Belfast – A Bittersweet Conclusion

By Matthew Maples

 

August 13th, 2009 – 1500 hours – Belfast, Northern Ireland

 

Here we are, Belfast. The relative quiet of the deckhouse on Europa barely conceals the roiling festivities of the opening day of the Belfast Maritime Festival. A short glance to my left reveals the legs of the crowd gathered on the quay, stacked tight against one another, trying to get as close to our ship as they can. Now a gangplank is being rigged, and the fences are being cleared away, and the people edge a bit closer, their silent excitement betrayed by eager faces. In a few moments they will come aboard our ship as guests, to walk our deck, view our ship and hear our stories. It is quite a turn-around in a day, to transform our ship from a working, sailing ship into a highlight attraction at a maritime festival. No longer do we find ourselves bracing yards, furling sail and steering at the helm – our time-worn duties and sailing routines have been replaced. Now we have given our ship a thorough tidying. We have removed the “unsightly gear” like chain winches, canvas strops and tools. We now do the gangplank “switcharoo” by which we persistently tweak, adjust, and re-set our gangplank to compensate for the tide, which raise and lower us against the quay a dozen feet or so in a day! It is a different set of duties, but I am reminded in each one of these ports about how special what we are doing really is; these crowds of people who come to visit us and meet us in every port do so for a reason.

The conclusion of our cross-ocean voyage came with the onset of yesterday afternoon. We had anchored off the northern coast, next to an island called Muck Island, only a handful of miles from Belfast. A morning of sterile wind did little to move us on our way; despite our “sailing off the hook” (raising anchor and setting sail with no motor!). After a long drift, the wind came, to move us on our way. As we neared Belfast a “foul wind” barred entry into the city via sail, forcing us to use our engines for the first time since Halifax. Taking in all our sail, I was allowed, for the third time in a row, to “call” the main mast – meaning that my job was to receive sail-handling orders from the Captain, ensure that all the lines were properly manned and then call out the orders and watch the sail to take it in; “Ease down halyard, haul away clews! Yard is in its lifts! Cast off sheets, haul away clews!” I called, as we, one by one and as quick as we could, took in the squares and brought down our fore and aft sails. It went more smoothly than previous times I thought. In ship’s I’ve sailed on previously, this job was usually executed by a mate or very experienced AB.

I’m thankful that my superiors on Europa are willing to let me “have a go at it.” Now our sail was left hanging – no longer would we see wind in them for this voyage.

Rounding the seaside town of White Head we saw, deep in the bay our first glimpse of Belfast – a moment of mixed emotions for many of us. It is always a good feeling to conclude a voyage and bring the ship, and the ship you, safely into port. Conclusions though, are less an ending, and more a transition. For those of us leaving the ship before she leaves Belfast, we are left in a strange limbo; hanging around and helping out on a ship that will leave soon without us. A movement from a home that we’ve come to know and make our own and a dread of leaving a place we enjoy so much. I am not the only one who feels this way.

Sean Og Maguire and Ciara Higgins, the two Belfast trainees I interviewed previously, feel much the same. Ciara felt mixed feelings when she saw Belfast, realizing that “it was the end of the voyage, we’re going to have to get off.” Even though she is excited to see her family in Belfast, she has become “used to having (her) own little family on board.” Sean Og agrees; “You’re used to everyone’s personality on here, you know how to react to everyone here – but new people in the crowd, you react like “Ah! Ah! Get away from me!”

For Ciara and Sean Og, I followed up on my earlier interview, conducting another one today for the end of our voyage. They seem a little surprised by the outpouring of positive feelings that the people of Belfast and beyond have given the tall ships and themselves. The media has been extensively covering the Belfast trainees who crossed the Atlantic on several of the racing ships, following up on the en-route reporting of BBC’s Julian Fowler.

Our trainees Sean Og and Ciara found themselves in an impromptu radio interview as they walked up the street, their Europa T-shirts giving them away to the eager questions of the press. Indeed, today, nearly all the newspapers of Belfast carry the image of the trainees on Europa as they came into port.

As for Sean Og and Ciara, I inquired to the reaction their own families gave them after finishing this momentous voyage; They found their families, as can be expected, beaming of their achievements. “I can’t believe you came back alive!” said Sean Og’s parents. He says that they “were expecting me to be so hyper and fall overboard.or else get thrown overboard!”

For both of these trainees, they found out that they learned some things in addition to the usual seamanship of sails, knots and navigation. For Sean Og, he learned that “you can commit to something if you try.” “Usually I try something for two weeks and then “eh I don’t care anymore” he says, adding that “this is something I want to do and experience a lot more.”

Meeting, dealing with and making friends with new people was a highlight of the journey for them. Sean Og found that living with people who started out as complete strangers, who became fantastic friends. “You are with the people 24/7, you get to know them and not just the grim part of their personality,” he says. “On a boat you are with people through ups and downs.” Sean Og was a little surprised at how well everyone got along; “Its just so strange, if you are thrown in to a group of mixed people, some aren’t going to gel well together and you’ll usually get some bickers and fights, but theres nothing like that on board, its all so good, laid back and relaxed.”

“Most of us will probably be friends for life,” says Ciara. She is impressed by the strength of the friendships she formed in a mere matter of weeks, while on board, especially in her cabin that she shared with five other strangers who took on the familiarity of friendship. Ciara discovered, while immersed in an environment full of new people, that she was more approachable and friendlier than she had perceived herself to be.

One thing that I can relate to, with Sean and Ciara, is how huge the effect sailing on these ships is to many. I had read all about how it changed people, but I didn’t expect it to be so much! Sean and Ciara found something similar. “Everybody said it was going to be really life-changing, I was thinking I would get on and get off and get back to my day job, but it’s just so much different, everything just looks different. It (the voyage) makes you think clearer as well, you have so much time to think.” “Being in the middle of the ocean,” she says “gives you time to think about what you want to do.”

