A Sailor Home in Winter

I was actually looking forward to this. And don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed it. The last few months on Europa I was occasionally caught up in daydreams of redwood forests and foggy mornings. And having had three summers in a row, I was kind of anticipating the rainy days and green slushy trails. What I didn't anticipate was the reality of winter, and I had forgotten why I had been so motivated to escape it when I left California last year.

I don't really mind the wet, and the cold is not bad either (I can't say it's truly "cold" in Santa Cruz, ever) but the dark, short days... they drive me crazy. Not to mention the sailing season is over, and my seafaring colleagues are hunkering down for the slow months. Not much work. Dark wet mornings making me wonder what I am doing with my life. I'm sure I'll figure it out. Someday. There has to be a way to enjoy this, and I'm sure I'll get there, it's just...an adjustment.

Weather's looking great in Australia.

A Place Lacking in Yellow Birds

From mid-September:

I have seen the Canary Islands mentioned many times in various literature over the years, but no real descriptions. So in my ignorant mind's eye I pictured some tropical islands with nice yellow dirt (I tried to not imagine little yellow canaries everywhere because that would be overdoing it). That image was great until the other day when we actually made landfall in the Canary Islands.

Far from tropical or yellow, a dry barren land rises up into mountains and old volcanoes surrounded by a light blue sea, and an African sun peeks through clouds overhead. The closest thing it reminds me of is Baja but with touristy little beaches crowded with swimmers and street vendors. It is, as the first mate told me, "Europe's sunbathing destination."

The ten day leg from Lisbon to Las Palmas was a nice one. Despite starting in a fairly calm anchorage in Lisbon, most of our new guests were seasick the first evening, and continued to be so as we beat through some weather the first few days out. There was a poor woman looking green at the rail next to the pin for the t'gallant halyard. I got a few guests to help me hoist the t'gallant, and as we got the sail near to being set, I called "two-six, heave!" The woman heaved over the side while we heaved the halyard home. I do hope she felt better afterwards.

Those first days also tested us a little as a watch. There were quite a few new people with us, and the first night we had to hand and furl the courses (those are the big bottom square sails) while some of the bigger swell broke near the bow and washed across the main deck. If the forecourse hadn't been flogging it would have been humorous seeing two of the new crew forget about hauling while they stared at the sea swishing around their knees. After your first experience like that, though, you get used to the elements changing, and you learn to cope with it.

The rest of the leg was smooth sailing, although the wind could have been a bit more favourable, direction-wise. The weather became warmer, the voyage crew found their sea legs and we made landfall in the sunny Canaries.

A Day During Refit

After only two weeks in Santa Cruz, stepping off the bus at the shipyard still felt like coming home. It also made an impression on me because most of the crew were at the bus stop on their way to the chill out pub. It was a good reunion, it felt like I hadn't seen them in ages, and so much had happened while I was gone. Now that I've been back for a week, Santa Cruz seems like some dream I had; the long days blend together and I often forget what part of the week we are in.

Refit is an insanely busy time, and for lack of creativity, I will give you a typical day on refit in Zaandam.

Wake ups are at 0630. Usually I wake up a little before though, because it is entertaining to hear the person doing the wake ups getting more impatient as they go from cabin to cabin. The first cabin will get a greeting of "good morning sweetie pies, it's 0630. Time to wake up." then it gradually degrades to the last cabin "Time to wake up. It's 0630. Unfortunately."

0715 we all meet on deck (or in the deckhouse if it's raining) to discuss the plan for the day. Usually Erik will give us a rundown on the bigger picture, followed by Klass remarking on the weather and then it is the bosuns' turn to give out the jobs.

This whole period has been full of showers and clouds, "Dutch skies" they call it. Today was pretty wet, but perhaps not as much as yesterday. My morning began setting up the steering gear area for a second coat of primer (we rustbusted the day before, then acided and primed yesterday), then we had to move the ship forward a bit. After that we began priming and finished the steering gear area 20 minutes before morning coffee. And the rest of my day was spent serving wire rigging on the quay.

