OOOEEE, Baby!

(Won't you let me take you on a sea cruise?)

What a ride!

Packing

This trip was hugely challenging for me. We experienced all four seasons in the course of our two weeks, and sea conditions ranging from a small gale to full calm. There was a great deal of pure sailing, with no engine needed from the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay to the mouth of Tampa Bay, about 1200 miles and eight days. We had truly excellent and thrilling sailing with favorable winds and huge distances in the beginning, and favorable but light winds and virtually just bobbing along slowly towards the destination at the end. So happy to have done this, and so happy to be home!

Bare poles, no sails yet

My boy drove me up to the ship, Pride of Baltimore II, at its maintenance berth in an industrial section of Baltimore Harbor, on Wednesday night, arriving just as it was getting dark. There was a gang plank, a lovely amenity rarely used, which helped get the carry-on-sized soft backpack and the under-seat-sized tote aboard easily. I was able to give my boy the nickel tour, but I was sad to see the boat was in considerable disarray, not yet ready for sea. That evening, I met my fellow guest crew, and we learned there would be commissioning chores for a couple of days, and we wouldn't actually set sail until Saturday. Most of my trips aboard the Pride have not left on time because they schedule more time than needed to get to destination in order to be able to optimize the weather window, so I wasn't too surprised. I considered taking a trip back home, but I decided to hang out and help with the boatkeeping chores.

Things were all ahoo,
SO MUCH to do!

The weather was seasonal for Baltimore in March, in the 50s or low 60s, and sunny (which makes a great difference!) Besides the regular crew that would be going with us, there were extra people from a rigging company, one that specializes in tall ships and older technologies. The Pride is a replica of an 1812 Baltimore-built privateer named the Chasseur, and she maintains a balance between authenticity, especially above deck in the sails and rigging, and modern safety and efficiency, especially below decks with two diesel engines, watertight compartments, and even a water-maker on board. Every year heavy maintenance is performed, rotating through various components. This year, they had completely disassembled the rigging that holds the masts and sails upright, so there was more to do than usual to get ready to go to sea. As a one-of-a-kind vessel, there were photographs and diagrams to consult, but also the memory of the senior Captain, who has been with the ship from the beginning. The majority of the crew were new to the ship, though not to tall ships - the Pride only hires experienced sailors. She is not a sail training ship (nor a passenger ship) but instead more of a "finishing school" for tall ship sailors. But because this was the beginning of the season, there was a lot of explaining and discussion going on. That was helpful to me, the novice.

Someone caught us backing out from the dock
I got this from Facebook

The couple of days we spent doing chores at the dock were relatively benign weather-wise. I had a day spent on a wooden raft floating around the ship in the very nasty Baltimore harbor water, sanding and painting the waterline. And another day inside the maintenance shop, with the second mate, sorting and inventorying all the many many large paper charts laid out all over the shop floor, figuring out which ones we needed to take along on this trip. Meanwhile, the crew and the professional rigging team were busy with the heavy work of bending on the sails and attaching all of the thousands of ropes that hold the wooden spars and the sails in place and are used to control them while underway.

New crew rehearsing raising the staysail

By Saturday, we had, as the Captain said, run out of excuses and were ready to leave. It was crisp and cold as we set off and motored out the Patapsco River and into the Chesapeake Bay. Sails went up - a conservative amount of sail area only, as winds were forecast to be somewhat unfavorable in direction and quite strong. We motor-sailed the 150 miles out of Chesapeake Bay. It stayed sunny, which helped enormously. We split into watches after the basic sail configuration was set, and I was able to go below.

Everyone was assigned to a five-person A, B, or C watch, except the Captain and the cook. I had the dreaded A watch! We were assigned to be on duty from 12-4 twice a day, am and pm. I had never had this watch before, and I knew it would be the most disruptive to my circadian rhythms, as I am definitely NOT a night owl. From 4-8 twice a day we were "off" which meant we'd only be called if the ship required extreme handling. But since breakfast was at 7:30 am and supper at 7:30 pm, that really only gave us three hours off-watch for dedicated sleeping. From 8-12 twice a day we were "stand-by", which meant we had to be ready to be on deck with a 5 minute call - ie, dressed for duty except for boots and raingear. We could sleep, as long as we were prepared to leap into action.

