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DATE:	FRIDAY, February 13, 1998
POSITION:	Honolulu Harbor, Hawaii Maritime Center, moored alongside the FALLS OF CLYDE
ENTERED BY:	Captain Dan Parrott

Greetings from the Aloha State:

Honolulu has not hesitated. We have been warmly greeted at every turn by people bidding us "Aloha," and PRIDE II has generated great curiosity along the waterfront. The word is out that PRIDE II is featured in the film "Amistad." Thus, there have been many inquiries about our participation. Now that we are settled in and squared away, the crew have had an opportunity to reconnoiter their new surroundings and make new friends.

PRIDE II enjoys a most unusual dock arrangement here in Honolulu. The Hawaii Maritime Center, located right downtown, owns a massive sailing ship named the FALLS OF CLYDE, built in 1878. The FALLS is a four-masted, full rigged ship, meaning she is square-rigged on all four masts. The people from the Maritime Center have braced her yards around to enable us to lie alongside of her, but a stone's throw from Aloha Tower. Though dwarfed by our distant cousin, the FALLS, the general public has a superb view of PRIDE II, and we of them.

The First Mate, Jason Quilter, has lost no time in organizing the work effort aboard ship. PRIDE II embarked upon her Asia tour without the benefit of her usual winter maintenance lay-up, therefore it is essential that we put our time in Hawaii to good use preparing her for the many long miles that lie ahead. The hull needs touch-up painting where the seas knocked the old paint off the planking. PRIDE II has a great deal of brightwork that will need several coats of varnish to keep it looking sharp. There are always rigging projects to be tackled and the Bosun, Damion Sailors, already has quite a list running: a new peak halyard for the mains'l; overhauling the staysail sheet blocks; replacing the foretopsail sheets; overhauling the sheaves for the tops'l sheets out on the ends of the course yard. I realize that for many readers this work list may as well be written in Swahili for all the sense it makes. You will just have to trust me on it, and try to appreciate the way in which the sea in general, and traditional ships in particular, give rise to their own language. It is a language that is initially daunting in its complexity, but it is beautifully specific and international in nature.

PRIDE II's foredeck has shown an unfortunate tendency to leak into the area of the fo'c's'le (sailor talk for "forecastle", the crew's accommodation in the forward cabin). In rougher weather this has caused discomfort for the unfortunate crew members who sleep beneath these leak points. Our crew is too precious and hard-working to allow this condition to go on, so we will make an effort here in Honolulu to address the problem. This involves "reefing" out the seams to clear away the old pitch and caulk. Next, the existing caulk must be tamped down or "set" using caulking irons and mallets. It may be necessary to "marry in" new oakum (the primary substance used for caulking wooden vessels) in a few places, and allow the seams to thoroughly dry out. The seams are then "payed" with hot pitch. Pitch is derived from the resin of pine trees and is, you guessed it, pitch black. It is brittle at a normal temperature but becomes fluid when heated. The hot pitch is poured along the length of the seam, on top of the oakum, and seals the deck. Lastly, the excess pitch that has run onto the planking is scraped off, leaving a clean, black, watertight seam between each plank. That's the idea anyway. It is a multi-step process, but if done correctly, it is an effective, time-honored method for sealing a wooden deck. It is wonderful to be in Hawaii but, as you can see, we have our work cut out for us this month.

Word on the waterfront is that Hawaii has enjoyed extraordinarily fine weather this winter. Winters here are never really cold, except at high altitude. Nevertheless, gales and cold fronts do bring wet and windy weather to the state in winter. This winter, however, has been characterized by dry, sunny weather, and Kona winds. Kona is the Hawaiian word given to the leeward side of the islands. When it "blows Kona" it means that the wind is blowing from a direction more or less opposite the normal trade wind patterns. There has been much of this in 1998. Another phenomenon I have observed in recent days is the presence of the vog. Vog is a word invented to describe the fog-like haze generated by the volcano on the Big Island. When trade winds are blowing from their usual direction, this smoke is carried off to sea in a generally southwesterly direction. But when the breeze lets up, or shifts into a different quadrant, the fumes generated by the Kilauea crater can spread among the island chain, reducing visibility. When the vog prevails, the quality of the light among the islands is reminiscent of the summery haze seen on Chesapeake Bay in July or August.

Hawaii is a microcosm of the United States in the sense that it is a land of immigrants, but the culture of the original Hawaiians pervades all that has come since. As successive waves of immigrants have come here, each has added to the indigenous culture. Signs of the British, the New England whalers and missionaries, the Portuguese, the Chinese, Japanese, and Filipinos are all here. More recently, other Pacific islanders, such as Samoans, Tongans, and Marshallese, have gravitated to this hub of Pacific activity. Despite all this layering of arrivals, we find that the spirit of Aloha is alive and well. Street directions include the qualifiers of "Mauka," meaning toward the mountains, and "Makai," meaning toward the sea. Paddling competitions using outrigger canoes involve people of all backgrounds and are intensely supported by the populace. Hawaiian musicians and singers are prolific and their world-class performances inspire tremendous followings among the locals. Hawaii has a cultural identity like no other state I know, and people of all backgrounds share in it.

