Wednesday, December 31, 1969

An unscheduled stop A few days ago we left the Atlantic Ocean and entered the Caribbean Sea through the Anegada Gap, a passage just south of the British Virgin Islands. In the haze, at about 20 nautical miles away, we could just see the outline of Virgin Gorda, one of the larger islands. We were a bit disappointed that we still had more than a week before we would see land on which we would be disembarking. However, after dinner we had an all-hands muster, and the Captain made the surprise announcement that we were going to make a very brief stop at Jost Van Dyke, one of the smaller of the BVIs. The mood was extraordinary; for the first time we realized that this trip is about destinations as well as just sailing. It was too late to head for the island that evening because the captain didn't want to anchor in a small harbour in the dark. Therefore, we took in most of the sails and "hove to", which means that we just floated around, hardly moving in any direction. Early the next morning we set the sails again and sailed into the island chain. It was our first experience of what a sight we are. Here we are sailing past multi-million-dollar vacation houses and everyone is out on their balconies with binoculars. It is not every day that a barque sails by. We arrived in the bay where the customs house was located and dropped anchor. We were only going to stay for 2 days and half the crew had the first day and the other half the next. I was in the "bad day" group, which was the first day, since we only got from noon until the night, while the second day got to leave first thing in the morning. I packed a day bag and went ashore in the skiff. Most the my group went from the dock to the bar across the street for Mai Tais etc. I had a celebratory cocktail with the group and some lunch. I was in the mood to explore, and after the rest of the group was on their fifth round, I finally found someone who also wanted to go across to the next bay. We walked the steep road in unbelievable heat, and were rewarded by one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. It was all there: white sand, brilliant turquoise water, palm trees gently swaying in the breeze, with the bonus of hammocks strung up by the owners of small bars to attract customers. After a few hours of blissfull relaxation and some quite good snorkelling, the afternoon sun started to wane and I walked back to the other bay to meet up with some crew for dinner. The group that I left was still at the same bar. They stayed there until the last skiff back to the boat. They never saw the beautiful beach. 9:40:33 PM     Living on something that moves It is probably impossible to describe fully the experience of living on a sailing ship at sea, especially mundane things like the fact that your "ground" is constantly moving. But just try to imagine never having terra firma below your feet, and I mean never. Things that you take for granted become difficult, at least until you get used to them, if you ever do. How about walking up stairs, especially the steep ones on a ship? Don't try it without a firm hand on one or both handrails. What about walking to the scullery at the stern for a cup of tea? First of all, the breezeways, the passages along the sides of the lower deck, go up and down when the ship is rolling, which is most of the time. And then try to come back with the cup of tea. Even trickier. Once you start to get your "sea legs", which just means walking with your feet wider apart than normal and taking very deliberate steps, you can start to walk around without crashing into everything, or even falling over. Then you can get used to doing all the normal things we take for granted when on land. Take eating. When we are at sea in the heat, we eat outside; the food is brought out in large trays and placed on the cargo hatch in the midships section of the ship (which moves the least). We line up and grab plates and reach for food in the trays and try to get it on our dishes without it landing somewhere else. Then you have to eat it, which means finding a seat somewhere where you can anchor the plate on your lap somehow. I'm trying to remember how I ate dinner tonight, since we are currently in quite rolly seas. We had lasagna, and it is easy to eat because it only requires a fork. I got it on my plate and then made it to the side of the ship where I anchored myself on some heavy manila ropes, tilting sharply against the sides so when my side rolled away from the sea I wouldn't be pitched into the centre. I don't remember having trouble eating, so it must have been successful. It is sometimes disconcerting, however, when looking out the sides, because one time you take a glance and you can see horizon, and then the next glance you are staring right into a large wave that is higher than the main deck of the ship. Sleeping is interesting, and here is my biggest surprise. Sleeping with moderate motion is actually quite pleasant. In normal swells (i.e. the size of the biggest ones you would ever get taking the ferry to the Gulf Islands), the sensation is of gentle rocking. But every once in a while, like last night when the swells were quite bad, your sleep is disturbed because periodically you get slammed over to