Serving is how we protect the steel rigging from moisture. First we melt Lanolin and Stockholm tar into "Slush" which we brush liberally onto the bare wire. Next take strips of old cotton sheets, dip them in slush and then wrap tightly around the wire with the lay. This is called parcelling. Finally we are ready to serve the thing! There is a very specific way to set up the service, but basically it is wrapping twine around the wire against the lay. We use a special serving mallet to keep constant tension, and you have to either pass the spool of twine around as you go, or make a spool on the wire that you push in front of you. Final step is to tar the new service with a recipe of paint, varnish and more stockholm. Voila!

Hello Northern Hemisphere

Well, that catamaran trip was something I could have lived without... But changing the subject and jumping ahead in a mighty leap, here I am back in the northern hemisphere and awaiting a plane at the San Francisco airport to take me to fair Amsterdam of the Netherlands.

Now if you've been reading my posts in succession, you may be asking, or rather demanding irritably how I have managed to make that leap since the May post, but it will all unfold presently. 

I happen to have just been home for two nice weeks due to my eldest brother's forthcoming nuptials, which were in the works for about as long as it takes for freshly picked raspberries to go mushy. However, it was a lovely wedding (no mushy raspberries present) and I enjoyed meeting the bride and getting to know her a bit. The other highlight was meeting my seven-month-old niece for the first time. 

I am very much anticipating my return to Holland because it will be nearing three months that I have been crewing aboard the bark Europa (http://www.barkeuropa.com). Owing to some good friends met in Australia, I stuffed my pack and flew from Melbourne to Amsterdam in June to work a three week refit aboard Europa. It was like getting hit over the head with a brick, but the nicest, softest, luckiest brick that ever was made. There was organization, there was real food, there was a bunk for me, there were captains present and a good crew. The work was hard, the days long, but it was a rewarding experience. Some of the jobs included replacing the maintopmast, rust busting in the bilges, tearing apart and rust busting cabins, and my especial "small person project," prepping and painting a tight corner of the forepeak. I will always remember that project, partly because it took me close to three days to complete, but also because I was in the thick of it when Klass, one of the captains, popped his head in and said, "well Krista, I suppose you want to sail with us?" I looked up and vigorously nodded my heavily masked head. He smiled, "well then, you can sail the races to Norway with us."

The race was an absolute blast, as well as a bit of a crash course in Europa-isms for me. I'd been aboard for three weeks before the start of the race, but refit didn't give me much chance to learn the pinrails or the process for maneuvers. Europa has thirty sails she can set, each of those sails having at least three lines running to it, and usually more. The race also gave me a chance to experience how she sails...

In the right amount of wind she felt like a yacht, it was incredible. The skippers like to sail her, and when they sail her they set all sails possible for the conditions. In a reasonable wind, with sails trimmed she heels a bit and man is it a beautiful thing. 

We hit a little weather as well and had a steady 27-33knots of wind for about 24hours mid-race. Most of our fifty sail trainees became seasick; one of the exceptions was a brave young man who we observed running a sort of puke-bucket brigade. He would come out of the deckhouse, carefully lug the bucket to the leeward side of the main deck whereupon he would deposit the contents over the side, rinse the bucket in the streaming scuppers and make his way back inside. After he handed the fresh bucket back he would stand near the door, listening. Sure enough, a few minutes later he would perk up and scurry into the masses of teenagers holed up in the deckhouse, and emerge on deck in a continuation of the routine. This was highly amusing for us to watch from the wheelhouse during a coffee break, although thanks to the Swedish watch system there wasn't a whole lot that didn't amuse us. 

In the Swedish watch system, the crew are divided in half. The daylight hours are split into two watches, the first from 0800 to 1400, and the second from 1400 to 2000. Then comes the trickier part; the night hours are split into three watches: 2000 to 2400, 2400 to 0400, and 0400 to 0800. The nice thing about it is you get to see different parts of the day because of the odd number of watches, but it takes most people longer to get used to biologically. It took me about a week to get into. And even after you get used to it, conversation and senses of humour tend to spiral in a weird downwards direction. I won't say it isn't entertaining though. 

