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I went aboard the ship in Annapolis on a sunny Sunday afternoon, May 14^th. The night before was my last night home. Terrific thunderstorms tore through Baltimore. Every scrap of trash took flight before the onslaught. Torrential rain drove in from out of the west, turning the streets of Baltimore into rivers. Fantastic fork-lightening shattered the night sky and the winds gusted to seventy knots. It was an awesome demonstration of the power and the glory of Mother Nature throwing a tantrum. An irresistible force. Good to be ashore for it.

Annual Memorial Service

The following day started cool and blue. Blossoms. Wind northwest. Kim and I strolled down to the Pride Memorial at Rash Field. It was a lovely morning. The harbor sparkled like a new dime. It was fourteen years to the day that the Pride of Baltimore was lost at sea returning from Europe. She was taken down in a squall. In attendance at the annual Memorial Service were Pride, Inc.'s Executive Director, Dale Hilliard, along with several of Pride's Board Members and former crew of both the Prides. More importantly, three of the survivors, Robert Foster, Scott Jeffries, and Susie Huesman came. Father Tom walked down from St. Mary's Star of the Sea Church and spoke. The ceremony was brief and to the point.

After this many years, what is actually uttered is less important than making a space in time to recognize what was lost. But when you're all together like that, someone has to say something. So that's how it was. It was a lovely morning, and not a bad way to start my sailing season aboard Pride of Baltimore II.

Annapolis

Meanwhile down in Annapolis, Captain Miles and the crew were taking the ship out to watch the Star World races with sponsors aboard. The event was an international competition involving Olympic class sailors that helped showcase Annapolis for the Baltimore-Washington Olympic bid for 2012. When I came aboard the ship that afternoon, she looked great. Another winter's worth of hard maintenance and an industrious new crew is definitely telling.

A highlight of our Annapolis visit was the arrival of fellow sailing vessel and 1812 protégé, the brig Niagara. We saw Niagara twice last year when calling at Erie, PA, her homeport. Now she is down in our waters for the summer's millennial events. Two of our crew, Dayle Tognoni and Chris Landers, cut their teeth in the Niagara. Nearly all of us have former shipmates in her crew now. One of Niagara's most stalwart Able-bodied Seamen, Dashter Bien, was a cadet under me when I was running the Tole Mour in the Marshall Islands. That was eight years ago and he was 16 years old at the time. Now he's a full time seaman and has made himself a good home in the Niagara. Also while in Annapolis, Pride's designer, Tom Gillmer, and her builder, Peter Boudreau, stopped by to check on their fine vessel. I trust all was to their satisfaction.

Leaving Annapolis, the breeze was fresh out of the south. The Niagara came out to play. The two vessels crossed tacks a couple of times before we had to turn our head north for Baltimore. En route Vince Zegowitz of the National Weather Service trained the crew in weather observing and reporting. Pride II participates in NOAA's Voluntary Observing Ship Program. We have a plaque to prove it! The idea of the program is that ships all around the world send in weather observations to help meteorologists create more realistic weather models based on hard data. At this point in the evolution of weather reporting, all the space cameras and automated weather buoys in the world don't amount to a hill of beans when compared to a ship at sea with real live human beings aboard. At least that's what Vince tells us. It's a lot of work but we are proud to participate in the program. Brotherhood of the sea and all that.

But then there was the time off the west coast of Mexico when the weather maps were showing a gentle gathering of isobars. Cyclonic rotation was said to be ever so slight. Then we sent in our synoptic observations reporting 50 knots of wind, 25 foot seas, and other evidence of a good butt-kicking taking place. Quick as you could say "Tropical Storm," the weather service decided that it was one. They even gave it a name and upgraded it to "Hurricane Madeline." So there is something to this.

Baltimore, Preakness, and the Living Flag

Upon arriving in Baltimore, it was Preakness Time. The Preakness Race looms large over the Baltimore spring, like Mount Rushmore over the broad plains of Dakota. Not an act or a gesture is committed nor a thought completed in Baltimore during Preakness Week without it being somehow related to the upcoming race. Parades march, naval ships alter course, and songbirds sing anew to the tune of the Preakness Race. The normal pursuit of food and shelter is virtually suspended in the advent of the big event. Pride II participated in the "Great Preakness Schooner Race" one evening on the harbor. It was less a race than a fleet-action party. I gather that somebody won.

Casting off from Baltimore, we pointed Pride II's head back toward the Eastern Shore. While passing Fort McHenry, the annual Living Flag was being created by a large number of human beings -- some red, some white, some blue. In totality, a gigantic American Flag was created by people across a large swath of Fort McHenry's sweeping, verdant lawn. Pride II traversed the midground firing cannons and looking pretty and devilish in her black and yellow attire. In the deeper background, ships of the Navy's Ready Reserve Fleet and the Liberty Ship John Brown lay silently at their piers. To a distant eye, we are like so many layers of maritime history daubed across the venerable canvas of Baltimore's waterfront, with Fort McHenry representing a period so nascent in our naval history that Americans had little choice but to hide behind piles of dirt and brick with a few cannons poking out, hoping for the best. In Fort McHenry's case, the best was good enough.

