12/30
December is once again set to yield power back to January, its unwavering usurper, and we find ourselves at the end of another year. Looking back over 2007, I can’t escape the feeling that this has been one of the more important years in my life. With all that’s happened and that I’ve experienced, the innocence and ignorance of childhood seem as far off as ever, and adulthood has managed to tighten its lasso around my ankle.
It’s been an emotionally charged year for me: elation as I helped usher good friends into marriages, the mournful celebration of another friend’s life, heartbreak, as much pain and joy as I have ever experienced, all accompanied by the steady thrill of life as a mariner – life seasoned with salt.
It’s interesting how this year of so much change and uncertainty will be followed by a year that promises very little of either, as my fate is more or less outlined in the itinerary of the Picton Castle’s trip across the north Atlantic. Not that I am complaining.
It’s been a year of coming full circle as a sailor. I spent the summer sailing as crew onboard the Harvey Gamage, the same ship where I first fell in love with seafaring as a kid. On top of that, while getting some formal marine safety training last month and found that the man with the beard sitting next to me was the captain of the Harvey Gamage that same week when I was there ten years ago.
I have found this year that life at sea augments all of the traits in me that I knew existed, yet hadn’t really been tested: commitment, courage, leadership, and selflessness. If life on a tall ship can’t bring these out in you, then you don’t have them. For my part, I was pleased to meet them.
With all that came in 2007, I am excited to see how 2008 will follow the act, just so long as it is without all the bummer stuff.
Right, I resolve to never have sad things happen in 2008...?
But seriously, you just can’t ring in the New Year with realism. Have you ever tried to party with a committed realist? It’s awful. Nothing but talk of gas prices, or the fact that Walt Disney was anti-Semitic, or that Iowa State will never field a national championship football team. No no, I will ring in the new year with the most unrealistic expectations possible. My friend the realist would call that “hope.”
November 22, 2007
Tricky Weather
11/21
Today was a great day, warm skies, no rain, ideal for working aloft. It’s a welcome patch in what has been maddeningly topsy-turvy weather here. The amount of work that has to get done aloft in the ship’s rig before winter was becoming overwhelming.
The weather teases us.
Sometimes it teases me by shining the warm sun, nudging my way a pleasant little morsel of autumn wind now and then, and I think, “what a perfect day for going aloft to do this three hour job I’ve been needing to do!” Then, five minutes into my work, a gang of thick, mud-and-steel clouds surround the friendly sun and pounce. I presume they do so with a snicker. The wind picks up, the temperature drops, and with their cruel, uncanny precision, the same thugs that jumped my workmate spit sleet or stinging snow flurries at me. My exposed hands, gripped around the shrouds, go numb. I finish the job. Why? Because I am a sailor, not a sally. Though I do generally go into the furnace-warmed galley for a thaw by hot cocoa afterwards.
Three times now this conniving atmosphere has greeted us with warm sun and gentle breeze serving as flimsy façade for the incoming gale or a hurricane, and we are forced to waste the nice weather, instead buttoning down docking gear and making sure we are secure for the storms. Then, the next day, bright and sunny again, to tease us as we work cleaning and repairing the damage done by the devious douche-bag weather systems.
The rest of the time: drizzly.
But not today.
Today was clear. There is the promise of storms tomorrow, but nothing so Biblical we needed to drop our work and get to preparations. Today we chalked off nearly half the list of the work that needs to be done aloft before the freeze of winter and all the snow and ice come and take tenement here for the next months.
The days have been ticking away louder and louder as the calendar pulls us closer and closer to that time, and work has been slow, and the list has been looming.
Most days, of the three deck crew, I am the only one working aloft. The others are doing things on deck and in the warehouse that also must get done.
But not today.
Today we had visitors, old friends from past voyages here to say hey, and eat our food, and buy us rum and beer, and help out with the dishes, and reminisce, and tell new jokes, and – ghasp! – help with the ship’s work! There were three of us aloft today! We packed sheaves with grease! We sealed up the wire stays! We downrigged weatherworn and unused bits of rigging! It was a very exciting time. At the end of the day, the entire foremast was ready for winter’s worst, leaving only the main and mizzen masts, which don’t have quite so much that need to be done. Ryan made pork chops for dinner, I made important steps towards getting my necessary certifications, the work aloft has a significant and happy dent, I am covered in the glorious, barbecue-smoke-and-wood-chip-scent of pine tar, Shackle and I shared some beautiful black rum, I took a hot shower, and I will sleep well tonight. A great day.
Today was a great day, warm skies, no rain, ideal for working aloft. It’s a welcome patch in what has been maddeningly topsy-turvy weather here. The amount of work that has to get done aloft in the ship’s rig before winter was becoming overwhelming.
The weather teases us.