Sean found the experience life-changing enough, that he can’t wait to come back sailing, whether for Europa or other ships. “I want to do more traveling, but I want my means of travel to be on a boat.”

At the end of the day, the most vivid memories these two say they will have, is of the visceral experience of sailing at sea. For Ciara, climbing into the rigging was amazing. “I think I made myself afraid of heights, but then I just went and did it,” she said. Sean Og found the rough weather we experienced; with gale force winds for a handful of days to be his most exciting moment. “although it was dangerous, you were safe – it was exciting and adrenaline-rushing, so many mixed emotions threw into one.”

No doubt this experience has been an “experience of a lifetime” for Sean Og, Ciara and the dozens of other trainees aboard these ships. This particular group of trainees we have had on Europa have been the most enthusiastic, energetic, willing and capable trainees I have ever encountered among the handful of ships I have sailed on before. I believe that a number of them will return to sailing on tall ships, and sooner than they expect!

It is a bittersweet return to port, bringing us to new places, to meet new people. But every port brings the end of a voyage for someone. This time, it is the Belfast trainees and myself. We’ve all seen some amazing things, done things we didn’t think we could do and pushed ourselves a bit farther, learned something more. All these things bring changes. Changes only truly felt as one disembarks from their ship, leaving their new-found home and family. These ships though, have a way of re-uniting shipmates, as I have witnessed, again and again in the ports that we sailed to for this summer’s Tall Ship Atlantic Challenge. We have made some fantastic new friends, of all ages from all around the world. Who, though soon to be separated, will undoubtedly keep their friendships through our shared voyage together. For some of us, there may yet be more.

It is easy to forget, deep in our routines at sea about the real meaning of what we are doing, but it is always easy to remember when we come into port, to the cheers of the crowds that what we are sailing represents something special to so many people. I think it is only in port, when we come back that we realize how unique what we are doing really is. These ships have a strong cultural meaning – of daring, adventure, perseverance and romantically “getting away from it all” These huge amounts of eager visitors are the testament to the strength of the symbolism people see in tall ships.

In that way, their visit means much to us who sail these ships. Hopefully our stories will inspire some of them to give tall ship sailing a try, it is more accessible than most people think.

My voyage, though extended, is soon to end, and in an excellent way. I will probably find my way onto a rolling deck again soon, though I do not know when, as of yet. I hope you enjoyed this blog and please leave your criticism, for I am inspired to continue this sort of writing with the next ship I find myself on. Thank You, Bonne Voyage and Fair Winds!

- Matthew Maples

Where the Sea meets the Hills of Donegal, there we are.

By Matthew Maples

August 7th, 2009 – 1000 hours – 55.21.01′N x 08.01.57′W

At 07:01 and 35 seconds UTC time, our ship’s horn sounded a thunderous blast; the race for us had ended and we had crossed the finish line, marked by Tory Island in the north west corner of Ireland. Those awake sounded a cheer and congratulated one another for making it here together. Many of our crew, their slumber ended by the sonic rumble of the horn, came out on deck to take a glance.

And what a view! The silhouetted hills of Donegal are in sight, revealed to us this morning by the most fantastic sunrise I have witnessed on this voyage. The rocky islands and shoreline are in the forefront, with the sloping, early morning gray-green domes of the hills all along the coast.

For me it was a reflective moment, for I have wanted to see Ireland with my own eyes for many years; it is awesome to have it revealed this morning, after the nineteen days of hard work it took to cross the ocean to get here.

Yes Ireland, the bark Europa has arrived! Trainee Corrina Heaney, arriving on deck to see the end of the race, did not expect to see her home on the starboard bow, no more than a handful of miles away. As she came on deck she thought to herself; “We’re home.oh there’s Tory Island! And Malin Head and Inishtrahull!” Corrina knows the coastline of Northern Ireland well, for she lives in a seaside village near Belfast and has traveled with her family extensively in the north. She’s never seen the coastline from the opposite perspective, though she had no trouble identifying the landmarks.

Trainee “Spike” Milligan, feels a “sense of satisfaction” to have finished the race; “It feels good to be finished; it’s good that everyone got through it ok.” When asked what he thought when he saw Ireland again this morning he said “It is kinda strange from this perspective since we live there” he says, gesturing toward the coast. “It is hard to take in that we just came across the North Atlantic.” As I sat down after my watch, to gaze at the slowly passing coast, “Spike” on the helm filled my ear with the history of this part of Ireland. Of particular interest; he told me that the Sperrins Mountains we saw on starboard bow were once colossal in size, fifteen miles high at their summits millions of years ago! They were so massive that they cast a shadow on the rest of Ireland, causing it to be a desert wasteland so different from its famously green composition today. Now they are sculpted round by the wind and erosion, mere stumps of their former selves. I will have to look up this info myself later for some more details.

We now make our way to BallyCastle, hopefully. We need the wind to get us there in time and the wind since this morning has become little more than a whisper. A high pressure system moved in quickly yesterday and has brought sunny weather and light winds to us again. The past two days have seen steadily lighter winds arrive, allowing us to bring all our canvas to bear again. While the weather is pleasant, I am excruciatingly excited to see more of Ireland and have my fingers crossed for a more favorable wind to carry us to our destination.

The BBC has had an embedded reporter, Julian Fowler, with us for the voyage.

He has been filming and narrating clips of our voyage and sending them to be BBC to go on television and internet .For those of you following, you will be interested in checking out

www.bbc.co.uk/newline – There you can download video clips of our voyage!

