11/17
It’s been some kind of whirlwind here aboard the Picton Castle.
We left Cascais, Portugal, with a quick stop in the small town of Lagos, and made our way towards Mallorca, a Spanish Island in the Mediterranean. On the seventh of November we passed through the straits of Gibraltar and into the azure waters of the Mediterranean Sea. To our port was the famous rock, to starboard Africa. It was the first time I’d laid eyes on the gigantic continent. I took in the view, snapped a couple pictures, and then got back to work.
Another quick stop, anchoring next to a private island near Ibiza belonging to someone with more cash than architectural imagination. (Only one house there, might have been cool looking in 1982)
We wanted to really shine up the ship before coming into Mallorca. There were going to be lots of family and friends meeting us there, so looking sharp was key. We painted the entire topsides (the outside of the hull, not the wet part) in just one afternoon, among many other little jobs.
Then, once we arrived in Mallorca, the floodgates opened and the rivers of work and play converged with stunning violence. We sent down the mizzen topmast, my cousin Allison arrived literally minutes after this. I knocked-off work and we trekked away on bikes around the coast all afternoon, tapas for dinner, and a blues club very late into the night. When I arrived back at the ship, Donald was up cooking breakfast. Then work all day. Sister Katherine comes to visit from studies in Brussels. Bonfire at Nadja’s house, roasting sausages, guitar playing, singing, laughing, telling stories, catching up, relaxing. Cousin leaves the next morning. Then work all day again. Then another evening with sister and her two accompanying classmates from Brussels. Then a day off work, driving and seeing finally other parts of the island besides Palma, which is mostly big-city, party-central. Not really my scene.
The island of Mallorca has some beautiful little towns nestled away. We rented a car and stopped in three towns tucked inside coastal coves. Soller, Deia, and Valldemossa. Beautiful. Deia looked like concept art for a movie set, something Jim Henson would have liked, with stone dwellings lining the valley of a waterfall that cut through the village, all networked with timber walkways between patios. We stopped for coffee and watched the sunset over the mountains.
Then a last evening out with Katherine and her friends and my friends before she had to go. It has been a fantastic treat getting to see her and Allison while we were all in Europe. The long distance from family and friends that life seems to inevitably bring is weird and unwelcome, but the warm glow of reunions and the making of memories like these are superlative consolations
11/20
Squally weather since we left Mallorca. The wind’s been driving us hard; we’re screaming through the water. Trainees Gunner, Rich and Matt took a big wave down their coats while hauling on the starboard fore braces.
The wind piped up last night. I was called from my bunk to help get a stow on the t’gallants. Cold, wet, stiff canvas. Not easy stowing sail in those conditions. Drive down the highway, lean out the window, and origami some plywood. You’ll see.
11/22
Landfall at Gibraltar, capping our smartest passage so far. We had our best day’s run of the voyage yesterday, 156 nautical miles, and the day before we did 150. Though we’re hardly the Cutty Sark, it was pretty good for us. There’s a reason the Picton Castle slogans is, “We may be slow, but we get around.” It’s a strange place.
It’s a British colony, the gateway to the Mediterranean, home of the monolithic Rock of Gibraltar, the anchorage is littered with tankers and freighters, fueling or waiting for orders, the bayside is lined with pungent refineries and neon condominiums, and the city itself is comprised of Moorish and spansih stonework with a serious British veneer. English pubs, newsstands, double-decker busses, and a downtown jam packed with enough jewelry, clothing, and electronics stores to make you think for a moment maybe it’s some weird London borough, but then it’s pierced by a dirtbike buzzing down the road, a rooster tail of dust trailing, hanging in the air, and sun-baked adobe, Africans, Spaniards, Indians and every type of person in between. Plus they drive on the right-hand side of the road here.
This place has been a site of siege for over a thousand years. It’s been held under more queens than Christopher Lowell. Lord Admiral Nelson was killed near here at the famous battle of Trafalgar. Outside the old southern city wall is the Trafalgar cemetery, burial site of many British sailors who died from wounds sustained in the battle. The rock is more or less hollow now after centuries of military tunnels, and scattered with bastions, batteries, and abandoned towers, left behind by Spanish, Moorish, British, and American militaries.