During the aforementioned weather we blew out the inner jib, but were able to bend on a spare; that was an exciting job. And although we were close hauled the whole race, we placed third overall in our class. We had a leisurely cruise back to Amsterdam after a few days in Fredrickstad; we sailed along the coast of Denmark and then went through the Kiel Canal. Arrived in Amsterdam July 22nd, and then it was packing off to California for me and preparing for a second refit for everyone else. The second refit is on til August 31st, but the fantastic thing is we get Sundays off this time! I may even make it off the ship and out of Zaandam to see some of Amsterdam.

A Taste of the Modern...

It's funny how places can suck you in and it's a fight for life to get out, like quicksand. Well, Sydney Harbour Tallships is one of those places, in the best and worst of ways. There are some absolutely awesome people I had the privilege of knowing, but also some not so nice people, but mostly people who didn't live in reality. I will leave it at that; it took me five months to survive and escape.

So with many goodbyes and a feeling of new-found independence, I caught my last heaving line on Campbell's Cove wharf, strapped on my backpack and caught the train up to Newcastle. The first part of my traveling adventures began in Bulahdelah with some really fantastic friends in what I can only describe as being very similar to a Swiss Family Robinson sort of home. Ruby the cattledog wasn't as good at herding cattle as she was at chasing Antechinus, and as the rainy season was approaching I met many hungry leeches as well. I also had the privilege of being a roady for the local rock-n-roll band, Brew Ha-ha, when they did a grand gig in Forster, which was a really good time. 

Further adventures brought me through Bellingen, a lovely place full of rivers and pastures, to catch up with some shipmates, and then I decided it might be worthwhile to see the big red rock. It is big, it is very, very red, and it truly is out in the middle of nowhere. There are, in fact, two big red rocks out there. But there is an interesting feeling about the place, it's very peaceful and quiet and the sheer massiveness of Kata Tjuta and Uluru remind you that you truly are a tiny speck in the vast universe. Interestingly, the rocks go for quite a ways underground too, making them the two largest rocks on the face of the earth. 

Next was my brilliant fumble in scheduling, and thinking a 20hr bus ride wouldn't be too bad. It was from Alice Springs to Adelaide... And it was pretty long. Buses are not my favourite anymore. 

Onwards to the mystical Whitsunday Islands, where I spent Easter aboard a boat that sailed through a few of the islands. Situated at the south end of the Great Barrier Reef, there is some fantastic diving and the whitest sand beach you will ever find. Ninety-nine-point-something percent pure silica. 

The newest development is crewing as a third person on a passage from Brisbane to New Caledonia aboard a new Corsair 50 catamaran. After months of fat lines, belaying pins and gaffs, it is indeed strange to be using electric winches and roller furling. It's also a bit of an infamous passage to be making, strong headwinds and tails of tropical storms often garnish the course to Nouméa. But we are watching the weather and hoping for a good trip.

 

Catching Up: The Bundaberg Trip, Part II

We had one glorious afternoon off in Bundaberg after the photo shoot and the three of us girls high-tailed it to the marina showers. The salt, sweat and grime (and fishoil in my case, as the first mate had me oiling the standing rigging during not-the-smoothest-day-out and I quite successfully oiled myself as well) of ten days’ sailing having been washed away, we felt like new people indeed. We were so stoked that we took a picture so we could remember in times to come what it was like to be clean. 

Now back to the vinyl sticker problem… We took an early start to our next publicity stop, Brisbane, and arrived a few days before we were due, which gave us a little time to figure out just what we were going to do about those sails. There was an interesting storm that was passing through as we neared the port, and we anchored in a pretty cool spot off of Morton Island, Tangalooma, a sanctuary with long white beaches and bright green vegetation. The next morning was tempting for a swim in the turquoise water, but by that time an executive decision had been made that we would hand paint the sails. Circumstances were dire and now the distilling company was threatening to sue us because we had sent the "wrong" ship... So we had to use any means necessary to make this tasting an unreal experience. 

While I scrambled up to the t'gallant with another crew to strike the sail and lower it to the deck, the second mate and bosun did some paint tests on a scrap canvas. Our black oil-based paint bled through the canvas, so we would have to use primer underneath it. The captain made a call to the marina we were to dock at and asked about a warehouse or grassy area we could lay some sails out...

