A Blue Glow In the Fog of the North Atlantic

It’s Wednesday morning, early. Our second day out of Lunenburg. The sun is not up, and the only sign that it might rise today is a slight lightening in the east of the heavy grey fog that envelopes the Pride of Baltimore II. “A” Watch is on deck. We’re all dressed for the cold and damp. My butt leans against the rail as I talk with Jill, the boat’s Chief Mate.

Here I am on a six-week trip with a crew of mostly 20-something-ers. Being with young folks is exciting and invigorating for a 60-something-er like me. Yes, I’m married, but no, I haven’t shut my eyes and mind to the world. I’m still attracted to beauty, on whatever and on whomever I can see it.

I’ve easily become friends with Jill since the POB2 set sail 10 days ago. She’s an international affairs graduate of Boston University who’s both articulate and athletic. She’s also good looking, a fact I noticed even before setting foot on the deck back in Baltimore.

But, I’m married. To another beauty, Mary Ann, who captured my attention and heart the instant I saw her 30+ years ago. And I’m plenty old, 65 at the time of my voyage in 2012. That’s nearly 40 years older than Jill and most of the other crew.

But chemistry is chemistry, so what am I going to do? I can’t help but be enchanted by her. She’s everything I’m attracted to in women – besides beautiful, she’s smart, adventurous, ambitious, fun-loving and unafraid to put herself into a position of authority.

Back to that early morning watch in the north Atlantic. Butts on the rail, Jill and I are talking a little. But not much. She’s wearing a blue sweatshirt with the hood up and a ball cap under her hood. I say something, or maybe she does. In my left peripheral view, I see a blue glow surrounding her face. I’m spellbound. Oh shit! What do I do with this? I walk away, or maybe she does.

OK, I know. Blue sweatshirt, foggy morning, what little light is coming from behind her on a wooden sailing ship on the North Atlantic. A hallucination? Maybe, or maybe it's just, “You see what you want to see.” But that’s beside the point. Life is filled with mysteries and wonders. I know, because I just experienced another one.

Not to put too fine a point on this, but I fell in love with Jill that morning. Falling in love is not something to get too exercised over. Humans do it all the time, if they let themselves. People can’t help but to fall in love with other people. It’s rewarding and it’s also taxing. For me, my chemistry told me I wanted something (someone). But my intellect said, “Hold on there, sport.” Ahh (Achh), longing!

Unfortunately, now I’m preoccupied by my experience with my butt on the rail. Fortunately, nothing is going to come of this. Not just because I’m happily married, for we all know what even happily married people can talk themselves into. And age-discrepancy hasn’t always stopped men in the past. But it stopped me. When I found out how old (young) Jill was at her birthday party the previous weekend, the wind went out of my wistful sails. Knowing her age allowed me to look at her with new eyes, like a daughter (which I don’t have), or a daughter-in-law (of which I have two). I'm enchanted.

The blue glow is still in my mind from earlier this morning. It did not dissipate and I still have five weeks left aboard the POB2. Fortunately, the boat is still pretty cool, the crew a delight, the scenery terrific, and I’m in a space where mysteries and wonders still happen. It's amazing out there!

(Most fog pictures from Google Images, except a couple which are by ship/watch mate Erin C…Thanks)

On To New Brunswick

Sunday morning, May 26^th, 2013. Preparing to leave Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. I appreciate spending the last three days here, but it’s time for the Pride of Baltimore II to leave for Miramichi, New Brunswick, to our first tall ship festival of the cruise. We have four days to go approximately 400+ nautical miles. We have a late muster and I am ready to be on the North Atlantic again.

Captain Trost explains our intended course at the morning muster. Two days sailing on the N. Atlantic, then cut through the Canso Straight into the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Northumberland Straight, then to Miramichi Bay by Friday afternoon.

Shortly after noon we’re off. We raise most of our sails only to take them down after an hour. The little wind we had has diminished, and it’s coming from the wrong direction – directly on our bow. We start the diesels – the POB2 is obliged to be at the tall ship festival.

