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…

Adventures in Retail

Working at Boat, Bath & Beyond (to maintain decency, even though most know who I'm talking about, and if you don't then it's just as well) sometimes just cooks your little grey cells like scrambled eggs. The strain between pleasing the customer and making the company money or just following company protocol is often quite significant. And then sometimes you just get those customers who think they know everything, like the frustrated man who nearly screamed at me the other day, "Doesn't anybody here know anything?!" And the little red dragon on my shoulder said quite complacently, "Well, if YOU knew anything you wouldn't be asking that, now would you?" It all must be taken with a sense of humor and the foreknowledge that the ugly moments will pass, regardless. And that sense of humor goes a long way, especially on those long days that are just slow and we have to get creative.

Like that one day the minutes were just creeping by and my coworker Steve and I were bored to death. We'd done everything possible and more, and there was simply nothing more to be done without customers.

To be continued, because I am typing this on an iPhone at the boat show and I'm tired of the stupid touchscreen because I'm not used to it. Autocorrect is quite nice though because its doing a pretty good job frisking my typing mistakes. I said Pretty Food. Food. Good. Crap.
...
Actually, come to think about it, at the start it wasn't so dead. It was really busy. The printer was out of paper again. I really didn't have time for this as the phone was ringing off the hook and three new customers came in. I ran to the back room for new paper. I just needed these shipment forms to print so I could finish filing the orders form yesterday. Certain people in the backroom often left it like hurricane Sandy matched with writer's block; receipts and forms floating amongst FedEx boxes and water pump rebuild kits.

My coworker Steve was helping an ornery crusty fisherman order some parts we didn't have in the store ("you guys never have the right sizes"), and I slipped by to shove some paper into the printer. The printer made a happy sound and started spitting pages as the crusty fisherman clumped out the door in his brown boots covered in old fish scales. We meet some characters for sure.

"What's up, Krista?" Steve asked as I flipped through the pages.
     "Oh, just shipment forms.... and Sea dragons?" I had come across a picture of the cute kelpy creature from AustralianAnimalsWeekly.com.
"Maybe it's Fred's?" he smirked.
     "I have no idea."
"Are those real?"
     I laughed, "Of course they are!"
Steve looked intently at the photo."He looks happy."
     "Yeah... Hey, the boss isn't working today, is she?"
"Nope, I'm bored... Let's switch name tags again!"

Let me tell you, fish have it easy.

A Broken Dream Revisited

It was a connection I didn't know I still had. It had been made so long ago, in a formative stage of my youth, another life it feels like. Perhaps she was the first vessel I turned my eyes upon after the notion of having my own boat had entered my head.

At my age then, she seemed a nicely sized boat, her twenty-five feet encompassing all the space I could possibly need. She was glorious with her forest green hull polished glassy, nifty brass portholes, varnished teak and mahogany. No engine, but she didn't need one, oh no. Norm took her out regularly and skillfully brought her back in under sail every time. True, she was all wood, but she had been well kept by a man who loved her. She was beautiful with a name to reflect it. Adagio. She had a character all her own, I talked to her sometimes as I paused in my dock wanderings. She was small and cute, but strong and well built. I dreamed about her and she filled me with ideas and ambition.

Some time went by. I returned to Moss Landing and found that Norm was no longer able to keep Adagio, she'd been given to the wooden boat lady to sit with two unfinished projects. Remembering my connection, I asked about her. It was a price far beyond me, something I couldn't be prepared for. So I let her go, I let her stay and I moved on in life. I went to school and experimented with different areas of interest, I suppose I developed my mind. Time passed anyways. Adagio languished by herself and became a neglected derelict. I forgot about my dream, only the passing fancy of a child.

But I was wrong. A piece of my heart stayed somewhere amongst the green paint and dark mahogany. Perhaps first inspirations stay with you like that. She did, at any rate. I realised that as I looked at two pieces in the scrap yard yesterday, a little bow piece and a little stern piece. Old paint on them, still cute and dainty, traces of her lines in them yet. Years after that first notion, boats make up most of my life and a day hardly goes by without a trip to the harbor or the smell of teak and varnish. And little Adagio is gone without the breath of new life I dreamed of giving her, the love and care that she deserved, the sailing she longed to have. She was my first dream, she owned a corner of my heart, she gave me inspiration. I didn't realise all she was to me, how influential she was, how she impacted my life. And now she is gone.