Sometimes it teases me by shining the warm sun, nudging my way a pleasant little morsel of autumn wind now and then, and I think, “what a perfect day for going aloft to do this three hour job I’ve been needing to do!” Then, five minutes into my work, a gang of thick, mud-and-steel clouds surround the friendly sun and pounce. I presume they do so with a snicker. The wind picks up, the temperature drops, and with their cruel, uncanny precision, the same thugs that jumped my workmate spit sleet or stinging snow flurries at me. My exposed hands, gripped around the shrouds, go numb. I finish the job. Why? Because I am a sailor, not a sally. Though I do generally go into the furnace-warmed galley for a thaw by hot cocoa afterwards.
Three times now this conniving atmosphere has greeted us with warm sun and gentle breeze serving as flimsy façade for the incoming gale or a hurricane, and we are forced to waste the nice weather, instead buttoning down docking gear and making sure we are secure for the storms. Then, the next day, bright and sunny again, to tease us as we work cleaning and repairing the damage done by the devious douche-bag weather systems.
The rest of the time: drizzly.
But not today.
Today was clear. There is the promise of storms tomorrow, but nothing so Biblical we needed to drop our work and get to preparations. Today we chalked off nearly half the list of the work that needs to be done aloft before the freeze of winter and all the snow and ice come and take tenement here for the next months.
The days have been ticking away louder and louder as the calendar pulls us closer and closer to that time, and work has been slow, and the list has been looming.
Most days, of the three deck crew, I am the only one working aloft. The others are doing things on deck and in the warehouse that also must get done.
But not today.
Today we had visitors, old friends from past voyages here to say hey, and eat our food, and buy us rum and beer, and help out with the dishes, and reminisce, and tell new jokes, and – ghasp! – help with the ship’s work! There were three of us aloft today! We packed sheaves with grease! We sealed up the wire stays! We downrigged weatherworn and unused bits of rigging! It was a very exciting time. At the end of the day, the entire foremast was ready for winter’s worst, leaving only the main and mizzen masts, which don’t have quite so much that need to be done. Ryan made pork chops for dinner, I made important steps towards getting my necessary certifications, the work aloft has a significant and happy dent, I am covered in the glorious, barbecue-smoke-and-wood-chip-scent of pine tar, Shackle and I shared some beautiful black rum, I took a hot shower, and I will sleep well tonight. A great day.
November 8, 2007
Big Winds and Reality with a Sneeze
11/3
Yesterday, though the skies were blue and the weather was warm, we could see the front edge of the approaching hurricane Noel, a milky, thin layer of clouds sliding up from the south. This morning the skies are dark and squally. The weather service is predicting sustained winds of 75 knots, gusts up to 90.
The past two days we have spent working to button down the ship and dock in anticipation of the storm. Dock lines have been reinforced, sheds have been hammered shut, and the small boats have been pulled out, resting well up on shore. We all sit, below decks, eating cereal and watching cartoons, ducking our heads up occasionally and monitoring the skies and seas, patiently waiting for the hurricane’s arrival. We are all tense, but there is also a bit of electricity. For my part, as long as everything here holds safe and sound, I am fairly excited about the promise of the spectacle, and tentatively look forward to seeing just what Noel has to offer us.
11/4
Storm blew through. Didn’t quite reach the predicted gusts of 90 with sustained 75, but close enough; sustained winds of about 65 knots. Hardly any damage done to the ship, just some paint rubbed off, but lots of damage done to the dock here. Wave surge took out a large portion of the planks and 6x6 solid cross-spars at the near edge, including bits of the cement driveway. When it was blowing its hardest, waves were crashing up through the dock. The storm’s aftermath left pilings, covered in tires we had lashed on yesterday as protection, ripped off of the dock, victims of our 300 ton steel ship grinding against them. The tires protected us, but the massive wooden spars were not so fortunate, many now floating in the harbor like corpses.
The other ships in the harbor appear to be secure as well. One ship is gone; they had to motor away in the middle of the night because they dragged their anchor and were blown into the rocks. But this came as no surprise to us, as this ship is always so notoriously poorly anchored (a sure sign of lame seamanship). We were confident they would drag last night. The thing drags when someone at the far side of the harbor coughs too much.
We are all tired. None of us slept much, just a few winks. We were all on edge, ready to pop out of our racks the instant trouble came. We were called twice to adjust dock lines, and reapply broken or worn fenders and chafe gear, but thankfully no emergencies. It did get to a point though where, if it had worsened any, Captain would have had us abandon the scene altogether.
Today it is calm and sunny, and the tropical storm has left behind some warm air. The dark steely ceiling has been replaced by a dome of blue, spotted here and there with white cotton puffs.
11/5
Work today was mostly repairing the damage done and refitting what was damaged or lost. Another bit of weather is supposed to make its way here late tomorrow or sometime Wednesday. Terrific
11/6
Gale is here. It had been working its way in all day. I was aloft when it started blowing, and I came down, frozen to the bone. I was not outfitted for cold, overcast, and windy, and when you are 50 feet up, the wind blows quite a bit harder.