“A” Watch’s 4PM watch is mostly un-eventful, the wind has increased to the point that we can raise sail again. Shortly after the watch begins I learn a new lesson in boat protocol:  It’s cold so before our watch begins I pack a small thermos of coffee into my pants pocket. (Truthfully, I don’t need cold weather to pack coffee for the afternoon watch.) I was at the chart table in the aft cabin, where the captain and the first and second mates have their cabins. I was looking at charts with Jill, curious about our course. But on climbing the ladder out of the cabin, my thermos slips from my pocket and clatters down the ladder and onto the cabin sole.

Oops…I had been warned before that we were supposed to be quiet in the aft cabin because the captain is often sleeping there in the afternoon. All of the watch leaders have been instructed to wake the captain anytime day or night when there is a significant change of conditions – any substantial change of wind direction or speed, raising or lowering sail, unexpected boat traffic, anything out of the ordinary. I was a little skeptical of the need for all of this waking of the captain, but Jill tells me a boat truism – “That captain sleeps best who knows he’ll be awakened through the night.” So I’m embarrassed when a sleepy-looking Captain Trost comes out of his cabin and tells Jill to make sure everything is secured because something is clunking around up here. Luckily flogging has been outlawed by most navies.

After our watch, it’s a late dinner and then into my bunk. Reading, some drawing (i.e. doodling), writing in my journal and then lights out. By this time, the wind has picked up and decent swells, kicked up by the wind, have arrived on the stern of the POB2.

Soon the boat is rocking lengthwise, bow to stern. And I am treated to another north Atlantic phenomenon – being rocked to sleep, like that proverbial baby. I usually have difficulty sleeping, often taking Ambien, a prescription sleep medicine. But not tonight. The sound of the wind. The rocking of the boat. I am out. It’s like I’m on a very slow rollercoaster, with each plunge to the bottom pressing me deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

Saturday in Lunenburg

Saturday morning, May 25th  

Before seeing the sights of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, it’s time to reconnect with home, meaning Mary Ann. She and I have often taken separate vacations in our 25+ years of marriage,

but these 6+ weeks on the Pride of Baltimore II will be the longest. So far, my trip has been less than a week.

These past five days have been a struggle, a challenge for my body, because of dealing with long term fatigue and pain. These days have also challenged my ability to control my own behavior. (I know; this sounds a little dramatic.) I grew up in the 1950’s working class, Midwestern U.S. - well entrenched in the work ethic of the time and place – meaning, that if you see someone working at something, you don’t just watch, you pitch in and help, guest (crew) or not. Then of course, there’s vanity that says, “I’m as strong as these young pups!” For the past five days I wasn’t able to control my actions, i.e. to not act like I was 30 or 40 or even 50, to accept that I was 65-years old. And I was paying the price. I asked myself, “I really love sailing and the ocean, but why am I doing this?” No obvious answer.

Back to Mary Ann. I call her late Saturday morning. The sound of her voice surprises me – the familiarity of it, the family-ness of it. Too worn out, and in the midst of an ordeal, the sound of my mate moves me to tears. My emotions come rising up from their murky depths. The phone call helps, immensely.

Saturday Afternoon.  

I check out Lunenburg while the crew and most of the guest crew holystones the deck. Except they use oil and brushes, instead of holystones like in the British navy of old. For me, it's a café. After too much coffee and too much internet, I walk through town. Captain Trost was right, Lunenburg is a great place. Great boats in the harbor, great architecture, and no franchise stores.

Saturday night.  

Mark, our cook not only serves plenty of good food, he also makes a birthday cake for whenever a crew member has one. Today is our First Mate Jill’s birthday. After dinner, after the galley is cleaned, it’s movie time aboard the POB2. No black and white 16” screen here, someone brings out a very large flat-screen which was stashed somewhere aboard. Since Jill is the birthday girl, she gets to select the movie. 

