Trying. I've been relocated to the galley twice now. I now sleep in the crawlspace all the way up in the bow, where I have one foot of headroom, a teddy spider, and leaks in my face. I make it to bed at 11; the cook starts clanging around at 4. I climb out of the bed, brush my teeth, and do dishes. Among numerous responsibilities in the kitchen (during any one day I will spend at least 45 minutes scraping burn off the bottom of a pot), I will eventually be sent up top to perform another activity. Which reminds me, boats are also...
Dangerous. I act as what's called the "cowboy", which is to say it's my job to lean off the back of the boat grasping the sail and use my weight to draw the sail taut so it can be folded up as it comes down. I then have to follow it in, disengaging in time to avoid being crushed by the gaff (a two-ton log lowered down by a pulley).
In addition to this, I am occasionally asked to either row out ahead and secure the mooring lines coming into port, or told to retrieve them on the other end and pull, essentially stopping the motion of the entire schooner with a deadlift. And with that in mind, boats can also be...
Thankless. What do you think I'm getting paid? Whatever it is, you're thinking too high. As an entry-level employee, I am here on a volunteer basis. Tips are good--when they come--but besides that, I've got lodging and food. Boats can be...
Challenging. I'm making myself do more with less. I don't get much food that isn't carbs, I get very little sleep, and there's no rest for the wicked here--we've taken passengers for a week straight, and we've got at least a week and a half coming up. I'm writing this in the two-hour window between cleaning up after the last wave and boarding the next one.
I'm not great at this, but I'm taking the "do it 'til my hands bleed" approach. Pound for pound, hard work beats natural talent every time. And when I'm called out to the stern to learn a jibe on three hours of sleep, I'm under the gun to make it stick. More than most things I've done, this is a 24/7 challenge.
You know what else boats are? They're...
Liberating. After doing the cowboy gig last night, I hung out up there for a little while. Balanced twenty-five feet off the water between a pair of lazy jacks (little guide wires that keep the sail in line), I looked around and took in the view. An immaculate sunset, framed by an opening in the channel. The wind hit the folded sail, and I heard no other sound. I looked to the sun, and had an honest-to-god 'Murrika moment--a massive osprey swooped down and snatched a fish from the water, rising into the sky with its dinner. Where else am I going to get that? Boats, after all, are...
Unique. I wake up every morning and climb into a goddamn National Geographic still to brush my teeth. My nights are spent swapping stories with Israeli security contractors, former Naval officers, movie producers, ex-convicts--everybody's got a story, and everybody who books passage on this ship seems to have a great one. There's music billowing out of the galley every week. I spent an hour of precious downtime yesterday sitting on the very tip of the bow, tearing into my copy of the Odyssey with the sun and spray on my face.
Boats are shitty work, my friends. But goddamn, are they worth it.
Dangerous. I act as what's called the "cowboy", which is to say it's my job to lean off the back of the boat grasping the sail and use my weight to draw the sail taut so it can be folded up as it comes down. I then have to follow it in, disengaging in time to avoid being crushed by the gaff (a two-ton log lowered down by a pulley).
 |
| Me, top right, thinking about Freud. |
Thankless. What do you think I'm getting paid? Whatever it is, you're thinking too high. As an entry-level employee, I am here on a volunteer basis. Tips are good--when they come--but besides that, I've got lodging and food. Boats can be...
Challenging. I'm making myself do more with less. I don't get much food that isn't carbs, I get very little sleep, and there's no rest for the wicked here--we've taken passengers for a week straight, and we've got at least a week and a half coming up. I'm writing this in the two-hour window between cleaning up after the last wave and boarding the next one.
I'm not great at this, but I'm taking the "do it 'til my hands bleed" approach. Pound for pound, hard work beats natural talent every time. And when I'm called out to the stern to learn a jibe on three hours of sleep, I'm under the gun to make it stick. More than most things I've done, this is a 24/7 challenge.
You know what else boats are? They're...
Liberating. After doing the cowboy gig last night, I hung out up there for a little while. Balanced twenty-five feet off the water between a pair of lazy jacks (little guide wires that keep the sail in line), I looked around and took in the view. An immaculate sunset, framed by an opening in the channel. The wind hit the folded sail, and I heard no other sound. I looked to the sun, and had an honest-to-god 'Murrika moment--a massive osprey swooped down and snatched a fish from the water, rising into the sky with its dinner. Where else am I going to get that? Boats, after all, are...
Unique. I wake up every morning and climb into a goddamn National Geographic still to brush my teeth. My nights are spent swapping stories with Israeli security contractors, former Naval officers, movie producers, ex-convicts--everybody's got a story, and everybody who books passage on this ship seems to have a great one. There's music billowing out of the galley every week. I spent an hour of precious downtime yesterday sitting on the very tip of the bow, tearing into my copy of the Odyssey with the sun and spray on my face.
Boats are shitty work, my friends. But goddamn, are they worth it.
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