I had my first curling lesson tonight. In short, it’s an absolute blast, totally a social game, but enough physical exertion to keep you energized. I went with Maggie, the ship’s purser, and Kjetl, (pronounced kind of like Shyetle, but we all call him Shackle because it’s easier and he doesn’t laugh at us), the other deckhand here for the winter (also, he’s from Norway). More on curling to come.
11/7
One of our main priorities before winter really kicks in here is to get the topmasts painted. The primer we’re using is an aluminum paint that, when it dries, becomes solid metal. The fumes are remarkable. My eyes crossed a bit when I cracked open the can. So I donned a breathing mask, and set up for the project, looking a bit like Darth Vader’s other-other long lost child. I felt pretty bad-ass when I caught sight of my reflection in a porthole, but then I sneezed. Life.
Yesterday, though the skies were blue and the weather was warm, we could see the front edge of the approaching hurricane Noel, a milky, thin layer of clouds sliding up from the south. This morning the skies are dark and squally. The weather service is predicting sustained winds of 75 knots, gusts up to 90.
The past two days we have spent working to button down the ship and dock in anticipation of the storm. Dock lines have been reinforced, sheds have been hammered shut, and the small boats have been pulled out, resting well up on shore. We all sit, below decks, eating cereal and watching cartoons, ducking our heads up occasionally and monitoring the skies and seas, patiently waiting for the hurricane’s arrival. We are all tense, but there is also a bit of electricity. For my part, as long as everything here holds safe and sound, I am fairly excited about the promise of the spectacle, and tentatively look forward to seeing just what Noel has to offer us.
11/4
Storm blew through. Didn’t quite reach the predicted gusts of 90 with sustained 75, but close enough; sustained winds of about 65 knots. Hardly any damage done to the ship, just some paint rubbed off, but lots of damage done to the dock here. Wave surge took out a large portion of the planks and 6x6 solid cross-spars at the near edge, including bits of the cement driveway. When it was blowing its hardest, waves were crashing up through the dock. The storm’s aftermath left pilings, covered in tires we had lashed on yesterday as protection, ripped off of the dock, victims of our 300 ton steel ship grinding against them. The tires protected us, but the massive wooden spars were not so fortunate, many now floating in the harbor like corpses.
The other ships in the harbor appear to be secure as well. One ship is gone; they had to motor away in the middle of the night because they dragged their anchor and were blown into the rocks. But this came as no surprise to us, as this ship is always so notoriously poorly anchored (a sure sign of lame seamanship). We were confident they would drag last night. The thing drags when someone at the far side of the harbor coughs too much.
We are all tired. None of us slept much, just a few winks. We were all on edge, ready to pop out of our racks the instant trouble came. We were called twice to adjust dock lines, and reapply broken or worn fenders and chafe gear, but thankfully no emergencies. It did get to a point though where, if it had worsened any, Captain would have had us abandon the scene altogether.
Today it is calm and sunny, and the tropical storm has left behind some warm air. The dark steely ceiling has been replaced by a dome of blue, spotted here and there with white cotton puffs.
11/5
Work today was mostly repairing the damage done and refitting what was damaged or lost. Another bit of weather is supposed to make its way here late tomorrow or sometime Wednesday. Terrific
11/6
Gale is here. It had been working its way in all day. I was aloft when it started blowing, and I came down, frozen to the bone. I was not outfitted for cold, overcast, and windy, and when you are 50 feet up, the wind blows quite a bit harder.
I had my first curling lesson tonight. In short, it’s an absolute blast, totally a social game, but enough physical exertion to keep you energized. I went with Maggie, the ship’s purser, and Kjetl, (pronounced kind of like Shyetle, but we all call him Shackle because it’s easier and he doesn’t laugh at us), the other deckhand here for the winter (also, he’s from Norway). More on curling to come.
11/7
One of our main priorities before winter really kicks in here is to get the topmasts painted. The primer we’re using is an aluminum paint that, when it dries, becomes solid metal. The fumes are remarkable. My eyes crossed a bit when I cracked open the can. So I donned a breathing mask, and set up for the project, looking a bit like Darth Vader’s other-other long lost child. I felt pretty bad-ass when I caught sight of my reflection in a porthole, but then I sneezed. Life.
October 27, 2007
Those pictures I promised, plus a video.
Life has been good so far. Lots of hard work. We turn-to at eight every morning, and end the day at five.
I love the sarcasm in this warning. This attitude of "please don't be an idiot" is a good example of the unassuming air and common sense inherent here in the maritimes. This would never pass in the states. Some bloated tourist with big-ass sunglasses would probably shrill, "we get a REWARD?" and then run into the water only to be smashed on the rocks and the subject of 1000 different law suits and 12 hours of Nancy Grace bellowing, "I don't care if they were just sitting there, someone should do something about those giant rocks! They do not deserve to be alive! They've clearly shown that!"