A few hours later, up the river and safely tucked into Rivergate Marina, we had a tracing party of four working on the t'gallant and replacing some missing letters while the rest of the crew struck the course and dragged that out onto a well-trimmed lawn just above our dock. After the tracing, the priming began, and then the black as the primer dried. We had four days to finish all 5 of the branded sails, which included the outer jib and the mainsail (these were branded on both sides), so our days began at 6am and finished when the sun went down. Mr first mate made himself head of the painting team (which was the entire crew excepting the cook at certain times of the day) because he had been trained at a prestigious art school where, he informed one of our hands who was herself a professional impressionist painter, they taught "real, proper drawing and art, not all the fartsy common feel-as-you-paint-it impressionism crap." So that was fun.

Miraculously at the end of the four days, we had all the sails finished and bent back on except for the mainsail. But we wouldn't be hoisting it anyway, so we had one side finished that we decided to hang off the boom and that was good enough for now. The evening before the big tasting event was to take place, the rep for the marketing company came down to discuss the photo shoot with the captain. She nearly gasped when she was informed it would possibly take more than ten minutes to take the ship off the dock, set the sails, turn around and come back in. Our skipper gently noted, "well, this ship weighs 300 tons, she has an old engine, and the tide will be moving through the river tomorrow, so she's not the easiest thing to just pull in and out." However, that had no effect and she seemed to leave with the impression we must be a bunch of mad idiots. That was only the start of the rudeness shown us by the marketers, but I digress. 

The next morning was clear and bright with only a few clouds in the distance as we unfurled all the sails and cleaned up the ship to the last detail; we were sure this photo shoot and tasting were going to be flawless. The photo shoot went off without a hitch and those guys seemed quite happy with it. Then we waited for the tasting which was to start at two. It was about noon when the distant clouds rolled closer and became darker and more ominous, and then it started to rain... Thunder rolled and lightning struck an made it's way closer, and about then we were informed that the tasting had been moved to a secondary venue due to the weather. As we slogged up the ratlines to furl the sails, the second mate called down to me, "they say getting struck by lightning isn't a problem, so long as you're not near anything wet or high!" 

Hopping further down the coast, we continued to paint the backside of the mainsail underway. There were a few rainy days, so geniuses that we were, we dragged the sail into the lower saloon but unfortunately the single fan we had was no match for the fumes and we had some very entertaining afternoons... The Newcastle tasting was cancelled as well, so we continued down and near the last week of November we pulled into Broken Bay, which is just a half-day's sail North of Sydney. The next morning we were due for our epic entrance to Sydney Harbour (technically Port Jackson) at dawn under full sail, to be photographed by a helicopter. But we had just the one day at Pitt Water to enjoy ourselves and catch our breath. 

It was a Thursday, and we calculated that since it was the third one of the month, it should be Thanksgiving. It wasn't, incidentally, but we enjoyed an Aussie sort of thanksgiving with a big dinner and a birthday cake for one of the kids. It was a good day. We weighed anchor at midnight and booked it down the coast for the grand entrance.

I was lying in my bunk, listening to the rain on the deck above me and the rushing of the wind in the rigging and dreading the thought of getting up, when the silhouette of the second mate leaned into the doorway. "Good morning, it's wet, cold, miserable and it's time to get to work." I jumped into my bibs and foul weather jacket and slogged out onto the deck. It certainly was wet, cold and miserable. The safety lines were set up in the midships, and in the predawn mid-blackness I could make out the captain and the mates at the helm. We rolled heavily in the beam seas, and a slosh of green water swept across my bare feet, not the warmest, but also not the coldest I've felt. I didn't want to be awake. I was contemplating my warm dry bunk when the second mate came stomping forward. "You ready to unfurl the t'gallant?" I always got the t'gallant, no matter what. I guessed it had to do with being the youngest deck crew, but I usually didn't mind the climb to the highest sail. However, it was dark and we were rolling; this was going to be an effort.

