Dynamic Inertia

3/8
Newton's first law of motion says that an object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. Well, we most definitely are in motion here in Lunenburg. Our dynamic inertia brings us full ahead into the unbalancing force of the imminent black-diamond slope of work as we speed to the final weeks before our departure.

We’ve been sending down braces and their gear from aloft for overhauling. The braces are what we use to adjust the angle of out squares’ls. When we want to brace hard to starboard, we cast off or ease away the port side braces, and haul away on the starboard braces, for example. It’s much more difficult to do all this underway, so it is one of our major rigging priorities. It’s also exciting to getting back into the rig, spending several hours a day out on the Picton Castle's yardarms.

Plus, being aloft on the yards is a great workout. After the first couple days, every muscle in my body was sore. My legs get sore from supporting my body, my lower back and abs are sore from keeping balance, and acting as the fulcrum point whenever I have to haul anything up, which in turn works my shoulders and arms. I can feel myself getting back into square-rigger shape.

The biggest beneficiary is my lower back. I have had back problems since the end of the summer, and my friend Rebecca, a licensed physiotherapist has worked on it and given me two acupuncture sessions to alleviate the pain in exchange for homemade fried chicken dinners. But being aloft is basically one continuous back extension exercise, and as my lower back muscles have strengthened, the back pain has diminished. After two weeks with many hours aloft, I feel good as new.

The weekends have been pretty epic here too. Last weekend we all headed to shipmate Amanda’s house on Briar Island, situated at the doorstep of the Bay of Fundy, famous for its 50-foot tides.

(photo from www.pbase.com/athiker95/image/438977)

Briar Island may be one of my new favorite places. Salty beauty as I have ever encountered, right on par with beloved Gloucester. Amanda’s big brother is a lobsterman, as is her father, and he took us out for a spin around the island in his boat, letting everyone take a turn at the wheel as we circumnavigated the island's ragged basalt shoreline. Pictured here are my friends and former shipmates, Rebecca and Logan.

After that, Finn, Maggie and I headed back to Lunenburg to stand watches at the ship with Lynsey, as a nasty storm was blowing in. Unfortunately, our weekend gained a new adventurous flavor while passing through the backways in Nova Scotian blizzard, Maggie’s car spun off the road and settled in a snow banked ditch. The car and her crew were fine. It was cold, and the snow was coming in horizontally. While we waited for the tow truck, we found shelter in an abandoned hunting cabin a 50 or so yards off the road. The truck pulled us out and we turned back for Digby, the nearest town. It turned out to be no big deal, but at the time it was pretty intense feeling stranded in a snow covered back woods highway, 60 km from anywhere.

Life looks to continue its upward swing in momentum here, as Chad, my buddy of buddies, is headed here for a proper Picton Castle/Nova Scotia weekend, a road trip to Boston, and then I am flying back to Kansas City for the next weekend and my brother Brian’s 16th birthday. Then, back to it, getting ready for the trip, an Atlantic crossing, tour of Europe, duck into the Mediterranean, down Africa, across to Brazil, up through the Caribbean, and back here. Then, maybe, things will slow down…

Loving People, Living Poetry

2/23
Work has been going really well. The leather work has been a great project. I have been sewing pieces of leather to protect certain parts of the rigging. All the leather has to be cut to fit, which at times is challenging because some of the pieces are fairly intricate. Maggie, the ship’s incumbent purser and goddess of all things office, has written a nice technical but easy to understand description of exactly what it is I am working on here. That’s also where I lifted the pictures from.

Last Tuesday, February 19th, marked exactly one year since I stepped of the plane in the Dominica jungle and boarded the Picton Castle. It’s hard to believe it’s already been a full year since I left to become a sailor. And after this year I can look back and see all the skills, friends and relationships I have developed, all in the process of becoming a proper sailor – a process in which I am still very much at the beginning.

I really feel unfairly fortunate in life. I don’t know how else to describe it. I am in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, working at a craft that I am deeply passionate about in sailing, with little hiccups of writing work, about which my passion is of equal depth. On top of this, I have this month received packages, letters, and phone calls from some of the best friends a person could have; friends who are amazing, who reaffirm my belief in God’s existence. There is no justice.