Also, here is video of just how windy it was that day. A pretty view of the coastline.
That's it for now. Not too much adventuring to do at present, but living the hardworking sailor life nonetheless.
Until next time.
One of the major perks of Canadian citizenship has got to be the socialized medicine. Well, though I am not a citizen here, I have enjoyed this perk. I threw my back out this summer and have been pushing through it ever since. One of my former shipmates, who is staying here in Lunenburg with us, works as physiotherapist in Bridgewater, a town just a few minutes away. Last week I cooked a delicious dinner of seared tuna steaks rubbed with chili and lime, served with wild rice, and in return asked only for her professional help on my aching back. She obliged.
She stretched and contorted my back, pushing on each vertebrae. "Does this hurt? How about now?"
My answers went like this: "no, no, no, no-YES-a little, no, no," etc. From there she had me lay down on the floor and administered my first session of acupuncture. It was weird. It didn't hurt, but when I moved, and one of my back muscles contracted, I could definitely feel the needles going down my spine. Weirder still was when she ran her fingers up and down the row of needles. It felt like someone was playing an upright bass that had been built with its strings embedded in my back. But, after fifteen minutes of this, the needles came out, and my back felt brand new. It still gets sore after the work day, but that is the just muscles -- a welcome change.
So, I promised pictures of Nova Scotia after blubbering about how nice it is here. Well, here they are. This first few are of the surrounding Lunenburg Harbo(u)r, basically what I look at every day.
This one is of the Dory Shop owned by Picton Castle. They make wooden dory's, modeled after the traditional fishing boats and other small watercraft by hand here.
The following are pictures of the town of Lunenburg, taken from aloft on the Picton Castle. A pretty picturesque town, I think. Can't wait to see it after the first snow, which will probably be sooner than later.
These next pictures were taken at Peggy's Cove, one of the more famous locations in the southern coast of Nova Scotia, about 45 minutes from Lunenburg. It was a windy, blustery, fantastic day.
I love the sarcasm in this warning. This attitude of "please don't be an idiot" is a good example of the unassuming air and common sense inherent here in the maritimes. This would never pass in the states. Some bloated tourist with big-ass sunglasses would probably shrill, "we get a REWARD?" and then run into the water only to be smashed on the rocks and the subject of 1000 different law suits and 12 hours of Nancy Grace bellowing, "I don't care if they were just sitting there, someone should do something about those giant rocks! They do not deserve to be alive! They've clearly shown that!"Also, here is video of just how windy it was that day. A pretty view of the coastline.
That's it for now. Not too much adventuring to do at present, but living the hardworking sailor life nonetheless.
Until next time.
October 20, 2007
Getting Back To It
10/10
On the road to Lunenburg, finally. I was three weeks between ships, and though the time was rich, I am poor. At least, poor-ER. With my ship-work winding back into action, so does this blog, and here I find myself knee deep already in my voyage back to voyaging.
As it was, I didn’t have enough money for a plane-ride to Nova Scotia, so I emptied my bank account and bought a Greyhound ticket. $73 to Montreal. That got me about half way. I didn’t really have enough for the rest, so I did some odd jobs and got some help from generous benefactors more commonly known as “parents,” and will not have to walk after all. Even still, I do not look forward to traveling to Nova Scotia in a bus.
My trip started, conveniently enough, where I was: Kansas City. Unfortunately, our bus arrived an hour behind schedule, and by our departure was an additional 12 minutes late. Our driver, however, more than made up for the delay. Not from keen driving, though. We arrived in St. Louis down another ten minutes.
Our bus driver was a commanding, middle-aged black woman named Annie. This is what she said to us as we embarked on our great Greyhound adventure:
“Ladies and gentlemen we do have some rules and regulation on this coach. first off, do not leave your bag on the seat next to you. I don’t care if nobody is sitting there; that is not your seat. If you would like to buy that seat, then I would be happy to take your money for the fare. I am all about increasing revenue for Greyhound.
Second, this is a non-smoking coach. No smoking on the coach, no smoking on the coach, no smoking on the coach.
Third, there will be no shout-outs. If you need to talk to me, then you may politely make your way to the front and I will politely answer you question.
These are the rules and reguluations. If you do not choose to follow these rules, then you choose to walk.
Also, I have one more announcement, ladies and gentlemen. We are currently 72 minutes behind schedule. Now I cannot promise that we will make up those 72 minutes, but what I can promise you, ladies and gentlemen, is that I will get you to St. Louis safely, OK? Have a nice day and thank you for going Greyhound.”
Scattered throughout the bus came timid cadences of, “you’re welcome,” from a few faint-hearted passengers.
Sitting across the aisle from me was one of the more interesting of my travel companions, a woman, early 60’s, in a motorized wheelchair, her left leg elevated.
