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DATE:	THURSDAY, January 29, 1998
TIME:	2300 GMT; 1400 Ship Time (-9)
POSITION:	13d 49.2' North Latitude; 143d 28.7' West Longitude
CONDITIONS:	SPEED: 8.5 knots avg. COURSE: 290 degrees Magnetic; 300 degrees True WEATHER: North, northeast, Beaufort Force 4 (11 to 16 knots) SEA STATE: Seas: 2 to 4 ft.; swell 6-8 ft. BAROMETRIC PRESSURE: 1015.2 millibars; Rising and falling w/ diurnal flux; generally higher SKY: 2/8 cloud cover; mostly cumulus, alto-cumulus
ENTERED BY:	Captain Dan Parrott

Greetings from the tropical North Pacific:

PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II continues to schoon merrily before the northeast trades. Recent days have seen some fluctuation in wind strength and direction and, as you can detect from our current position, we have slid to the north of our desired track line by about 90 miles. For several days we were steadily logging between 220 and 230 miles a day. Now we are hovering closer to the 200 mark. Still, not too shabby progress. Being a little farther north has taken some of the edge off the tropic sun. In case anyone was concerned, the temperature is now just right for sleeping at night, but conditions remain adequate for tan maintenance.

Choosing a voyage plan that balances these two crucial considerations has bedeviled sea captains for millennia. You won't find it on any Coast Guard exam, but good sleeping weather and tan maintenance are at the heart of successful navigation, and every captain knows it. Remember how Columbus' crew nearly mutinied on him? It wasn't that the earth might prove flat; it was the sweaty bedsheets. Too hot. So Columbus sailed north for a spell, and everybody calmed down. That's why he made landfall in the Bahamas, rather than in the Caribbean proper. And we all know about Cap'n Bligh and the HMS BOUNTY. It wasn't the inedible food, the senseless cruelty, or the absence of the heart-melting Tahitian brides that nurtured rebellion. Nor was it the grueling, spirit-breaking task of walking around the deck with a watering can and a spray bottle, watering juvenile breadfruit plants that drove the men to despair. Sad to say, but it all came down to lack of tan maintenance. Bligh just couldn't see this coming and it cost him his ship. Another avoidable tragedy on the high seas of life. But sometimes you get it right; so far, so good.

There have been some other interesting measures of our progress, which I would like to share at this writing:

* In the wee hours of the morning on January 20th, PRIDE II made its closest point of approach to Ile Clipperton (Clipperton Island). Aside from a few islands near the coast of Central America, Clipperton is the only dry land which lies on a voyage from Panama to Hawaii. It belongs to France, though nobody is sure why, and it is France's sole possession in the North Pacific. Mexico is the nearest country to it, at about 550 miles. Although the western and South Pacific hold many remote islands, reefs, and atolls, Clipperton is quite alone in this section of ocean. It is truly one of the great points of oceanic desolation in the world. The following are excerpts regarding Clipperton from the Sailing Directions published by the National Imagery and Mapping Agency:

This dangerous atoll consists of a low coral ring...which encloses a lagoon filled with stagnant water. A derelict hut, with a mast, was reported to stand near the middle of the atoll in 1976. A rock lies...east of this hut. From a distance, this rock resembles a sail, but on closer approach it has the appearance of an immense castle. Soundings give little warning when approaching from any direction. A high, breaking surf pounds the coral reef that encircles the atoll, and at times, completely sweeps across it into the lagoon. Vessels anchoring at Clipperton should be prepared to quickly leave the anchorage.

Tempting as all this sounded, we had a schedule to keep, and so passed on to the west, giving it a wide berth of 150 miles.

* On January 26th around 0700 for the first time in the voyage, PRIDE II arrived at a geographical point that was closer to Hawaii than to North America (Baja California). When equidistant between the two points, we were roughly 1400 nautical miles from either.

* Since shutting down the engine on January 12th, PRIDE II has traveled under sail alone 3,215 miles. She has maintained an average speed of 8.3 knots, for an average daily distance of 201 nautical miles. Our longest daily run so far, noon to noon, has been 227 miles on January 22; our worst daily run was 145 miles on January 15, 1998. I will update these figures upon arrival in Hawaii.

As regards the Great Lure Contest of 1998, the quest for a fish that will top Andy Jackson's 52 inch mahi mahi goes on. That fish, caught on a lure known as "The Pink Pulsating Pleasure Pod," made two delicious meals for all hands: baked mahi with l'orange salsa, and good old fashioned fish cakes. At last writing, Summer's pet lure "Fluffy" had gone to Davy Jones's Locker under mysterious circumstances, bringing us to the latest installment. The next day we streamed Deckhand Samantha Heyman's lure "Sport." Sport bit the dust by nine o'clock and no one is sure why. Conspiracy theorists have linked it to the Pope, Castro, and the Cook, none of whom have a really watertight alibi. Samantha was inconsolable and swears to get to the bottom of it. But as I told her, its a long way down.

Not wanting to see a perfectly good day of fishing go to waste, I tendered "Hydrox", knowing that he would not get a full session in the water. Hydrox is a truly astounding blend of form and function. The contrivance is made from a lead weight painted Caterpillar Yellow, with a long red inner skirt and a short blue outer one. The red skirt is a piece of clear plastic, cut into a fringe-like pattern and then spray-painted red. The outer skirt is shorter, similarly fringed, and is made from, you guessed it, a blue Hydrox cookie wrapper. No question, Hydrox cut a dashing figure going out to tilt at the creatures of the deep. I regret to report, however, that the fishes were somehow able to resist this challenge, and we again went fishless. It was a fresh breeze day, you have to understand, and the vessel was storming along at a steady ten knots. It would have required a very fast and hungry fish to catch Hydrox that day. By day's end all the red paint was gone and it was a rather bedraggled and exhausted Hydrox that tumbled back aboard.

The following day Chief Mate Jason Quilter unveiled the "Santa Claus" lure. Santa was fashioned from some Christmas decorations that remained aboard since the holidays and looked like something white with a red hat on its head. Mid-afternoon yesterday I came on deck and scanned the horizon off our starboard quarter and, lo, I spied a great mahi mahi flapping and floundering along in our wake. The cry went up, "Fish on!" Crew bounded from their bunks and, in a twinkling, the deck was festooned with wild loops of fishing line amid irresponsible speculations and bodies pushing for a better view. Sadly for Jason and Santa, the chap threw the hook before we could get him alongside. Some say it was 53 inches if it were one. Others swear it wasn't a hair longer than 51. This, all at a range of thirty yards. Guess we'll never know now.

