Teacher Aboard

UPDATES

Today was the day of the Great Lure Contest. Entries were submitted, and the "fish off" has begun. The final products range from "get out the frying pan" to "what the devil is that?" From a fish point of view, these beauties could make some mighty fine entertainment as they see these dazzling creations trailing behind Pride of Baltimore II. I can hear the fish commenting now, "A Santa, a hula girl, a frilly suntan bottle, and a flying rat? My, my, have these sailors lost their minds?" The collection will probably get no takers for dinner, but they may draw a crowd of spectator fish.

Last night, Sinker heard the dolphins surfacing for air as the waves crested next to the ship. When we looked over the bow, four dolphins were making bright trails of glowing bioluminescence (microscopic plankton that glow when disturbed) in the water as they zoomed back and forth in front of the boat. It was great fun to watch them once again.

In the afternoon, we took aboard a new watch leader. He was short by anyone's standard, and he has wide yellow feet and a very long nose. Jumping Jehosephat was his name, and (no offense intended) he was a brown booby - a seabird to be exact. He started his inspection with a close-up look at the mainsail's boom, then worked his way aft along the deck to the helmsman. Perched on a hatch by the compass, he seemed to be keeping an eye on the anemometer (instrument which tells us the speed of the wind).

We tried not to interfere with his concentration as we took turns capturing this Kodak moment on film. Amy was the only one who was a little put out. After all, she was the "official" watch leader! "Sure, fine," she says as she goes below. "Have it your way. But you better keep 'em (the crew) busy, and don't take any lip!"

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF DECKHAND

It is 0340 hours in the morning (3:40 AM). A crew member wakes you saying, "It's 20 minutes to watch." It's dark, but you can see by the dim red light in the fo'c's'l (the bedroom in the bow which you share with 6 other crew members). You need to be quiet because others are sleeping. We are still in the tropics so all that you need to wear up on deck is a T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. A baseball cap will keep the hair out of your eyes, and you might need your sunglasses for the hours after sunrise. Over your shorts, you strap on your belt which holds your knife and Marline Spike which is used for working a knot out of a line.

Although you will eat breakfast when you come off watch at 0800 hours (8 AM), you grab a muffin or a piece of bread from the dry sink in the galley as you pass by. If coffee gets you started in the morning, you grab your mug off a hook in the galley and put a couple of squirts from the thermos into the bottom. Not too full, mind you. You have to carry it up a ladder and along the moving deck. When you pop your head out of the hatch, your eyes will need a moment to adjust to the darkness. A full moon would seem like daylight. This moonless cloudy night makes for a very dark deck. From the amidships (middle of the ship) hatch, you make your way aft down the higher windward side, carefully stepping over an occasional line as the deck rolls gently under your step.

Approaching the aft deck, you begin to hear the previous watch leader filling in your watch leader on the activities of the past fours. They talk about wind speed, wind direction, course ordered, course steered, traffic (other boats), night orders of the captain ("Wake me if . . . "), and the adjustments needed for the rig and sails. When the watches change, there are seven or eight crew members on deck as compared to the three or four who will stand the watch. This is the time to make use of the man power for sail changes before the off watch goes below to sleep.

The need to change course or sails means consulting the captain who will come on deck to consider the situation and determine a course of action. If a sail aloft (up high) needs to be set or struck (taken down), you may find yourself climbing the shrouds which are the rigging attached to the sides of the ship that support the mast. You are now ninety feet in the air standing on a line just below the wooden yard that holds the sail out from side to side. You snap your harness to the rig. The thought of dangling from that harness is not very appealing, so the bottom line is "Hang on!" You may be up there for several minutes furling (folding and tying down) the topsail as the boat rolls back and forth with the wind driven swells in the dark of night.

