Today we set sail. It was my first time sailing on the Harvey Gamage since the summer before my 8th grade year, ten years ago. It was a lot of fun having some grasp this time around of the goings-on on deck and with the sails. I have enjoyed also my first day out with the kids. We have a group of sophomores from an all-boys school in Connecticut. They have a great energy, and love to growl and grunt every time we trim jib sheets or haul on halyards. They eat a lot too. One of them farts.
In the afternoon I got to spend a fair amount of time monkeying around on the main gaff tops’l, unfouling the tack and releading the brail. I started to feel fairly confident and good about myself after that, only to be sent up later to stow the same sail and struggling mightily, ultimately requiring the help of one of my compassionate crewmates who shuffled up the shrouds to show me how it’s done.It seems to be the way of a burgeoning sailor. Just when you are beginning to feel a bit of a hold on things, the ever punctual sea fates send along a lesson in humility and bid you take notes. Sometimes after these kinds of episodes, as I silently berate myself and hate my inexperience, I half expect to see King Triton from The Little Mermaid, in all his bearded glory, emerge from the swells with a dry erase board and diagram all the different ways in which I am an idiot. He would probably draw out a Venn diagram and say, “these are all the things you and good sailors do not have in common. Number one: can furl the main gaff tops’l on the Harvey Gamage. Number two: is a good sailor. These are all the things you and good sailors do have in common: smell bad, unkempt, dirty fingernails, no financial assets.” Thankfully, the good king was once again gracious enough to remain below the spumey ocean surface, tormenting me only psychically, and prior to this blog entry, privately. Now the whole world knows. I am followed around the ocean by a fictional cartoon merman king who likes to rub my nose in my mistakes. Hey, if Joshua Slocumb can publish serious accounts of his ship being steered by the ghost of the helmsman of the Nina, then I can tell about this. If I start seeing spots or talking to my neighbor’s black lab named Sam, then I will be worried. So far, though, nothing to report on those fronts.
After dinner I got to put my celestial navigation know-how to the test, offering a brief, 30 minute overview of the basic concepts. The kids all got to take sights of the sun, and I drew diagrams on a whiteboard. They are only on for four days, so we won’t have much time to go into depth, but the hope is that it piques their interest, and maybe in these short lessons they can find something that piques their inner salt and pulls them back to sea for more voyages.
As the sun was setting we came alongside fellow Ocean Classroom vessel the Spirit of Massachusetts. We zigged and zagged with each other for a short bit of fun, and finally pulled along her port side, the sky catching fire behind her at just the right moment. Pictures were taken.
6/2
Finished the first week of the summer. The kids were a blast. We only had four days together, but I got to have some really good conversations with some of them, and it was exciting to see some of the universal lessons that sailing can teach take hold in that short time. If my time on Picton Castle was comparable to my “sailing college,” being an absolute blast and shooting my learning curve through the roof, then my time with Ocean Classroom should prove to be more along the lines of my vocational sailing.
The past two days were spent doing maintenance here in New London, CT. It’s a nice little town on the northern coast of the state. The funny thing about small towns is that coastal ones are usually very nice. Inland ones, save for in the mountains, can be rather depressing. Though, maybe it’s just my bias showing through.
Pirate Master aired Thursday, and I missed it. I went to a bar in New London called the Roadhouse and turned on the TV just as it was flashing, “A Mark Burnett Production” on the tail end of the closing credits. I think they changed the times of the show, because my family almost missed it too. Fortunately, the earth continued spinning, and babies still laugh – especially babies who watch Pirate Master.
I have tonight and tomorrow off, so I am hanging out in Rhode Island with my Uncle Bert, Aunt Donna, and cousins Victoria and James. Should be a good time of fun, food, and laundry. (Internet, too, obviously)
I found though, if last week is any indicator, that I may not have as much time for writing while onboard the Gamage as I did onboard the Picton Castle. We will see how everything pans out, but I brought along a Writer’s Market and other freelancing and writing guides in anticipation of getting more serious with it. I am still working out the wrinkles of my new career as sailor/writer. I would like it to be somewhat balanced, but thus far it has been more SAILOR/writer.
At the very least, I am in a good predicament: how do I do all the things I love? There is never enough time. I know this is true because every time I say it in conversation with someone older and wiser than me they just shake their heads and give a weak laugh and a shrug. This is a good measuring stick. The more adamant their surrendering laugh, the deeper the following sigh, the more profoundly true the preceding statement. But it only works with profound or universal truths. Simply saying, “the prequels to Star Wars should never have been made,” though painfully true, will not trigger the same response.
Holy cow. This blog entry is quickly devolving into an exercise in tangents. I am tired. I varnished the jib-boom and repaired rigging all day. I am going to bed.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Though the outing was brief it was refreshing, like diving into cool water on a hot day – which is exactly what we did next.
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. 