At 10:00 AM, while walking through the city, I came to a square in the center of which were a dozen women, aged 50-99, dressed in pink, doing dance routines to Top-40 music.
Its identity crisis is its identity.
It’s a strange place.
11/26
Departed from Gibraltar. Weighed anchor, sailing off the hook, as they say, all canvas loosed, and wove our way out of the harbor amid the tankers and freighters, bound out to sea and headed for Africa! A square rigger leaving her anchorage by power of sail, past the noses of so many belching metal tubs, out from under the sour smog of the refineries, all with numbered days, our kites were flying signals that the sailing ship still prowls the seas. We’ve been catching wind for centuries, and we will still be long after all the petroleum sucking hulks have rusted out. The clockwork of the tradewinds will outlast any clunking contrivance, as long as the Earth keeps spinning.
Gibraltar turned out to be fun stop. At first I wasn’t impressed, though I think that was more from a desire to keep at sea for a while rather than stopping at another port. But Gibraltar was well worth it. There’s no where else on the planet quite like it. If you get a chance, you should see it.
On Monday, Mike and Nadja and I had a great hike up to the top of the rock. We found the famous Gibraltar apes, which are the only wild apes in Europe, and inhabit the mountainside like Central Park squirrels. They are notorious pickpockets and gluttons. The first one we saw assaulted Nadja immediately.
Then we made our way up to the top, to the mouth of some of the famous military tunnels, and a good view of our little barque out in the harbor. After that we meandered back down the rock to the ancient Moorish castle, erected in the 1300’s.
The evening we went to the local movie theatre, housed in a converted British fortress at the waterfront. One of the features was “Ghost Town,” featuring the theatrical support of Picton Castle shipmate Billy “Ollie” Campbell. He plays an uptight, wanker lawyer. It was his first movie since punching J-Lo in the face in “Enough” (A film for which he’s hinted a desire for a sequel). It was a funny thrill seeing our friend up on the big screen with Ricky Gervais, Greg Kinnear, and Tea Leoni. “Oh Lord! Please spare this man!”
I wanted to turn around and declare to the other four people in the theatre, “That guy had the Guinness-shits when he drove me to the airport!”
We’ve had a good work period here too. We changed out our braces, sent down and overhauled the fore tops’l footropes, and back up, and Buddy’s been cranking out sails like crazy. Since arriving in Mallorca he’s laid out and seamed up an upper tops’l, t’gallant, and inner jib, and nearly finished our new spanker.
We’re running westward now before a force 5, headed for Essaouira, Morocco, and hopefully warmer weather. It’s been cold here. The weather has been seriously unsettled here lately, and the forecasts conflicting, but the wind is fair so we are going to take it. We left this morning ready for bad weather, hoping for good, and taking what we get. Today it is a moderate easterly breeze.
11/28
The wind’s been shifty since leaving Gibraltar. Last night and this morning it seemed to have settled a bit, but two days ago it was as erratic and gusty as I’ve ever seen it, keeping us at the braces and sheets for nearly the entire watch. It would often make a full 360 degree shift, sometimes slowly, and sometimes within the passing of barely a minute, but always it had the helmsman on his toes. Even this morning it had been a nice and steady force 4, we had every stitch of sail set, and in the blink of an eye it piped up and came forward and we doused out kites.
We are having out Thanksgiving celebration today, on account of yesterday being so squally. Last night each watch was busy in the galley baking up desserts, and Donald has two big turkeys roasting in the oven.
11/29
Thanksgiving was fantastic. We had our feast in the salon, hove-to off the coast of Morocco, the lights of Casablanca glowing just on the horizon. All hands were present. Then we spent the next few hours with guitars out, making music and singing songs. Though the thought of a Thanksgiving away from family is a bit gloomy, the ship provides a unique sort of family, and it was in full bloom last night.