On deck other crew members ease or pull lines depending on what is needed to set or strike the sail. Even if no sail changes are ordered, the lines which hold up sails or gaffs (wooden poles which support the tops of the sails) are eased in or out to prevent one spot on the line from chaffing or wearing thin. This is called "freshening the nip." It is routinely done at the change of the watches. In 1812 when Baltimore Clippers were originally designed, technology did not provide the modern devices that make hauling in lines a fairly easy matter. Instead it is accomplished with lots of muscle and combinations of pulleys and lines called "block and tackle." At other times, a crew member runs the line under and around a belaying pin while three or four deckhands grab the line and lean back. As the line is pulled back like an archer's bow, the lower end is pulled in by the deckhand at the pin. This is called "sweating the line" and it is a slow process requiring many pulls, lots of strength, and well seasoned calluses on your palms. To maximize their efforts, the deckhands need to pull together so someone sings out "two, six, . . . (heave), two, six . . . (heave)." When the watch leader decides the line is tight enough, he or she calls out, "That's well, make fast!" This is the signal for the crew to tie the line off. All commands are repeated to make certain everyone is clear on the orders. The line is then secured on the pin, and the loose line is carefully coiled into a pile. This process called "coiling down" ensures that the line will not tangle when it's used again.

When all the duties requiring many deckhands are completed, the off watch leader tells his watch they can go below. It's time for them to grab some sleep as it is only 0415 hours (4:15 AM). Your watch of three or four crew will sail this tall ship for the next four hours. During this time you will have many duties.

For instance, you will stand your turn on the helm steering the boat. As you take the wheel, the helmsman shares with you the details of how the ship has been handling; what is the compass "ordered course;" and the course you are able to steer based on the wind and waves. You repeat the ordered course as you take the helm saying, " two-five-zero" to ensure you have understood. Helming on a dark night is not what you might imagine. You are driving a 190 ton tall ship with a full set of sails aloft, and you can see no more than thirty feet ahead to the lights of the midship cabin. Radar is used to monitor the water around you for ships which are required to use red, green and white lights on their decks to indicate their presence and direction. Even though everyone is a "lookout," if something dark is in the water, chances are good that you will not see it.

As you stand at the helm, you will have to depend partly on your senses, and partly on technology to steer. Seasoned sailors feel the wind on their face and listen for the pattern of waves on the hull. They tune in to the sails which will slightly luff or flutter as a tell tale sign of wind changes or rolling seas. Technology today also gives the helmsman a compass and a "relative wind indicator" which displays a diagram of the boat and pointer that indicates the direction from which the wind is blowing. With your senses and these two instruments, you fly along into the darkness of the ocean at 10 knots listening to the surge of the surf as it crests and rolls away from the hull. To sailors, this is the life.

As crew you will also be responsible for hourly boat checks requiring you to look under the floor boards into the bilges for water, peek into the heads (bathrooms) for flooding valves, record data from the engine room instruments, and take a walk around the deck looking for chaff or tangled lines. A watchful eye can prevent a small problem from becoming a much larger one.

Pride of Baltimore II also serves as a National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) reporting vessel. This means that every three hours data is relayed via satellite to a NOAA receiving station. It is your responsibility as crew to collect, record, and send this data using the ship's computer at the nav station in the aft cabin.

Weather permitting, the watch leader will assign you maintenance tasks. The list may include greasing the rig, rinsing the deck, or adding chaff protection to a line. At least once every four hours, someone will climb the rig to make a routine inspection. With the "wear and tear" of a month at sea, a well maintained ship is a safe ship. It is now 0800 hours (8 AM), and your watch is over. The skies cleared during the night allowing a spectacular sunrise to grace the day. You can't help but wonder if the rest of the world is sharing your appreciation for nature's dazzling displays of colors at the start of each new day. You can smell the bacon cooking as the new watch comes on deck. It has been a long night, and the bacon only makes you more eager to go below.

After "freshening the nip," and helping to adjust a few sails, you hear your watch leader say, "Watch below. Thanks." You grab a bit of breakfast before tumbling into your bunk for a few hours of sleep. All too soon you will be awakened by the sounds of lunch. You are looking forward to your free time in the afternoon before your next watch at 1600 hours (4 PM). There's a few pages in a book waiting to be read as soon as you have finished washing out a few pieces of laundry. For the last four weeks at sea, there has been no television, newspapers, or radio.

From time to time, your thoughts wander to what might be happening elsewhere in the world. You close your eyes. The sound of the surf racing past the hull and the gentle rocking of your bunk, beckons you to sleep. With luck the sunset on your afternoon watch will be memorable. And the so the rhythm of a deckhand's life at sea turns night to day, and day to night with its own sense of time, place, and purpose.

Continue with the January 21, 1998 log.