By Don Owen Costello, bowman@betterangelrowing.com.

I know Olaf Tufte. I know him well. He’s one of my closest friends. His death on July 21, 2026 hit so unexpectedly I have difficulty thinking of him in the past tense. Such a man, larger than life, seems longer than life.  

I live on the south coast of Oregon, 5,000 miles from Tufte Farm. Age 77, I maintain a part-time law practice after retiring from 36 years as trial court judge. I collect wooden racing singles that I row early mornings on an idyllic lake where most days the only other living things I see are birds. I have rowed since the beginning of my freshman year of college in fall of 1966. I am a coach and founder of rowing programs, student of the sport, and Olaf Tufte’s Bowman.    

Olaf and I met by email in 2010 when I ordered two pairs of bamboo underwear from him. I had followed his career beginning with his first Olympics, Atlanta 1996, and raced against him on my erg countless times while watching him on the screen win gold at Athens and Beijing. The press and his website painted a picture of a powerful and ambitious young man who manages to be humble and approachable. He seemed like someone it would be a pleasure to know.

My underwear order was an early sale by a young company, seemingly run from the family kitchen table, that would become today’s multi-million-dollar brand Tuftewear. It led to an interesting email correspondence between Olaf and me. Admitting to a lack of confidence in his “farmer’s English”, his messages were brief but wise and reflected brilliant thinking of a philosopher and humanitarian. He gave me some good rowing tips. He was fascinated my work in law and jurisprudence. We found we have common values such as fair play, accountability, self-reliance, teamwork, goal-oriented performance, and hard work. A friendship grew.

Early in 2011, Olaf invited me to visit him and his family at Tufte Farm. I arrived in May for opening day of Norway’s rowing season at Årungen. At 62, I was taking my first trip across the Atlantic. Over a series of visits, I stayed for about ten weeks with Olaf, his wife Aina and their daughter and son in their home. I have been with them, Olaf’s parents Sigurd and Lise Gro, and Olaf’s friends in countless settings both casual and intense. I kept up with Olaf (as best I could) in his relentless Tufte Farm work regimen and athletic training.

I put copyright-protection language in his media to protect his name, image and likeness; sent cease-and-desist letters to pretenders around the world falsely claiming his endorsement of their products and ideas; negotiated sponsorship contracts for him; helped him with business strategies; guided and pushed him. I watched Olaf evolve from the bad-boy image that had been fashioned for him into the elegant statesman he is.

It is my privilege to be the Tufte family’s inside outsider, or outside insider, depending on how you look at it. There are no better people than the Tuftes. They are so very committed to their champion rower and to one another. They are the team. The entire family took me in as one of them. They refer to me as Olaf’s Bowman because, as Olaf has it, I help keep him in the center of his lane.

Olaf lost that center in his semi-final at the 2012 London Olympics. He hit a lane buoy with his blade and finished fourth, putting him in the B final where he placed third, ninth overall. The entire Tufte family was in pain. Olaf was crushed.

Knowing Olaf, I felt he was in need of a positive experience away from rowing. The European Lung Foundation of the European Respiratory Society recognized Olaf Tufte that year for his contributions to the science of lung health as an elite athlete prevented by training- and testing protocols from using common medicines for his serious asthma condition. He is the first non-physician or non-researcher to receive the award, and ELF asked him to attend its annual congress in Vienna that September to receive it. He declined due to the upcoming harvest at the farm.

With the cloud from London still over his head, Olaf reluctantly agreed to attend and to be keynote speaker at Friday evening’s ELF opening session. A 10-year-old English boy named Alex would share the stage with him. Alex is a rugby player who often left the game to rest on the sideline due to his own breathing problems. Olaf was magnificent that night. He chose not to address the audience of 500 well-dressed dignitaries; instead, he spoke directly to the little rugby player. He said, “Alex, you and I are alike. Sometimes we have trouble breathing. We don’t have a problem, though. We have a challenge. We just need to be smarter than the others.” Olaf presented the boy with a “goodie bag” of Norwegian rowing kit. The two of them have stayed in close touch.