Surfing Toward Ireland

By Matthew Maples

 

 August 5th, 2009 – 0140 hours – 54.23.15′N x 14.44.46′W

 We are nearly there, less than 240 miles left to the finish line, and Ireland! Yesterday alone, in our twenty-four hour run, we saw 219 miles of ocean pass by our stern – 219 miles! A record for the Europa since she left Cape Town, South Africa last April. We have been making awesome speed, rarely going below 8 knots and usually making 9.5 to over 10. Our last day was rather exciting. It started early, with The Dane and I being roused early from our bunks, to assist the Port Watch with shortening sail in a chilled rain – The T’Gallants were taken in, leaving our fore and main masts bare except for the Topsails – the strongest sails on the masts. As the day rolled on, large waves began to form; over six meters in height and some a good several feet more. The main deck saw waves rushing over the rail, driving foam across the deck and soaking the pin rail before running out the scuppers. In one instance I was on the main deck opening up a hot-air pipe, when a waterfall came crashing over the rail. By chance I was under an awning, leaving me dry, though the main deck was submerged up to my shins in water for a few moments. Several times while standing on the quarter deck, I saw the rail for the main deck so vividly filled with roiling foam that it appeared submerged.

 

Numerous times on the helm we could feel our speed increase as our vessel literally “surfed” some of the big rollers coming past our stern. Riding one such wave we saw our maximum speed of the day; 12.4 knots! When we surf these waves the entire stern vibrates and the water can be felt onrushing beneath our feet, even from several decks up, with a tremendous noise, like a waterfall, accompanying it from underneath. It is an awesome feeling to be on the helm and know that you just “surfed” a three-masted bark!

The excitement on deck could be seen on the grinning faces around me, as we watched dark, steamrolling mountains of water plow through the ocean, their crests spiraling upwards, higher and higher, becoming vivid crowns of white-tipped aqua color. Often looking back we could see them come, closer and closer, as tall as our stern, looking like they would crash over us, only for our vessel to be lifted up onto their broad shoulders and carried forward before being left behind in the trough. The noise from these surging behemoths with the accompanying howling of the wind through the rigging was a sonic spectacle, the entire effect humbling our comparatively small island of a vessel in this massively powerful ocean.

Later in the evening, The Dane and I were steering at the helm, when.Surprise! An unexpected wave blasted our stern from the side, the oncoming rush of water coming over the railing of the quarterdeck. Ducking, we nearly lost our footing as water up to our knees rushed past us. Watching the water run out over the lee rail, I saw to our surprise, some of the heavy, wooden floorboards that stay by the helm, half over the rail about to plummet into the ocean – I rescued them in time. To think that the wave was powerful enough to wash away our floorboards! The stern of this vessel hardly ever gets “pooped” (when a wave breaks over the high stern of a ship) and ship’s boson Mike Stewart said that he has never heard of it happening.

Regardless, it was a huge surprise for us to get pooped from a wave running fast and perpendicular to the rest. We could not stop ourselves from laughing about how surprised we were for some time afterward As the late afternoon and evening wore on, the wind blew itself out, bit by bit to lessen in power. Slowly we piled on more sail to keep our speed on.

Now we are back up to skysails again with the waves and wind having lost their former, thunderous glory. Still, it is enough to keep us hauling forward, cruising at an average 9-10 knots, clipping toward Ireland. Yet the waves are still powerful enough to send everything rattling and crashing as the ship occasionally lurches over sending people stumbling or hanging onto rails. I can still hear the occasional swell batter up and over our rail as I write this in our cozy library.

Our Atlantic race is not turning out as well for us as we had hoped. We have not managed to close the distance to Cisne Branco and Capitan Miranda who are both nearly at the finish line. The Sagres in the last day managed to beat our speed by three knots, putting us well in their stern by nightfall.

Of the class A vessels, this leaves us in last place. Yet in the overall race we are still doing well, placing 5th currently. In more unfortunate news, we have heard that our fellow sailors on the gaff cutter Jolie Brise have not fared too well – the wind and swell has broken both their topmast and bowsprit! They are well thankfully, though battered.

The coast of Ireland is not far away; this afternoon saw us parallel with Dublin as we head toward the north west coast of the island. We have, overall, done well for time, and need not be in Belfast until August 12th or 13th. If we can keep our speed up, then we have time for a diversion. An anchorage near BallyCastle, Ireland has been picked out and we all hope to keep our excellent clip and get some rest and relaxation at BallyCastle.

No More Poofter Wind

By Matthew Maples

August 3rd, 2009 – 1730 hours – 50.54.16′N x 26.27.64′W

As the starboard T’Gallant stun’sl was hauled into position and sheeted home, The Dane turned around on the foredeck, and with a celebratory gesture declared; “This is what I love about this ship, we set our stun’sls even though we know a gale is coming! We sail the hell out of this ship!”

It was the 0800-1400 watch, yesterday morning. Captain Klaas had told us that we were about to enter a low-pressure system and that we could expect up to Force 8 (40 knots) winds by the evening. The winds were still light in the morning, and with the class B Dutch tall ship Tecla a mere handful of miles behind us, we put up more canvas to squeeze a few more knots out of the wind, bringing us up to a respectable 8-9 knots.

Force 8 winds qualify on the Beaufort Scale as a gale – strong winds and waves that can batter the unprepared vessel. As if we were preparing for a battle, we set about preparing our ship for the onset of the elements; anything that could move was lashed down, our small-boat sloop was brought inboard and ratcheted in place, strong storm sails were brought up from the chain locker and stationed into position, ready to replace our standard sails. My watch left the deck at 1400, wondering when the winds would arrive.

And arrive they did, just like rowdy, unexpected guests, they blustered in right when a birthday tart for trainee Nick was about to be served. Quickly moving onto the deck, my starboard watch saw that the earlier Port watch had been busy; the skysails (highest squares on the main and fore masts) had been taken in, as well as our delicate stun’sls. We quickly set about shortening sail, bringing in our Royals (second highest squares) the highest staysails, and the gaff topsail and spanker on the mizzen mast – a very busy two hours, those on the professional crew and myself found ourselves up and down each mast, busy furling sails as tightly as possible. Aloft on the main course yard, Me, Mike and Pepijn could feel the wind increase in intensity as the already substantial swells formed foamy whitecaps, looking back I could see the ship roll, as if sliding from side to side as the waves rolled under our ship.

