Pickle Relish, Boston, and The Laz

5/24
I am headed out for a summer on the Schooner Harvey Gamage. After signing off the Picton Castle I spent a week catching up with friends (not nearly enough time) and family (even less time). I did my best to make the most of my short time ashore, but my apologies to all, as I did not get to spend the amount of time with all my loved ones that they deserve. That’s life, I suppose. Never enough time to spend a day or so with everyone.
While home I was able to take in all the staples of Kansas City in May: barbecue, Winsteads at the Plaza, McCoy’s in Westport, and even a Royals game. I’m not a real baseball nut, but Kaufman stadium is a beautiful ballpark, and seeing the Royals always brings back memories of being a kid. Fittingly, I went with two longtime friends, Tim and Elliott.

Probably the finest picture of me ever taken in the history of anything.

One of the more exciting happenings at the game, besides Mike Sweeney’s two-run homer or Zach Grienke’s 1 2/3 scoreless innings to clinch the game, was the hot dog race. It’s a masterpiece of idiocy, and loaded with the same kind charm as a toddler wandering nude into his parent’s social gathering. People dressed as giant hot dogs, each wearing a red, yellow, or green hat that represented ketchup, mustard or pickle relish respectively, ran a foot race from the foul pole in right field to home plate. The crowd was electric. Relish won.

I also made it to a baseball game in Oklahoma City last Saturday. Being only my second day back in America, it was one of the more intense “welcome back to America” moments. We were bombarded with advertisements relentlessly, and mini exhibitions between each inning meant to entertain. Periodically a notable Oklahoman like American Idol star Carrie Underwood or the governor would come on the JumboTron and deliver a heartfelt message to the troops overseas, saying words like freedom, and sacrifice, noble, and proud. Immediately following one of these tributes, the governor’s I think, with the screen still fading out, the P.A. system starts blasting with the Funky Chicken.
Also at the OKC Redhawks games is a cannon that shoots t-shirts (even weirder, at Kaufman in KC there is a bazooka that launches hot dogs into the crowd). Having just come from spending nearly three months either at sea or in a third world country (Dominca), It was strange to think that some very rich, powerful people got together and had a meeting in which they discussed seriously the need for a cannon that shoots wadded up t-shirts (or hot-dogs for that matter). In Dominica, conversely, when they get the wealthy and powerful people in a meeting together I have a feeling they would probably rather discuss their need for, say, an economy. The wonders of civilization: ceaselessly amazing, frequently dumbfounding.
Also, the word is out about what we were doing for those two months in Dominca. Officially, I can divulge somewhat openly without fear of a $5 million lawsuit. We filmed the new CBS reality show, “Pirate Master.” It is intended to be the next Survivor, and it is basically the same formula, just put in the context of a pirate adventure rather than a bunch of strangers moping around on a beach.

Of particular interest to me was one of the 16 contestants. Former Kansas City Chief running back, Christian Okoye, was onboard as a “pirate,” and I was thrilled. I had little fireworks go off inside me every time I got to show him something about sailing the ship or told a joke that made him laugh. Just seeing him haul on a line or heave on the windlass was a trip because you got to see just how big and strong he really was. I can’t imagine ever having to tackle him. He is huge. My friend Erin called him “Gigantor.” To cap it off, I got to sit and talk with him for 20 minutes or so at the end of everything, and he is a really nice guy. The ten year-old kid in me was on cloud nine while I talked football with one of the biggest football legends in KC history.
All in all, it was a pretty cool experience. The show airs Thursday, May 31st, on CBS. I want everyone to watch it and see the ship. She looks awesome. She legitimizes the whole pirate theme. If not for the Picton Castle, the show would lose a lot of its cool-factor.

5/25
My first day on the Gamage is over. Spent the morning doing ships laundry in a Laundromat here in Boston. The remarkable thing about Boston is that everything is historic. There is a plaque on every third building saying “Alexander Hamilton had tea here once,” or “Benjamin Franklin got drunk here a lot” (which, honestly, could be posted all over Boston and Philadelphia with reasonable confidence).
Historicity Saturation Exhibit A: We are docked where the famous Boston Tea Party took place so many years ago.
Exhibit B: Boston Harbor still brown.
Exhibit C: While walking from the Laundromat to a convenience store for a bevvy (beverage), I happened past the Old North Church where the signal was lit which sent Paul Revere on his famous ride, inspiring an equally famous song by the Beastie Boys. Boston really is a cool place, though. I have hoofed through a good bit of downtown, and the whole place has a very unique, cool feel. Though I’m sure it’s a tough place to navigate. Thankfully I have always been shepherded around by savvier crew mates when on shore
In the afternoon I overhauled the blocks on the main sheet and fore throat halyard, greasing the sheaves and pins, and rubbing linseed oil into the wood. One of the blocks had been worn down so severely it had to be fortified with a good deal of epoxy, which I then sanded and filed down into proper block shape. All in all good day’s work. Tomorrow I am going to clean out and organize our aft storage space known as the lazarette, or “laz” for short.
I am looking forward to this summer. The crew is friendly and enthusiastic without exception, always a good work environment.
Below is a picture of the Gamage I took about eight years ago while on the Lettie G. Howard. It gives a good idea of what the rig of the ship is like (schooners are vastly different than barques), besides, it’s one of my proudest pictures.