Looking like the Michelin Man!

The engines shut off while I was sleeping early Sunday morning, as we exited the Bay and encountered the winds and waves of the North Atlantic - during a cold snap! The winds were favorable, though strong, and the waves were up to 8-10 feet. We were rocking and rolling, not just from side to side, but also front to back in a corkscrewing motion. During the day, moving about above or below was exciting. At night, in our dark moonless no-urban-glow nights, it was daunting. We crossed the Gulf Stream twice, once to get east of it, and then again to get back towards Florida. That made for confused water as it flowed northward while the wind and our ship traveled south. 

Max layers, red nose!

So it was VERY cold and extremely arduous for the first several days. It was also exhilarating! The main cabin held the galley, with the cold-weather diesel stove running 24 hours a day. It kept the salon up to the high 50s, even as the outside temperatures dipped down into the 30s (with significant windchill). My cabin was off the main salon, and so benefited from the stove. I had packed a lot of warm clothes, and I wore them all - nearly all at once! Here are my max layers: minimalist sports bra and panties; medium-weight tight long johns covered by medium-weight fleece pants covered by rain pants; short-sleeve light-weight merino wool tshirt covered by medium-weight long-sleeved merino wool base layer covered by long-sleeved polyester thermal top covered by light-weight pullover fleece covered by heavy-weight fleece hoody covered by down puffy jacket covered by lightweight rain jacket. Also thick wool socks and sea boots. And a merino wool neck buff and merino wool watch cap, sometimes with two hoods up! And of course, gloves.

Typical angle of heel, but also bouncy!

On watch, there were some basic activities. Someone had to steer, of course, and that was something I could handle much of the time. However, in a lot of wind and sea, the forces on the wheel were simply too much for me, so in the early days I only took short stints. There was sail handling, very heavy work that usually (but not always) I didn't join in - they had enough skilled and strong hands to handle it. Every hour while under way, a boat check had to be performed. That involved checking the bilges, the lowest point of the boat, in each of five different compartments (that could be sealed from each other with watertight doors). Because the Pride is built of wood, it always leaks. The only question is how fast it is leaking, and whether that is a problem. So once an hour, we would climb down each of five ladders, grab the handily stowed flashlight, remove a hatch, and peer down into the depths. If there was a large amount of water, we would pump and record for how long the pumping took, in order to gauge trends. We would also visit the engine room, whether the engine was running or not, and record the figures on certain electrical and mechanical gauges on log sheets. This boat-check activity was one I could do in all but the bounciest nighttime conditions, and it was genuinely useful to the crew to have it taken care of. But most often, on watch, we all either leaned on the rail or sat on the cabin top, chatting. Without a lot of activity except that required to stay upright, it was cold!

My cabin. Lower bunk w/ my stuff

Off watch, at first, I hung out mostly horizontally in my cabin, either dozing or listening to books or podcasts I had downloaded. Many people were getting sick, and I couldn't read below (and it was too cold to sit on deck). I didn't want to take the seasickness meds because even the non-drowsy makes me drowsy. So I burned through three books in my ears. We were given sheets and two heavy wool blankets, but I stayed in my base layers for several days in a row. Retiring to my bunk in the middle of the night one night, I shivered in bed, deep rolling shivers I couldn't control. After some time, I would go to sleep, and wake up a couple of hours later all toasty and cozy in my bunk. Sadly, by then I usually had to get up to pee! For several days we were heeled over in such a way I had to use my clothes to barricade me and keep me from rolling out, but it did make it easier to get out.

Speeding south as the sun comes out!
We are off Daytona Beach here, but many miles out to sea
and it was still COLD!

Really, it was fun! And all the time, we were speeding along due south under pure sail - we knew it was going to get warm eventually.