New Experiences

One of the newer things in the last 6 monthsish is my joining the Santa Cruz Sea Scouts, which has been an interesting ride so far. There are some things I like about it, and other things I do not, which I will not be specific about. Last Thursday through this Monday I went on their summer cruise; this year it was to Monterey (we have a green crew, so they decided against going to Catalina/So. Cal).

The ride to Monterey was pretty nice; I'm the appointed Navigator, so I taught a couple of scouts about how plotting a course etc. works; we also saw a couple of Humpbacks and a pod of dolphins go by. Not so nice was the fact that the radar is not currently working (although it was only light fog, its still a good safety), and, once we got over to the anchorage, the doubts about whether the anchor windlass was functioning... AHHH! Anyways, Monterey was nice and cold an' foggy, like it usually is in June, July and August. Some of the crew went swimming, and I think I took a nap, I don't remember... Day #2 I spent about 6 hours (morning till after lunch) learning about taking apart outboard motors, and I actually learned alot, so it was a good learning opportunity. After that I went ashore with Andy, our executive officer, and Brent, junior officer, and we walked to Sand City to get parts for a water line that busted, and look for some fuses for the radar, and Trader Joe's (always good :). Next day we decided to head for Santa Cruz, trip over etc., which is not really noteworthy.

Our second day in Santa Cruz (we anchored right off the wharf, in front of the Boardwalk) we walked through the Boardwalk and went on the Big Dipper (woooot!), stood around watching the salt water taffy machine (wooot!) and walked along the railroad tracks and did a loop to avoid the Boardwalk on the way back. Hiked along West Cliff Drive to the lighthouse/surf museum where I found some awesome postcards (hey, I was on a trip, okay, we had to act like tourists...) and headed back to the ship. This was all very entertaining, as we were in a sarcasticly humorous way. Yes, "sarcasticly" is a word. As of... now.

Back on the ship, Brent and I decide we need to take the Lido 14 (sailboat) out. No big deal, I'm the person in charge of sailing anyways. It's a pretty breezy afternoon with no clouds overhead, and there's some boats from the harbor out scooting around by the mile bouy. Brent is newer at sailing, but I put him at the tiller anyways, because that's how you learn; sails up, we cast off the Steeves and head out for some fun.

I explain a little about how the steering for sailboats works, and what angle to aim for with the wind. We get going pretty fast, and heel a little; I'm trimming the sails for optimum speed... Then we're sailing really fast, and we're almost standing up on the windward side of the boat, so I tell Brent we might want to tack.

WHAP! We tack, but we're still blasting along like snot, so I say let's head downwind a bit, but we're already heeling way waaaay over, and then we're going up into the wind (which gets you going even faster); I'm thinking I should let out the sails (the last chance to avoid capsizing), but it's those self-locking cleats that suck to undo when you're in a hurry, and I can't get on the other side of the boat 'cause we're heeling so much, and it's slow motion as some water comes over the gunnel, and then WHAP - we tack; at that point Brent loses all rudder control as she rounds up again, and -slooow motion- we heel waaaaaaaaay over, and its so far over we can't keep balance, then all of a sudden we're in the air, and SPLOOSH!

Luckily, we're both wearing life jackets. The boat finishes flipping completely over as my head pops out of the water and Brent gets untangled from the main sheet. The water actually didn't feel very cold, because we were both so shocked about actually capsizing the boat. I'd never flipped a boat before, so I didn't have much of an idea about how to right one, but we definitely learned how. We hauled ourselves up on top of the hull and stood on one side, standing on the gunnel. Andy came by and helped us out with three other people, and we finally managed to right it. We realized that because the bow of the Lido is a big cubby, it's the heaviest part and is super full of water, so to right it you have to stand close to the bow and kinda roll it on the bow, which lets the stern come up and over first.

Some lifeguards came by and were a huge hassle, even though they meant well. We bailed some of the water (there was SO much water) before the lifeguard boat came up and told us we couldn't... anyways, we managed to tow it back to the ship, and I believe that's the closest either of us have come to the first stages of hypothermia. Big excitement of the trip, and a good learning experience to boot. At first it was a shock, and I felt really bad about it, but later it was pretty funny. There were a bunch of people on the wharf taking pics of us, and we kind of regretted not having a video of us going over (our faces must have been comical to see).

That's the latest, and I thought I should try and write that out in story form for the explanation and entertainment of those who weren't present. In other news, I'm contemplating rearranging the shed for at least a study area, and feeling like I should try and do some creative writing... It's summer, after all, and I have till the 31st, and it's going by way too fast.