Dominica to Charleston

4/28
Today we set sail from Dominica to Martinique, about 30 miles away, going to pick up 20 new trainees for the passage back to the U.S. All are glad to see Dominica disappear behind us. It is a lovely island with lovely people, but a change of scenery is a bit overdue and we are glad to be sailing again. We were escorted on our departure by a small pod of dolphins under our headrig.

As we were approaching the north side of Martinique, a bit of a squall blew through and I was at the helm. Guiding the ship through the foam-capped swells with warm wet needles stinging my face, I looked over the ship, at her rigging, her crew, even the small details like the turk’s head woven around the kingspoke on the wheel, and was for a moment overwhelmed with emotion at being onboard such a powerful thing created wholly for crossing seas, crew included. It’s good to be here.
Bittersweet, we had to leave our friend Rudolph behind on Dominca. He was our driver while ashore, and accompanied us everywhere we went. He is a wonderful man with a fantastic laugh and an extremely generous demeanor and we were sad to say goodbye. We presented him with some parting gifts, hugs and tears. For the past week he has been telling us how badly he will miss us, and we all feel the same. He really has been a great friend and the promise of a reunion makes any return visit to Dominica that much more exciting. On the bright side, the cricket world championships are today and he will get to sit at home and watch every bowl without any calls from us for a run into town or to Trafalgar falls.
One of the things I have gotten to enjoy with so much time ashore here has been the introduction to cricket. I have watched a few matches and though it is not my sport of choice, it is fun to be able to talk cricket with the locals, Rudolph and Donald our Grenadine cook especially.
Also in the sports world, today is the NFL draft and I am missing it. I can’t remember the last time I missed the NFL draft. I am fairly disappointed, but at least I have a good excuse. I am glad that my sailing off-season will coincide with the football season. The prospect of missing football season is not a happy one, and I will make sure to take in as many games as possible this year because who knows what I will be doing next season. I try not to think about it too much.
The Chiefs have been going kind of crazy this off-season, from what little I can tell. Re-signing Donnie Edwards (yes!), trading Dante Hall (sad, but probably a good move), and uncertainty regarding the futures of Trent Green and Jared Allen. I hope we draft a cornerback. DeAndre Jackson from Iowa State is a good choice… please? Also, still holding out for some blockbuster trade for Seneca Wallace. *sigh*
Well, that’s enough sports for this sailing blog. Thanks for indulging me. Probably a post draft entry on the way as well, but I won’t apologize. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so I confess to nothing.

4/31
Disappointed with the Chiefs’ draft. Hopefully they know something I don’t, but in the typical second-guessing-sports-fan fashion, I doubt it.

5/2
Left Martinique yesterday afternoon after the last of the new trainees arrived, about 12 in all. Martinique is a beautiful island. It is a part of France, and hardly any English is used, so I was always at the heel of a French-speaking crewmate. With a Picton Castle voyage to Europe being planned for next year, and my tentative hopes to be crew for it, I am certainly lacking no motivation to learn some fundamental bits of the language. Despite the barrieaux l’Francais (sic? Probably…) I enjoyed the afternoon I got to spend on shore. Nice cheeses and French baguette are always good even if you do need someone else to order it for you.