This morning, at 0930, the distance remaining to Hawaii dropped to under 1000 nautical miles. For three weeks now we have been striving, as far as the wind would allow, to steer a course that kept us going due West, and trying not to steer straight toward Hawaii, to the Northwest. This was our plan for playing the wind patterns that normally characterize this part of the Pacific. This afternoon, after analyzing the latest weather maps and watching our breeze steadily become weaker, I decided that the time had come to steer direct for Hawaii and make the best of the conditions we find. Carrying on to the west has decreasing utility for us, as the wind appears as likely to go North, as to go East. If we lose the wind altogether, this is a distance we can handle with the engines and our present fuel supply. So today we strike out for Hawaii. From now on, every mile sailed is a mile directly toward our destination. We are on our way again, and it feels great!

Watch Below,
Captain Parrott

Greetings from the Tropical North Pacific:

PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II continues to barrel her way across the wide open Pacific in a generally westward direction. Conditions have remained good over the last few days, with a slight increase of wind strength to speed us on our way; a quick passage is a safe passage. We have seen sustained speeds of 10 to 11 knots over recent days, which has had us crossing a new degree of longitude about every six hours. Although the technology embodied in PRIDE II may be fairly called dated, she can be terrifyingly efficient under the right conditions, hence the success of Baltimore Clippers in their day. At the moment we have the right conditions. How long it will last is uncertain. In the meantime, we hang on tight and enjoy the ride.

Pleasing as the situation is at the moment, the ride has not been effortless. The relentless motion of a sailing vessel on a long ocean passage, even in the best of conditions, produces wear and tear on the sails and the rig which must constantly be tended by the crew. For instance, at each change of the watch (every four hours) the hands on deck turn to the task of "freshening the nip". To the sailor ashore, that expression is a call to heave-to at the nearest pub for a libation, particularly when more than one is the order of the evening. But at sea, freshening the nip refers to changing the point at which a particular line lies in a block and is therefore in constant contact with the sheeve inside it. It involves the crew having to adjust the set of the sails, either by hoisting or easing the halyards, so that the wear is transferred to a new place on the line. If a line is allowed to ride in the same position over a period of many days, it will eventually suffer damage. It may even part, bringing about havoc and general disaster. Not only is good line expensive, but if a line were to part without warning the chance of injuring someone would be great, and we are a long, long way from the hospital. Some of the lines aboard PRIDE II are 350 feet long; one worn spot in the middle could mean that the whole length needs replacing. So freshening the nip is an important part of keeping our ship in good working order as she speeds her way toward Hawaii.

Another ongoing task for the crew involves the setting and striking of sails. Though conditions have been fairly consistent, there are times when the wind eases off for a period and the ship slows down. This is when we break out our light air "kites", the stunsail and the gantsail. These are two small sails that can make a big difference in maintaining a higher average speed (PRIDE II's Sail Plan). The gantsail is a small squaresail that sets on the foremast above the foretopsail, at the highest point of the rig. Setting it requires two hands to lay aloft to receive the yard and the sail which the crew down on deck hoist up to them. Once they have it rigged into position, the hands below haul the halyard tight and stretch out the sail to catch the breeze. The stunsail (or studdingsail) sets outboard of the topsail on an extension of the yard called a stuns'l boom. Two hands must climb out onto the course yard to slide out the stuns'l boom and lash it into place. Once this is done, the sail can be set by crew tending lines on the deck. PRIDE II has two stunsails, one for each side, but generally only one can catch "clean air" at a time, so we normally just set the windward one. You need to see these sails to appreciate them. They look grand and not too many vessels carry them at all nowadays.

Stunsails have to be looked after carefully. They are fairly fragile as they are only designed for light air sailing. When they are set, the watch on deck has to keep a careful eye out to windward for approaching squalls. Last night, around four in the morning, the wind piped up to around thirty knots with a passing cloud. The watch officer, Damion Sailors, gave me a call. As it was a change of the watch, we had plenty of hands on deck to bring the stuns'l in. When people were in position, I gave the word and it was down "in a trice."

The main gaff topsail is another light wind sail that has been up and down ten or a dozen times this voyage. We also have a "ringtail", but that's another story. The crew have become quite skillful in handling these sails, day or night. When the wind pipes up, as it has at the moment, all the kites have to come in and get stowed away till the next lull. Its a good deal of work to set and strike any of the kites, usually requiring two watches. Sometimes they are set and struck twice in one day, all depending on the prevailing conditions. The kites are part of what distinguish the Baltimore Clipper from other types of traditional schooners. They give PRIDE II that added margin of speed which her predecessors, the privateers of 1812, used so effectively when capturing enemy prize ships, or outrunning the warships of the British Royal Navy.

One other area which requires the crew's constant attention is the matter of rig checks and boat checks. Every hour on the hour, day and night, a crew member walks the length of the ship, inside and out, looking for anything that might be amiss. There is a check-list of key items to investigate, such as sounding the bilges and smelling for fire. But there is a multitude of unlisted items for which one must be constantly on the lookout: a lashing that has come adrift, a heavy object left untended which, with the next roll of the ship, might go flying and do harm. Out on deck a thorough examination of the rigging is carried out each day, divided up among the three watches. The sailors are primarily looking for chafe on lines and sails, which can lead to severe damage and lots of work. Checking the rig is "preventive maintenance" because any time we can catch a small problem before it becomes big, we do ourselves a favor.

Every single day some small or not so small problem is found. The two officers, Chief Mate Jason Quilter and Second Mate Amy Strange, along with our Bosun, Damion Sailors, have daily consultations during which each shares what has been discovered and a plan is made for remedying the situation. Each of these individuals has spent a considerable amount of their off-watch time on projects that required immediate attention, and for that our ship is better off. On some days a number of items are discovered and the rest of the day, and perhaps part of the following day, must be spent setting things right again, in time to deal with the next set of problems which inevitably arise. This is the way of things aboard ship. From a sailing point of view, this has been a luxurious voyage thus far - a warm climate, a fair wind and plenty of it. But for the sailor, the work is continual. It needs to be; it is how we keep our ship seaworthy and safe. Nevertheless, everyone seems to be enjoying this grand romp across the spacious Pacific.