“I shattered m’ kneecap,” she wheezed with a voice that was both smoky and cartoonishly high-pitched. “They started surgery here, but I’m headed out to Columbia where they got better doctors.”
She patted her swollen knee. “The wound’s still open. You can see all the hardware and stuff in there. All the tendons and stuff. It’s wide open.” She beamed with pride. I wrapped up my sandwich and put my lunch back in my bag.
“Only another ninety miles to go,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.
She told me a lot of things. Besides the knee bit, most of it I was glad to know.
She had won tickets to Super Bowl 27, sat in the lower level, and got to meet Mike Ditka.
Her mother was dying of cancer.
Her daughter was hooked on meth, and her grandson had been taken by the state.
This was the first of the two conversations I had during the three-day bus trip.
MY TIME ASHORE
It is good to be headed back to ship work, but my three weeks away was a very rich time.
Reunions with some of my favorite people in the world, weddings, and dancing at those weddings were the most fun, but perhaps the most important time was not a reunion or a wedding, but at a funeral, saying goodbye.
My friend Spencer died on Friday, September 28th. I was blessed with a chance to see him Thursday night. Spencer had been battling cancer for five years. Maybe even six. It’s hard to imagine it had been that long. He had had it for as long as I had known him.
He went through cycles of treatment, prayers, and remission. We went through it with him – at least, as best we could.
We sat there, that Thursday night, in the Green family living room; Spencer asleep in a hospital bed, his family and a few friends sitting around him. When he woke up we told him our names, and said we loved him, and sent love from others who couldn’t make it.
That night, saying “I love you” to a friend in his last few hours, I got a glimpse of God – the most crystal clear glimpse I’ve ever seen. Spencer’s family, his mother, father, and little brother, ministered to those of us there to visit our friend.His father and brother were telling stories and making us laugh, and his mother was offering us snacks, and asking us about what we were doing with our lives, and we all shared.
They were experiencing possibly the most painful thing they will ever face, and yet they were hopeful, and they were sharing their hope. They told us of something Spencer had said to them that afternoon, some of the last words he ever said.
He told his family, “I love you.” He told them each that he loved them. Then he asked them why they were crying. He knew he had nothing to fear in death. “I love you, and I love the Lord.” Then he added, “We all love the Lord.” He knew that he lived a life as fully as possible. He knew that he had lived out his faith. He knew that whatever the afterlife was, he could face it with unblemished confidence.
He lived and died with hope, delivered it to his family, and they in turn, through red eyes and broken voices, delivered it to us. It was beautiful. It was God.
Spencer’s funeral was perfect. I have never heard so much laughter at one before. It was a profound and intense celebration of a profound and intense life.
A rich time indeed.
10/11
5:00 P.M.
Just passed through Kingston, Ontario. I have been on the road now for nearly 30 hours. The first leg of the trip, despite being behind schedule, was full of promise; I had two seats all to myself, meaning I could lounge with my legs stretched out athwart-ships. This is key to surviving a long bus trip. However, the luxury was not built to last.
The first five hours notwithstanding, I have spent the entire trip imprisoned in these contemptible torture racks, these iron-maidens in sheep’s clothing, unfit for human use outside Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo, or some other place that rich liberals and college students pretend to care about when their reminded of it. I think that the only conceivable explanation for such shoddy (I’d like to buy a vowel and two T’s, Pat) bus seats is that they must be cast-offs from some ill-conceived chapter of the Lord of the Rings movies. I will send out a petition, and the rich liberals and college students will no doubt be enraged for a time – maybe even as long as until The Daily Show comes on.
The two hour leg from London, Ontario, to Toronto looked good for a bit, until my lounge was halved by a young Canadian man who turned out to be my second and last conversation of the bus-ride to Nova Scotia. He was a friendly sort of guy; a professional cook, had gone to culinary school, hated working at franchised restaurants, loved Led Zepplin, and was hungover. A nice guy, but he took up my leg room, and he hated football. A person can only stand so much.
So, I remained captive to my single seat, my knees jammed in the metal seatback ahead of me. When I wanted to move my legs I had to hit the side of my thigh with my fist several times in order to dislodge myself from this cruel compartment.
The countryside makes up for it, though.
As we head east, the scenery is simple but a pleasure nonetheless. The fall season is in full bloom here, and the bold colors of the trees are interrupted only by wide golden fields punctuated with a single barn, silo, or farmhouse. To our right we can catch an occasional glimpse of the Lake Ontario.
10/12
In New Brunswick now. Two and a half hours from Halifax. My friend Maggie, the purser of the Picton Castle, is meeting me there to take me the rest of the way to Lunenburg. I am excited.
I can’t wait to see my friends. The land is beautiful. The hills and valleys roll by, blanketed in a forest that’s exploding with autumn. Two and a half hours! What is two and a half hours? I’ve been traveling now for more than two and a half days! Though, right now, they feel about equal.