We are making about seven knots on our way to Jost Van Dyke, a part of the British Virgin Islands. The ship has some friends in Jost who, not surprisingly enough, manage establishments that specialize in the sale and distribution of strong spirits, cold beers, and (so I am told) some of the world’s most magical pina coladas. I have also been told that it is impossible to stay sober while on Jost, but bear in mind that the person reporting this could probably say the same about a Good Friday service. I will do my best.
We will be there for four or five days, and since the island is also known for its fantastic diving spots some of the crew and I are planning on taking a SCUBA dive outing.
Today I got my first lessons in celestial navigation from Doc, a retired heart surgeon and our ship’s physician. He is an avid sextanteer, and the second I mentioned I was interested in it he was emerging from below with his almanacs and sextant and (not kidding) a textbook for me. It has been so far all that I had hoped it would be. It is a method that, though still very mysterious, is not nearly as much today as yesterday. I am beginning to grasp just how to use the mathematical tools and plug each cog into its appropriate slot, but the theory behind the geometry is still a bit beyond me. Today we took a noon sighting of the sun, and my measurement turned out to be just over ten minutes of latitude off, which Doc assured me is very accurate. So far so good. We will do another sun plot this afternoon and hopefully some star sightings at dusk. From those plots of latitude Doc says we will be able to calculate our longitude. It is a totally fascinating experience, simultaneously cross-eyed-complex and then stupid-simple.
In a more personal note: I took a shower today. Haven’t done that for a few days now, and I needed it. My hair is getting long and sun-bleached, and all the funny little curls tend to get tangled and make shampooing a lot more interesting. Being on a ship does weird things to one’s hygiene sensibilities. Before, I couldn’t start or finish a day without bathing at least once. Now, any more than once every three days and I feel like a diva. Not sure why that’s pertinent to the blog, but it struck me today and I wrote it, and I am the one with the password anyhow, so there. Now the whole world knows the condition of my armpits.
Peace out.

5/8
Left Jost today. It was about the epitome of what someone thinks about when imagining the Virgin Islands; restaurants and bars right on beaches with sand so white and water so clear you have to wade out 20 feet before it starts to turn turquoise. For the five days we were in the BVI’s, private yachts would come and go, passing us by with their necks craned, all with the same fascinated/awed/slightly terrified expressions pasted across their faces. They cruise around on their (mostly) rented yachts rigged for convenience and come up on our black hulled monstrosity with shrouds coated in only slightly more tar than the crew, and rigged with time tested traditions and hand-worked materials.
One group of yachties (that what they are called around here) came by in their motor boat and asked for a tour. We obliged and I, right out of the rigging after tarring the shrouds on the mizzen mast, was apparently a suitable exhibit for one of them as he raised his camera and proceeded to photograph me. He kept his distance and didn’t address me once, though I probably didn’t make myself a welcoming presence, snarling pirate-like and posing as he clicked away. Even to my crewmates, the combination of sweat, tar and dirt on me and my work-clothes was remarkable, so to this man of bread-dough flesh, caterpillar moustache, Bermuda shorts, floral shirt and bright red cap, I may have been some degree of horrifying.
A funny thing as well, after putting baby oil in my hair to rub out the tar that had dripped, my hair sat on my head with enough shaggy greasiness to impress even the most downtrodden of vagrants. As the work day ended and cold beers were unveiled, another skiff-full of yachties intrepidly approached. At the prodding of my crewmates, I stood on the rail, bottle of Red Stripe in my left hand, shook my raised right fist, and screamed a guttural barrage of gibberish that brought laughter from my mates and an about-face from the oncoming skiff. Inhospitable, unprofessional, bad P.R. and probably the wrong move, but a lot of fun and enjoyed by all (including the chief mate, to my relief).
I didn’t get to do any diving, but it is a small regret. My time on Jost was an absolute blast, hanging out with crewmates, eating fantastic food (crab cakes, conch fritters, and pepperoni pizzas: all amazing) relaxing on the beach, swimming, talking, swinging on the tire swing at Ivan’s Stress Free Bar (a place where there is a fully stocked bar, but no proprieter; drinks are poured and paid for on the honor system), and dancing at Foxy’s till ridiculous hours.

Our last night we anchored off a small island called Sandy Cay, privately owned by a friend of Captain’s, and had a bonfire. It was the perfect way to cap off our time in the Caribbean. We sat and talked, played guitar, and watched as some of the more energetic of us lit up palm fronds and took off running down the beach, followed by a floating trail of orange embers. As the night wore on, many of these palm frond frolics were accompanied by glowing white butts as well.
Sad to go, but I am excited for the next stage. Always a good place to be in life: loving where I am, and loving where I am going. Hopefully I can keep it up.

5/9
Today on my watch, the 4-8 watch, we were greeted by the proverbial red sunrise, and the omen, though not too dramatically, was fulfilled as we spent the entire day running before squally weather, with warm rains dampening us as soon as we had dried off from the previous one. We steered Northwest all day. The wind is coming just over our port quarter, only a couple points off of a straight run. We are making about six knots, which is pretty nice speed for this ship.
Sunset was spectacular. The western sky, though mostly cloudy, was lit up in neon pink so brilliant that it could make one wonder if instead of sending Jesus to come from the heavens and redeem the faithful, God had sent Elvis. Of course, if one did wonder that, one would be a moron. I took about 20 pictures. Here are some of the better ones:

