators, even as national rowing’s center of influence remained in the East. Washington had challenged that imbalance before. In 1913, its first trip to Poughkeepsie ended in a surprising third place; in 1923, the varsity won the regatta’s first victory for the West. The 1935 contest therefore carried stakes beyond the local rivalry: Washington’s success could strengthen the region’s claim to a place in a sport still shaped by eastern institutions and expectations.

A difficult course and three races

The April 13 regatta unfolded in rain and a stiff southerly headwind along the Oakland Estuary, an industrial waterway between Oakland and Alameda Island. Its course curved near Union Point before reaching the finish at the Fruitvale Avenue Bridge. Warehouses, oil tanks, cranes, factories, and moored craft lined the route; the water was polluted by industrial activity, and a pipe beside California’s shell house discharged raw sewage into it. Despite the conditions, nearly 40,000 spectators gathered along the course. The greatest crowd packed the finish bridge, where California supporters in blue and gold mingled with Washington loyalists in purple and gold; radio announcers prepared to carry the results across the country.

The freshman race began at 3:55 p.m. Washington stroke Don Hume had only recently left the infirmary after severe tonsillitis, but the illness did not prevent him from setting a strong rhythm. Washington moved from a half-length lead to a full-length advantage, then matched California’s faster pace in the final stretch. Hume’s smooth, powerful stroke helped his crew draw farther away, and Washington finished three lengths ahead. Officials lowered a white flag to mark the victory.

At 4:10 p.m., the junior varsity brought a different pressure to the line. Washington’s older boys had been demoted after coach Al Ulbrickson reversed his decision about which crew would race varsity. Still angry, they saw the junior varsity race as a chance to make their case and open a path forward. With Bobby Moch calling the cadence and Stub McMillin anchoring the middle of the boat, they overcame California’s early lead, moved ahead by halfway, and built their advantage through the second half. As they approached the bridge, Washington was five lengths in front; it crossed eight lengths ahead. Their emphatic win made the varsity’s task more demanding: the sophomores would now have to justify Ulbrickson’s faith and keep their Olympic prospects alive.

The varsity finish and its confusion

The varsity race unfolded as a sustained contest of pace and power. Washington started ahead, but California raised its rate, drew level, and then moved into a half-length lead. For much of the next mile and a half, the boats held their positions, rowing at about thirty strokes per minute. Near Government Island, California extended its advantage to a full length. Coxswain George Morry raised Washington’s rate from thirty to thirty-two, but held it there as California accelerated to thirty-four and a half. Washington began to close by applying power without immediately matching the higher rate; by the south end of the island, the lead was down to a quarter-length, and then the boats were even.

Near the bend, Washington edged ahead. California responded with a sprint, reaching forty strokes per minute and briefly regaining a quarter-length lead. Following Ulbrickson’s instruction to keep the stroke rate low for as long as possible, Morry resisted the impulse to answer with an immediate increase. He called for ten hard strokes, then ten more. Washington drew level, and the boats passed beneath the bridge side by side.

The finish produced contradictory reports. Blue and white flags dropped together, and spectators heard first that Washington had won by a foot, then that California had won by two feet. The radio broadcast and newswires carried the California result before the officials’ announcement reached the loudspeaker. The judges ultimately declared Washington the winner by six feet. The apparent contradiction came from the bridge’s angle: California’s boat passed beneath it first, but the finish line crossed the water several yards short of the bridge on Washington’s side. The bridge was not the finish line, and Washington’s bow had already crossed the actual line.

A sweep and its aftermath

The homeward train ride brought an end to the hard feelings that had marked the fall and winter. The freshman victory reassured Tom Bolles that his crew could match the previous year’s freshmen; the junior varsity had made its point, at least for the moment; and the sophomores were now Pacific Coast varsity champions. Together, the three crews had swept California on its home water. The varsity result preserved the team’s Olympic ambitions, while the day’s combined wins made a broader case for Washington’s strength.

Seattle received the sweep as a public celebration. The next day, the victory appeared on the front page of the Seattle Times under a banner headline announcing that the Husky crews had made a clean sweep. On April 18, a procession honored the rowers alongside a girls’ swim team returning with medals and national records, and swimmer Jack Medica, who had won in the East. Eighty members of the Husky marching band led the procession up Second Avenue and Pike Street. The varsity crew rode behind the band on a flower-decorated logging truck carrying its shell, the rowers in white sweaters marked with purple Ws and holding their oars upright. The celebration converted a close result on an industrial estuary into a visible civic triumph—and a season of internal uncertainty into renewed possibility.