I clamped my hands onto the shrouds and started the climb as the ship swung away from me and I became more horizontal. The roll slowed down, I wrapped my arms where I was and the ship rolled towards me until I was hanging over the ocean. Then we started back the other way, and I climbed a few more feet, and so it was the whole 90 feet up over the futtocks and finally onto the t'gallant yard. The yard was worse because I swung to the left and felt like rolling off the end of the yard, my feet at a sharp angle to the footropes, and then I swung to the right and felt like slamming into the mast. Anyhow I scrambled out to the end, took the sheet off the yard and worked toward the center unfurling the gaskets. The second mate nipped out on the starboard side and did the same thing, and it was very nice having another person up there to make you feel more sane. As we finished the sky was turning purply and the rain lightened a bit; it really was quite beautiful out. 

The only issue was the overcast-ness, and indeed as we came through the heads at the appointed time we failed to sight any helicopter. We were also informed that Southern Swan would be hosting the grand exhibition at the Sydney wharf (because, you know, they had wanted the black ship this whole time), and so we would be relinquishing the bottle of rum and instead taking the five daysails that Swan was scheduled for. It felt like a kick in the gut, but that's life sometimes. In contrast, despite the craziness and all the goings-on, it had been a voyage of a lifetime. Some of the worst times, the funniest and certainly some of the best too, had all been part of the unique experience. Ironically, the mainsail we had painted turned out to be the new $30,000 main (the skipper owner was NOT happy, and it's still a mystery how we should attempt to remove the paint...). The helicopter did show when we were inside the harbour, and for all their troubles, there is the picture below that made the newspaper. Unfortunately you can't see our handpainted sails, but you will see those in the next picture, which is one that I took.

I have concluded that everything that the trip was about, promoting the rum company via the press, turned out to be pretty disappointing, especially after all that work. The marketing company were real jerks, and from a superficial (and possibly financial) perspective, the whole voyage was a waste of time. But on the inside it was a success. We had a great crew that came together as a strong team and did almost the impossible, we had two great captains that led us through the insanity and I came away with some great friends and a wealth of knowledge and experience. Thus must end the tale of the Bundaberg Voyage.

         

Catching Up: The Bundaberg Trip, Part 1

Where do I begin recounting the past three and a half months of my life?... It’s been one crazy ride after another on this ship in more ways than one. I gained the most I’ve ever gained, and also lost the most I’ve ever lost, was the happiest I’ve ever been, and nearly the saddest I’ve ever been, stood up as the best person I’ve ever represented, and also fell as the worst person I’ve ever known. There were the most grueling days of work, but also the most beautiful days of easy sailing. I dealt with some of the most frustrating people I have ever met, and spent time with amazing people I will never forget. These experiences have taken more effort than I’ve ever spent in one place, and been more rewarding than anything else and more disappointing than anything else. But most importantly it has changed me and opened my eyes to more possibilities than I ever imagined.

The whole trip to Bundaberg was just ridiculous from the start. “Bizarre” is the term Mark latched onto at one point, and it describes the entire trip perfectly. From start to finish, there was not a twist or turn that was expected or simple.

I showed up in Sydney and was thrown into the midst of a quicky-refit on Southern Swan. Painting, scraping, retensioning the rig, repairing the foremast, fixing the fire pump, mousing shackles and seizing footropes, painting liferings… Close to our scheduled departure date, I was helping Joe stuff some caulking into the hull and realized the full magnitude of what we were trying to achieve. Swan had not been to sea in a least ten years; she had passed her last survey for the harbour when out of the water for a few days - that was when one of the shipwrites had accidentally poked a chisel straight through the hull… And she was to sail about 900nm up the coast to Bundaberg, Queensland and back. Luckily she had to be surveyed for coastal waters before we could leave.

On our scheduled departure date the surveyor came aboard, and was surprisingly happy with the entire ship and crew and pronounced himself quite satisfied with granting us the papers, somebody at maritime just had to produce a signature which should have been in the next 3 days. So we said our goodbyes at White Bay and headed over to Little Manly cove. For the next couple days we finished bending on the sails, stowing the provisions, going through P’s laborious SMS manual – after eight hours one day we weren’t halfway through – and preparing the ship in general for departure. Still no paper from Maritime, and as the window for making it to Bundaberg in time was closing, one afternoon Mike decided that since the person he spoke to agreed that Søren would do instead of Swan, we would swap with the Søren Larsen.

