Most of the time I walk through life feeling pretty strong and capable. Now, I realize that most people who catch a glimpse of me probably see a fat middle aged white woman and make some assumptions about me. But the truth is, in spite of some recent challenges, I know that my body will do a lot of pretty impressive work when I ask it to do so. Sure, there may be a price to pay later, but generally I can lift and haul with the best of them.
I walked onto the ship feeling pretty confident. Sure, there were some things I was worried about, but I knew a little about the ship and I had at least a vague idea of how sailing her went. I knew some of the terms. And I’m strong and capable, right?
Except when the ship was out of port I was completely out of my element. I knew a few terms, I understood the basic premise, but mostly I just felt like I either rarely knew what I needed to be doing or wasn’t strong enough, tall enough or confident enough to do it. Which left me feeling kinda down on myself. And it robbed me of some of the joy of being on the ship. I knew it was going to be hard work, I thought I was prepared for that. But I wasn’t prepared for the reality that some of it was utterly beyond what I am currently capable of doing.
In retrospect, I realize that a lot of this boils down to how things are done on the ship. The leadership likes for people to do a little bit of everything, which is wonderful…but it also means that sometimes, you have no idea where your place should be. And sometimes it means that you are doing things you aren’t really good at. And that left me feeling out of sorts, out of place and quite simply – useless. There were times during the first week when I just wanted to cut and run…to give up…to go home.
It got better, of course. I started to learn, I starting to find the things I was capable of doing and learn better ways to do some of the things I wasn’t very good at. I also learned when to bow out and admit that I wasn’t able to do certain things. But that little voice in the back of my head that questions everything still occasionally liked to remind me just how weak and incapable I was. My friends at home were calling me a badass and I don’t know that I had ever felt less like that word applied.
When we got to Philly, I was planning to ride home with Brandon and his wife and we were running on their schedule. We found out that there was a little send off mid-afternoon and Brandon and I debated if we could wait that long to head out. I’m not sure if we so much decided to stay as ended up putting off leaving long enough that it made sense to just hang around for a little bit longer to say goodbye to everyone.
And so, we all sat around a table and laughed one final time at a couple of inside jokes, took a couple of silly photos and started a hearty round of goodbye hugs. Living in such close quarters, we had become pretty close and there were definitely some tears. I saved Captain Bjorn for last even though he was teasing me about skipping him. I wish you all could meet Bjorn. He’s truly something else. He’s a daredevil, a kind uncle, a quiet voice you do NOT want to disappoint, a craftsman, a voice of reason, an instigator, a teacher and a genuinely caring soul. I wrapped my arms around him and thanked him for everything and then he stepped back and took my hand in his and gave me a precious gift with his words.
“I’m so glad you came with us,” He said to me in the soft accent that had become so soothing to me in the past couple of weeks. “Having you on board has been wonderful. You bring such joy with you. There were times when I was maybe a little bit worried or stressed and I heard you laugh and it lifted my spirits. Thank you.”
And that is the moment that I truly felt like there was a place that I belonged on that crew. Bjorn had reminded me what I had momentarily forgotten. Sometimes the strength in your heart is just as important as the strength in your back.
Captain Bjorn drinking coffee and explaining something or another.
My watch is Mid-ships. I’m on watch from 4-8s. We motor out from Greenport and start watch rotations a couple of hours into my watch. We are trying to outrun a storm to get out and around Long Island so we are motoring along at around 5 knots or so. The captain wants to sail, the crew wants to sail and the boat wants to sail, but the wind is not with us just yet. Captain Bjorn tells us that we will probably set sail maybe around 11 or so. The wind is kicking up and it’s starting to rain. Foul weather gear is on in short order.
We’ve all learned just a little bit about being lookout in the bow of the ship and taking the helm to steer it. Before we know it, our first watch is over, we are called to opp stående and muster with the next watch, which is Starboard. Bjorn tells us that if the weather isn’t too bad, he will call an all hands at some point in the middle of the night and we will set the sail. He gently suggests that Mid-ships try to get some sleep in the meantime. (I really wish I had a recording of him saying that. Some nights I think the only reason I was able to sleep was his voice telling me that I should).