Last night we had a little party in the Dory Shop, sitting around the wood stove, drinking wine, laughing, listening to music, and just being generally happy. My friend, Finn, put it best:
“We’re a bunch of sailors in this old wooden dory shop that hangs out over the ocean, crowded around a fire barrel, listening to gypsy punk, dancing around—man, we’re gypsies!”
It was one of those moments I get every now and again where I realize I am living out poetry:

Sea Fever

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

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.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

That’s probably my favorite sea-faring poem, by the way. Also, the gypsy punk I mentioned is a reference to my new favorite band, Gogol Bordello, and gypsy punk is the only way to describe it. It's life changing. Check them out, and thank you Chad for turning me on to them. Gogol Bordello. Look them up on YouTube.
Anyhow, enough gushing. Life is good in Lunenburg. Loving people and living poetry.

Work, Curling, Futility

2/3
Holy cow, I can’t believe it’s already February. Unbelievable.
Actually, what’s more unbelievable is the fact that I am continually surprised by the passing of time, and the progression of the calendar. I’m like the baby that giggles every time you pull your hands away from your face and sing, “peek-a-boo!”
I won’t be surprised if, when I peel up the next page on the calendar and March is revealed, I roll on the floor in a sublime seizure of giddy surprise.
Then my shipmates will put a wooden spoon in my mouth, and I will have to change pants. This cycle will repeat itself 31 days later. Time is truly our greatest enemy.

Fun has been in no short supply around here. We go curling nearly every Friday, and some of us are getting halfway decent at it. (Maggie and Shackle in particular)
I am getting halfway embarrassing at it. For every good shot I make, I seem to counteract it by bailing out on the ice and sending my stone off into a forsaken wilderness of furrowed brows and snickering.
One thing is for sure: curling is far easier without an excess of beer. But try suggesting that to one of the seasoned veterans and you’re met with a cold look and an ended conversation. Apparently, curling without beer is like trying to have a football game in which neither team fields a defense (something the Chiefs have been doing for years now, and even if this did happen their offense would still probably be forced to punt. Poo.)
We’ve also been participating in the weekly Pub Stumper’s trivia night at the Grand Banker, Lunenburg’s official pub of the Picton Castle (not really but it seems so). The Picton Castle trivia team, Three Sheets to the Wind, is in a commanding lead thus far in league play, buttressed by a dominating performance last night.

I’ve also been on a reading and writing tear as of late. I’ve checked about 1000 books out of the local library since I’ve been here. I’ve also just finished a play I’ve been writing for a friend who is an actor in a Los Angeles based theatre company. Now that I’m out of school, I’ve found that I have to be much more deliberate about nurturing the mind, but also that I take greater pleasure in it as well.

Work has been going along nicely. We’ve been overhauling all the blocks and bits of wire, varnishing spars and deckboxes, rewiring the ship’s electrical system, overhauling the ship’s plumbing, and basically giving her a good, thorough once-over. Leather-working, wire-brushing, corro-sealing, slushing, worming, parceling, serving, tarring, greasing, painting, scraping, sanding, grinding, rust-busting, and then, at five, clean-up for supper.

My ship’s work is interrupted at times by my efforts to get my AB-Sail certification, which is an important step in the licensing process. Collecting sea time, having it evaluated, background checks, and an exam are all a part of the process. There are a few more hoops mariners of today must jump through, but it’s not so bad, and easily worth the small hassle.

Next week promises more of the same for us here in the LBG: working, curling, dominating at trivia, and staying warm.

Slow times in Lunenburg

All's well here in Lunenburg. Work is putting along nicely. The Picton Castle crew went out curling last night (a lot of fun), and the weather has been fantastic. The week before it was bitter cold, the coldest it's been all winter. It got down to -16c, and with the wind blowing... please! I could feel my breath freezing in my beard whenever I walked anywhere.
But today I am wearing a t-shirt, and went for a walk this morning in flip-flops.
We are expecting a lot of visits from friends in the coming weeks, but beyond that, the workweeks keep unrolling, and life keeps on its quiet pace.

Year in Review (because if you keep a blog you pretty much have to)

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.”

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.

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.