Ordered Course: W
Thursday, December 29th, 2005
16° 58.2′S / 84° 06.0′E
The experiences of the Picton Castle crew might not exactly mirror the fantasy vision that landlubbers have of a voyage at sea aboard a magnificent square-rigged tall ship. But then this was true for Richard Henry Dana too. But this sure is the real thing. This is not a luxury cruise with air conditioning, refrigeration or private staterooms. The ship requires that her crew put a lot of time and effort into tending to her needs, often at the cost of our foregoing our own, if not needs, certainly our conveniences. Sure, we get to spend extended periods of time at sea, leaving behind a world that is so fast paced that there are not enough hours in a day. But then our hearts soar when working aloft among 12,500 square feet of canvas sails and watch with pride as the seams of canvas sewn together by the hands of our shipmates possess the strength to harnesses the power of the wind. But we also chip rust in the blistering heat, surrender our privacy, endure the task of scooping water from the bilge of the skiff with our bare hands and a soup can, and sand and varnish the same rails time and again. With the wrong attitude (and this is taken day by day) these can feel like mere chores, but we do it without hesitation because she is our ship and our home and our pride all rolled into one, and she faithfully rewards us for our efforts.
“The love that is given to ships is profoundly different from the love men feel for every other work of their hands; the love they bear their houses, for instance, because it is untainted by the pride of possession. The pride of skill, the pride of responsibility, the pride of endurance there may be, but otherwise it is a disinterested sentiment.” So wrote Joseph Conrad. As if the seaman belongs to the ship not the other way around. And the ship belongs to the sea and, thus, so do we.
By day the Picton Castle is a thrilling classroom. She continually challenges us on a personal and professional level, demanding that we evolve and grow as seamen, people and shipmates, and demanding that we rise to new challenges and apply our seamanship skills in unpredictable situations. By night, however, under the cloak of darkness, she is positively magical!
When the 12-4 Watch took the deck tonight, the clouds parted and it looked as though someone twisted the top off the world to let us see the stars in a way that no other human on earth is privy to. The small 3-4 foot swells are tumbling along her beam, bubbling and sloshing with a sound akin to those of waves lapping at the shore. Swirls and flashes of phosphorescence light up in the Picton Castle’s bow wake as magical as the trail of Pixie Dust that Tinkerbell sprinkled to make Peter Pan’s ship lift high into the night sky and sail off into the stars. The swells are low and gentle and the breeze is moderate, but not too fresh. She is braced on a Port tack with her square and studding sails set, her bunts nipped and hanging loosely below the foot of the swollen sails.
Before our Watch mustered at quarter to the hour, I sat on the cargo-hatch cover among the shadows midships for a short time. I had my gaze directed so high aloft that my head was tilted back to the point that my breathing was restricted. I watched the sails bow out as the wind hit their “sweet spot,” the helmsman guiding the ship with the intuition gained from an hour’s trick, filling her sails just right. Tonight these enormous scraps of canvas propel our 300 ton Barque forward through black waters that are dotted with whitecaps that glow eerily in the starlight. And as I sat on the Hatch I watched and listened as the sails, burdened with so much responsibility, rose to their task and did so in absolute silence. Not a single snap of a sheet. Not a shiver from the filled canvas. Not a song in the rigging as the breeze weaves in and out between the manila lines that run down to deck. Silently the ship goes to work. Her crew sensitive to her ways because tonight we are gathered together on the Quarter Deck and talk amongst ourselves in especially hushed voices so as not to disturb the endless magic is at hand.
The young apprentice may have come aboard with his head filled with queer ideas about sailing ships and the sea. His first month at sea may be a distressing experience, shattering illusions right and left until he sees only the bare bones of real life remain. He expected romance, and found work; he expected a “great life” and found himself principally called upon to perform feats of almost superhuman endurance - feats which everybody did daily and never noticed. Then, after a while and he settled into things, he finds that there really can be romance in those bare bones of life, if one knows how to go about looking for it; and he sings while he works aloft, and laughs when he is wet for the twentieth time in succession, and turns out quickly when the call is for all hands on deck, though he made the acquaintance of his bunk only half an hour ago. Yes, the sailing ship can be hard, and it is not always a pleasant process having the edges knocked off you. But the ship casts a spell over those who sail in her.
Captain Allen Villiers, writing in “The Way of Ship”