Remembering the Fourth of July in Bolinas

I spent my first Fourth of July in Bolinas in 1994. I was 17. Although I didn’t grow up here, I grew up here, in love with West Marin. Always somewhat of a pariah, somehow I fit in with the other pariahs. With all its oddities and eccentricities, I chose Bolinas, and the Bolinas Border Patrol has not tossed me out—yet.

Bolinas and Stinson Beach are separated by the Bolinas Lagoon’s channel, which is sometimes mere feet apart, sometimes yards, depending on the tide. Sometimes the towns are miles apart—if you choose to drive between the two to pick up your mail.

The Bolinas-Stinson Beach tug-of-war was one of the most unexpected sights I ever had the pleasure of experiencing. As the floats lined up for the annual parade, I strolled the beach and heard the beat of a drum. A circle of 30 women were stretching, led by Dee O’Neil, preparing themselves for their grueling feat.

Josh Churchman and Buck Mayer battled the tide in their boats as they stretched the four-inch-thick rope across to Stinson—no small task in a ripping tide. They taxied officials from Bolinas to Stinson Beach, and officials from Stinson Beach to Bolinas, to keep us all honest.

The rope, longer than a football field, is a wonder in itself. It is so heavy, and heavier when wet, and the tide begins pulling it before anyone else does. It consists of natural fibers and is quite old, although it is not the original rope. This one was spirited from Angel Island by a local merchant marine in the early ’90s.

There are orchestrators of this event, some known, others remaining an enigma. Mike Aiken has been the perpetuator for at least the last 30 years, as well as the parade leader, organizer, and too many other things to list. His contributions to our community cannot be counted, and they often go unspoken or unrecognized. Lest we forget: The Lions Club.

Whose brainchild was the tug of war? After many years of interviews and questions, I still remain at a loss. Have these silly, brilliant conjurers passed, or is there someone who knows? Only the unrelenting rivalry of Bo-Stin is certain, and I know it well. I have lived in both places, and I know where my loyalties lie.

Back in 1994, as I walked down Wharf Road, my eyes popped. Naked people smeared in mud, musicians in a birdcage, two cars welded into one limousine overnight with amenities that included a pool. Perhaps these images were not from a single year but were amalgamated from many years into a single memory.

Then I hear the drum, and almost everyone in unison says:

PULL

It’s always ladies first here, and we win. Many fall down in exhaustion, others in utter delight; some puke from exertion. We women in Bolinas may not be large, but we’re strong and determined.

Then the ladies crawl out of the way as the designated males approach the rope. Robbie Knowles, local fisherman by day, does not take his task lightly. He urges, counts and weighs everyone in. As team captain, he enlists every man as a soldier for Bo. He ensures that they know the rules, and he lets them know how to change it up when they’re tired. You win some and lose some, but never without blood, sweat, tears and rope burns.

There are two trophies that are held by the winners, one for the men, one for the women. They have traveled between Smiley’s and the Sand Dollar, their traditional homes. The women’s trophy is somewhat of a cup, and after one winning year, we drank champagne from it. We passed it around, all wearing our winner T-shirts and broad smiles.

The T-shirts are the immediate, personal prize, for often the trophies go missing, like Bolinas road signs. My first winner T-shirt dates from 1997, and I display it with all the others on a clothesline, a rainbow of colors. Mike taught me the ropes, and now his son Edward and I—with help from others too numerous to name—continue this tradition. But please, if anyone knows the origins of the tug or has something else to add, please give me a holler.

Erin Dell lives in Bolinas. You can reach her at [email protected].