Having said that about the fine weather, we stand reminded of how deceptive a sunny day at sea can be, and how utterly circumstances can change. When the weather turns nasty and your ship is battered by vicious seas, a mere two days seems the sum of one's entire existence. One cannot remember or believe that the sea could ever be otherwise. Likewise, when the weather is fine and all is well, it is unimaginable that it will ever be different. The memory of horrible nights spent upon the sea is displaced by the immediate grandeur of the moment: the starlit sky, the playful dolphins, the jocular antics of a high-spirited crew. But only yesterday a low, heavy and unbroken blanket of cloud moved across our skies from the north. The ocean lost its cheerful, cobalt hue. The flicker and dapple of sunlight upon the crested wave vanished. All became gray. No one lingered on deck while off-watch and conversation was brief and muted. There were no stars to "shoot" with the sextant or to follow with the eye. You might say a pall had fallen over the ship. Though there was no actual deterioration of weather, the change in the appearance of things seemed to have filled the ship's company with a sense of foreboding, perhaps instilled by past experiences under gloomy skies. Conversely, by midday today, when the mantle of murk drifted away to the south, the effect on our world, both our surroundings and state of mind, was positively sublime. And we've had a jolly good time all afternoon.

The Great Lure Extravaganza continues to rivet the populace of PRIDE II on the fortunes of these preposterous assemblages of ribbon and yarn trailing astern. They skip from crest to crest when we're really tearing along, as likely to snag a hapless flying fish out of the sky as entice any beast of the deep to dine. But I jest, and if I weren't I would be eating my words rather than the delectable mahi-mahi we hauled aboard yesterday morning. You may remember from my last log that Amy's entry was called "Integrated Underwater Device." Her lure's day in action succeeded only in preventing us from eating fresh fish for another day. But the very next day Andrew "Action" Jackson, our fearless cook (there's nothing he's afraid to serve us), set out what should have been awarded first prize for "joke lure." It was a chunky, eight inch piece of pink foam rubber, cut so as to approximate a somewhat cubist four-legged octopus with some tin-foil and rubber bands somehow affixed to it. Excuse me, but it didn't take any fisherman to see that this was a real piece of.....junk. But the thing wasn't out twenty minutes and we had a fish on. I luffed up the schooner to take a little way off as we were moving at a good rate, while the others hauled short the line. By the time the creature was alongside, most of the crew was on deck, all worked up into a lather of blood-lust and excitement, clamoring around the catch but at the same time swearing it couldn't be true - "not on that lure!" But it WAS true and the cook beamed with pride and relief, because now he knew what to prepare for dinner. It was a handsome mahi-mahi, and it measured out at 52 inches.

Andy's prize was the first fish caught in nearly two weeks when we lost the famous Ertle lure to the shark, not counting a flying fish or two that jumped aboard. There was nothing left of the lure. It had a brief but spectacular career, never to be repeated. The cook swears it was the anchovy paste smeared on it. Beyond this impressive catch, the contest has yielded little. Mike "Sinker" McCreery, our resident fish and filet expert, had no luck with his lure, audaciously named "Bite Me." Today was the big day for Deckhand Summer O'Malley and her pet lure "Fluffy." I offer no details except to say that it bombed spectacularly. Actually when the line was hauled in, there was nothing there at all, hence the expression "Hook, line and sinker." In any event, old "Hydrox" awaits patiently in the wings for another two days and a transitory taste of glory.

I close with a listing of daily mileage, noon to noon, since last logged:

1/20 - 210 Nautical miles
1/21 - 213 Nautical miles
1/22 - 227 Nautical miles
1/23 - 197 Nautical miles
1/24 - 225 Nautical miles
1/25 - 223 Nautical miles

To friends and family ashore, we miss you and hope you are well; we are doing just fine.

Watch Below,
Capt. Dan Parrott

Greetings from the tropical North Pacific:

We have well and truly arrived at the trade wind belt. After a week and a half of feeling our way along, mostly sailing but never knowing how long it would last, we are now under the influence of the eastern North Pacific High Pressure. This is the weather system which produces the steady Northeasterly winds used by the early Pacific explorers, by the Manila Galleons carrying silver to the Orient out of Acapulco, and the China Clippers on expeditions from San Francisco to Shanghai. The breeze has been blowing steadily from the Northeasterly quadrant for two days now, at anywhere from 17 to 22 knots. We took in the main gaff tops'l a day and a half ago to reduce the weather helm, and have been riding along under the main, fore, forestays'l, jib, jib tops'l and fore tops'l ever since.

"Weather helm" is the tendency of a vessel to pull toward the wind, or weather, when sailing along. It is caused not by too much sail, but by an imbalance of the sail area deployed. It is common among schooners because of they have large mainsails in relation to the rest of their sail area. PRIDE II has an enormous mainsail. The effect of the wind upon it is very much like that on a weathervane, which is designed to always point toward the wind. The effect becomes aggravated as the apparent wind draws aft, as it has for us in recent days, because the wind strikes our large mainsail first and foremost. It is up to the helmsman to keep the ship steering straight on our desired course, and sometimes it can be quite a workout at the wheel fighting this "weather helm." There are a number of things we can do to alleviate the situation, such as easing the sheets or reducing the amount of sail in the after part of the ship - hence our striking of the main gaff topsail the other day. This helps to bring about a balance in the sail area that is appropriate to the new conditions. But to some extent, weather helm is just a schooner fact of life.

Unless one is voyaging in these parts, it is easy to forget just how long the west coast of Mexico really is, and the extent to which that coast is east-west oriented, rather than north-south. We have been sailing steadily westward for two weeks now, over 2,400 miles and have only just arrived at the longitude of Los Angeles. Only now are we even with the United States' west coast. For this reason, and the fact that we are now in the long-hoped for trades, it seems that the voyage has entered another phase. It seems that only now are we truly on our way to Hawaii. And of course, all the bets are in.