Finally, our ship was shortened on sail, trimmed for the course and doubled sheets put on some staysails. The Dane and I even rigged a trysail (a small storm sail put in place of our spanker to keep balance aft). Now we were ready for heavier weather.

As twilight faded into night, the wind kept steady and the white-capped watery mountains passing our stern picked us up and rolled us, almost gently. Our course brings the wind from our Port Quarter near the stern, a very comfortable direction for handling the 12-15 foot swells around us, much more so then going head into them!

The ship in these conditions is an awesome thing to behold. Looking aft one can see the helmsmen, covered head-to-toe in foul weather gear, to keep dry and warm, pushing the stubborn wheel around, fighting against the swells pushing against our stern. The ship rolls with the waves, heeling over at a near 45 degree angle at times as waves bring spray and foam across the main-deck railing, soaking the pin rail thoroughly. The wind, like a banshee’s whisper, howls past your ears, making strange, siren-like calls as it ripples the waves and tugs at our foul-weather gear. Our water-tight doors on deck are closed, sealing the below decks from sea – no trainees are allowed forward of the quarterdeck and everyone on deck wears harnesses, clipping into strong safety lines that criss-cross the decks. All through the night and into the morning, the sea and sky were an ominous shade of gray, broken only by the white horses that churned the curls of the swells.

Despite this change of weather, which is a stark departure from our weeks of sunshine and sunbathing, ship-life continues on schedule, as uninterrupted as possible. Coffee, now more than ever finds itself into the chilled and eager hands of the crew on deck, on schedule as ever before – they drink it much more quickly though, for the frosty wind turns the hottest coffee into an iced concoction of sludge in mere minutes. Cleaning below decks has happened on schedule, although with considerably more trouble then usual.

Several buckets of dirty water were spilled onto the soles of compartments, dumped asunder by the random, mischievious swells that heel the ship well over, tossing items as well as people about. One bucket of filthy water, carried by Amy Fitzsimmons, found itself upturned into Kelsey Stewart’s bunk by a stumbling Amy. Kelsey, instantly awake, was mortified into silence.

Today, Captain Klaas told us that our previous day’s run was 181 miles, though most of it was covered in just the past twelve hours due to the excellent speed we have been making since the wind arrived. The overall plan: right now we are riding the bottom of a confluence of low pressure systems that are hovering over the North Atlantic all the way to Ireland.

Following the outskirts of this counter-clockwise, swirling system, we headed East last night. As the systems wind swirls toward the north, the wind for us comes from the South-West, allowing us to head north and hopefully hug the system all the way to Ireland. “One thing is for sure, we’ll keep the wind” said Captain Klaas today. The only catch; we have 120 hours of good wind, we need to make our gains over the next few days as we head to Ireland.

I saw The Dane today, on watch, as he stood by the helm, arms crossed, chin out, looking approvingly over the dozen foot high swells and the wind-stretched flags as he supervised the wheel back aft. I asked him if this is the North Atlantic weather he wanted all along. “This is jolly good sailing” he said, “this is what I wanted.”

No more poofter wind for us.

Sunny Days and Beam Reaches…not so much

By Matthew Maples

August 1, 2009 – 2100 hours – 48.21.09′N x 33.47.04′W

Woken up for my 0400-0800 watch, the first thing I noticed, that was immediately apparent was that we were rolling heavily! I could hear small items rolling back and forth across the crew cabin in between the roar of water, sounding like a river of rapids beneath our bunks which are located in the stern. Sitting on the sea chest to get dressed, we took a heavy roll that catapulted me from the sea chest and nearly into the Engineers bunk across the room. Staying on the head (toilet) proved to be quite the challenge as the room pitched and rolled.

Walking/stumbling through the corridor to get on deck, I came across deckhand Kylle de Lange, rolling about on the sole in a fit of laughter. A glance into the galley provided an explanation; milk, spilled everywhere! Kylle had tried to conclude his watch with some hot chocolate for the entire watch. A roll upset his plans, tipping over his milk in the microwave, only to be further spread in a spray when the oven door was opened, giving trainee Kelsey Stewart a thorough dairy dousing!

Making my way up to the deckhouse, I was treated to a scene of stumbling trainees, hanging onto rails, walls, anything, sliding across the floor as if it were ice, giggling nervously, amused at how inept they had become at something as simple as walking. It was like watching a room full of toddlers learning to walk!

Coming onto the quarterdeck gave me the visual explanation for the earthquake-like conditions down below. The twilight sea of pearlescent, shimmering gray had become a seascape of wide valleys, with white-tipped mountains of froth. These mountains moved rapidly toward our stern, lifting up our stern, only then to drop us in front of the next oncoming swell. In the troughs of valleys, the oncoming water appeared to match our rail in height.

The wind had increased since I had last been on deck, and in response the other watch had “shortened sail” by taking in our highest and most outermost sails. A glance at our GPS in the wheelhouse summed it all up; 10.5 knots! We were hauling through the sea at excellent speed! Despite the wind, we still had our Royal squares set – we were sailing the Europa’s rig to her upper limit for these conditions! Roaring nearly downwind the wind and waves made steering difficult. Even with two people on the helm, it could be fight to bring the rudder to bear. Straining, the gears rumbling in the box, the wheel resisted our will spoke for spoke. We had to keep a course as steady as possible, knowing that too far in either direction brings undue amounts of force on the rig, making the likelihood of breaking a substantial amount of things too likely for comfort! Not long after our watch came on deck we hit our fastest speed yet – 11.4 knots.

Finally it was my turn to take the wheel. Joining me was Pierrick Bertrand, a young trainee from France. He speaks very little English, but the helm needed both our efforts in tandem to be done properly. Thus, we overcame our language barrier with some basic hand signals. With the gray seas swirling about us, and a rig that needed undivided attention at the wheel, Pierrick and I, despite being barely able to exchange a word, managed to steer the Europa well, our coordinated efforts out-muscling the wheel. It is these moments that epitomize what sailing an international ship like the Europa in sail-training is about; bringing together a menagerie of people, separated by culture, country and language, to find the common ground, communication and teamwork necessary to sail a three-masted barque with dozens of sails across the Atlantic Ocean!

