The top of the morning sam literally killed me, I'm dead now. Side note whats it like to sail? All i can think about is my book of jhon masefield poems and the book about an older period girl being sent on a sailor ship because her dad wants her to have good spelling and grammer and she gets scared by a coconut with face.
Oh man okay here is my love letter to tall ship sailing-
It doesn’t feel like something you should be able to do, in this day and age. It really doesn’t. Tall ships feel like they’ve been stolen from the part of history you read adventure stories about. Standing on board one, with the sails full and the deck heeling underfoot and ?modern office buildings? in the distance, is always a little surreal. It’s been two years now, and I still can’t shake that sense of having stepped just a bit to the left of the real world when I’m working on one. The history is present in the language, the roots of words, the pronunciation (someone once explained the bizarre evolution of terminology as the result being filtered through several hundred years of drunk and illiterate sailors) and in the boats themselves. I spent last season on a rum-runner well over a century old. Being a part of that living tradition, keeping it alive, is an honor.
And they’re beautiful. They’re so, so beautiful. From a distance absolutely; cutting along with a bone in her teeth, sails full of light and the complex shadow the rigging casts - it’s a sight from an oil painting rather than the here and now. But they’re also beautiful in close - the varnish and the smell of pine tar and the various fancywork. A tall ship is such an easy thing to fall in love with, I think. Especially after the work that goes into maintenance - sanding and painting and scrubbing and osphoric acid for the rust stains; caulking and bungs and seizings and splices. You can’t get that close to something without developing an eye for small jobs done well. It’s not all idyllic - cleaning the heads, pumping blackwater, scrubbing the bilges, and slushing the masts are all things that come to mind - but it’s all for the sake of the boat.
For me personally - It gives me a sense of accomplishment I’ve never felt before in my life - not in college, and certainly not as a bank teller. Understanding how the whole complex system works - if I do this, the line does this and the gaff does this and the sails do this and now we’ve picked up speed by two knots - is real and tangible in a way nothing else has been for me. There’s such a good honest pride in being able to sweat a line, or tie a complex knot when needed, or spot and clear a fouled line aloft. Things I can do with my own hands, you know? And see it done, and done well. I want to know everything just for the sake of knowing it. It’s being part of something important - part of the crew, part of the ship, part of the traditions we keep alive. Everything seems very clear, on board.
I like living on board. It’s not for everyone, but I don’t own much in the world and I’m a big fan of not paying for rent and/or food. It’s a small bunk and a sleeping bag, early mornings, deck showers or dish soap and salt water or baby wipes and dry rinse shampoo, getting to know the nearest coffee shop and dive bar (if you’re day sailing), or dropping into the galley to shovel down your weight in whatever the cook made today (on windjammers). It’s a lot of depending on the kindness of people who do live in town (and more often than not, they come through). There’s such a culture of sharing what you have - food or books or a jacket that you don’t need.
Overall it’s hard work, the living conditions can be rough, the jobs often disgusting, your hands will crack and bleed before they toughen up. But: climbing seventy feet up the ratlines to sit at the top of the mast in the sun, while a passenger played the ukulele on deck, with the green bay spread out below me and pine trees on the far shores. Jumping off the bowsprit with the cook and the first mate while at anchor, seeing the water light up around us with brilliant bioluminescence. Dolphins playing around the bow, six hundred miles south of Bermuda. Walking along a heeling deck and keeping my balance without thinking about it. Sitting on the dock with the rest of the crew at one in the morning, sharing a bottle of silver whiskey and listening to someone recite their favorite poem. Coming home from the bar to a tall ship, walking down the dock with the stars overheard and having it really sink in for the first time that this is where I live. The sun coming up over Antigua, after arriving there past midnight following a week at sea. The giddy sense of urgency that comes with a rising storm. Hands that are callused and covered in fine silver scars but are tough as anything. Getting to explain to someone what it is I do for a living. I just. Wow. I love it so much.