Now that we are in the trades, it makes sense to start thinking about how to play the weather for our approach to the Hawaiian chain. Up till now our plan has been simply to go west by any available means. You would think that at this point all you have to do is point the boat at Honolulu and set the alarm clock for early February. But no, it's not so simple as all that. As we move westward, the wind is expected to veer from Northeast more toward the East. This is because our position changes relative to the High Pressure center. If we don't plan things properly, eventually we will be sailing dead downwind, which is not so easy for a schooner, and especially not for PRIDE II because of her raked masts and loose-footed fores'l. So our cunning scheme is to hug the 12th parallel as far west as we can, maybe to the 140th longitude or so. At that point we can angle up toward Hawaii, staying on this same starboard tack the whole way, and never letting the wind get too far behind us. This has the added advantage of keeping us well south of the winter cold fronts that dip into the latitudes of Hawaii, until we are almost there. If we were to head direct for Honolulu at this point, it is very likely that the veering breeze would force us to sail north of Hawaii, and then jibe back down. This not only lengthens the voyage, but causes us to flirt with some of that rambunctious winter weather. This plan is based on our general knowledge of weather and wind patterns for this region at this time of year. We are hoping that the wind will not veer before we have run quite a bit more westing down, but whichever way the wind blows is not ours to determine. If we see a different set of patterns developing, then this plan goes straight into the garbage and we think of something else to do. Above all, it is necessary to stay flexible.

The "Great Pride of Baltimore II Lure Competition" started yesterday. Contestants drew numbers from a hat to determine the order in which the lures would be fished. Engineer and Chief Instigator John Shellenberger drew the first slot and his lure, "Bertha," danced astern merrily all the live-long day yesterday. But the creatures of the deep demurred and Fishless John had to cry himself to sleep last night. Today, Second Mate Amy Strange is sporting her entry, the "Integrated Underwater Device." It is a striking contraption, fabricated from rope yarns and general miscellaneous found aboard a privateer. We are making a good ten knots at the moment so any fish that strikes is going to have to hold on tight till we can get him in. I drew number seven, an auspicious number for a lure named "Hydrox".

PRIDE II is running down the trades like a thoroughbred. Though a replica of an 1812 design, there is an efficiency to this assembly of wood, canvas, and cordage that leaves one standing in awe as the foam boils past under her lee rail, mile after mile, day into night and back again. This is no accident, but a great convergence of history, design, and craftsmanship. And seamanship, of course. She's a Baltimore Clipper - Lord, let her go!

Watch Below,
Capt. Daniel Parrott

Greetings from the High Seas,

We hope everyone enjoyed the long weekend in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Of course at sea there are no weekends, holidays, or snow days. Watch follows watch follows watch until the ship makes port, no matter how long it may take or what day of the year. It's a sailor's life and no one expects any different.

When I look at the calendar, I see that we have been at sea for eleven days now. But I have to look to know this because on a long voyage such as this, the passage of days does not have the same significance as when ashore. It could be seven days or it could be fifteen. There isn't the same system of incentives to know what day it is. In terms of time, what is important is the change of the watch, mealtime (which is scheduled around watch changes), sunrise, sunset, and at the moment, moonrise and moonset. These are the things that are important to us; this is what we look forward to. Progress is measured by the passage of miles rather than time, and the rhythm of the watches prevails.

To some extent, there is a sense of anticipation surrounding the appearance of certain stars and constellations in the night sky. The Southern Cross, which rises in the wee hours of the dawn, is one that the watch-on-deck gladly greets. When one spends night after night under the stars, a certain familiarity develops with their movements. In time this becomes a source of comfort, not unlike the small lifting of the heart one experiences when approaching a familiar landmark on a well-known road on the way to some favorite destination. By the same token, an overcast night deprives of us that comfort. Time drags and the watchstanders are quiet and invisible in the darkness.

Stars as landmarks is an apt comparison because that is exactly what they are. Perhaps "skymarks" would be more fitting term. It is their very predictability that makes it possible for us to navigate by them. Steering by the stars is not merely a poetic image; it is a perfectly practical means of helmsmanship. While PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II is fitted out with some very good electronic navigation equipment, there is no question that we could safely sail her to Hawaii using only celestial methods.

The ancient Polynesian navigators understood this well. They developed very successful systems of navigation by "reading" the stars, wave patterns, flotsam, bird activity, and other signs found upon the sea. By such means, and without the benefit of precision instruments such as the sextant and the chronometer, they succeeded in colonizing the vast triangular swath of Pacific extending from New Zealand to Hawaii, to Easter Island (Rapa Nui) off the coast of Chile. Efforts to keep these sailing and navigation traditions alive thrive in many Pacific island nations today. In Hawaii, the Polynesian Voyaging Society has built a number of ocean-going sailing canoes and routinely undertakes extended voyages using the ancient methods. Keeping a sense of collective history alive through a seagoing endeavor is something that Maryland and PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II have in common with traditional voyaging projects throughout the Pacific.

On Saturday we crossed the longitude of Acapulco, at about 100 degrees West. In terms of voyage planning, Acapulco represented our last, best chance to augment our fuel supply before truly leaving the North American continent behind. If light winds, or no wind, had caused us to burn through our fuel, we knew that we could re-supply at Acapulco without seriously diverting from our desired course to Hawaii. Well, we sailed on by. And wouldn't you know it? The very next day, yesterday, the winds went fluky and light and we had to fire up the main engine in order to make any progress at all in the sloppy seas left by our erstwhile steady breeze. PRIDE II pitched and rolled with no wind to steady her. The sails flogged and slatted and the gear wrenched and strained with each ungracious lurch. What a mess. Nothing to do but bring in the canvas, turn on the engine and push ahead for awhile.

While a diversion to Acapulco was no longer an easy option, I felt we had sailed enough to the west that our fuel supply was adequate to get us to where the weather reports have indicated steady tradewinds, and still leave us with an acceptable reserve for approaching Hawaii. This belt of steady wind has been about 900 miles to the west - at longitude 120 West - about six days steaming. But Aolas, the Wind God, continues to support this venture. By late afternoon yesterday, only four hours later, a gentle but favorable breeze began to fill in from the North. By this time, the sea had smoothed itself out a good deal, so we cracked on all plain sail, plus the jib tops'l and main gaff tops'l. We shut down the engine and merrily glided along westward. The breeze soon built to a steady Force 5 and PRIDE II was booming along at ten knots or better, so we took in the kites for the night. After so much downwind sailing, we are unaccustomed to a breeze that blows from ahead. This, of course, causes the vessel to heel more, and those of us who sleep on the starboard side have had to shore up our mattresses so that we don't slide out of our bunks at night. There was a particularly glorious red sunset last night which, once again, bore out the old adage, "Red sky at night, sailor's delight." Today I observe a great number of delighted sailors on deck, watching the ocean roar past.