ELF organized a Sunday morning 5K out-and-back fun run at a nearby park. Aina wanted Olaf to run in it with her. He said, “I’m not going to do a ‘coffee run’.” After some friendly persuasion, an hour later Olaf joined Aina, Alex, Alex’s father, and a couple hundred people at the starting line. Jogging along with Aina, Olaf began to enjoy himself.

About 150 meters from the turnaround, the Tuftes encountered two serious pavement-pounders far in the lead heading back the other way toward the start/finish line. Olaf took off. He sprinted around the turn and turned on the jets, a long-legged Olympic missile intent on closing a 300-meter gap to win. He passed one of the leaders 20 meters before the finish to finish two steps behind the winner. His acceptance speech for the second-place trophy, “This is my best international finish this year”, brought cheers and laughter – most importantly, from him and Aina.  

The following month, my wife Karen and I hosted Olaf and Kjetil Borch at our Oregon home. One of the local indigenous tribes I work with, the Coquille Indian Tribe, gave Olaf and Kjetil a celebrity tour of tribal lands and facilities including a cedar plank house modeled on the tribe’s traditional dwellings. The tribal council presented them with Pendleton blankets ceremonially draped over their shoulders as befit their dignitary status. The experience moved Olaf deeply. It led to his decision to install lavvo-type structures at Tufte Farm which are based on the traditional dwellings of Norway’s indigenous Sami people.

Next, Olaf, Kjetil and I met in Corvallis with rowers at Oregon State University. The two of them stroked eight-oared OSU crews in informal races on the Willamette River, and erged with the team in OSU’s 100-year-old erg barn, known to The Farmer as “my barn”. We then drove to Portland for a formal banquet with the local rowing community including American- and Swedish Olympians. A 50% discount at the employee store following a tour of the Nike facility in Beaverton made it easy for them to fill my station wagon with dozens of pairs of shoes to take back to Norway.   

I saw this exceptional man with his devil at London and Windsor, and with his deep blue sea he soon recovered. Throughout, he conducted himself thoughtfully, humbly, and with a genuine interest in others. He is generous on all occasions including to this old journeyman rower. He brought me to his beloved family and friends; included me in the international rowing community in ways I never foresaw; and helped me better understand the relationship between rowing and my own profession. He even got me to stop staring at my toes on the erg.

The first hour I spent in person with Olaf was on a drive from Tufte Farm to Oslo to train at Olympiatoppen, the national training center. As soon as we got in the car, he began peppering me with questions about being a judge. His first questions were, “How do you manage to be objective? How can you be fair to someone who is a jerk or who did something wrong?” I said, “It’s a matter of being balanced. It’s like rowing a racing shell. I keep an even keel.” 

After 30 minutes it was my turn. I asked what it’s like for him at the starting line at the Olympics. He reached over, put his right hand in front of my face, held the tips of his thumb and index finger half an inch apart, and said, “I feel like the smallest person in the world. I know I can’t do it. Then I take the first stroke and I am fine. It’s all about the next stroke.”

One day at Årungen, Olaf and I rowed a double together. It was the most memorable 4,000 meters of my rowing career. Olaf’s set was so certain, so secure, it felt like we were sitting on the ground – fitting, because I was rowing with The Farmer.  He rowed like he farmed and farmed like he rowed.

Olaf Tufte is not one to suffer fools, but if you stay on your toes and keep up, he will give you his all. He is a friend worthy of complete trust. This came through in a series of recorded interviews I conducted at Tufte Farm with people close to Olaf – family, friends, rowers, coaches, mentors, business associates, and employees. The interviews are the foundation of a book I’ve had on the back burner far too long.

Knowing Olaf, he wants me to get cracking on it. Frankly, I’ve not been sure I am equal to the task. I feel like I’m the smallest writer in the world. I know I can’t do it. But I’ll write the first word and I will be fine. It’s all about that next stroke.

© 2026. Don Owen Costello. All Rights Reserved.