Well, that's the season, folks!
It happened pretty fast, actually. The Admiral laconically informed us last week that at the end of the 9/8-9/12 voyage, we were to get all the food off the Grace Bailey. Downrigging would soon commence. Just like that, the last voyage began.
It actually went pretty straightforward. Go figure--just as I start to get deckhanding down, I end up landlocked. Although two events of note (aside from my ninjitsu escapades) occurred on this sail:
And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the Shop. Think of your basement. If it's anything like mine (for those of us without finished basements), it's a strange mix: racks and racks of tools hang on musty, dust-covered walls in between nigh-opaque windows, wreathed by half-finished projects, old appliances, "treasured" family heirlooms, broken picture frames, Christmas decorations, Halloween decorations, Independence Day decorations, St. Patrick's Day decorations, Arbor Day decorations--all kinds of miscellaneous crap. Accenting all of this is a vague feeling that there should be a dissonant minor chord playing in the background as a ghost forlornly shuffles from the Halloween section to the Christmas section. Sound about right?
Cool. Now pretend your basement was owned by a mad sailor with hoarding issues. And it was ten times the size it is. And three stories tall. Now you've got an idea of the Shop.
Everything you would ever need to build a boat is, I shit you not, in this building. The Shop is three doubtlessly-haunted stories of woodworking tools, spare heads, spare ship parts, piping, and enough scrap and intact lumber to repopulate the Amazon.
Today, my job was to split most of that scrap wood into kindling with a hatchet. Shirt off in the crisp autumn air, swinging the hatchet thousands of times over the course of a few hours, I can safely say this was probably my favorite day in quite some time.
I'm still here for a few weeks--the Merc is still out and we've still got plenty to do on the Grace. Beyond that, I've got some kind of travel plan going. It will be cold, it will be northern-bound, and it will be epic.
Oh, and I leave you with goddamn Mjolnir, a little treasure I found in the corner of the first floor. I pray I get to swing it someday.
It happened pretty fast, actually. The Admiral laconically informed us last week that at the end of the 9/8-9/12 voyage, we were to get all the food off the Grace Bailey. Downrigging would soon commence. Just like that, the last voyage began.
It actually went pretty straightforward. Go figure--just as I start to get deckhanding down, I end up landlocked. Although two events of note (aside from my ninjitsu escapades) occurred on this sail:
- Thursday saw, as if in some kind of nature-given boss battle, the most intense winds through which I have ever sailed. While tacking--a maneuver that under normal circumstances involves the relatively docile moving of the jib from one side of the ship to the other--I stood feet away from whipping lines that could easily have knocked me out. The jib wasn't passed so much as sucked from one side to the other by the roaring winds; the staysail club swung towards our heads like a baseball bat the size of your leg. All of this went down with salt spray and rain washing over my body every few seconds.
- Friday, conversely, saw us taking a two-hour day sail with forty-five 5th graders from a local school. In one sense, it was a nightmare. Try communicating across a hundred-twenty three feet with forty-five screaming children in the middle. It's amazing we didn't crash the thing. In another...holy crap, that was adorable. They were excited, hauled up the sails better than the adults ever did, (although it was nigh impossible to get them to drop the line) and the pirate references just kept coming. I'm not saying I'd do that everyday, but it certainly was a great perspective.
And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the Shop. Think of your basement. If it's anything like mine (for those of us without finished basements), it's a strange mix: racks and racks of tools hang on musty, dust-covered walls in between nigh-opaque windows, wreathed by half-finished projects, old appliances, "treasured" family heirlooms, broken picture frames, Christmas decorations, Halloween decorations, Independence Day decorations, St. Patrick's Day decorations, Arbor Day decorations--all kinds of miscellaneous crap. Accenting all of this is a vague feeling that there should be a dissonant minor chord playing in the background as a ghost forlornly shuffles from the Halloween section to the Christmas section. Sound about right?
Cool. Now pretend your basement was owned by a mad sailor with hoarding issues. And it was ten times the size it is. And three stories tall. Now you've got an idea of the Shop.
Everything you would ever need to build a boat is, I shit you not, in this building. The Shop is three doubtlessly-haunted stories of woodworking tools, spare heads, spare ship parts, piping, and enough scrap and intact lumber to repopulate the Amazon.
Today, my job was to split most of that scrap wood into kindling with a hatchet. Shirt off in the crisp autumn air, swinging the hatchet thousands of times over the course of a few hours, I can safely say this was probably my favorite day in quite some time.
I'm still here for a few weeks--the Merc is still out and we've still got plenty to do on the Grace. Beyond that, I've got some kind of travel plan going. It will be cold, it will be northern-bound, and it will be epic.
Oh, and I leave you with goddamn Mjolnir, a little treasure I found in the corner of the first floor. I pray I get to swing it someday.
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| Ain't no kill like overkill. |
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