We continue to be visited by a great many marine creatures. As our schooner charges along, flocks of flying fish arise as one, like starlings from a hedgerow startled by a passerby. On numerous occasions now, dolphins have taken to frolicking in our bow wave - something they are known to do. The crew never seems to tire of going up to the bow to gaze at them, and to speculate on the nature of being a dolphin. The other night, the sea contained a high degree of bioluminescence, tiny plankton in the water that light up like fireflies when agitated. Vivid trails of sparkling water flowed from a trio of dolphins sporting about in our bow wave. Every dash to the left or the right left a fleeting trace, like a splash of the Milky Way, in their wake. Dolphins swim together with an uncanny harmony.

Less awe-inspiring is the flock of brown boobies that have become devoted parishioners of our sailing cathedral. They squawk their tuneless hymns, swoop through the gallery of the rig, and leave their daily offerings on the brightwork, much to the annoyance of the crew.

Sad news in the fishing department. The championship-winning Ertle lure was lost to a shark several days ago. The shark was no more pleased with the situation than we. He put up quite an angry fight before breaking free, which was probably the best outcome for all concerned. Since then the fishing has been slack. To rectify the situation, a lure competition has been arranged among the crew. Each lure is submitted for inspection with a five dollar entry fee. Each lure gets fished for a day. The maker of the lure which catches the "best" fish wins the pot. It's the old "cash incentive" to solve a technological problem, much like the invention of the chronometer to solve the problem of longitude. Similarly, the whole community benefits if one person succeeds. Entries are due tomorrow.

The Great Landfall Sweepstakes has also begun, with crew guessing the day, hour, minute and second that land is first sighted, and the same again for passing the buoy at Diamond Head, Oahu. For those of you who are also guessing at the Diamond Head arrival, I am including the daily mileage records from this voyage, starting with January 13th, when the sailing began in earnest.

1/13 - 228 Nautical Miles
1/14 - 215 NM
1/15 - 145 NM
1/16 - 176 NM
1/17 - 203 NM
1/18 - 169 NM
1/19 - 189 NM
1/20 - ???

The voyage continues well. We have been most fortunate with the wind and are willing to attribute this to just about anything, so long as it continues, including the traditional 'good luck' sailfish tail that now adorns PRIDE II's jiboom.

Watch Below,
Captain Dan Parrott

Ahoy!

Recent days have brought a very welcome change in our world in the form of a fair sailing breeze. On a voyage of this length and duration, our situation approximates that of the old time sailors who knew that there was far more to fear from a relentless calm, than from a storm. Happily, we were relieved of our windless situation two evenings ago. After watching the faintest of breezes rise gradually during the day on Monday, we cracked on our topsails, eased back on the throttle and, lo! she wanted to go sailing!

At first it was a meager nine or ten knots of breeze, and PRIDE II sashayed along seductively at about six knots. On the flat waters of the Chesapeake Bay, we would have shut down engines earlier, but out here on the open ocean there is always a sea running one way or the other. Without a sufficiently strong breeze to hold the ship steady, a sailing ship will flop and roll, chafe her rigging and sails, and generally wallow in the troughs like a pig in.....mud. In a calm, not only does the engine keep her moving in the direction of her destination, but the constant forward momentum helps to steady the rolling, thereby reducing the chafe aloft. Any sailor will tell you that there is no shorter route to insanity than the sound of sails slatting hour after hour. Give me the Chinese water torture any day.

It wasn't long till our breeze crept up to 12 to 15 knots, at which point PRIDE II really took off. There is a fair current, setting to the northwest in this part of the Pacific, and before we knew it we were romping along at ten, eleven and twelve knots, with a balanced helm and no sense of strain to the rig at all. The wind has generally been on the starboard quarter (behind us and to the right), sometimes creeping up to the beam. These are ideal conditions in which a well designed vessel, as PRIDE II is, reels away the miles effortlessly. Yesterday we cranked off 228 miles, noon to noon, a feat that PRIDE II has shown herself capable of many times. We are on a generally westerly heading, which has the sun and moon rising dead astern, and setting dead ahead. Logic tells us that the world is still filled with people going about their business, whether ashore or upon other waters. But since catching the breeze and turning our transom to the Americas, we feel alone. So long as we are not running the engines, thoughts of making a fuel stop concern us little. We seem to be on our way.

We observed a self-imposed moratorium on fishing, while our gallant cook, Andy Jackson concocted different ways of preparing sailfish. First there was the sashimi. Not as buttery as tuna, but with soy and wasabi, it was delectable nonetheless. Then there were the broiled sailfish steaks. Firm, shall we say? Then there was the poached sailfish with a hollandaise sauce. Very tasty. And lastly there was sailfish soup for lunch yesterday. No sooner was lunch cleared away, but we had the Ertle lure streaming astern. We had the most peculiar attentions of a lone tuna all day yesterday. It appeared that the commotion we made charging through the water would startle the occasional flying fish and our friend, Charlie, would reap the benefits when they flew right into his craw. Although it is not uncommon to be followed by various types of sea creatures, never before was I followed by a tuna! Charlie was too wily for us, and we never did catch him. We have been visited by dolphins on several occasions now, and one day the crew actually touched them from the headrig.

I told the crew upon departing Panama that this voyage offered a great opportunity to master celestial navigation. They needed no telling it seems. Several had bought sextants in anticipation of the voyage, and now finally the weather has mellowed sufficiently to make PRIDE II a reasonable working platform for taking sights. Despite remarkable advances in satellite technology which provide immediate and accurate navigational data, celestial navigation remains a respected fundamental skill. To the mariner, the sextant is a holy object, and proficiency in its use is scripture. Three beautiful sextants from the nuclear submarine U.S.S. BALTIMORE were given to us upon her decommissioning back in the fall, so we are well-equipped in this department. Evening presents a comical scene as the deck is abustle with crew members hurrying to and fro bearing sextants, flashlights, tables and stopwatches: "Excuse me, have you seen Regulus?" "Are you kidding? Get Sirius!" Moans of despair arise as the horizon fades before the desired sights have been obtained. Well there's always tomorrow night. And the next night. And the next night....

We sailed off our chart yesterday. We now intrepidly proceed across a piece of plain white photocopy paper. After a brief lecture on the spherical nature of the globe and the work of Copernicus, Galileo, and a few other astronomical luminaries, the crew agreed to go on.