By the end of my time on the helm, the seas and wind had begun to die down.  We were then treated to an hour long show as pods of dolphins sporadically came hopping over the waves toward us. Unlike their southern cousins, these northern dolphins are about half the size, but twice as acrobatic as the common dolphins we saw earlier in the voyage. Erika tells me that these dolphins jump constantly out of the water because it allows them to travel faster by reducing drag – that explains a lot for me, as you can see these pods from a distance by their constant splashes as they catapult themselves up from the sea.

At our two’o'clockie meeting, Captain Klaas told us that with our excellent speed, we had made a previous day’s run of 191 miles – not too bad! So far, the Uruguayan ship Capitan Miranda and the Brazilian Cisne Branco are some 600 miles ahead of us! In the past several days they had a more northerly gale propelling them while we had but light air. To console us however, we know that they are getting 50 knots of wind with waves coming on their stern – a very uncomfortable ride surely! In our class they are the number two and one vessels respectively, while we are number three of four.

As the gray-veiled sun went down we ended our day with a small celebration of Swiss Independence for the three Swiss on board. We tried three times to fire the cannon, but each time only a small “poof” emanated from the barrel.

As the engineers spent a half hour trying to fix the cannon, Ms. Emily Dobson cheekily commented; “Now how long did it take you to get your independence?” The post-dinner celebration was followed by a showing of “Around Cape Horn” – a film always guaranteed to pack up the lounge with our crew and plenty of laughs as we watch the crew and trainees of the old tall ship Peking make their way around Cape Horn. Its always refreshing, and a surprise to those who haven’t seen it to watch the film and see us doing many of the same things they are doing.

We are still keeping up a good speed, I know we will sail Europa to her maximum and hopefully close the distance to our South American competitors!

A Fickle Wind with Irons

By Matthew Maples

July 30, 2009 – 0950 hours – 45.59.36′N x 30.55.44′W

Lekker Weertje! (Nice Weather). Quite nice in fact – there we were, my starboard watch, standing by the wheelhouse, in the wet mist and light rain amongst the slate sky and sea. We were in the middle of turning-over to the next watch, only moments away from ending our dawn vigil and eating a breakfast awaiting us down below.then.

“Whoof! Whomp.Whomp.WHOMP!” It was the sound of our fore and aft triangular staysails luffing, the Desmond staysail next to me, almost too slowly rippled with wind, I looked up.there, forward, all the square sails on the main and fore masts were aback! Filled with wind from the wrong side they were pushing back on our masts and ship.

Captain Klaas shot up from the wheelhouse, “What is your heading!” he shouted to the helmsman, John. “065!” answered John, with a confused look on his face. He was on course. What had happened? No time to think! Me and the Dane rushed back to the helm, Hands hauling on the wheel spokes, the helm was turned hard over to starboard until we heard the dull thunk of the gears within the wheelbox – we had given her all the starboard rudder possible.waiting.waiting.. .Still, no response came from the rudder, we did not fall off the wind. Trapped in place, the square sails were aback and the triangular fore-and-aft sails were thrown about uncontrolled – we were in irons!

The orders came in quick succession. “Take down the flying jib” I heard from someone near the wheelhouse. Our outermost head-sail, a light weather sail, needed to come in. Moving quickly forward I saw deckhand Ninja Helmling ready to cast the halyard off. Moving with haste up to the foredeck I threw off the turns of the flying jib downhaul and began hauling away. As my hands furiously tugged on the line I looked up; there was the flying jib in the throes of a wild dance, its surface appearing to boil as the wind fought us hand for hand to rein in our sail. Quickly, more friendly hands joined in and we dragged the sail into our head-rig, away from the grasping wind.

Now the mate was on the foredeck, “Take down the BMF!” Moving to the next line, we repeated the process, casting another of our triangular head- sails down from wind. Our light weather skysails, the highest square sails on the masts, came in, along with our highest staysails. Now with most of the crew on deck, the yards were braced to match the wind, and the remaining fore-and-aft sails were hauled over – we were now no longer aback, but back in control of our ship. Finally, we wore ship, falling off the wind in a great circle to come around to the other side, bracing our yards and maneuvering sails as necessary to bring us back to our course.

What happened? I wondered after we were back in control. Did the helmsman make a big mistake and accidentally steer us across the wind? He was on course, so no. Instead the wind made a substantial shift on us, moving from our port beam to right on our head in front of us – a shift of over 60 degrees. We can not sail directly into the wind! But aback, our sails uncontrolled, our ship was pushed backwards through the water. The Dane, on the fore deck said it looked like we were going five knots backwards, the fastest he has ever seen a square-rigger go backwards in his five years of sailing.

We did not come out of this wind shift unscarred. Our ship is not built, designed or tensioned to take wind from the wrong direction. Our fore skysail’s wooden yoke around the mast is broken and the BMF Outer Jib, a light wind sail, is in a sorry shape with several large rips in it. However, we are thankful and slightly surprised that the damage is not more substantial, the skysail gear and yards, The Dane and deckhand Pepijn van Schaik tell me, could have been much more substantially broken. Above all are fortunate that we took in all our stun’sl gear earlier this morning to brace ourselves closer to the wind – otherwise they may still have been up when that wind shift occurred. Had that happened, their gear and booms would have shattered instantly, the sails ripped asunder and the entirety of the stun’sl rigging hurled into the sea.

At the two’o'clockie meeting, Captain Klaas revealed to us that the incident was “a quite peculiar wind change” caused by an occluded front that passed over us. When the wind swung around on us he said that we were “backing and turning around like hell!”

