Bones of Ships, Bones of Sailors

We left on time into heavy seas and gale winds. The weather worsened before breaking only to rise again twofold. White horses galloping on a plunging sea washed our good luck away and our bones began to break. The main upper top yardarm buckled like a soda can just outboard of the doubler used to correct the same situation occuring on the transatlantic jaunt five years prior. Haste was made to Saint John's, Newfoundland in hopes of making for an eventual early arrival in Bremerhaven, Germany 2600 nautical miles away for repairs. The winds slackend allowing seas to lay down some but the morning weather prediction called for a fighting second blow before landfall in Newfoundland.

The second bit of weather brought storm force winds and 16-18 foot seas. She made way under diesel power with only staysails flying in her crippled rig to smooth the ride. Beam winds rose beam seas causing the ship to roll and seemingly slide sideways down the waves in an unaccustomary manner under legs new to the sea. Having earned a little salt under my hat I faired well and quite enjoyed the ride. The trainees were walking straighter and presenting a larger showing at meal time. A fine acclimation to the rough North Atlantic spring Noreaster.

The swells aligned on day four and up rose water higher. Recorded 16-18 foot seas would conjure 24 footers with six feet of froth blowing off the top. She took such a wave portside that morning as I slept off the midwatch. I awoke to the pipe, "Corpsman, lay to the waist." Followed by, "stretcher bearers, lay to the waist." All in all a discomforting way to wake with injuries topside rendering shipmates uncapable of removing themselves from the situation.

The group slid into the lifeline parting it from their combined momentum and went athwartships with the deck wash until she settled back to her regular movement. Three broken ankles, a broken knee cap, lacaerated face, three broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a broken pelvis between the five of them. The wardroom cleared out chairs and filled with the injured on backboards and pain killers. Time now turned to gold, and the quickest route to quality medical was needed to relieve those suffering shipmates.

Wind blew out of Halifax writing it off the list of options for it would slow us down measurably to hobby horse into the wind and waves. The standing rigging alone with such windage would tear two to three knots off our headway. It would not be Halifax which is a shame for it is a fine city. Canadiens are amicable folks. Horrible cigarrettes but fine people. The night life is heavy with travelers, drink, bad smoke, and women.

Closest landfall lay to the north 300 or so miles. The name of the port now escapes me but the details are unimportant as poor medical facilities would greet us after fighting through a wind over the port bow the whole of the way there. To divert there would slow salvation. Saint John's, Newfoundland remained over the bow. The choice was made.

I learned after arriving in Saint John's that Halifax is no longer the gem of Canada in my mind. The lucky Irish or Dutch or whoever first ventured into the narrow cut of solid rock walls to breathlessly watch as there opened up a perfect natural deep draft harbor, must have wept. Protection on all sides from the sometimes viscious North Atlantic, silt and sand bottom for their anchors, and a rugged beauty that sees puffins, harbor seals, humpback whales by the thousands, icebergs and occaisonal polar bear stowaways on the pack ice riding the Labrador Current from Greenland.

Saint John's is a place you leave so you can relish the return. No one with a soul intertwined with the sea leaves Saint John's never to return. It is always inside you in a dream or anticipation. To see the cold aqua water of the harbor and the colored houses climing the harbor's hills is a coming home.

Without further event, the port call was greatly enjoyed with friends from the ship and we set out for Bremerhaven, Germany on the 18th of May. One day before my 27th birthday. My 28th trip around the sun began with 2600NM of blue laid out before me.

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Motoring. Days on end of diesel noise. The wind lay within 20 degrees of the intended track for the first six days so we pressed the air aside under power.

The pilot charts show a knot of current and 25 knot winds for the month of May eager to scoot us along to the Northeast and Europe. But turning for 10.5 knots we made nine. The predictions failed us as we lay between two low pressure systems on their ways across the Atlantic. The system astern too far to help us out while held back by the Northeastern weather from the one ahead.

On day seven we left the track line over the port quarter and made good for Morrocco thousands of miles ahead to put the wind over our port side. A wear to the Northwest after lunch because the trainees need a re-connection to sailing. It frustrates the crew to pull outlandish double back maneauvers. The sailors aboard want to work the whip not play pirate for no reason. We are to teach them "a liking for the sea and its lore" but the atmosphere is of a summer camp for children of the privelidged. We are there to look salty and wipe the spittle from their chins after each predigested spoonful of life at sea.

The weather is said to turn foul over the next few days. A confused and lumpy sea lulls us from the beam and spits of rain wander as green ghosts on radar. We are catching the low that slowed us down thus far.

A hazy morning brought visual landfall - the island of Rona to the south on our starboard side. Then through the comparatively narrow straight separating the Shetlands to the north and Orkneys to the south. The North Sea was windy and choppy with a nearly perpetual mist clinging down low mixing with the spray from steep waves. We anchored near the mouths of the Jade and Wesser Rivers for the evening to prep the ship for her homecoming.

The morning brought driving rain and poor visibility, but soon we were though the lock and alongside the Bremerhaven, Germany Pier after 16 days spent crossing the Atlantic. More to due before I dash out for schnitzel and beer. Up we went to run halyards for dress flags. Hubbard and Barbosa were up on the fore, Dunham and Hughes up the main, and I took the mizzen. Dunham had talked Hughes into shimmying out the mizzen boom earlier so I was set. The boom has a wire rope under tension about six inches above the boom. To shackle in the flag line one must inch out the boom on all fours, a distracting task with the wire rope threatening the boys should you slip a knee and drop to the boom.

It rained the whole time but paid for our freedom in Germany so off came the blue, on went port clothes, and all alled headed out to find what there is to be found.

Repairs on the main upper yardarm were effected in Edinburgh, Scotland. The town is stone architecture, fiery locals, and comparably few tourists. I spent time with friends and walked many miles but left feeling unsatisfied and wanting. Perhaps England or Ireland will refuel my soul. I wish to head away from the English language. I fear the best has passed and forge my endurance for the remainder.