“Election” starring Reese Witherspoon and Mathew Broderick, about an election for a high school class president. I expect to not like it and retire to my books and my drawing. (Because, you know, I’m 65, and not close to being a high-schooler.) But I do watch it and like it. An excellent evening. A terrific end to a taxing week.  Here's what I saw in Lunenburg:

Bonus Postscript:

Bluenose was a fishing and racing schooner built in 1921 in Lunenburg. She displaced 258 tons and was 143’ long overall. It had a beam of 27’ and a draft of 16’.  The schooner carried 10,000 sq. ft. of sail and her mast height was 126’ The vessel had a crew of 20 and cost $35,000 to build.

After the 1921 fishing season on the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, Bluenose competed in the 1921 International Fishermen's Trophy race off of Halifax, where she defeated the American challenger Elsie. The following year, Bluenose defeated the American challenger Henry S. Ford, this time in American waters off Gloucester, Massachusetts. And in 1931 Bluenose defeated another American entry, Gertrude L. Thebaud. All this winning (especially against the Americans) made Bluenose a provincial icon for Nova Scotia and an important Canadian symbol in the 1930s. She served as a working vessel until she was wrecked in 1946.

A replica, Bluenose II, built in 1963, uses Lunenburg as her home port. Alas, she wasn’t there when the POB2 called in May, 2013.                                             (Thanks, Wikipedia!)

The boat on the stamp of the top of this post is the original Bluenose.

Lunenburg, Nova Scotia

Sometime on Thursday a rumor starts floating around the Pride of Baltimore II. We are east of Boston sailing almost due north, pointed towards Nova Scotia. Our next destination is the cut between Nova Scotia and Cape Breton Island. The rumor is that we might stop at Lunenburg before approaching Cape Breton.

Lunenburg is not on our itinerary, but we are ahead of schedule and there is kinda sort of a storm somewhere in the North Atlantic, that we could, you never know, run into.

So by Friday Captain Trost decides that we had better get into safe harbor, quick. We let the Canadian maritime officials know we want to add a destination to our trip. Before leaving Baltimore earlier in the week the POB2 had to file a float plan with the maritime officials of both the U.S. and Canada and any deviation from it had to be approved. We let the Canadians know and they allow us to enter. Captain Trost says the storm is serendipitous because Lunenburg is a cool, historic port town, and he thought that the crew should see it, or at the very least enjoy a break from the rigors of sailing a 185-ton wooden schooner.

Lunenburg has been long involved in Atlantic fishing. Originally Lunenburg was a Mi'kmaq (the original inhabitants) encampment for fishing, trapping and clam harvesting. In the 17^th century the site became a Mi’kmaq and Acadian (French and French/Indigenous people) village for nearly a hundred years before the British forced them out. The English had been concerned that too many French Catholics were in the area and that more Protestants were needed. The English landed nearly

1450 settlers, along with a contingent of 160 regular soldiers, in the Lunenburg area without negotiating with the Mi’kmaq. Needless to say (but I will) the area was soon nearly all English.

The village of Lunenburg was officially founded in 1753 by the British who established fortifications in the harbor and laid out a rectangular grid of streets paralleling the harbor. Since then fishing off the

Newfoundland banks has been the primary occupation of the harbor. It was also a center for the building of wooden sailing/fishing ships. The United Nations (UNESCO) declared Lunenburg a World Heritage Site in 1995. It is considered to be the best surviving planned British colonial town in North America.

On Friday afternoon around dinner time, we dock next to the Fisheries Museum of the Atlantic. I’m glad to be

stopping here, not just because the port promises to be interesting but also because I’m spent. Four days at sea with all the tugging on lines has taken the oomph out of me. As an added benefit of Lunenburg, there’s no watch needed at night, so no getting up at 3:30AM.

On Saturday morning we have a late muster. Jill, the Chief Mate, assigns tasks for the regular crew – checking the rigging, making small repairs, cleaning this and that, and the biggest job, oiling the deck. The guest crew is released for the day, but Jill asks if any of us want to volunteer to help oil the deck. Several do. I decline and feel like a slacker.