Finally, the ship under control and in the capable hands of our relieving Port watch, Starboard watch settled into their late breakfast, our hair still wind-swept and clothes dampened from the mist and light rain of the morning. I asked The Dane if he finally received the rough weather he wanted, his anticipated challenge of the tough North Atlantic ocean.

“No, not at all, this is nothing!” he replied. True, the wind speed was not particularly severe, only 20 knots or so, but from the wrong direction it can make things substantially difficult! What this truly serves to remind us, that we remarked on during breakfast, is that you are never totally safe and secure – nobody had a notion that the wind was going to turn on us at that moment. Proof that we must always be prepared and vigilant – you hear always of how the sea punishes those who fail that.

In any case, we have a saying we often use on board that applies very well to today; “Clear Away the wreckage, and reset”.

A Tale of Two Chases, one of pins, another a Portuguese ship

By Matthew Maples

July 28, 2009 – 2130 hours – 43.18.22′N x 43.08.23′W

A chill in the wind announces our change in direction, a faint feeling of frost. We are heading north, leaving the warm, Sargasso-laden weed waters of the Gulf Stream in our wake. Of all the racing ships, we have spent the most time hugging the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. Reports from our fellow racing vessels have been streaming in over the past few days; reports of far colder waters, perpetual fog and strong winds. The captain told us to bid goodbye to our tropical weather as we leave the latitude on par with the Azores and now cross a latitude level with the Bay of Biscay. Even today our morning blue skies and sea faded to an afternoon gray. Our fair-weather studding sails look threatened as they ripple and twist with the wind among a horizon of slate skies.

Yet, the attitude among the crew remains as jovial as ever, dare I even say an all-time high. Yesterday featured a weekly highlight; the Pin-Rail Chase.  All week our three trainee watches have been preparing for the event, pin rail diagrams in front of their faces. I found myself accosted, day by day, by trainees wanting to know what this or that pin is, or where this or that halyard could be located. Finally, in the afternoon came the pin-rail chase, a sort of relay-race event in which a line name is called out, and three representatives from each watch race one another (no running on deck!) to find the pin. It is an exercise that tests the knowledge of the over two hundred lines of running rigging, one that may come into use when we have bad weather and need to maneuver our ship or sails quickly. Convening on the main deck the three watches arrived, bedecked in colored regalia to match their watch color; red, white, or blue – all corresponding to the colors of the Dutch national flag. Pinky Halliday even came on deck in full drag, hoping to sashay the attention of the judges! I have never seen a more spirited pin-rail chase in my two years of sailing! They were competitive to the point that they were even climbing over the rails to get to upper decks, and two trainees, Emily Dobson and Kelsey Stewart, broke out into a mostly-friendly rolling deck catfight!

The Blue Watch won the day however, and their reward; the last of the ship’s stock of Hagen Daaz chocolate ice cream – the likes of which my own groveling won me several spoonfuls. Two more weeks or so to go, and there is no more ice cream. I have been in the dry stores below decks however, and I see many cookies yet. Already jealous threats against the Blue Watch have begun to appear on the deckhouse chalkboard. I hear talk of more competitions upcoming, so the watches will have to keep up their hard work learning!

They are doing an amazing job, honestly. I have sailed in the past with five other sail-training organizations, and never have I seen a group as enthusiastic, willing and energetic as this one! The crew is quite impressed – to the point where we on the crew are making a point to take a step back and let the trainees do as much of the sail-handling as possible, to let them call the orders and work our sails and maneuver our ship. During a fire drill today, while the crew was busy “fighting” a fire, the trainees were told to “clew up” (take in – to haul the sail up to the yard) the Course sails – the largest and lowest sails on our two masts. With minimal input from the crew and with trainee Connor O’ Quigley commanding, the fore Course was brought up in excellent time and without complication. On the foredeck I watched the proceeding and found I needed to say very little as our trainees brought in the sail. I think the next two weeks will bring a level of competence by these trainees that is unprecedented by what I have witnessed previously in this and other organizations. It is good that the crew is in agreement to allow this level of trainee involvement to happen – It is similar to what I used to do when sailing for Ocean Classroom Foundation’s schooner Spirit of Massachusetts several months earlier. I have been making a point in the past couple days to let the trainees do much of the line handling I get assigned to me – I haven’t cast off a staysail halyard all week, not when I have so many trainees around me all eager and wanting work!

The 2000-0000 watch last night saw a dozen Storm Petrels – small black sea birds with white tails and webbed feet, land on our deck. Attracted by our deck lights and completely exhausted from trying to find their way in a clouded featureless sea, they made no noise and nearly no resistance as I picked them up off the deck. We gently put them in some deck crates with towels, to let them rest. The next morning the sun broke the horizon on my dawn watch, its light painting the seascape’s features into place. One by one we picked up our Petrels from the crates, releasing them into the sea and sky beyond our rail. This is a standard thing to do with exhausted birds that seek refuge on ships in bad weather or poor visibility – to keep them until they can find their way again. Luckily for these birds we have no ship’s cat on Europa. On a similar night two years ago on the Picton Castle, larger, exhausted sea birds that sought solace on our ship met a grisly end against the clawed paws of the ship’s mascot feline, Chibley.

The excellent weather of the past few days has seen some things on deck that I never expected to see on a square-rigger underway. In addition to the usual hammocks, books and naps, the sloop deck has even become a setting for Yoga sessions and even games of Twister. Trainee Richard Kandarian, to our surprise, continues to juggle his acrobatic pins on our rolling deck. I long expected that he would have lost one over the side by now, but this is not the case!

Meanwhile the race continues; this afternoon saw our “sparring partner”, the Portuguese barque Sagres 24 miles ahead of us. By nightfall she was left in our wake! Of the four class A vessels racing, we rank third currently, and of the twelve total racing, we rank fifth. I think we shall climb the ranks soon however, as our predicted position in the coming hours forecasts substantially stronger winds of 35 knots. In the past races Europa proved to be an underdog wildcard, coming ahead in the last few days. We have roughly two more weeks to race yet, much is yet to happen.

