By James
My last sail of the festival summer began in Sarnia, Ontario. That final evening was spent in a hectic frenzy of dragging my sea bags down the pier, from Picton Castle’s claustrophobic forepeak to an exposed, curtain less quarter berth in the ward room of the Canadian brigantine, Fair Jeanne. There, I would find no sweet pine tar scent to lure me into pleasant dreams, save that which emanated from my ditty bag. No sooner had I brought my first belongings aboard than I realized that my bunk was occupied… with the flying jib. By the time I was ready to make it my personal space, a pair of trainees had moved the sail to another bunk. It wouldn’t be the last time we would need to navigate confined corridors with the burden of a heavy sail.
The excitement began aboard Fair Jeanne at 7:00am, making ready the ship, singling up our lines, and getting the fuel tanks topped up. We were off the dock and underway down the St. Clair River before 10:00am, in line just behind Picton. Another ship meant another prolonged safety orientation, and by then I was relieved at the thought that it would be the last one of the summer. Lucky for me, I joined at a time when the Fair Jeanne was lacking in experienced crew members. For one, they didn’t even have a Bosun! Capt. Corey Hamilton, an old shipmate of mine, mentioned this to me when we were discussing what role I would play on board. This was pretty big for me. I had the opportunity to fill in on a professional level aboard Denis Sullivan and Pride of Baltimore II, but never really took advantage of it as an opportunity to teach, only to learn. On Fair Jeanne, leading projects would mean that I could teach trainees and inexperienced crew, while learning how to lead.
The work began soon after a fire drill and while the kids still had enough energy to involve themselves. I spent the afternoon teaching several trainees about hanks, where they belong and how to use them to attach a jib to a stay. After lunch, I took a few trainees out into the headrig to help me replace broken or missing piston hanks with iron horseshoe ones. Even after learning how to perform the seizing, only one of the trainees expressed an interest in trying it for themselves. Maybe it was a lack in self-confidence, or maybe just a lack of interest in seamanship as a whole, but it really wasn’t something I expected. When I was in their place, I couldn’t wait to learn every single skill that might make me a better sailor. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, these are 14 year olds just out to have fun at summer camp, but trying to get the kids engaged enough to want to learn would prove to be a recurring theme.
After several hours of motoring and tense helming through those narrow channels, we went to anchor next to Bluenose II on the north side of Pelee Island. We had a swim call that evening and set up a projector for the trainees to view Mutiny on The Bounty (1962) starring Marlon Brando. I tried to watch a part of it, having myself sailed to many of the far-away places featured in the film, more than two-hundred years after the setting. I found the depictions of local people and customs jarring and completely misrepresented. Not really surprising in the slightest from a fifty-seven year old movie. Instead, a few crew members and I made our own entertainment by staying up late on deck; discussing things like life, ships, and the nature of the sea.
The next morning Ryan, the chief mate, and I took the tender to a marina ashore to refill a few of our jerry cans with gas and diesel. Upon our success, Ryan gave me permission to take the throttle and navigate us back to the ship. Small boat handling is a very different skill to master than that of a larger vessel, and takes different tricks and methods to become proficient. However, the real reason I asked was simply for missing the exhilaration of speed. For feeling the vibration up my arm as I opened the throttle to the max, and watching the water spit out behind us, as landmarks flew by. Of course, as we cleared the jetty and began to return to the ship, it began to pour.
That anchorage would be something of a home base for us over the next few days, providing safe harbor and allowing the crew to stand relatively brief anchor watch, as opposed to full night watches. Over the next few days my project as the Bosun would be to make ready the flying jib for bending. My work with the previous occupant of my bunk had just begun. It took two afternoons for me to finish seizing piston hanks to the luff of the sail. Docking in Kingsville didn’t even mark the end for me, and I still was up and helping to teach crew and trainees the technique of harbor furling, and the next morning, of sending out and bending on a jib.
Indeed, it was a memorable last sail of the summer for me, full of many firsts, from firing a cannon to being tasked as a project lead and teaching major seamanship skills. I may not have learned much in the way of seamanship, but I’ve learned SO MUCH in the way of teaching. I never expected to be able to pass on so much, but I’m glad that I was able to.
To reflect back, it was a crazy summer, full of growth and new experiences. But, now that it’s over, especially after that last passage, I can look forward knowing that I gained everything that I set out to, two short months ago. I look forward with nothing but anticipation for what the future brings.
