As we pass out the river mouth, a heavy residual swell from an autumn gale awaits us. Fortunately, the swell is not wind driven. It is well organized, with a long period; therefore, we ride up over it easily. Nevertheless, it is daunting to witness such an enormous ground swell. One moment Pride II is perched upon a hilltop, standing to a fresh breeze with a fine lofty view in any direction. A moment later, she is wallowing in a windless valley with walls of water all around her, and no horizon at all. But the wind is now northwest, Force 5 and 6, and we are bound southwest, so we have nothing to complain about. The crew put on sail. First the fores'l and the stays'l, then the jib and a reefed main. She's making 10 knots so we stop setting sail there.

The Mate, Mr. Flansburg, hailed an inbound freighter on the radio to arrange safe passing. The skipper comes back, "Yah, yah, don't worry about me. You are sailing. I must stay out of your way!" Once again, I am comforted that the Europeans not only seem to know the Rules of the Road, but they intend to abide by them. Then the skipper of the freighter proceeded to explain that he had been aboard Pride II at an Open House in Cork City, Ireland, in 1996. He remembered us well. Pride of Baltimore II is unquestionably distinctive and people tend to remember her. Opening the ship to the general public, as we always have, has made us a lot of friends over the years, even if they are casual acquaintances, like this shipmaster at the entrance to Lisboa. We wished one another a safe voyage and went our separate ways.

The voyage down to Madeira was as easy as they come. Madeira lies some 540 miles sou'west of Lisbon, just below the latitude of Casablanca, Morocco. For us, the wind stayed in the North and we blew on down like a paper cup across a pond. But the doorway of fair weather was rapidly slamming shut behind us.

Even before we arrived in Lisbon, gales were again terrorizing the Celtic Sea and the Bay of Biscay. While Pride II lay quietly at Lisbon, a sou'wester pummeled the coast of Portugal. Judging from the weather maps, it was a full nine days before a fair weather window comparable to the one we rode down from Ireland came again. And now, as we make our dash for Madeira, the autumn gales are sweeping lower and lower, bringing contrary winds and foul weather just a half a day's sail astern.

We raised Madeira on the morning of October 15, 2000, two days ahead of schedule. But raising Madeira is a far cry from arriving. The highest point of the main island stands about 6,000 feet above the ocean. Some quick trigonometry tells us that the island is technically visible at 89 miles. In actual practice, this is never the case. Darkness, cloud cover, poor visibility, or a lookout watching dolphins instead of the horizon, all serve to reduce the range at which land is first spied with the naked eye. We picked up Madeira in the morning at around 49 miles, but it was nearly dark when we were secure alongside.

Porto Santo is the first island we came to. There is some kind of NATO base there. To the south, on our port hand, lay an inhospitable ridge of rocks rising to a slender knife-edge 1500 feet above the sea. Stone pinnacles and columns punctuate this 35-mile-long blade of rock. Some of these are visible rising out of the sea; others are below the sea. Some of them are well charted. Some of them are, shall we say, approximate. The prudent mariner will exercise caution whilst navigating thereabouts. The group is known as the Ilhas Desertas. In Portuguese, this means The Islands of Desserts. The largest one, Ilha Deserta Grande, means the Island of Really Big Desserts. I wanted to know more about these islands, but felt it was best to proceed to Funchal before the light failed us. It is a contradiction of the sailing life to see so many strange and unusual things, but to never know them. And I wonder still about those islands, though I probably shouldn't. After all, they were just Desserts...

Funchal is the port for Madeira. There are a handful of landings and fishing piers strung out along the perimeter of the island, but Funchal is the main commercial center. A very large mole (not the animal) extends for half a mile east from a slight bulge in the south coast. It forms a little embayment in which the maritime commerce of this remote place is transacted. But don't confuse remoteness with tranquility. The harbor is abustle. At any given moment, four or five small freighters are anchored in the open roadstead to the east of the harbor awaiting the chance to load or discharge at the mole. Along the pier, face freighters lay two-deep, a thing virtually unheard of in the United States. We had to shift berth three times during our stay, and at one stage, had to go out and drift for two hours until a space opened up again. Other commercial activity includes the Casino Royale and a couple five star hotels perched upon the palisades overlooking the harbor.

The uninhabited islands of Madeira were discovered in 1418 by Portuguese explorers blown off course on a voyage down the coast of Africa. Settlers returned the very next year and they have been growing grapes here ever since. Soon the Madeira wine trade began to flourish. Like the port wine trade in mainland Portugal, English merchants have been deeply involved in the Madeira wine trade from the earliest days. In consequence, British families have dwelt here for hundreds of years and have branched into every form of commerce. British troops were stationed here during the Napoleanic wars to help hold the island, and the wine, against the French. Some of the soldiers stayed. To this day, a substantial British ex-pat community thrives here. The British connection with Madeira, as well as with Portugal, is long and strong. The treaty of amity between Britain and Portugal is the longest standing of its type in the world. The Madeirans themselves speak English with a distinctly British accent.

In many ways, a ship and its crew resemble an island community. Once at sea, we are unto ourselves. We have customs and conventions, and cultural rituals that separate us from the shore just as surely as the water does. Our system of government, likewise, is a product of the unique circumstances of our world. Maybe we laugh at things that other people find less humorous. Maybe we don't laugh at a thing that a landlubber thinks is a greatÊ joke. We have superstitions.Ê Like an island, we acceptÊ visitors. Even out here we are visited by strangers and friends through the satellite system, through the weather fax, and through the BBC.Ê We have guest crew who join us and they generally thrive. They don't stay though because, for one reason or another, well, it is a difficult life. But unlike an island, weÊ have a destination. And when we reach that destination, we have the choice to leave the island for awhile, or leave it forever.Ê Our island community of sailors is an ever-changing cast of characters, but they are cut from the same cloth. That is why they come, year after year. Like the islanders of Madeira, at a certain point we know no different, and to change, well, it is difficult.

We sailed fromÊ Funchal, Madeira at 1400 local time on October 19th. At the last minute, one of our gadgets, the Mini-M satellite system, broke down so we got rid of it. We passed along the quay crammed with rusty freighters two abreast. At the signal, one of our guns rolled out a lovely, rich boom, which washed up into the mountains and streambeds above Funchal. While passing a moored cruise ship, Ellen fired again. Some exuberant waitresses jumped up and down and cheerfully waved from the deck of the cruise ship. So we waved back. The low black hull with the tall slender rig rounded the end of the mole, turned, and put her stern to the mountains. She teetered out onto the blue Atlantic swell and headed south. Back in the harbor, our masts towered over everything. Our flags snapped happily above the heads of stevedores and cabbies. Now we tower over nothing. It is the sky and the sea that do the towering out here.

Watch Below,
Capt. Daniel Parrott