We stow our foul weather gear in our box and realize that everything in there will now be wet for a while. The new folks are too excited right now to sleep, of course. We are on the North side of Long Island and the sea is calm and smooth in spite of the growing clouds. The sun sets and I feel cheated a little by the cloud cover which makes the sunset more of a fading of grey into black. Eventually, most of my watch has gone to bed and I decide to try and get some rest. I go to our tent and find a narrow open spot between Andrey and Tommy. It’s a little warm in the tent, but I already know that the bunks alone will hurt my hips. So, I roll out my sleeping bag and grab my pillow. My sleeping bag is a regular bulky one that I use for camping and there is just room for it to roll out, but remain folded in half. That’s my spot, just about a foot wide…snuggled in between 2 people that I just met yesterday. I stow my shoes, but stay fully clothed because I know that worst case, I’ll wake up in a few hours and best case, I’ll wake up at 3:30.
Waking up implies that I actually sleep though…which I’m not sure applies. The “tent” is a plywood covered structure and creaks and pops loudly with the movement of the sea. The wind picks up and the swells pick up. The gentle rocking of the boat increases as I try to rest. I’m occasionally woken from something like sleep by the ship cutting through a wave and bouncing loudly off the water. I realize later that this really only happens under motor power. When we are sailing, she rides merrily on top of the waves instead. The weather sounds pretty rough from inside the tent and I remember wondering if this is too bad to set the sail or not…and kind of hoping a little for the former and a little for the latter. My brain will not shut up.
Someone comes in the tent, wakes me from what must have finally been sleep and calls all hands to deck to set the sail. It is midnight or so. It is raining. The boat is pitching side to side what seems an awful lot to this landsman. I grab my shoes and make it outside to my box. I am in that state where you have only been asleep for a little while and are struggling to come fully awake. My eyes are sticky from the rain and salt spray and I can’t really see well. It’s nearly pitch dark anyway. Clouds cover the moon and stars. All I can see is mist around us on the ocean and the tops of the swells as they break, seemingly glowing in the night sea. I am in a movie, or perhaps a dream…but not a particularly nice one.
I have no sea legs yet and feel like a baby giraffe, barely capable of standing, much less walking. I’m fumbling for my red head lamp and trying to find my already wet foul weather gear and get it all on and zipped up. The zipper on my jacket is finicky. They call us to opp stående and I stumble past midships to the aft of the ship and find my place. I realize that I haven’t yet put on my life vest, which is bad. I’ll have to go get it afterwards. Tommy is in his place on the right, but Doug is missing on my left. I know that he is still struggling to get dressed and say as much. We are going to set the sail. Nearly half of the crew is new. We have heard the procedure described, but that’s not the same as knowing what to do at all. They tell us to get ready and I head back to get my life vest on. It won’t buckle around all of my other gear and I struggle with it for what feels like forever. I pinch the shit out of my right thumb and feel a blood blister instantly raise. Now I am incredibly flustered in addition to being more than a little afraid.
I make my way back to the aft and many people already have places at the spiela (sp) or windlass which we use to raise the sail. One young man is already leaning over the side of the ship being sick. Before we know it orders are being called out…in Norwegian. “Spake opp!” is called to pull the spokes of the spiela round and begin to raise the sail. Anyone can call “stop” if they see something amiss, but only the one leading the raising is allowed to call “spake opp” to begin again. We pull down the spoke, grab the next one, pull out the first and pass it to the man on the other side of the spiela. Something is slowing us down and someone asks if anyone sees a problem. I realize that the gallows on which the yard rests is caught in the corner of the sail. I say as much and it is freed. We continue. The watch leaders and experienced sailors give us info on what to do as they can. A couple of the folks pulling on the spokes begin to feel seasick as they sweat under the exertion of raising the 2 ton yard and sail.