one side of the bunk. That isn't great for getting a good night's sleep. In any kind of swell, there is always the "normal" motion, and then there are the "rogue waves", which seem to come about every 7 waves (different cultures around the world peg that number at anywhere from 3 to 19, according to Michael, a fellow crew member). You always have to keep your senses alert for them. Typically, someone will put a cup-- or water bottle or plate or whatever--on the hatch cover, or a bench, and it will stay there for a few minutes. Then the "big one" comes and whatever it was goes sliding off, usually with a crash. That is the signal to look for a hand hold if you are in a precarious position, as the ship usually rolls twice. And every several rogue waves is a "really big one". Those are usually louder because pots in the galley or plates stacked in the scullery start to go for a ride. There are usually big crashes, accompanied by a few screams as people grab for whatever they thought was stable where they left it. These almost always finish with a loud sloshing noise and more screams because such large swells usually splash over the sides and soak everyone on either port or starboard midships. The saying goes. "you can get used to anything." I don't know if I will every get used to really big seas, as it requires all of your concentration to just walk 2 steps when the seas are 10-12 ft. high. However, I would say that I am surprised that when the seas die down to 3-5 ft. swells, you really don't even notice it. Out in the ocean, even when the winds are calm, you seem to always get swells. When you are living on the sea, it is just part of the experience. 9:10:06 PM     Clothing There is something that everyone should know if they are interested in living on a working ship for any length of time, and that is what kinds of clothes to take. I packed for this sailing trip, with extended stays in Australia and maybe Hawaii. Therefore, my packing list included: - my best t-shirts - some tank tops - some OK shorts - some dress shorts - my best dress shortsleeve shirts - my best lightweight long trousers - various other pieces of clothing, including outerwear I didn't think that I would be wearing my best clothes on the ship so I packed them up in extra-large-sized ziploc bags and put them at the back of my storage compartment. However, after a few days of working on the ship, I put practically everything back there as well. It turns out that living on a working ship is very hard on clothes, and I expect to throw out everything that I wear every month or so. Everything on a sailing ship is basically dirty in some way or other. It's not that the ship isn't kept clean, as there is constant cleaning, but the maintenance of a ship requires everyone to get really dirty. First of all, there is tar. The rigging is made of steel, and to protect it from the salt air and water, every steel cable (i.e., the shrouds that support the masts) is constantly painted with Stockholm tar. The same goes with the ropes strung across the shrouds. Every time you go up the rigging, you are going to encounter fresh tar somewhere, so it gets all over your hands, legs, and any piece of clothing that happens to touch it. It doesn't seem to come out. There there is grease. The masts are greased because the upper topsail, the t'gallant, and the royal yards slide up and down. So, if you have to go aloft to loose or furl a sail, you can get covered in grease. And then there is linseed oil. Any wood that isn't varnished, which includes the entire deck and the fife rails (rails around the fore and main masts to which the the running rigging of the course sails are belayed) are oiled. So your clothes are now oily as well as greasy and covered in tar. And finally there is paint. Because this is a steel-hulled ship, it is constantly being painted to prevent it from rusting away. You start from one end of the ship, and when you reach the other, you go back and start again. If you were at home, you would be tempted to just throw everything in a hot water wash with lots of detergent every day. The problem here is that there are no washing machines and limited fresh water. So, here is how you do laundry: Get a large tote (large solid plastic storage basket) and dump your clothes in it. Add some sea-water-dissolvable soap (which is usually dishwashing liquid) and several buckets of salt water that you get from over the side. Let soak for a day. Take your sandals off and stamp around in the tote as if you are crushing grapes. Wring out the salt water and drain the tote. Fill it again, add some soap and go at particularly bad stains with a scrub brush; at this time you will notice that for some reason the first process just added some inexplicable rust stains. Wring out the clothes and rinse in more sea water. Do one more sea water rinse, followed by a fresh-water rinse. Hang to dry. As you can imagine, this takes a lot of time, in fact about an hour and a half if you have an average load. Therefore, you get used to wearing dirty and smelly clothes and praying for a laundromat when you get ashore. The only consolation is that everyone else is in the same situation so you don't care. 8:32:05 PM

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