Watch below,
Capt. Daniel Parrott

Yesterday we ceased going south for the first time in over a month. We have left the Gulf of Panama behind. The latitude of our most southerly position was 7 degrees, 1.9 minutes North, at about 1800 hours, January 9th. Viewing the charts that show PRIDE II's previous routes into the Pacific, this appears to be the farthest south she has ranged by about 5 miles. We steadied out on a westerly heading for the rest of the evening to clear Isla de Coiba, and then just before midnight we turned to the Northwest to commence our long, gradual climb up the latitudes toward Hawaii. The winds have been light and variable. We have had a few opportunities to shut down the engine and just sail, but the wind has never lasted more than a few hours at a time. This is typical of this region. Central America blocks out the trade winds that fan the Caribbean, leaving us with a hot and calm ocean to traverse, until we can pick up the wind belt again.

There has been much concern about how the strong El Niño/Southern Oscillation effect this year might impact our voyage. Some say that the warm water region west of South America is already shrinking. Others say the worst is yet to come. Both may be right. Normally, a strong high pressure system dominates the eastern Pacific, producing exceptionally steady and strong trade winds blowing out of the East and Northeast. This is good for making a voyage to Hawaii from almost anywhere on the west coast of the United States, Mexico, or Central America. These conditions appear to be basically unchanged right now. Therefore we remain hopeful that once we motor out of the lee of Central America, we can pick up the trades and enjoy "flying fish weather" all the way down wind to Hawaii. But that would be too easy.

Although the weather where we are right now is hot and sunny, it shouldn't be forgotten that this is still a winter passage. As we get farther north, we may begin to see signs of winter. One of those signs are the frequent storm systems, or low pressure cells, that move from west to east at the higher latitudes. During winter, these storms dip down as far south as the latitude of Hawaii, where we are headed, and bring strong and contrary winds out of the Southwest, West, and Northwest. The past experience of Capt. Bob Glover suggests that these storm systems may be more frequent and come farther south in an El Niño year. He was working tugboats out of the west coast of the United States in the winter of 1982-83 when the last big El Niño year occurred. His experience was that the run to Hawaii was longer and harder than during other winters, and that the vessels had to divert farther south to avoid the worst of it. Fortunately for us, we are approaching from a much more southerly direction in the first place, but we will be watching those storm systems closely as we slide to the north toward our destination.

Life aboard continues well. While we wish that we were sailing, everyone is enjoying the break from the tumultuous weather of the previous month. The sea is calm and the vessel's motion is gentle. Under these conditions the crew are able to proceed with a full range of maintenance projects during the day. It is easy to detect the slightest increase of wind as I lay in my bunk, hoping for any chance to shut down the engine. Generally speaking we are carrying the mainsail, the foresail, the staysail and the jib. We quickly add the fore topsail and the jib topsail if the wind fills in, but sometimes we have been compelled to strike all sail, save the main, to minimize drag when there is no wind whatsoever. Things remain too flukey to drag out the kites. By the time they are set, it is often too late as the wind will have already died. Even if there is just a little bit of wind, five knots or so, when we are motoring, it can add a half a knot to our speed. Given our limited fuel capacity, I'll gladly take that extra half knot. It all counts, and it's free!

The evenings have been particularly pleasant as there is now a waxing moon overhead. It makes being on deck a joy, and everyone is a little more cheerful. The long hours of watchstanding through the night go a little quicker when there is a moon. If I had my druthers, I'd always start a voyage on a waxing moon.

We caught a nice fish our first day out, which made a fine dinner that night. No one aboard had seen this exact variety before, but Mike McCreery, better known as "Sinker," is our resident fisherman and he solemnly pronounced it a Spanish Mackerel. Call it what you like, it was delicious! Yesterday morning we landed a small bonito, which our cook sent back to sea till he has grown bigger, and then we lost a nice size mahi alongside the vessel. Perhaps the lesson of the bonito is that you should never decline Neptune's gifts. We didn't have another strike all that day.

But today brought something beyond the experience of any aboard; at 1023 this morning we hauled aboard a nine foot, six inch Sailfish! It took nearly all the crew and considerable ingenuity to hoist this magnificent creature aboard. Our teacher, Leslie Bridgett, got several photos, which we will send along. One always feels a touch of remorse when taking such a beautiful and wondrous fish, but the idea of fishing is to catch a fish. This we have done beyond our wildest expectation and now the lures are stowed until we have consumed our catch. The sailfish was caught on none other than the famous "Ertle lure" made by Chuck Ertle, a long time sailor and officer aboard PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II. Thank you, Chuck.

It has been everyone's observation that these waters generally abound with marine life. Yesterday the following creatures were sighted: a manta ray, two sea turtles (one with a bird standing on his shell), a pod of pilot whales close aboard, some distant dolphins, and a variety of birds.

That about concludes the report of our recent activities. We are still passing big ships bound for the Panama Canal, and we have seen a few small fishing vessels here and there. All is well.

Captain Daniel Parrott

Hello....

As the saying goes, there's no way like underway, and underway we are. We boarded our Panama Canal pilot, Armando, at 1000 sharp and he accompanied us for the few hundred yards from our dock to the Bridge of the Americas, where the Pan-American highway spans the canal. We stopped briefly to top off our fuel supply, and then proceeded down the channel that leads to the Gulf of Panama and the wide open waters of the Pacific Ocean. We are leaving the New World -- bound for Oceania and the Far East!

The crew has been working furiously during the last few days to set right the wear and tear incurred on the voyage down to Panama. They have also been making improvements to the gear in anticipation of the many, long ocean miles that lie ahead. Every day in Panama was spent stitching leather onto places where chafe occurs, tarring the rig, pitching the seams of the deck with new pitch to keep the water out, repairing sails, and general maintenance. The cook was busy chasing down victuals, which is always interesting in a foreign country. With so many miles to go, we are concentrating on matters that affect the vessel's performance during long range voyaging, rather than making her look pretty. Of course PRIDE always looks pretty, but the paint and varnish will have to wait till she gets a few more miles behind her. Everything that needed to be done in Panama was done, and I feel that the ship and the crew are ready for this next leg out to Hawaii.

The run to Honolulu is about 4700 miles. When PRIDE II made this voyage in 1994, it took about 28 days. I anticipate a similar amount of time at sea this time.