Out on the Bay, a Force 5 southerly had kicked up. Under all plain sail, we scudded out of the shipping lanes and across to Kent Island and the Chester River. Destination: Chestertown. Some snappy tacking against wind and tide gave the rigging a stretch and eventually brought the vessel up to anchor in the river just beyond Kent Narrows. The Bosun, Jesse Kenworthy, acted as navigator as we short-tacked up the river. Mud to the left of us, mud to the right of us, into the Chester River rode the Pride of Baltimore II with a capful of wind and a bone in her teeth. What does this look like through the bay windows of the fine homes ashore? I reckon it looks like a Baltimore Clipper is about to sail into their birdbaths if she doesn't come about soon. And then she does.

That evening, the Chief Mate, Christopher Flansburg, celebrated his 35^th birthday aboard. Although he was far from home, at least he was among friends. First of all, and without warning, his friends hosed him down with the fire hose after a long day's work. Then his friends pummeled him mercilessly and pitched him into the Chester River. Then they gave him a cake, presents, and a mug full of "Dark ‘n' Stormy." Christopher is well-liked. Very well-liked.

Next day, we weighed anchor and began the 17 mile meander to Chestertown. The Chester River wanders through farmlands, past landings, marsh grass, and duck blinds. The river is wide. It is also deep -- if you are in the right place. So up we went past farmlands, marsh grass, etc. The Second Mate, Mike McCreery (aka Sinker), kept the con all they way up, expertly bringing the vessel through the tight spots. Once alongside at the Chester River Yacht Club, the crew squared away the ship and knocked off early for a little relaxation.

As we all know, relaxation takes many forms, particularly if it involves a schooner crew. In this instance a Worm Hunt Competition spontaneously erupted. Its difficult to say just how it arose but, suffice it to say, a few challenging words were issued to the effect that someone knew more about finding worms than someone else. Jon Mitchell (aka Super-tuff, Porkchop) and Dayle Tognoni dashed off down the pier toward shore and began frantically searching along the grassy verges of the roadways and the lush lawns of the Yacht Club in search of worms. A third contestant, Engineer John Schellenberger, slowly and calmly strode into the worm distance exuding the natural confidence of a worm-hunt winner.

Minutes later, the composed Mr. Schellenberger returned displaying a beautiful, pink, wriggling worm on his index finger. Meanwhile Tognoni and Mitchell dashed wormlessly to and fro along the shore. A brief connivance of convenience ended with Mr. Mitchell running back toward the ship holding something aloft in his right hand, hotly pursued by Ms. Tognoni. Viewed through binoculars, the race took on the magnitude of the Preakness. Closer and closer they drew toward the ship, pounding along the pier toward the ship till they nearly filled the field of vision. Just as they drew so close that the spectator felt compelled to tear away the binoculars and view the action with the naked eye, Dayle seized the hand in which Mr. Mitchell gripped his prize.

With a deft feint and a glancing shove, Mitchell sent Tognoni flailing off the dock into the river. Super-Tuff swaggered aboard confident of the completeness of his victory. At this point he learned that a worm had already been presented and accepted by the judges.

Not only this, the slimy creature that he clutched between his sweaty fingers was not a worm, but a slug. His naked attempt to dupe the judges, combined with an act of flagrant bad sportsmanship toward his sopping shipmate, resulted in an immediate and indefinite banishment from further worm competitions -- until next time. A review of the rules governing such activities is pending. The will of the fans has been heard.

After such jolly sport the crew settled down to an all hands game of dice on deck that might well have gone into the wee hours had a thunderstorm not mercifully ended the evening. Work hard, play hard.

Chestertown Tea Party

One of the activities that brought Pride II to Chestertown was the annual Chestertown Tea Party Reenactment celebration. The story that is told is that in the aftermath of the Boston Tea Party in 1774, the good people of Chestertown became sufficiently agitated about a tea laden ship laying at their own waterfront that they marched down and re-enacted the Boston Tea Party by hurling the cargo into the river. Needless to say, this act further polarized the good guys and the bad guys, and the Revolutionary War ensued.

The first group of re-enactors, the defenders of the tea, boarded the vessel at a little after 2:00 in the afternoon, clad in colonial garb. The second group, malingers of the tea, soon followed. A mock brawl roiled around the deck, ending with the tea defenders and their bales of tea being tossed into the river while the crowd ashore roared its approval. The losers dog paddled ashore while the victors rowed, but in actual fact one was not much drier than the other.

Pride II's last port of call of the millenium was to Chestertown last November at the invitation of the Sultana Project. The Sultana is a replica of a colonial era cargo vessel that served in the British Navy prior to the American Revolution. She is currently under construction in Chestertown. Perhaps this makes her a strange bedfellow in a town that celebrates its defiance of the Crown with such gusto.

During our visit, all of the Pride II crew found time to visit the work site and view the progress. The vessel is due for launching in Spring 2001. Her builder visited Pride II to inspect our systems and layout for ideas. Though the vessels are quite different in many respects, to some extent all replica vessels are faced with comparable issues, compromises, and solutions in order to operate in keeping with the expectations of a modern era. To a degree, all such vessels are fish out of water because they are operating outside the native chronology and circumstances that gave birth to them. Nevertheless, there is a strong popular demand to see traditional ships built and operated for a wide variety of purposes. Resolving these seemingly contradictory desires is at the heart of our profession.

On the morning after the Tea Party we rose at 0500 to get underweigh. A heavy dew and a thin mist lay across the fields. A red sun was rising through it, casting rays upon the treetops. The crew took in lines and I pointed her head down river. The tide had just turned. We carried the ebb all the way down to the Bay, making good time toward our next destination.

Watch Below,
Captain Parrott