Now that would seem a simple enough solution at first, but then you have to factor in that the Søren was in the middle of a full daysail schedule, and wouldn’t be returning to White Bay until 2300. No matter, this is Sydney Harbour Tall Ships, and they achieve the impossible regardless of the cost. Twelve crew aboard Swan, about fifteen aboard Søren, their belongings, ships provisions, equipment all had to be swapped at 2300. That was crazy. One young man who had joined that very day quit, and morale was not the highest as we passed everything from raw sugar to marlinspikes back and forth between the ships. At about 0330 the swap was complete and we steamed Søren to pumpout and topped off the fuel. As we left for the open ocean it was decided we should break into watches, so Al and I struggled to prop our eyelids open and Nikki kept us company on the bow until 0800. We were on our way.

I suppose I should mention why we were sailing to Bundaberg. Dan somehow landed us a gig with Bundaberg Distillery Co. as a promotion for their upcoming 125^th anniversary. The gig sounded easy; arrive in Bundaberg on the 7^th of November for a photo shoot with branded sails, pick up 4 empty rum barrels and sail back down the coast, stopping in Brisbane and Newcastle for tastings and photos and making a dramatic entrance back through the Sydney heads at dawn on the 22^nd of November. In return the rum company would pay for a new set of sails for the ship, so it was a good deal for the ship. Bundaberg originally chose the Swan for the task because a) she is black, b) she apparently looks like a rum or pirate ship, and c) she is black.

There was also the matter of the branded sails. It had taken 3weeks to get Swan’s brandings; the designs were simply screenprinted onto some stretchy material that was then sewn on top of the sails. But now we were taking Søren, so we left her second, older set of sails at White Bay and sailed with the new set up the coast. Dan would in the meantime work on getting the old set branded and drive them up to Bundaberg for us. That in itself was another crazy adventure, but more on that end later.

The trip up the coast was an experience like no other, it was a bit of a slog to begin with as well. The engine on Søren is an ancient 4-cylinder, 2-stroke diesel beast that spews oil from the exhaust as she chugs upwind in heavy weather. Jon our new engineer had been recruited for the trip because of his extensive knowledge of the Caterpillar engine that Swan had, but now we were on Søren and that posed new difficulties. However, Jon stepped up to the plate and spent hours upon hours learning the ins and outs of the beast and keeping her running.

Adjusting to watches can take a bit of time as well, and the first week out was a bit rough as the crew struggled with sleep deprivation and seasickness. Certain personalities can get wearing as you become more sleep deprived as well, and from the start there were some combinations that were just brewing trouble. Nothing too dramatic happened on the way up, but I will just say the officer of my watch was not my favourite person aboard. From receiving a ten minute lecture on how to properly clean a butter dish after dinner to getting woken up two hours after getting off watch by raw, grey, chopped flying fish in my face, by the time we reached Bundaberg I was a bit short-tempered towards him.

We wouldn’t have made it to Bundaberg in time either, if it weren’t for a nice southerly that helped us out a few days after leaving Sydney. It was the most impressive weather front I’ve seen yet. We were motoring with a few limp sails into 10 knots from the Northwest; looking behind us the clouds started moving faster over us, a few black wispy ones raced towards us and then spiraled upwards like wraiths and in a few moments we were hit with 30 knots from the South. It was phenomenal. We set nearly every canvas we had and flew northwards along the coast at a great rate, sometimes reaching 12-13 knots (Søren will do 10 generally), with spray flying over the bow and the seas increasing. There were a couple rough days in the middle there, but we made it to Bundaberg on time, barely.

We arrived in Bundaberg at 0300 on November 7^th, dropped anchor up the river, got a few new crew aboard, unbent the outer jib, t’gallant, lower tops’l, course and mains’l, Dave arrived in a small tender with the branded sails and we bent those on, weighed anchor and moved down river to the pier for the 0900 photo shoot and meet with the big Bundaberg rum guys. The only branding we were able to get in the short week it took to sail to Bundaberg was vinyl stickers – vinyl that was designed to adhere to Dacron, not traditional canvas… As we bent the sails on, we could tell the branding wasn’t going to stick, especially sailing down the coast back to Sydney. To be continued…