Our Belfast trainees

By Matthew Maples

July 26, 2009 – 1220 hours – 40.22.18′N x 47.10.41′W

When I woke up Port Watch today at 0730, I did so telling them that the weather on deck was “the usual lovely”. The usual lovely! Our ocean crossing thus far is still all sunshine, blue skies and azure water; I see no threatening clouds around us. Sail-handling is few and far between as we have been able to keep all normal canvas aloft, and occasionally set our studding sails. It is not the gray, monotone sky and sea I remember from similar latitudes two years ago. We agreed that having this many Irish on our ship would be an unlucky thing, but so far, this is not the case.

Speaking of, I was talking with Seanog Maguire and Ciara Higgins on our quiet night watch, and it turns out that the lot of them from Belfast had to go through quite the process to sail with us on our ship as trainees. The substantial cost of sailing was subsidized by the Belfast City Council, with the remaining raised by them. For Sean and Ciara it started September of last year at a pool in Belfast, where they work as lifeguards. A poster on the wall announced an opportunity to sail from Halifax to Belfast on a tall ship. An interview, followed by a day of team-building exercises followed, by which our Irish trainees were put to the test, and a pool of them whittled down. From this, those selected attended a day course on sea-survival training, which included getting into a life-raft in a wave pool, all the while being sprayed down by a hose with freezing water!

Finally, a week-long sail with the Ocean Youth Trust’s ship Lord Rank capped the months-long process it took for our Belfast trainees to complete before being sent to Halifax to join us. The Belfast City Council wants a team of young, home-grown trainees to sail into their city, full of sea stories to tell from an experience of a life time. I’d say they are getting it; they agree.

Before this endeavor, Sean had never been sailing before in his life. “I was sort of like nervous, so.SO nervous! But excited. “Sean says the highlight of his voyage thus far is “climbin’, learnin’ the ropes so to speak.” At first he was finding those things “quite tough” but for him, it is “starting to collect, slowly but surely.” He prefers the night watches over the daytime ones, particularly because of the night sky; he “never thought he would get to see Jupiter, so clear and so close.” Although Ciara had done some sailing before, she is still finding her voyage on Europa to be more than what she thought it would be. She finds the Europa and its relative comforts to be a “home away from home.”

As for home, Ciara says their friends “think me and Sean are crazy!” Not long after we get to Belfast, Sean and Ciara are scheduled to return back to work. I think they will find themselves changed from their Atlantic odyssey.

I haven’t met anyone who hasn’t been changed in some way from sailing on a ship like this. In the meantime we still have more than two weeks of ocean ahead of us.

Today I noticed a big difference in the competence of our trainees, I find that in tasks like bracing the yards around (moving the yards horizontally) I have been able to give orders and not have to give them too much oversight. I notice many of them greatly improving in their line-handling techniques and I feel comfortable in letting them belay lines under strain without them losing tension. Last night, trainee Jorg Berning impressed us as he served the mizzen stay on the Bosun’s Chair. Serving is to wrap a small line around a large stay, using a grooved mallet to put massive tension on the line – a task that appears deceptively simple, but requires a certain finesse to do well. Jorg did this suspended from the deck on the Bosun’s Chair – a simple plank of wood to sit on suspended by a rope. He did a really good job too! I’ll have to ask if it was his first time serving.

As of this afternoon we have 1,768 miles to go, and we rank second in our class, and fourth overall. All yesterday, and until this afternoon we were within sight of the Portuguese naval sail training vessel Sagres. Despite supposedly being a faster vessel, we caught up to the Sagres for a day, before we parted ways. Hopefully we will sight them again, as it will mean we are either going fast, or they are going slow! Either way works for us.

As for me, I have been trying to learn to speak some Dutch. I’ve been here long enough, so I should be able to use a few basic phrases, and hopefully something more advanced later on – at least to be respectful, and its fun anyway. Papijn van Schaik has been giving me lots of pointers and seems to like to teach me some funny phrases and bad words, much to the entertainment of the Dutch on board! I’m finding it a very difficult language to pronounce, much more than even German, as it uses some phonetic sounds that I’ve never encountered before, in English or any other foreign language that I’ve studied. At least I’ve made some improvement.

Our lovely weather was almost broken early this evening as a storm rolled in on our stern. Our crew and trainees were on stand-by, ready to take in stun’sls and sky-sails at a moments notice. A few drops came, but the storm never arrived, seeming to dissipate in our vicinity. How much longer will our luck persist?

Ciara and Sean would like to thank the sponsors of their voyage. “Thanks to everyone who sponsored me, it’s an amazing experience, I wouldn’t be able to do it without them”, said Sean. “Thank you, thank you! Everyone who sponsored us” said Ciara.

The North Atlantic Ocean, a place of Sunshine, Sunbathing and smooth Sailing

By Matthew Maples

 

July 24, 2009 – 2045 hours – 39.30.62′N x 51.43.80′W

 

Today was filled with sunshine, sunbathing, and maintenance projects on the deck. A cool breeze kept the humidity and heat down while the occasional sweep of warm water came through the scuppers, gently wetting down the deck.

 

No this isn’t a tropics trade wind ocean crossing! We are crossing the North Sea! This afternoon we were only 200 miles south of the eastern edge of Newfoundland. There are icebergs only several hundred miles north of us, but the weather on deck would fool me for the tropics? This is definitely not the weather any of us we’re expecting. I dug deep into the stores of the Europa, loading up on foul weather gear and sweaters cast off from past Antarctic voyagers, expecting to encounter temperatures of considerable frigidity here in the North Atlantic. It has been like this for several days now. What is going on?