At the moment we are motoring to the south to get out of the Gulf of Panama. There is a mild afternoon sea breeze blowing at about 8 knots on our port bow. A heavy, humid haze lingers over the land and the sea. The islands in the bay and the distant mountains of the mainland are barely discernable, and quickly fade from view as we make our way seaward. The Panama Canal is one of the great choke points for worldwide shipping, and we pass by many large freighters looming up out of the haze. There are tankers and container ships, car carriers and bulkers, big tuna boats, and old "stick ships" with rust-streaked gantrys. Some of them are at anchor awaiting their turn to pass through the canal, and others are approaching from distant points of origin: the west coasts of North and South America, Australia, the Pacific Rim, and not least, Hawaii. Although I'd rather be under sail, it is nevertheless a lovely day, and a good day to go to sea. On deck the crew is readying a few sails to see if we can't get a little push from this sultry breeze. If we can't sail, at least we can make some shade.

I took command of the vessel from Capt. Jan Miles on Tuesday, January 6, 1998. Capt. Miles and I spent a week aboard together, during which time he reacquainted me with the vessel, and explained the changes that had been made aboard since I last sailed in her. I last sailed on PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II in 1991 as Chief Mate during her first European voyage. I also sailed to Europe in 1985 in the "old boat," the original PRIDE OF BALTIMORE, as a deckhand. Capt. Miles was in command for much of those trips. Now I am back as captain. Life is a strange and wonderful thing, and one never knows what the future holds. All for now. Next time I will write about the weather patterns we expect to experience during this trip. Wish us luck!

Capt. Daniel S. Parrott

Ahoy (and farewell)....

Today was a hard day of work for the crew. It included rig work, a variety of engineering chores (like re-lubricating the steering gear), repairing a sail, and some deck re-pitching to eliminate minor leaking in the foc's'le. Meanwhile Captain Parrott and I worked on a variety of items, such as assessing the weather to expect for the trip. We talked to our weather advisors at Weather Routing, Inc. of Massachusetts. They confirm that there is wind to be found in the normal places. It is a matter of what route to take to get to the wind. Last time I did this trip in April of 1994, the recommendation was to stay close to the coast of Central America on the way northwest till we got near the southern Mexican border, then head for Hawaii. This time the recommendation is to head directly toward Acapulco, Mexico, then at some yet to be determined point south of Acapulco, turn west for Hawaii. It remains to be seen what Captain Parrott will eventually do, but the overall trends do not hint at anything to be alarmed about the mysterious El Niño.

I spent yesterday, Tuesday, Jan. 6 and my day of departure, getting packed, balancing the ship's accounting, and touching on some last minute details as Dan and I signed the ship's formal log. I got into the taxi at 1230 hours and took the next 11 hours to get home via Miami and the winter rush at that hectic airport. While a mere 11 hours is nothing compared to sailing the last month to get from Baltimore to Panama, it seemed interminable!

Is PRIDE prepared for the next leg? Sure is! The crew are now very seasoned. Dan is a past officer of the ship and a very experienced sailor. He and the crew have been together for a week now. Together, over the last week, they have seen both strong and light weather and been through lots of sail changes. The ship is as sound as she has ever been. She requires a lot of attention during any voyage. But the crew knows this and gives it to her. Altogether they are a good and prepared team for the upcoming leg to Hawaii. Plus, any questions that might come up can be forwarded to me. But I doubt there will be any.

What will I be doing? Taking some time off. But I'll also be going to the office to prepare for the leg from Honolulu to Asia and around Asia. There is a lot of preparation for the sailing that will occur after Hawaii! I'm anxious to get to it - AFTER a little R & R, of course.

Cheers
Captain Miles

Here we are in Panama! Soon PRIDE will be reporting from the PACIFIC Ocean! Preparations of the next (big) leg of the journey begin in earnest tomorrow, Monday, January 5. We'll stock up on food and fuel, get the laundry done, and finish up lots of boat maintenance. But let me catch you up on what's been going on.

The wind we had in the Southern Caribbean eventually moderated. But as the wind moderated, the sea remained. PRIDE heaved about quite a lot. Life, if you could believe it, got a little more uncomfortable with the wind dying, at least for a while, since the sea took some time to die down. Finally at 0800 hours Saturday, January 3, PRIDE slide behind the breakwaters at Puerto Cristobal, at the northern end of the Panama Canal. Life was good again because the ship did not move so much anymore.

After anchoring at an assigned area, the crew turned to cleaning the ship. This was an all day affair after the lumpy ride down to Aruba from Puerto Rico and then on to Panama. In the meantime, the Canal Authorities came aboard to check out the ship. Passing through the Canal requires that the ship be measured and her papers checked. Because PRIDE has been through the Canal twice before, the process was very quick. Captain Parrott and I continued to review the standards of operation in various departments aboard. By day's end, it was a glad crew that sat down to a good supper and some refreshment. After dinner some of the crew watched a video on deck under the awning. It was a lot cooler there than down below.

This morning, Sunday, January 4th, all hands awoke at 0500 hrs. Our rubber dingy was sent off to pick up Pride, Inc.'s Executive Director and Leslie Bridgett, our Teacher Aboard who has finally finished teaching for the year at her high school in Waldorf after accompanying us on our first leg to Bermuda. The Canal pilot, John Kerry, came aboard about 0615. The crew went immediately to hauling up the hook. The pilot described to me the schedule and went over the handling of the lines for going through the locks as the crew cranked in the anchor. Since it was still dark, it was interesting to look at all the shipping lights as vessels jockeyed for position. Each morning, ships line up at each end of the Canal to enter the locks. In the afternoon those same ships exit the Canal at the other end.

We fell in behind a vessel with which we would be locking up to Gatun Locks. She was pretty big and so moved slowly into the lock. As PRIDE slid in behind her, the crew got ready to receive light weighted lines, called heaving lines, from Canal workers. These heaving lines are tied to the ship's dock lines and the Canal workers drag them up to the lock walls. The crew then ties them to PRIDE to keep her in the middle of the lock. The big ship ahead was kept in position by special locomotives on steel rails that have wire winches attached. Wires are used to hold the ship in place. Sometimes as many as eight locomotives are used to hold a ship.

