Rigging, Tubing, and Rope-Swinging

3/7
The past couple days of work have been great. We have been bending on sails (hooking them up to the rigging), and I have been learning a lot. Yesterday I spent over four hours aloft in the rigging, 3 1/2 of those coming on the topgallant yards, the second highest up on the masts, about 70 feet up.
Am I scared being that high up, standing on a rope, leaning over a pole and working with both my hands? You bet. It’s scary as hell. But after a while I grew used to it and it was then only slightly terrifying.
We have been downgraded from two days and on two days off, to one on and off because the schedule is getting tighter, and it is easier to keep the idle crew on stand by if they are only off one day. There may be a chance that once we start our day-sails and the charter really gets rolling we won’t have a day off for a month, which would really suck the life out of this blog. I wouldn’t be surprised either, because all of this off time is really unusual for ship life, and they may be giving it too us as a preemptive break. Who knows. The Picton Castle crew is largely in the dark regarding the details of the charter, as long as we know where we need to be and when we are good, and the next month will take care of itself.

Tubing:
Today we were given a free tubing expedition down the largest river in Dominica. It was a 6km trip, the weather was perfect, the rapids were fun, and the water felt fantastic.
However it was not without its kinks. First of all, the tubes we sat in did not lend themselves well to the human body. They were giant, over-inflated inner tubes with plywood fastened to the bottom to fend off rocks from unsuspecting tailbones, and hold in urine from unsuspecting ignoramuses (me). Your head and feet are exposed, sticking out of the center, and you end up looking like your back end got sucked up into a giant vacuum cleaner. Your arms are completely useless. They provide a paddle, but all it is good for is thrusting yourself into a vertigo-inducing spin. We ricocheted from rock to rock with our heads flopping against the tubes like old tits. Admittedly, I am not the most agile or dexterous member of the human race, but this was a new low in physical confusion for me. These tubes could render even the most graceful ungainly and awkward. Michelle Kwan could sit in one and she would instantly become George Costanza.
The main damper on the trip, though, was the group from the cruise ship that was with us. There were about 40 of them, and they were a classic display of what is known overseas as “the ugly American.” They were loud, obnoxious, drunk, vulgar, rude, and generally acted like they owned the gig. I wish we could have eliminated all the life-vests and river guides because it would have been a spectacular experiment in Darwinism.
Their ringleader, a doughy guy with squinty eyes, was singing songs with words like (this is not made up) “drunk drunk drunk drunk drunk drunk drunk,” discussing the genitalia of various animals and of his friends, and shouting to his sidekick, a slightly older version of himself but with a less stupid face, whom he warmly referred to as Captain Dumb-Ass. He did all this in what to him probably was his 12-inch voice but was in reality his 12-daiquiris voice. Later on I had the unique pleasure of floating next to him. He started talking to me about having kids, and how I was still young, but he waited till he was 27 to have kids and now he has four.
“I’m 37 now,” he informed me.
“Oh really,” I replied, “I would have never guessed it.” I rolled my eyes.
His face lit up. “Thanks!” he belched. He was genuinely flattered, if only erroneously, as his surprised humility regarding his looks—hairline, wrinkles, jowls and the like, had coupled with the month’s ration of alcohol he’d probably had for breakfast to prevent him from considering that not his boyish good looks but his behavior might be a more effective disguise for a man supposedly raising four children and nearing forty years old. Judging by his conduct alone one could have realistically pegged him between 21 and sophomore in high-school.
After the ride we all headed to the tube station to rinse off, pack up, and load back into our buses. I avoided the mob that had surrounded the bar, was slurping down all the complimentary rum punch and conveniently missing the giant red TIPS canister. Stupid-face saw me alone, assumed it was just some oversight of mine, and ambled over my way for another conversation. He asked me what I was going to do when I was done with all this sailing stuff, and was shocked when I said I may never be done with it. He figured I would naturally be itching to come back and start living the good life like him. It was a fantastic signal to me that I am right where I want to be.