10/20
Finished with the first week of work. It has been varied, with no workday offering a repeat task. We’ve done everything from moving furniture, to replacing seams in the deck, to being filmed working and answering questions for a Japanese travel show. Eventually, though, I think we will settle into a nice maintenance routine. I’ve spent probably 3/4ths of my evenings at a local pub called the Grand Banker with crewmates, enjoying pints, laughing, and watching rugby. Invariably, at the end of the work day, someone wants to go, so we all end up going along to keep the person company. It’s not gotten old yet, though. Good company tends to stave off tedium as well as anything, I’ve found.
Fall has been nice so far, with some days warm, and some colder, but in all, this is beautiful country and beautiful coastline. Pictures coming soon, I promise.
On the road to Lunenburg, finally. I was three weeks between ships, and though the time was rich, I am poor. At least, poor-ER. With my ship-work winding back into action, so does this blog, and here I find myself knee deep already in my voyage back to voyaging.
As it was, I didn’t have enough money for a plane-ride to Nova Scotia, so I emptied my bank account and bought a Greyhound ticket. $73 to Montreal. That got me about half way. I didn’t really have enough for the rest, so I did some odd jobs and got some help from generous benefactors more commonly known as “parents,” and will not have to walk after all. Even still, I do not look forward to traveling to Nova Scotia in a bus.
My trip started, conveniently enough, where I was: Kansas City. Unfortunately, our bus arrived an hour behind schedule, and by our departure was an additional 12 minutes late. Our driver, however, more than made up for the delay. Not from keen driving, though. We arrived in St. Louis down another ten minutes.
Our bus driver was a commanding, middle-aged black woman named Annie. This is what she said to us as we embarked on our great Greyhound adventure:
“Ladies and gentlemen we do have some rules and regulation on this coach. first off, do not leave your bag on the seat next to you. I don’t care if nobody is sitting there; that is not your seat. If you would like to buy that seat, then I would be happy to take your money for the fare. I am all about increasing revenue for Greyhound.
Second, this is a non-smoking coach. No smoking on the coach, no smoking on the coach, no smoking on the coach.
Third, there will be no shout-outs. If you need to talk to me, then you may politely make your way to the front and I will politely answer you question.
These are the rules and reguluations. If you do not choose to follow these rules, then you choose to walk.
Also, I have one more announcement, ladies and gentlemen. We are currently 72 minutes behind schedule. Now I cannot promise that we will make up those 72 minutes, but what I can promise you, ladies and gentlemen, is that I will get you to St. Louis safely, OK? Have a nice day and thank you for going Greyhound.”
Scattered throughout the bus came timid cadences of, “you’re welcome,” from a few faint-hearted passengers.
Sitting across the aisle from me was one of the more interesting of my travel companions, a woman, early 60’s, in a motorized wheelchair, her left leg elevated.
“I shattered m’ kneecap,” she wheezed with a voice that was both smoky and cartoonishly high-pitched. “They started surgery here, but I’m headed out to Columbia where they got better doctors.”
She patted her swollen knee. “The wound’s still open. You can see all the hardware and stuff in there. All the tendons and stuff. It’s wide open.” She beamed with pride. I wrapped up my sandwich and put my lunch back in my bag.
“Only another ninety miles to go,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.
She told me a lot of things. Besides the knee bit, most of it I was glad to know.
She had won tickets to Super Bowl 27, sat in the lower level, and got to meet Mike Ditka.
Her mother was dying of cancer.
Her daughter was hooked on meth, and her grandson had been taken by the state.
This was the first of the two conversations I had during the three-day bus trip.
MY TIME ASHORE
It is good to be headed back to ship work, but my three weeks away was a very rich time.
Reunions with some of my favorite people in the world, weddings, and dancing at those weddings were the most fun, but perhaps the most important time was not a reunion or a wedding, but at a funeral, saying goodbye.
My friend Spencer died on Friday, September 28th. I was blessed with a chance to see him Thursday night. Spencer had been battling cancer for five years. Maybe even six. It’s hard to imagine it had been that long. He had had it for as long as I had known him.
He went through cycles of treatment, prayers, and remission. We went through it with him – at least, as best we could.
We sat there, that Thursday night, in the Green family living room; Spencer asleep in a hospital bed, his family and a few friends sitting around him. When he woke up we told him our names, and said we loved him, and sent love from others who couldn’t make it.
That night, saying “I love you” to a friend in his last few hours, I got a glimpse of God – the most crystal clear glimpse I’ve ever seen. Spencer’s family, his mother, father, and little brother, ministered to those of us there to visit our friend.His father and brother were telling stories and making us laugh, and his mother was offering us snacks, and asking us about what we were doing with our lives, and we all shared.