Filling the lock with water is very gentle compared with the ways the locks are filled in the Welland Canal at the Niagara Escarpment near Niagara Falls. The crew had no problem at all keeping PRIDE in the center. The rise was about 35 feet. At the top, we waited while the ship ahead moved out of the lock into the next one (this first set of locks has three, back to back). Our lock partner needed to use her engine to push ahead in spite of the locomotives that were pulling her. You see, there is a lot of hydraulic resistance against the ship's forward motion when it nearly fills the lock. All the water that is ahead of the ship must pass the narrow clearances between it and the concrete sides and bottom of the lock. When the ship's propeller started to push water at PRIDE, at first it seemed as if there was going to be a lot of jerking on our mooring lines. But fortunately there was little to none. The current merely slid right on by. After the ship was secured by her locomotives in the next lock, we proceeded forward ourselves.

At the top of each lock, we got a higher view of the Caribbean behind us and could see other ships in the line waiting to enter the Canal. At the top we entered Gatun Lake, a manmade reservoir created by damming. It is through this lake that we crossed about half of the isthmus of Panama. There are islands in the lake with forests on them. There are also lots of tree stumps sticking through the surface of the water. These are trees that were drowned and died when the lake was created. In transiting this area, it is important to stay in the channels -- away from the tree hazards!

At the other side of the lake, there is a dug channel. This channel takes ships over the continental divide and on to the locks that lower us down to the Pacific. There is an effort now to widen this channel -- no easy task. Soft clay along the walls continually slides into the channel. The only way to deal with this is to make the channel walls a very gradual slope. That means moving a huge amount of earth. It is speculated the job will be done in 2002. Then two way traffic can travel throughout the whole Canal.

Our transit was not completed until 1630 hours. During the day the crew jumped into a lot of maintenance - tarring the rig that holds the bowsprit and jibboom in place; repairing lines; getting into the rig to do repairs. It was another hot day too. The wind was from aft, so it was good that we kept the mid-ship awning up. Day AND nighttime temperatures here are in the 90-95 degree range. The only change through the year is the humidity. It is now the dry season -- the best time of the year since the humidity is lower. The humidity is now like our Chesapeake Bay summer. I can't imagine what more humidity would be like!

While the crew worked, Dan Parrott and I kept up the exchange of information. A lot of maneuvering was needed to get through the Canal, so Dan was able to practice PRIDE's motoring abilities. We also continued gathering weather information of the areas PRIDE will be sailing on her way to Hawaii. In general, it continues to appear that there will be adequate (probably strong wind) in the middle three-fifths of the voyage. At the beginning there may be little wind. At the end, the wind may be changeable depending on the activities of cold fronts to the northwest of Hawaii. Whatever El Niño is, it does not appear to have eliminated the winds that we hoped would be where they usually are for this run to Hawaii. We will call our weather advisers by phone soon to confirm this. But for now, things are looking sort of typical -- at least from a sailing point of view.

Upon arrival at the Pacific side of the Canal, we motored over to Rodman Naval Base, an American installation. There we were instructed to moor along side a LCU (landing craft unit). The crew quickly got us hooked up to dock water and power. This means we do not have to run the generator or the water-maker -- a relief from additional heat in the engine room. That evening there was a move by all hands to find phones and call home. Since this is a large military base, there was also a place to go for various kinds of refreshments. Having both amenities available near the ship was a great plus for the crew.

Cheers
Captain Miles

At this time PRIDE is running before wind strength of some 30-40 knots. We are carrying only the foresail and the staysail. The sea is humped up a bit at 10-12 feet and there are foam streaks between the crests. Every now and again we get a really steep crest that acts as if it is trying to climb aboard. We are sliding along at 9-11 knots. The sky is clear. We just recently jibed and are now headed west towards the Canal. If we continue at this rate, we could be in Panama before dark on Friday.

Since writing last, we have had a pretty mild time of it. December 31st (yesterday) found us setting more sail in conditions that were more moderate than the evening before when we departed Aruba. By early afternoon yesterday, we had everything up including the gants and studdingsail along with the maintopsail, square foretopsail, jibtopsail and the four lowers. Wind had moderated to Force 3-4. It was a great day with a surprisingly smooth sea considering how rough it had been during the previous night.

But last night after dark (while you were celebrating New Year's Eve), the breeze started to build slowly but steadily. By 2100 hrs we had taken in all the kites and had reduced the mainsail to its third reef. At midnight we took the foretopsail and furled it along with the jibtopsail. At 0400 this morning, under a clear sky and the Southern Cross, we took the mainsail and the jib. At that time the wind had risen from 0 knots to 40 knots. At 0800 this morning we jibed ship. Even with so little sail up, it was an involved procedure taking some 45 minutes from beginning to end.

Surprised? The time was taken maneuvering the loose footed clew of the sail inboard from its outboard position without doing any damage. On PRIDE we sometimes lead the clew sheets outboard of the mainmast rigging when the wind is aft of the beam. With it outboard like that, it is not practical to merely jibe. The sheets would get fouled against the rigging. When the wind is blowing nearly 40 knots and the ship is doing almost 10 knots, there is still some 25-30 knots of wind passing over the ship and into the sails. The forces are so high on the sheets that it takes thought and coordination to maneuver the clew inboard of the rigging. After that is accomplished, it is tricky jibing the sail so that it won't damage itself. In the heaving sea, the process is slowed way down.

Happily we are now more comfortable than on the other jibe. For some reason the seas hit us differently and we are not rolling as much. And with a clear sky (except for some small clouds), the day has an awesome beauty to it with the power of the wind being demonstrated.

Most mornings and evenings we are in radio contact with PICTON CASTLE. This morning they are now 95 miles to our northeast and do not have the wind we have. But they are near where the wind began to build for us last night. I kidded them that they ought to hurry on south and share in the breeze -- there is plenty to go around! But all kidding aside, given the weather charts I have, I don't understand why we have this breeze. The analysis and predictions suggest only 20-25 knots. While we have seen those kinds of winds occasionally, it is certain we have had 30 and 35 knots with the occasional 40!

So, how was your New Year? Did you see the Southern Cross? Did you climb the rig in the dark and windy night and furl the topsail? Do you have 95 degree days with high humidity and 80 degree nights? Does your bed rock you to sleep like ours does? Well, that's all right. We did not see any fireworks or drink a toast to the New Year. We are just happy to be here and about as 'safe as houses' as we can be!

Cheers
Captain Miles

Past Logs

| December 1997 | October 1997 | September 1997 | August 1997 | July 1997
| June 1997 | May 1997 | March - April 1997 | December 1996 | September - November 1996
| August 1996 | July 1996 | June 1996 | May 1996 |