5/14
Today I was tired. Last night we held one of the Picton Castle’s traditional Sunday night marlinspikes. A marlinspike, named after the rigging tool, is a party held normally every Sunday but due to our strange schedule we only have had two previous in the past two-and-a-half months. What happens at a marlinspike? We make a few jugs of rum-punch, loads of popcorn, turn on the stereo, and dance on the hatch. Since we were underway, though, the rum punch was imbibed with much greater moderation. The theme of last night’s marlinspike was “goodbye tropics, hello Charleston.” Most people dressed either southern/white trash, or tropical (one lady, Mary Ann, a spirited 69 year-old trainee and one of my favorite crewmates, chose to dress as a Bedouin man, complete with sharpie-goatee and sharpie moustache. I went more the route of greasy redneck. Mission accomplished. I shaved my beard into handlebar moustache and big chops, greased my hair, and wore a torn-up tank top and ratty boxers. The others confirmed that I looked right out of a shanty in the boonies. The girl on the right is Nadia, one of the other deckhands, tropical themed.

By lunch, however, the handlebars and chops were gone, death by Gillette, to the disappointment of some and applause of others (including me, which is why I did it in the first place). After shaving, I went to my bunk, slept till lunch, ate, then slept till my watch at four. I was worn out from all the dancing the night before (not from rum-punch, I was on watch for the rum part of the party) and a long workday prior as well. Not to mention the giant water fight we had yesterday afternoon, spraying each other with fire hoses and dumping buckets of sea-water on the unsuspecting. It was a fun way to cool off, as the previous few days were really hot. The day before yesterday we had what is called a “power shower.” We hung a fire hose from the main shrouds and everyone got in their bathing suits and lathered up. Also a lot of fun. Thankfully, today was nice and cool; warm sun with a slight chill in the breeze.
We are pretty well settled into our routine now for the passage. I wake up every day at four AM and am on watch till breakfast at eight. Our watch is responsible for daily deckwashes, polishing the brass, and various other cleaning projects. One of my duties is to make sure to fill the captain’s log and plot our position on the charts at every hour. I really like the chart work. Navigation is a part of sailing that is really exciting to me.
I’ve been doing a lot more of the celestial navigation as well. I am starting to get the hang of it. The process is getting more and more familiar every day, and I am beginning to field the questions of other curious shipmates.
The puppies are getting big. They don’t fit under the vegetable lockers as easily as before, and from time to time get stuck in things they used to breeze through. Right now their favorite game is called “Is This Food?” Normally they lose.
We are just west of Great Bahama Island, about to come north and catch the gulf stream current which we will ride up into Charleston, just a few days away. It has been a great trip so far, and I will be sad to leave the ship, but hope for a return as soon as possible.

5/15
Big seas yesterday and today. Eight foot swells, 20 knot winds, half the crew sick. I am having fun though. Last night a very big wave crashed over the starboard side of the fo’c’sle-head deck and came in through the fo’c’sle hatch, flooding two bunks and dampening most of the rest. Lucky for me, my bunk only got a splash. The two forward-port bunks however were completely drenched. Logan, in the upper port forward bunk, looked as though he just crawled out of the ocean when he rolled out of his bunk. Not a nice way to wake up in the middle of the night.
We arrive in Charleston on Thursday, and I am not ready to go, though I am excited about seeing my family, the promise of a couple days in Kansas City, and then the summer as a deckhand on the Harvey Gamage, the ship of my inaugural voyage at sea.
Even if it was only for a week, the short time I spent on the Gamage in the summer of 1997 was a life changing one for me, and I am excited about the promise of sharing a similar experience with all the other young voyagers who come on board this summer.
Most of our time has been various ship work and maintenance, getting the Picton Castle pretty for the tall ships festivals. I am gaining confidence with my celestial navigation abilities, and even trouble-shooting the calculations myself when something doesn’t come out right. I’m not an expert yet, but if I needed to do it to save my life, I think I might actually manage it.

5/18
Well, the trip is over. I am in the airport waiting for my flight to Kansas City. I am sad to go. Very sad. Consolations come from the upcoming endeavor on the Harvey Gamage, and the near certainty that I will be back with the Picton Castle as soon as possible. I think this ship may be my sailing college; a ship I can always go back to with the assurance of becoming a better sailor and having an absolute blast with one of the most skilled and fun crews in the world. For now, though, the rest and barbeque will be a welcome treat before my next step. Thanks to all from the Picton Castle, and I look forward to reporting my new experiences in youth training onboard a very different yet equally magnificent ship. Holy cow, how did I get into this gig? I mean, with my journalism degree, I could be writing obituaries or formatting police blotters for a local newspaper right now! Maybe I should take this week off to rethink some things.
Maybe not.