They were experiencing possibly the most painful thing they will ever face, and yet they were hopeful, and they were sharing their hope. They told us of something Spencer had said to them that afternoon, some of the last words he ever said.
He told his family, “I love you.” He told them each that he loved them. Then he asked them why they were crying. He knew he had nothing to fear in death. “I love you, and I love the Lord.” Then he added, “We all love the Lord.” He knew that he lived a life as fully as possible. He knew that he had lived out his faith. He knew that whatever the afterlife was, he could face it with unblemished confidence.
He lived and died with hope, delivered it to his family, and they in turn, through red eyes and broken voices, delivered it to us. It was beautiful. It was God.
Spencer’s funeral was perfect. I have never heard so much laughter at one before. It was a profound and intense celebration of a profound and intense life.
A rich time indeed.
10/11
5:00 P.M.
Just passed through Kingston, Ontario. I have been on the road now for nearly 30 hours. The first leg of the trip, despite being behind schedule, was full of promise; I had two seats all to myself, meaning I could lounge with my legs stretched out athwart-ships. This is key to surviving a long bus trip. However, the luxury was not built to last.
The first five hours notwithstanding, I have spent the entire trip imprisoned in these contemptible torture racks, these iron-maidens in sheep’s clothing, unfit for human use outside Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo, or some other place that rich liberals and college students pretend to care about when their reminded of it. I think that the only conceivable explanation for such shoddy (I’d like to buy a vowel and two T’s, Pat) bus seats is that they must be cast-offs from some ill-conceived chapter of the Lord of the Rings movies. I will send out a petition, and the rich liberals and college students will no doubt be enraged for a time – maybe even as long as until The Daily Show comes on.
The two hour leg from London, Ontario, to Toronto looked good for a bit, until my lounge was halved by a young Canadian man who turned out to be my second and last conversation of the bus-ride to Nova Scotia. He was a friendly sort of guy; a professional cook, had gone to culinary school, hated working at franchised restaurants, loved Led Zepplin, and was hungover. A nice guy, but he took up my leg room, and he hated football. A person can only stand so much.
So, I remained captive to my single seat, my knees jammed in the metal seatback ahead of me. When I wanted to move my legs I had to hit the side of my thigh with my fist several times in order to dislodge myself from this cruel compartment.
The countryside makes up for it, though.
As we head east, the scenery is simple but a pleasure nonetheless. The fall season is in full bloom here, and the bold colors of the trees are interrupted only by wide golden fields punctuated with a single barn, silo, or farmhouse. To our right we can catch an occasional glimpse of the Lake Ontario.
10/12
In New Brunswick now. Two and a half hours from Halifax. My friend Maggie, the purser of the Picton Castle, is meeting me there to take me the rest of the way to Lunenburg. I am excited.
I can’t wait to see my friends. The land is beautiful. The hills and valleys roll by, blanketed in a forest that’s exploding with autumn. Two and a half hours! What is two and a half hours? I’ve been traveling now for more than two and a half days! Though, right now, they feel about equal.
10/20
Finished with the first week of work. It has been varied, with no workday offering a repeat task. We’ve done everything from moving furniture, to replacing seams in the deck, to being filmed working and answering questions for a Japanese travel show. Eventually, though, I think we will settle into a nice maintenance routine. I’ve spent probably 3/4ths of my evenings at a local pub called the Grand Banker with crewmates, enjoying pints, laughing, and watching rugby. Invariably, at the end of the work day, someone wants to go, so we all end up going along to keep the person company. It’s not gotten old yet, though. Good company tends to stave off tedium as well as anything, I’ve found.
Fall has been nice so far, with some days warm, and some colder, but in all, this is beautiful country and beautiful coastline. Pictures coming soon, I promise.
September 13, 2007
Soul Selling? Not me! Probably! I Bet... I mean, It's Doubtful!
9/13
My time on the Harvey Gamage is coming to a close, and I am feeling the same feeling of reluctance to leave that I felt this May as my departure from the Picton Castle approached. The new crew is here, the ship is in the best shape she’s been for a long time, and all this plus the talk of the fall itinerary in the Caribbean make me sad to go.
But, just as it was this summer, I am excited about where I am going. I have not been able to escape this problem of loving where I am and loving where I am headed. It’s a terrible burden I bear, but if it is my lot, then I suppose I must accept it.
There is a big fancy motor yacht hauled out in the shipyard and we have gotten to know the crew a bit, and they are all good guys. We’ve gone out to some of the local Boothbay pubs and shared seafaring stories, and they buy most of the rounds because they get paid actual money, and then they offer us jobs and we squirm a bit because we know we are too young to sell our souls. It’s a nice motor yacht, and the crew is cool, but man… there’s nothing to climb up! There’s no tar! There are no sails! I think I would feel a bit nauseous every time I looked up from waxing the fancy teak decks and mixing mojitos to see a boat cruise past under sail with a tan and happy crew hauling on lines and getting rope burns and being screamed at by the captain and having their clothes ruined, and I would sit there in my khakis and white polo and feel sad inside. No, it will never happen. Unless I get into debt. Then, maybe.