We go slowly, just as Bjorn promised we would. I don’t honestly even remember what I was doing at this point, if anything. At some point, I made my way to either a brace or a sheet to assist with hauling it. We finally get the sail to the halfway point and prepare to do a Kai maneuver which we all know is the most dangerous thing we do on the ship. About 5 or 6 of our strongest people grab the brace and contra-brace on the starboard side and begin to haul in toward themselves, bringing the yard on that side down and close to parallel with the mast so that we can get it clear of the shrouds which hold the mast steady. They call for volunteers with good balance to get up on the sleeping tent to pull from there. “No heroes” David says. There is no world in which I am comfortable doing that. Truth be told, I am as scared right now as I think I have ever been. I don’t swim well and I’m afraid of the ocean. Oh, haven’t I mentioned that before? I am keenly aware that one wrong move and I could simply get pulled over the side of the ship, which only comes to about mid-thigh here. All these sailors are just doing their thing as comfortable as you please and I’m focusing hard on the task at hand and trying to keep from shaking visibly.
Several people have moved to pull the yard into place and they slowly and carefully clear all 6 shrouds. Once they are clear, we all begin to ease out or haul in on the lines until the yard is once again perpendicular with the mast and ready to be raised the rest of the way. At this point, I am mostly comfortable with what I am doing. “Spake opp!!” as the yard is raised the rest of the way up and everything is set and secured. I have no idea how long it takes us to do this, but we do it. Some of us are ecstatic and some of us look shaken. Bjorn tells us all is well in spite of a few small snags along the way and so we are released to go back to bed. Eventually, exhaustion takes over and we sleep.
“Midships, wake up…it’s 3:30. It’s cool and still raining.” Calls a friendly voice quietly. We wake, put back on our foulies and life vests and we grab snacks from the Night Watch box and a cup of slightly stale coffee from the Fika Box. The sky is shrouded with light fog and a faint green tinge. We are sailing along merrily in the light rain. Bjorn tells us that we are sailing at 9-10 knots and he looks delighted. Once the sun rises, we will adjust some things and set the beitas so that the sail is trimmed neatly. When that is done, we will end up close to 11 knots with the Northeast wind directly at our backs.
Sometime around 4:30 a.m. or so, Tommy calls out “dolphins!”. And I’m right there on starboard side in front of the steerboard. 2 smallish dolphins are swimming along with us, not 15 feet off the side of our ship. After the stress and fear of the night, I needed this. The sight of them fills me with joy and I am certain I was laughing out loud at it. I know that no matter how hard this is, it will be ok. Because for every moment like last night when I was wondering what on earth I have done, there will be a moment like this, where I am awestruck by the beauty of the world around me. And it’s going to be ok.
About 3 in the afternoon on Saturday, we hear that we are planning to sail out from Greenport tonight after all to beat the storm out to sea. Up until that point, we aren’t sure if it is going to be tonight or tomorrow morning. So, tonight it is. We are given a time to muster. Any time the words “opp stående” (at least I think that’s correct, I’ve never actually seen them written down) are uttered, it’s time for us to muster with our watch and we always stand in the same place so that we know if someone is missing. There is still a bit of clean up to do and a few of us are told by one of the watch leaders to get off the boat and carry some equipment over to the merch tent and then he says what I thought was “if you need to take your 5, do so”. I take this to mean that we have a second to use the shore bathroom, smoke em if we’ve got em, whatever. I drop stuff off with others and run to the restroom for a last opportunity that doesn’t involve climbing down into the heads. I go quickly and on the way back to the boat don’t see any crew members. I hustle faster. As I get to the dock, I speed up further, asking people to move out of my way and slipping through the crowd quickly. I hear someone say “there they go” and I start to panic. I get to the boat as they are already moving under motor power and leaving the pier. The watch leader who had told us to go do something shouts “get her on the boat!” and 3 people immediately come to my aid. I have no time to panic about actually getting into the ship. I step into the small ledge just under the gunnell, hoist myself up and people grab my hands and pull me over. Just like that, I’m in the ship and with not a moment to spare as we pull away from the dock. Which reminds me…I really need to look on YouTube and see if anyone got video of that. The first mate comes over and shakes his head at me and tells me that no one should ever leave the ship after opp stående or they could get left. I didn’t know…that’s really all I can say here. This auspicious start features prominently in my sleeplessness over the next couple of nights. Hey, remember that one time that I went sailing on a Viking Longship and nearly missed the boat? I can assure you, I teased myself about it publicly on several occasions over the coming weeks. But at least it’s a great story, right?