3/9
Yesterday, more work aloft. This time we were on the royal, the topmost yard, about 80 feet high. I have learned a lot about what it takes to bend on sails, and feel fairly confident in my abilities to do so again with minimal direction. I have learned a lot about rigging in the past few days, but I still have a long way to go. Two percent may be double of one percent, but it is still not very much.
One of the crew members told me she was jealous that I got to help bend on sails, a job she claimed to absolutely love. I apologized, but I think her enthusiasm, while I admire it, can only be reconciled with rationality by attributing it to her being a bit of a brown-noser. Not to say she is, she may indeed love it as much as she claims. But I, in all my love of the sea, and sailing, and ship work, did not love it. I didn’t mind it, but I didn’t love it either. I would equate it to painting the house or mowing the lawn. I don’t especially love doing those things, though they aren’t bad and do have some enjoyable qualities, I love the results. I love having the ship ready to sail, and I put my best effort to help make her that way, but by no means was it an exercise in pure bliss, though the time did pass quickly.What I love is feeling the strain on the rigging, and the speed of the hull through the water kick up when you sheet in, trimming your sails tighter, grabbing the wind and really running with it. No exhaust fumes, no motors, just whistling wind and breaking seas. That is what I love. And I do whatever it takes to make that happen, including acrobatics 80 feet up.
This morning we heard on the radio a local debate that has the Dominican government at a standstill. There is heavy pressure from both sides as to whether or not they should approve the installation of an oil refinery on the island. On the one hand, it would create jobs and be a boost to the economy. On the other hand, it would likely hamper tourism and the locals wouldn’t be able to exclaim “Lovely Dominica” quite as enthusiastically as before. If you’ve ever driven past a town with oil refineries, you know what I am talking about. The air is green, and the town has a powerful stink. Not too many people would be interested in visiting Dominica when she has transformed herself from pristine and largely unindustrialized island with green jungles and beautiful coral reefs to a stinky, hazy island, largely skipped over by cruise ships and divers.
Plus, judging from how many refineries have been shutting down in Texas and so, added to the upswing in alternative fuels, and it looks to be a temporary economic solution at best. I have to think, that despite its positive side effects, brining money into the economy and creating more jobs, it doesn’t seem worth the environmental impact and I’m not convinced that it will still be a booming business beyond 50 or so years. There has to be more creative ways of marketing the eco-tourism and relative un-commercialized feel of the island to create those same jobs and bring in that same money.
A lot of my thinking is shaped by comparing Nicaragua to Costa Rica. Nicaragua had the booming logging industry and such, and is now somewhat of a wasteland. Their neighbor, Costa Rica, stopped short of that industrialization, and catered to the eco-tourist, and has saved most their pristine jungles and wildlife and is a very popular location for adventurers and tourists. You can literally see the border between the two countries because on one side there is forest, and on the other side there is mud. Dominica seems to be facing a similar fork. (My two cents)
It’s interesting to hear about the local politics though. Not too different from what we hear in the states, either. Global warming, protecting the environment, and building economy at any cost—the blessings of civilization!
Also, continuing with the theme of Dominican current events, there has been a nasty little virus going around the island, and it has been ripping through the charter’s main offices downtown. We are working really hard to keep it off the ship, but it is tricky because the symptoms only show up AFTER you are contagious. It is airborne, also. It’s nothing too serious, but when the symptoms hit you are basically bed ridden with joint and muscle pain for two to four days.The funny thing about it is that it showed up on the island a couple weeks ago, coinciding with Venezuelan dictator, Hugo Chavez, who was visiting to build bonds between Dominica and warning them about evil dictatorships and empires. I assume he meant us, but he could have also been making a joke and referring back to himself as well. It’s funny though because Chavez is generally reviled in America and upon coming to Dominica, where he is welcomed in goodwill, he ends up making them sick too. He seems to have the same affect on enemies and allies alike. But then I suppose subtlety has never been a strength of his.

3/10
Today was a day for naturalists. This morning, while aloft furling sails, we saw a pod of dolphins come to check out the ship and they hung around for about an hour, playing, and even once leaping completely out of the water (Of course, that was only AFTER I had put away my camera). I took a dozen or so photos, but these are the best ones:

Then tonight at about seven o’clock I spotted in the black seas a huge school of small blue fish with one or two flashing white with electricity here and there, twisting and throbbing in a defensive maneuver. Sure enough, a few moments later, a massive fish, about four or five feet long, shot through the frenzied school and snatched a mouthful. I could see its counterparts circling below. It was a dance between predator and prey I had seen many times on the Discovery Channel, but seeing it in person was far more satisfying.
I also had my own personal encounter with the way of nature in the form of pecking orders. Today I had a few brain farts, nothing of consequence, just minor breaches in common sense. But I caught heat for it all. Not serious, but enough to know that I needed to do better, and was being watched. Though, rest assured, I didn’t do irreparable damage to my career. The first mate and I had a good laugh about it later on in the evening. I think those things are things that never stop, it’s just that as you put in more and more time, you have fewer and fewer people ready to come down on you for slight missteps. Although, at some point, I hope that ship-sense becomes common sense, and I can do better to avoid those dumb little mistakes.

3/15
I’ve been here for nearly a month now, and today has been the best day so far. This morning we rose at five and set off for a quick sail, all our canvas set. The weather was nearly ideal, with a clear sunrise over the island and friendly trade-winds to scoot us along through capping seas.

Though the outing was brief it was refreshing, like diving into cool water on a hot day – which is exactly what we did next.
On the Picton Castle we have a device called a rope swing, and what it is is a rope hanging from the end of the fore-course yard, and you swing on it. It’s a blast. We swam and played in the water for a good piece of the afternoon before breaking into watches and dividing up for time on shore of which I am the recipient of none (though no big deal, as our mooring will allow plenty of time for reading and writing which is mostly what I do on days off anyhow).
Some pictures of me going off the rope swing:

Nadja, Deckhand:

John, Deckhand:

Finn, Assistant Engineer/Deckhand after getting caught on a mooring line:

It was funny because that happened right after we were telling Fredrick, a new crew member, how easy it was, and that he had nothing to worry about. Then Finn, one of the seasoned veterans on the ship, takes a turn. Just as he is hitting the bottom of the swing the ship strains against the mooring and the line rises out of the water taking out the slack, hitting him right in the stomach. He was fine, but Fredrick was a bit discouraged. Though, to his credit, Fredrick took a turn on the swing and did fine. Thanks to Katie for taking those pictures.

Things with the charter are beginning to get into full swing and start officially tomorrow, causing bit more of an obstacle to my already irregular access to internet.