An Old World Crossing

The ship was rolling beyond the point of where it was capable of recovering…….. or so were the thoughts screaming in my brain!!! Waves swept the decks every few minutes with surprising ease, eliminating all in its path. One poor soul got a complete soaker for having the temerity to boldly venture forth, attempting to cross the ships “waist deck” , but with incredibly poor timing. Fortunately, he only got wet, and not injured from first sliding and then slamming into the bulwarks on the far side of the wet slimy deck. We were deep into one of those early Spring storms, common here on the east coast of the USA. A good time to be sailing, or just getting sick, with many of us just trying to sleep through it all somehow. Everybody had their own way of dealing with the excessive rocking and rolling..never mind the ups and downs to top it all off. This is the worst sort of carnival ride ever, and it never seemed to end! My romantic notions of sailing across the Atlantic were dashed right from the start. This was sea fairing reality!

It is April, 2009, I had just received an acceptance letter from the US Coast Guard inviting me to partake on a portion of their annual voyage to somewhere on the Atlantic ocean and beyond. Disembarking first from their home harbour in New London, CT, USA and then sailing via the USCG Barque Eagle to Rota Spain. This leg was slated to take place over a period of 3 weeks. The USCG Barque Eagle is a 300′ square rigged tall ship that is used as a training vessel for Cadets. As it ventures to various parts of the world, picking up and dropping off various cadres of Sea cadets along the way, it is run and operated by the permanent staff members of the US Coast guard. These sailors get to see much of the world via the old world method of sailing on a tall ship. Running a ship of this size is a huge job requiring around 65 full time staff members. A large portion of them being women. They treat all the staff with equal opportunity. All of the staff having a equal chance to experience the full spectrum of many of the various jobs. Ranging from mucking around in the oily engine room to climbing to the tallest royal yard arms. I was dually impressed by the work that they all put forth every day, 7 days a week. This was not a job, more like a life style. A lifestyle that quickly weeds out those that were not interested in the daily needs and demands of a large sailing vessel.

Upon first arriving at port that night prior to the day we were scheduled to disembark , there was a eerie mystic ever present. The ship sat there impressively, glowing vaguely while bathed in a orange hued curtain of light, emanating from the wharf side halogen lights. Less strongly were more yellowish halogens perched on top of each of the three masts. Making for oddly eerie rope shadows, 140 feet below on the main deck. As we ascended the gangway on too the main deck of the ship, it seemed oddly quite, devoid of humanity, almost as if we were boarding the carcass of a live but sleeping whale soon to awaken.

There was a constant hum from the generators working hard at maintaining the ever present electrical needs of many of the wide banks of instruments that are never turned off. There, standing on deck staring far above us loomed huge steel yard arms weighing many tons, anchored by a plethora of what looked like tangled ropes turn buckles and what i later learned were to be called “baggy winkles”.

Baggy winkles look like dried seaweed draped over parts of the supporting mast cables. Their job is to minimize the wear and tear to any of the sails that end up rubbing on these cable during sailing operations while under way. They created a organic look, particularly in the dark of night, moving slightly in the light breeze coming off of the bay. Like the hair of a horses mane, while cantering about the fields.

Finding someone in charge was a challenge with a few new crew mates milling about knowing as little as I, and not being of much help. I guess most of the crew were making the best use of their time while on shore leave. Leaving just a few crew mates on the evening watch attending to the new crew mates coming aboard at various times over the night. Finally I was directed to my berth below by the chief navigator. Typically it was a bunk bed situation, with my roommate already arranged below leaving me the top bunk. It was a bit of a tight squeeze getting up there. And once lying down on my back, the steel beams above me were only inches from my face. As this reality drove home, I contemplated the thought that I had better not awaken with a start. Thereby sitting up quickly, only to impact my foggy brain with the solid steely reality, that yes, I am on a sailing ship with little room to spare. Niceties be damned! Seeing that there weren’t any old rusty blood stains from previous crew members misdreams, did little to reassure me that I wasn’t going to be the first to leave my unique mark emblazoned above me.