We remained hove-to for the remainder of the night, as the weather had been deteriorating, the wind increasing. Nobody slept much. The wind built to gale force soon after my watch, and I was on deck at points in the night to help secure flogging gear, and otherwise take in the spectacle of the howling wind and frothing seas.
This morning the wind had abated slightly, though it was still a steady force 7, and the seas were still very large, some peaking at 20 feet. At one point during our morning watch, a very small bit of diesel was inadvertently splashed on the deck, making a surprisingly large mess, and for nearly half an hour, as we scrambled to clean it up, scrubbing the area with degreaser and dish soap, the decks were transformed into oily ice. We were quite a sight for the helmsman, careening around the quarterdeck on our butts with deck brushes and pails of water in hand. I was almost constantly sliding into the mizzen mast and charthouse and Lynsey, scrubbing vigorously as I glided past the epicenter of the dribble. I felt like a hockey puck. After watch I slept like the dead until the dinner bell.
12/1
Arrived in Essaouira today. The beach is teeming with people on horseback and camelback, robed in dark, full length garments. It’s a cozy little seafront town of squat, white, Moorish buildings surrounded by a turreted stone wall.
It’s a busy fishing port here. They make their own boats in Essaouira of a distinct flavor. They’re beamy wooden tubs, with a steep, arching bow, the stem nearly as tall as the keel is long, designed to work in the large swells that are almost constantly rolling in. Essaouira is as close to a natural harbor within 500 miles. There’s a reason no one has heard of the Moroccan navy.
So, today, I begin my first explorations in this country, on this continent, to see a bit of Africa.
It’s been some kind of whirlwind here aboard the Picton Castle.
We left Cascais, Portugal, with a quick stop in the small town of Lagos, and made our way towards Mallorca, a Spanish Island in the Mediterranean. On the seventh of November we passed through the straits of Gibraltar and into the azure waters of the Mediterranean Sea. To our port was the famous rock, to starboard Africa. It was the first time I’d laid eyes on the gigantic continent. I took in the view, snapped a couple pictures, and then got back to work.
Another quick stop, anchoring next to a private island near Ibiza belonging to someone with more cash than architectural imagination. (Only one house there, might have been cool looking in 1982)We wanted to really shine up the ship before coming into Mallorca. There were going to be lots of family and friends meeting us there, so looking sharp was key. We painted the entire topsides (the outside of the hull, not the wet part) in just one afternoon, among many other little jobs.
Then, once we arrived in Mallorca, the floodgates opened and the rivers of work and play converged with stunning violence. We sent down the mizzen topmast, my cousin Allison arrived literally minutes after this. I knocked-off work and we trekked away on bikes around the coast all afternoon, tapas for dinner, and a blues club very late into the night. When I arrived back at the ship, Donald was up cooking breakfast. Then work all day. Sister Katherine comes to visit from studies in Brussels. Bonfire at Nadja’s house, roasting sausages, guitar playing, singing, laughing, telling stories, catching up, relaxing. Cousin leaves the next morning. Then work all day again. Then another evening with sister and her two accompanying classmates from Brussels. Then a day off work, driving and seeing finally other parts of the island besides Palma, which is mostly big-city, party-central. Not really my scene.
The island of Mallorca has some beautiful little towns nestled away. We rented a car and stopped in three towns tucked inside coastal coves. Soller, Deia, and Valldemossa. Beautiful. Deia looked like concept art for a movie set, something Jim Henson would have liked, with stone dwellings lining the valley of a waterfall that cut through the village, all networked with timber walkways between patios. We stopped for coffee and watched the sunset over the mountains.
Then a last evening out with Katherine and her friends and my friends before she had to go. It has been a fantastic treat getting to see her and Allison while we were all in Europe. The long distance from family and friends that life seems to inevitably bring is weird and unwelcome, but the warm glow of reunions and the making of memories like these are superlative consolations11/20
Squally weather since we left Mallorca. The wind’s been driving us hard; we’re screaming through the water. Trainees Gunner, Rich and Matt took a big wave down their coats while hauling on the starboard fore braces.