 

Apparently, the Gulf Stream takes the brunt of the blame. The same time the weather turned pleasant was when we crossed into the Gulf Stream. This temperature of the water we are sailing on, here in the Gulf Stream is 26 degrees Celsius/ 79 degrees Fahrenheit – certainly a marked difference from the water outside the Gulf Stream. The warm water, affecting the weather seems to have put us in a “weather bubble” of sorts that I think is shielding us from what should be far chillier climate. In addition to warmth it is giving us a knot boost in speed.

 

We spent all day yesterday, and this morning in anticipation of Force Seven winds (40 some knots) that never came. This entire voyage thus far has given us but light airs in which we have been able to keep every sail aloft.

 

 “Bloody poofter winds!” is what The Dane calls it – he is thoroughly disgusted with the weather thus far, his North Sea adventure turning out to be “Just another passage of trade wind sailing.” Despite the easy winds, we seem to be making a good six or seven knots average.As of 1330 this afternoon, Captain Klaas informed us that we have 2000 miles to go until Ireland. We are considerably more south then the vessels opposing us in this race, but as usual, there is a method to machinations of Captain Klaas. Currently we are wedged between two high pressure systems – where they meet is where a division occurs. Our opponents north of it are likely to lose their wind, and even get wind opposing them in the coming days. For us, the only vessel south of this division, we will get winds that Klaas says could carry us to Ireland. The next couple days are critical, he says, to “squeeze everything out of it” to make our gains while the other vessels face less prosperous winds.

Our trainees are proving to be awesome. Their enthusiasm is amazing, they are always asking about how they can help, and they are doing everything they can to learn. After I taught a class on how to understand the system behind the ship’s rigging, I have been bombarded by questions and particulars, all of which I am happy to help with, because I remember how difficult it was for me to learn the rigging of a square rigger at first. I see them at all hours, pin-rail diagrams in front of their faces, putting paper to rigging to find the names and location of our over 200 lines of rigging. Every day I see them immersed in projects – varnishing blocks, greasing stays, making rope mats and even cleaning. I often find myself finding tasks to keep them busy as they relentlessly volunteer themselves for any work! They eat a lot too, but I’ll forgive them for it since they are doing such good work.

I spent a few hours aloft yesterday, doing a rig check of the mainmast, looking for any wear or broken things. High aloft in the rig for so long, I was reminded of that wonderful feeling it is to be aloft on a square-rigger underway in blue seas. Straddling the royal yard near the mast, a hundred feet from deck I can see the horizon in nearly all directions stretch out for dozens of miles. Seas several feet high gave us some roll, felt all the more acutely aloft. I remember how I used to be a little nervous, aloft like this, my heart beating with adrenaline. Now, hundreds of times later my heart is relaxed and serene as it takes in the best view on the ocean. It is up here, alone, so far from the deck, and far from anything else on the horizon, that one feels like they can look into the clouds, face to face – a unique solace. Nowadays I usually go aloft to work, and I am expected to complete my work quickly and get back down to deck, so I have not looked beyond the horizon or shared glimpses with the clouds too much recently. The time aloft on my rig check though allowed me to reward myself with a few minutes break, in which I was reminded of why I always loved to work aloft.

I can only wonder how long this wonderful luck of weather will last. At night we often see bright flashes and booms of lightning far on the horizon, often at our stern, as if we are being shadowed by something more sinister.

We have had a few false alarms as storm systems encroach upon us, only to dissipate in our vicinity. As I type this the deckhouse is filled with rumors of another storm on its way tonight. Despite this, stun’sls are being optimistically set to take advantage of these light winds. Let’s see what happens.

 

 

 

 

 

The Fog

July 22, 2009 – 1030 hours – 43.04.001′N x 60.37.52′W

“How is it going up there?” asked Erika Wasner to Captain Klaas in the galley. “I can’t see a $%^&!” he replied. He then added his thankfulness for having radar. For sure, none of us could see much of anything. A thick fog had settled over the Grand Banks as the sun went down on July 21st, masking the sky and sea behind a foggy veil. We could not see more then 50 feet from our deck in any direction, including skywards all night.

Few experiences are as eerie as being in such a fog, at night on a silent tall ship underway. The fog obscures sea, sky and even the tops of the masts, leaving little to be seen but half a deck and a small radius of dark gray sea nearby. You feel like you are looking at a wall, or sailing in a very small box. Silence becomes visibly deafening when so much of your vision is obscured, and the sounds around us become magnified, more so by the lack of seeing them, then the sound itself. Against our silence the waves lazily lapped against our slow-moving hull, doubling back into the ocean in an off-key chorus. The propeller shaft, while long since been turned off, vibrated as water passed it, giving the entire stern a consistent strange humming sound that sounded like a climax-building soundtrack to a horror movie. A mist moved across the deck, made visible by beams of lights from the deck, coating everything in a dampness that gave way to falling droplets of water, falling from the sails in an ethereal rhythm, like an omnipresent clock ticking against the deck and leeward sea.

One lone celestial apparition, a planet most likely, refused to be hidden entirely and hovered in the sky like a half-hidden, unblinking white eye in the mists. Strange chittering and chattering sounds from unseen creatures could be heard from beyond the fog, but never seen, not even with our powerful deck flashlight. We couldn’t agree on whether they were snickering birds or curious dolphins.

On the foredeck, two of our lookouts, trainees Sean and Ciara managed to spook themselves silly! They claim to have seen a large bird come suddenly out of the fog and it, coupled with their imaginations and the eerie surroundings caused them to huddle at their post, anxiously awaiting their replacements. They apparently were very thankful at being relieved and promptly escaped to the safety of the warm and well-lit deckhouse, away from the apparitions seen from a lonely lookout post up forward, staring into a hidden sea.

This morning caused the sun to burn off some fog, but yet it remains, despite blue skies above. I keep hearing word from the wheelhouse to expect more wind by tonight, at least twenty knots. It is not enough to satisfy The Dane’s expectations for his Grand Banks adventure, but it is enough to get us well on our way to Ireland, despite this slow start to our voyage.