Today Capt. Jan Miles is flying out to re-join PRIDE II for the remainder of the time in Hawaii, and then take the ship onward to Asia. I may have opportunity to send another log before returning to the mainland but if not, it has been a pleasure and an honor to describe the adventures of PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II to all the folks out there in cyberland. Fair winds and keep yer tops'ls full!

Watch Below,
Captain Daniel S. Parrott

Greetings from the Aloha State!

The Hawaiian Islands do not appear as dots on the horizon that gradually get larger. They are massive, and run well up the sky from the moment they enter your view. Volcanic smoke from Kilauea streams skyward, guided by the prevailing wind.

We weathered a cold front the day before sighting land and progress was temporarily slowed. Landfall was made at 1538, February 2nd, 1998. Approaching Hawaii from sea, the sailor is faced with the inescapable fact that planet Earth is an active work in progress. The islands appear like some great geological surprise, concocted to astonish those willing to cast their lot with the vagaries of the sea. The Big Island of Hawaii rises into the atmosphere to an altitude of over 13,000 feet and dominates the horizon in an arc of ninety degrees at twenty miles distant. Because of Hawaii's unique mid-ocean location, the summit of Mauna Kea is the site of some of the world's most powerful telescopes. This land of palm trees and sugar-sand beaches is also home to snowfall, ice and frost.

Deckhand Summer O'Malley won the Landfall Sweepstakes with her guess of 1640 hours. Diamond Head drew abeam at 1058 hours, February 4th, and Engineer John Shellenberger was the victor in that bit of guesswork. In one other point of business, Cook Andy Jackson ruled the Lure Contest with not just the largest, but only fish caught by a contest lure. His was the 52" Mahi-Mahi that I reported some days ago.

In the aftermath of the cold front, a stillness and a haze fell upon the islands. We meandered through peaceful waters in the good company of humpback whales. For the first time in what seemed a very great while, there was land to contemplate, and the efforts of the human race upon the shore. The whales traveled in their twos and their threes, and occasionally a wee calf was sighted. Frequently they breached and made commotion as they went about their business upon great waters. Soon we picked up FM radio and heard some favorite songs. The end of a voyage is a bittersweet occasion. Though vulnerable and solitary at sea, and missing so much that is dear to us, there is a sense of order to the universe that has an ability to comfort. On first contact with the shore our world comes under assault; it buckles and collapses as new faces introduce new priorities. The sailor, like the tide itself, occupies a world that is characterized by transition.

Calm is not a lasting condition in Hawaiian waters, but we enjoyed it for what we could. During the night we skirted the windward side of the Big Island and with daybreak it receded astern. With no wind, there was no sail-handling to preoccupy the crew, therefore the day, February 3rd, was spent wending through the island chain as we advanced on our destination of Honolulu. Mount Haleakala on Maui loomed to starboard. Like a volcanic rind, the crescent of Molokini stood close aboard to port and Kahoolawe stretched out in the haze like a gargantuan monument to the very whales we were admiring. The dome of Lanai stood in the west beneath the afternoon sun. As the day wore on, the slender isle of Molokai appeared ahead and was left to starboard as we met a tugboat with a Matson barge in tow, bound for Hilo. Molokai was home to Jeannie Holtby, our former cook, who passed away at the end of last year. She would have thrilled to spy our rig from the island she spoke of so often.

Another cold front was reported to be descending from the northwesterly isle of Kauai that night, and knowing this, we made rapid tracks for the lee of Oahu. We were able to set a little sail as the wind freshened with the approach of the front. The vessel lay to a port tack for the first time in a month and she ambled off to the north under short canvas. We reached the lee of Oahu a little after midnight and hove-to under the foresail to await the change of weather.

Soon after daybreak a curtain of drizzle and a ruffled sea marched down from the north, obscuring the island as it came. A fishing vessel vanished through the curtain and a large container ship was blotted from view. Sticking to the plan, we turned tail and scooted around Makapuu Point and found a new lee on the south shore of Oahu, under Koko Head. At this stage all hands were called to crack on more sail and run out the guns. Rounding Diamond Head, that famous landmark for sailors, a stiff west wind heeled the ship over and she scorched her path toward the seabuoy and the harbor mouth. Our pilot, the notorious Capt. Dave Lyman, boarded at one minute to noon as the breeze freshened to nearly thirty knots. The prospect of short-tacking inside the confines of Honolulu Harbor began to have diminished appeal. But for the mains'l, the canvas came in and we entered harbor, cannons blazing.

The lunch crowd clenched their jaws amid the din and the smoke, and PRIDE II struck her most gallant pose for all the waterfront, beneath the bluest of skies. We were soon alongside and the long voyage had ended. We have come four thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four miles across a tropic ocean plain, and all is well aboard PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II.

Watch Below,
Capt. Dan Parrott