The wind piped up last night. I was called from my bunk to help get a stow on the t’gallants. Cold, wet, stiff canvas. Not easy stowing sail in those conditions. Drive down the highway, lean out the window, and origami some plywood. You’ll see.
11/22
Landfall at Gibraltar, capping our smartest passage so far. We had our best day’s run of the voyage yesterday, 156 nautical miles, and the day before we did 150. Though we’re hardly the Cutty Sark, it was pretty good for us. There’s a reason the Picton Castle slogans is, “We may be slow, but we get around.” It’s a strange place.
It’s a British colony, the gateway to the Mediterranean, home of the monolithic Rock of Gibraltar, the anchorage is littered with tankers and freighters, fueling or waiting for orders, the bayside is lined with pungent refineries and neon condominiums, and the city itself is comprised of Moorish and spansih stonework with a serious British veneer. English pubs, newsstands, double-decker busses, and a downtown jam packed with enough jewelry, clothing, and electronics stores to make you think for a moment maybe it’s some weird London borough, but then it’s pierced by a dirtbike buzzing down the road, a rooster tail of dust trailing, hanging in the air, and sun-baked adobe, Africans, Spaniards, Indians and every type of person in between. Plus they drive on the right-hand side of the road here.
This place has been a site of siege for over a thousand years. It’s been held under more queens than Christopher Lowell. Lord Admiral Nelson was killed near here at the famous battle of Trafalgar. Outside the old southern city wall is the Trafalgar cemetery, burial site of many British sailors who died from wounds sustained in the battle. The rock is more or less hollow now after centuries of military tunnels, and scattered with bastions, batteries, and abandoned towers, left behind by Spanish, Moorish, British, and American militaries.
At 10:00 AM, while walking through the city, I came to a square in the center of which were a dozen women, aged 50-99, dressed in pink, doing dance routines to Top-40 music.
Its identity crisis is its identity.
It’s a strange place.
11/26
Departed from Gibraltar. Weighed anchor, sailing off the hook, as they say, all canvas loosed, and wove our way out of the harbor amid the tankers and freighters, bound out to sea and headed for Africa! A square rigger leaving her anchorage by power of sail, past the noses of so many belching metal tubs, out from under the sour smog of the refineries, all with numbered days, our kites were flying signals that the sailing ship still prowls the seas. We’ve been catching wind for centuries, and we will still be long after all the petroleum sucking hulks have rusted out. The clockwork of the tradewinds will outlast any clunking contrivance, as long as the Earth keeps spinning.
Gibraltar turned out to be fun stop. At first I wasn’t impressed, though I think that was more from a desire to keep at sea for a while rather than stopping at another port. But Gibraltar was well worth it. There’s no where else on the planet quite like it. If you get a chance, you should see it.
On Monday, Mike and Nadja and I had a great hike up to the top of the rock. We found the famous Gibraltar apes, which are the only wild apes in Europe, and inhabit the mountainside like Central Park squirrels. They are notorious pickpockets and gluttons. The first one we saw assaulted Nadja immediately.
Then we made our way up to the top, to the mouth of some of the famous military tunnels, and a good view of our little barque out in the harbor. After that we meandered back down the rock to the ancient Moorish castle, erected in the 1300’s.
The evening we went to the local movie theatre, housed in a converted British fortress at the waterfront. One of the features was “Ghost Town,” featuring the theatrical support of Picton Castle shipmate Billy “Ollie” Campbell. He plays an uptight, wanker lawyer. It was his first movie since punching J-Lo in the face in “Enough” (A film for which he’s hinted a desire for a sequel). It was a funny thrill seeing our friend up on the big screen with Ricky Gervais, Greg Kinnear, and Tea Leoni. “Oh Lord! Please spare this man!”
I wanted to turn around and declare to the other four people in the theatre, “That guy had the Guinness-shits when he drove me to the airport!”
We’ve had a good work period here too. We changed out our braces, sent down and overhauled the fore tops’l footropes, and back up, and Buddy’s been cranking out sails like crazy. Since arriving in Mallorca he’s laid out and seamed up an upper tops’l, t’gallant, and inner jib, and nearly finished our new spanker.