To ease my guilty conscience, I go ashore to find a café with a wireless internet connection. Coffee and the internet – a place to reconnect with family and friends, and drink lots of coffee. What more could a sailor want in the daytime?

Young Crew of the POB2

Here’s the regular (as opposed to the guest) crew of the Pride of Baltimore II as we left Baltimore harbor in May of 2013:          

                  

This crew, except for the captain and cook (both 35 – 45+/-), were all in their 20s on this voyage to the Great Lakes in 2013. The oldest was Jill, the Chief Mate, who turned 27 on the first week of the trip.

Aside from nephews and nieces at weddings and reunions, I hadn’t spent much time with young people. (Offspring don’t count.) I lived aboard the POB2 with these 20+ers for 6+ weeks. By the second or third day of the trip I started to see general characteristics of the crew emerge.

First I noticed that they were willing and eager to share their knowledge of how to manage boat operations – from how many time to wrap a line around a winch, to which line is the jib sheet (a sheet is a line is a rope), to which line is to the topgallant brace. The did this without emotion or hesitation (considering our age difference) and with the clear eyes of teachers who want their students to actually learn something.

They were adventurous, funny and hard working. When there was a call for “All hands on deck”, they came running. When there was a heavy line to tug, they did it with enthusiasm, and humor – often singing out with sea chants or silly ditties that is a part of tall ship heritage. Thorough in their work and proud of it, they were professionals. All were in decent physical shape, some in extraordinary shape.

I didn’t hear any back-biting or gossiping while aboard the POB2. Nor any complaining. Even when a crewmember had galley duty (doing the dishes, scrubbing the floor and cleaning the heads, the toilets) they did it in the same manner as when they were on deck controlling the helm.

They were a family, in the best sense of the word. They looked out for each other and Captain Trost looked out for them all. He took them to the port of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, just because it was a cool, interesting port. He got tickets to a Toronto Blue Jays (baseball) game and took a bunch of crew with him.

I asked Jill if most tall ship sailors were like this crew? Yes, mostly. And why were they like this? Because they loved what they were doing, and what they were doing was exciting, useful and adventurous. Because they were mostly free spirited and relatively unafraid of life.

These people don’t become sailors for the money. Jill said if someone wanted more material things in life than a cell phone, a computer and a little beer money then sailing tall ships wasn’t for them.

Tall ship sailors take their job seriously because it is a serious job. Safety and even life hangs in the balance. The ocean is neither benevolent nor malevolent – it can swallow someone with as much indifference as when we inadvertently step on an ant while walking down the sidewalk.

These tall ship sailors were/are exceptional. It was a pleasure to experience the ocean with this little sub-culture of young people.

Wearing Sails

Wednesday 5/22/2013

On that first morning at sea, I awaken from a post-watch nap, drink some coffee and bring out my sketchbook and markers. It’s more therapy than art, a way of loosening my mind into a swirl of curves, spirals and colors.

At noon “C” goes on watch and “A” becomes standby. Shortly after this, Captain Trost calls for a course change and for “A” Watch to come on deck to help with the required sail changes. We will have to wear the sails, that is, move the sails and spars from the port side to the starboard side while the helmsman turns the boat through the wind. The direction of the wind has not changed, so as the boat turns to a

more northerly direction the wind shifts from the starboard to the port side.

Easier said than done, of course. The wooden boom and gaff for the mainsail are large and heavy. So is the canvas – no nylon or carbon fiber on the POB2.

But...ingenious as humans are, they have invented and perfected devices to aid in the hauling and tugging. And on the POB2 they don’t require fossil fuel, only muscle power. Winches, pulleys and levers are all over the boat to aid the sailors. Still, the tugging isn’t for the faint-hearted.

Showing the crew that I am a competent guy I tug and haul with the rest, all the while knowing that I will pay that night. I don’t care – better to be sore than to be considered something less than a full participant in sailing the POB2.