My time on the Harvey Gamage is coming to a close, and I am feeling the same feeling of reluctance to leave that I felt this May as my departure from the Picton Castle approached. The new crew is here, the ship is in the best shape she’s been for a long time, and all this plus the talk of the fall itinerary in the Caribbean make me sad to go.
But, just as it was this summer, I am excited about where I am going. I have not been able to escape this problem of loving where I am and loving where I am headed. It’s a terrible burden I bear, but if it is my lot, then I suppose I must accept it.
There is a big fancy motor yacht hauled out in the shipyard and we have gotten to know the crew a bit, and they are all good guys. We’ve gone out to some of the local Boothbay pubs and shared seafaring stories, and they buy most of the rounds because they get paid actual money, and then they offer us jobs and we squirm a bit because we know we are too young to sell our souls. It’s a nice motor yacht, and the crew is cool, but man… there’s nothing to climb up! There’s no tar! There are no sails! I think I would feel a bit nauseous every time I looked up from waxing the fancy teak decks and mixing mojitos to see a boat cruise past under sail with a tan and happy crew hauling on lines and getting rope burns and being screamed at by the captain and having their clothes ruined, and I would sit there in my khakis and white polo and feel sad inside. No, it will never happen. Unless I get into debt. Then, maybe.
September 8, 2007
Yard Time
9/8
Times have slowed down a lot with the summer season’s end. I missed the last trip, a four day scoot from New London, CT, up to Boothbay Harbor, ME, to be in Phoenix for the wedding of Mr. Kyle St. John, my best friend since the second grade.
From there it was back up to Maine to reconnect with the Gamage and get my hands dirty in the shipyard. Currently she is hauled out of the water and “on the hard” so to speak, as the yard crew have been working diligently to patch up seams and replace some rotting planks in the hull. The sweet joys of wooden vessels.
Times have slowed down a lot with the summer season’s end. I missed the last trip, a four day scoot from New London, CT, up to Boothbay Harbor, ME, to be in Phoenix for the wedding of Mr. Kyle St. John, my best friend since the second grade.
From there it was back up to Maine to reconnect with the Gamage and get my hands dirty in the shipyard. Currently she is hauled out of the water and “on the hard” so to speak, as the yard crew have been working diligently to patch up seams and replace some rotting planks in the hull. The sweet joys of wooden vessels.
Harvey Gamage "on the hard"
The atmosphere has been pointedly industrious, yet a relaxed mood keeps the days fun.As much of Gamage’s crew have moved on to other endeavors, I have found myself as senior crew member onboard and responsible for directing the workday under the captain’s orders. This new challenge makes the workdays all the more satisfying. I love looking at the ship at the end of the day and seeing how much we got done, and much happier she is for it. I am supremely proud of the work we have been doing on Gamage. We have been working hard all summer to keep her in shape, and now we get to do all the big projects we haven’t had time yet to do. We’ve varnished the main boom, painted EVERYTHING (not kidding), spliced eyes in wire rope for new headstays, replaced old turnbuckles, fixed broken hatches, chipped rust, rolled oakum for the seams, and tarred our thirsty rig from top to bottom.
Freshly varnished main boom
Wire eye-splice for a new head-stay
The rig: tarred and happy
My palette
It’s amazing how much difference new paint or fresh varnish can do for a ship. Our bowsprit iron was afflicted with an embarrassing amount of rust, but a few hours of chipping and wire brushing, some osphoric acid, lead primer, and a couple coats of paint, and she is healed and sealed! And oh so pretty now, too. Sailors know that a fresh coat of paint can fix anything. As medical officer this summer, I had a student come to me after twisting his ankle. My first instinct was to crack open a quart of semi-gloss off-white, but I wised-up and opted for Tylenol and an ice-pack instead.
My glorious white bowsprit iron
My only complaint about my time here is the lack local establishments with NFL satellite TV subscriptions. There are none. So instead I will be forced to listen to Chief’s games online at the KCFX website. I want to WATCH them go 5-11, dadgummit!
Though I'm afraid I am mistaken. I do have more than one complaint. There's always the issue of the curious tourist. It can get irritating answering the same list of questions from sunglassed rubbernecks 3000 times a day. I love the interest in tall ships, and always am polite, if not at times begrudgingly so, but I can only feign a good-natured smile in response to "Ahoy mateys!" so many damned times. One imposing old woman even asked me to pose for a series of pictures, and it was only the spirit of Jesus in me that kept my middle fingers down.
Football dilemmas and lubbers notwithstanding, it has been a productive yard period thus far, and I am looking forward to more hard work, and a good rest when it’s all done. Just like the great poem Sea Fever says,
“I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.”
Thank you John Masefield.
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