We’re running westward now before a force 5, headed for Essaouira, Morocco, and hopefully warmer weather. It’s been cold here. The weather has been seriously unsettled here lately, and the forecasts conflicting, but the wind is fair so we are going to take it. We left this morning ready for bad weather, hoping for good, and taking what we get. Today it is a moderate easterly breeze.
11/28
The wind’s been shifty since leaving Gibraltar. Last night and this morning it seemed to have settled a bit, but two days ago it was as erratic and gusty as I’ve ever seen it, keeping us at the braces and sheets for nearly the entire watch. It would often make a full 360 degree shift, sometimes slowly, and sometimes within the passing of barely a minute, but always it had the helmsman on his toes. Even this morning it had been a nice and steady force 4, we had every stitch of sail set, and in the blink of an eye it piped up and came forward and we doused out kites.
We are having out Thanksgiving celebration today, on account of yesterday being so squally. Last night each watch was busy in the galley baking up desserts, and Donald has two big turkeys roasting in the oven.
11/29
Thanksgiving was fantastic. We had our feast in the salon, hove-to off the coast of Morocco, the lights of Casablanca glowing just on the horizon. All hands were present. Then we spent the next few hours with guitars out, making music and singing songs. Though the thought of a Thanksgiving away from family is a bit gloomy, the ship provides a unique sort of family, and it was in full bloom last night.
We remained hove-to for the remainder of the night, as the weather had been deteriorating, the wind increasing. Nobody slept much. The wind built to gale force soon after my watch, and I was on deck at points in the night to help secure flogging gear, and otherwise take in the spectacle of the howling wind and frothing seas.
This morning the wind had abated slightly, though it was still a steady force 7, and the seas were still very large, some peaking at 20 feet. At one point during our morning watch, a very small bit of diesel was inadvertently splashed on the deck, making a surprisingly large mess, and for nearly half an hour, as we scrambled to clean it up, scrubbing the area with degreaser and dish soap, the decks were transformed into oily ice. We were quite a sight for the helmsman, careening around the quarterdeck on our butts with deck brushes and pails of water in hand. I was almost constantly sliding into the mizzen mast and charthouse and Lynsey, scrubbing vigorously as I glided past the epicenter of the dribble. I felt like a hockey puck. After watch I slept like the dead until the dinner bell.
12/1
Arrived in Essaouira today. The beach is teeming with people on horseback and camelback, robed in dark, full length garments. It’s a cozy little seafront town of squat, white, Moorish buildings surrounded by a turreted stone wall.
It’s a busy fishing port here. They make their own boats in Essaouira of a distinct flavor. They’re beamy wooden tubs, with a steep, arching bow, the stem nearly as tall as the keel is long, designed to work in the large swells that are almost constantly rolling in. Essaouira is as close to a natural harbor within 500 miles. There’s a reason no one has heard of the Moroccan navy.So, today, I begin my first explorations in this country, on this continent, to see a bit of Africa.
6 comments:
your life is the best.
All this time between posts and you write about a big rock? You are slipping my friend. Your posh life is starting to go to your head. I don't think I know who you are anymore Ben.
OK, so I was exaggerating just a little with the first post. Very cool post. Its nice to learn a little about a part of the world that I had no idea about. Peace out buddy and watch out for pirates.
"It’s been held under more queens than Christopher Lowell."
Oh Ben, I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants. What an image!!
Thanks for all the great photos. I have saved some to try to interpret in fiber....
teri from chester
sometimes I think you are making all this up. I mean, really. Who lives this fantasy life? Wonderful.
And...I'm glad "Peter" mentioned pirates...because I've wondered. Have you had to fight any off? Sword fights? Cannons?
Ben, my friend, we were in Africa at the same time. But I was at the opposite end of the continent from you, in South Africa. But still . . . odd, eh?
Love the monkey pictures.
It's really good to catch up with you.
-auds-
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