I don’t have to wait until night to pay for my pride. I don’t remember how long it took to wear the sails, but when the POB2 is pointed northward, and the sails are trimmed properly, I’m so spent my legs buckle and I fall to a crouch. Luckily no one seems to notice, and more luck, Erin does notice. She tells me to go below. But I “man-it-up” and tell her that I will after I tell Jill. (This is boat protocol; the watch leader needs to know where her charges are.) Jill is below at the chart table with the captain, talking navigation business. Again lucky for me, Erin doesn’t buy my manliness. She goes below and tells Jill that I’m going to my cabin. And I do, muchly grateful for Erin. While resting in my bunk, the event weighs on my mind. I’m quiet during our evening watch.

That night I’m more than sore.  Immediately after our post-watch dinner I retreat to my cabin.  Completely depleted in body and spirit, tears from the exhaustion flow out.  I moan into my pillow, “I can’t do this”, and “I can’t make this all the way to Cleveland.”  The tears are not from any particular saddness, only from a body in much pain and completely exhausted.

Luckily my cabin-mate, Mark, a computer consultant from New Jersey, is on the watch immediately after mine, so I have the cabin all to myself.  Even knowing that tears are only the relieving of internal distress, I can’t let anyone see my collapse.  Gotta always be the capable, “can do” Bob.

More luck – by our morning watch, I am sufficiently restored. Thanks to modern medicine and the north Atlantic.

The Slanted Deck

Wednesday 5/22/2013

 

To my surprise sleeping in a bunk on a boat tilted to one side is not uncomfortable. The bunks have leeboards to keep the sleeper from rolling off. I simply rest my back against the leeboard or the side of the ship and sleep as usual.

I’m in my berth waiting for the 3:30AM wakeup call for “A” Watch. The Pride of Baltimore is tilted @ 15 degrees to the port side of the boat. (Port - left, starboard - right.) We were finally under sail somewhere in the Atlantic, east of the mouth of Delaware Bay. “B” and “C” Watch had raised sail sometime before midnight.

However, standing on a sloping deck is not easy, at least not in that first morning’s

darkness under sail. The boat is rocking as well as tilting. I can easily stand or walk around on the roof of a house with a 25 degrees slope with no problem. But this Wednesday morning it’s dark and the deck is moving beneath my feet.

The other four members of “A” Watch are standing in a circle, unconcerned about the sloping deck. Jill Hughes, the First Mate, has formed our muster in a part of the deck where there is nothing to hold onto. Even Erin, the only other guest crew in our watch, has no problem standing with ease; she has sailed as guest crew before on tall sailing ships. Mid-muster I have to back away from the circle to a place where I can hold onto a part of the boat. A little embarrassing but it’s better than stumbling into someone, or worse, falling down.

Jill is explaining what is to be expected during our watch. I can’t hear all of what she is saying, except the most welcome part – not much is expected to happen in the next four hours. The wind is steady at @ 15 knots (@ 17 miles per hour) from the southwest. Our watch will continue to steer the POB2 due east for at least the next four hours. This means there should be no sail changes which means no hard heaving on the lines controlling the sails. The most work we’ll have to do is hose the wooden deck down to keep the wood moist. Moist wood swells and will keep it water tight.

The POB2 will maintain her easterly course even though a straight line from the mouth of the Delaware Bay to Nova Scotia, our first destination, runs southwest to the northeast, almost parallel to the direction of the wind. Jill explains that the POB2 does not sail well with the wind directly on her stern. With the wind directly behind, the boat will sail more slowly and there is also the chance of an accidental jibe. If the wind abruptly shifts and if the

person at the helm is not diligent, the wind could get behind the mainsail and slam the boom violently across the centerline of the boat. Such a situation could possibly be dangerous to life and/or limb, and it’s always hard on the sails and rigging.
So on this morning we are on the Atlantic. Neither the coast nor other boats are in sight. This is what I came for. Even though I’m a little worn out from the events of yesterday, I’m still thrilled to be here. The watch goes easy this morning, as expected. There is lots of time for gabbing with my watch-mates, and for just contemplating the ocean, and the sky. When the watch ends, we go below for breakfast; then I go to my bunk.