By Katie
Before boarding the Pride of Baltimore, I thought I had a fairly decent grasp of what sailing would be like. After all, I’d read up on it extensively, looked up all of the ships I would be sailing on, and devoured the previous interns’ blog posts to the point where I could probably recite all of them from memory. Still, however, the last thirty-six hours have been absolutely brimming with unexpected experiences.
I boarded Pride on Sunday night and was given a brief tour, ending with an introduction to my own cabin belowdecks (a luxury on a ship like this). The crew and accompanying guest crew were incredibly welcoming, and I quickly found myself immersed in their stories, each more different and exciting than the last. There were people who designed toys for a living, those who’d sailed around the world, and with degrees in Appalachian fiddling. Every single person here has taught me something new, and with immense patience and dexterity. With so much to learn, I find myself saying the words “thank you” to a fellow crew member more often than any other phrase.
As for what there is to learn— where to even begin? To set sail and race against St Lawrence II across Lake Erie, we needed all hands on deck, and I was instantly thrown into action. Hauling a sail up could require as many as six of us all stacked against each other like sardines, each pulling with all of their might until mere upper body strength was not enough and we had to “sweat” the line, a tactic in which all of us threw our body weight back and forth against the line and then pulled it downward. We hauled sails up over and over, with the captain calling out commands as we raced from line to line, myself following the crowds and feeling a bit like a lost puppy dog for not knowing which command meant which action. I couldn’t even tell you how long this took to haul up all of Pride’s sails, but I do know that afterwards my palms were rubbed raw from the tough lines and my whole body— from thighs to shoulders to even wrist joints— was aching. By noon, I wanted nothing more than to already collapse in my bunk.
Sleep, I would soon learn, was at least twelve (and more likely sixteen) hours away. After hauling lines, we ate lunch and had a muster, where each of us were assigned a watch. The watches go from 12-4, 4-8, and 8-12, and are called A, B, and C watch, respectively. An important thing to note about these are that these watches are am and pm, meaning that when I was assigned the 12-4 watch, I would be waking up close to midnight to take over from C watch. Because it was mid-afternoon, myself and the rest of A watch took over, and I was taught how to do a boat check. Boat checks are— you guessed it— checking the boat every hour, and include lifting parts of the floor to check water in the keel, crawling into the (hot, loud) engine room to check various readings, and recording various weather and directional statistics.
After my watch, I got the next four hours completely off, as is customary for all crew members. The next four hours, however, I was on standby, meaning the C watch crew would call me and the rest of A watch in case they needed any help. I saw this firsthand when I was woken up at 11:15 pm to help tack— that is, swing the sails from one side of the ship to the other to better catch the wind. We were heading for a squall just north of us, and when I climbed above deck, felt wind immediately tangle my hair and saw lightning lighting up the sky to my right. With only the full moon as our lighting, we raced across deck, hauling lines over and over until my hands felt as though they were on fire. Then came my 12-4 watch, where my crew mates taught me how to steer the ship and we traded opinions on bizarre food combinations. Then another three and a half hours of sleep (the most I’d gotten consecutively since we set sail) before being woken up to help haul up the anchor. Then sleep, wake up, repeat. I’ve learned very quickly to sleep whenever I can, and I’m now passing out the moment my head hits the pillow, no matter what time of day or night.
Since being on Pride, there are two things that have really struck me since coming aboard. The first, most important one is how much trust the crew puts in you and vice versa. When hauling lines, steering the ship, doing boat checks, or even just putting turns on a halyard after it’s been hauled up, as a crew member, you are completing an action that if done wrong could result in the destruction of the ship and everyone in it. There is an immense amount of responsibility, and so even in terrifying situations, there is absolutely no room for panic, because you have to work with your crew to keep all of you afloat (literally). The second is how dry my skin has gotten. Admittedly, this is a lot less poetic and sentimental than my first moment of clarity, but though I’ve been reapplying sunscreen almost every hour, my skin is flaking off from damage done by the wind and sun. I feel like a lizard shedding a layer. Take note: if you’re going to go sailing, bring a good moisturizer, and bring buckets of it.
After a mere twenty-four hours on Pride, I’ve gotten to see some of the most beautiful views of my life. The Detroit and Cleveland skylines from the boat will forever remain in my mind, and nerve-wracking though it was, I find my mind wandering back to the lightning emblazoning the clouds late last night. Though I’ve lived in the Great Lakes area my whole life, their beauty still astounds me, and today when I was climbing out past the ship onto the ropes to help tie the jib in place, my feet balanced precariously on a line as thick as my thumb, I found my breath taken away by the blueness of the lake passing below me. To use a cliche, the view from the water is unbeatable.