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It is a dreary Sunday here at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, but people are coming down in droves to see the Pride of Baltimore II at the Port Authority pier. The Piscataqua Maritime Commission and the New Hampshire Port Authority welcomed us warmly on Friday and the word is clearly out that we are here.

I came aboard a few days ago at the port of Boston. The ship looks good and the crew have come a long way in learning the business of running this ship since I was last aboard in late April. Rain has kept New England sodden for the best part of a week, and the forecasts have been more inaccurate than usual as turbulent low pressure systems coming through the Great Lakes have failed to behave as expected.

The Pride of Baltimore II departed Boston as scheduled on May 31, northbound for Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Before heading to sea, we went alongside at the Boston Fish Pier to take on some fuel. The forecast was for contrary winds and we were nearing the bottom of our tanks. It was a fresh Force 6 as we came alongside the pier but the breeze was running along the face of the dock, making for a smooth maneuver, albeit with plenty of throttle. The Boston Fish Pier is a place of great significance in the long history of commercial fishing in these waters. A long brick building runs the length of the pier, the seaward end of which is surprisingly ornamental and gracious for an edifice dedicated to the business of landing fish. The uppermost point of the façade is adorned with two sculpted codfish facing one another and gazing down upon the life's work of multitudes devoted to their capture.

Heading out Boston harbor, the breeze rose to a steady Force 7, northwesterly. Though it was forward of the beam, it wasn't dead ahead. And being just a few miles offshore, the fetch wasn't very great so the sea stayed small. And since the sun was shining, all in all, it was a pleasant day to be out on the water, so long as we were heading northeast, toward Cape Ann. But our ultimate destination on this particular leg is Portsmouth, which is north around Cape Ann, and a little back to the west. Here the fetch is closer to thirty miles, and not a pleasant prospect on a day such as this.

Gloucester, MA Fortunately, nestled in the granite arms of Cape Ann lies Gloucester Harbor, a safe place in most any blow. Gloucester is renowned for the fishing schooners that set forth for the fishing grounds east of New England by the thousands over the course of three centuries. Fishing is still important to Gloucester and the people still have a strong feeling for schooners. Pride II last visited Gloucester on Labor Day weekend, 1999, during the Gloucester Schooner Race. We won the race and made a lot of friends. Calling upon them now, I was able to secure a berth for the night so in we went. Twenty miles behind us, forty more to go. While entering port, the wind kept up strong until the schooner was all the way up inside the innermost basin. Even then strong gusts coming over the treetops caught the highest spars and heeled her to leeward. But by dinner we were secure alongside and it could blow all it wanted and be of no matter to us.

We would need an early start in the morning to cover the remaining miles in the allotted time. Portsmouth has a lot of current in the river and we wanted to hit it at slack water. An early departure makes for an early evening. But still and all, a schoonerman can't very well come to Gloucester without taking a gander ashore. To that end, a gaggle of us clamored up the pilings after supper and strolled out into a crystal clear gloaming on this last evening in the month of May. The boughs of massive leaf laden trees stirred in the evening breeze above houses that, in many cases, have stood longer than the trees themselves. We took a leisurely circuit up the hill to Our Lady of Good Voyage where the Virgin Mary stands between two bell towers with a schooner cradled in her arm like a wee babe.

The granite-curbed streets took us down past the house of one of my ancestors, Epes Sargent, and from there to the Blackburn Tavern. Howard Blackburn was a dory fisherman out of Gloucester over a hundred years ago when he and his dorymate became separated from their schooner in fog out on the banks south of Nova Scotia. Having a general idea of which way land lay, and giving up hope of being found, Blackburn struck out for the coast under oars. By the time he made landfall, his mate was dead and Blackburn suffered the loss of his hands, which had stayed relentlessly clenched to the looms of the oars. Well, for Howard Blackburn fishing was pretty well out after that, so he opened the tavern that bears his name today. I trust someone else served the drinks. Story has it that later in life he sailed across the Atlantic single-handed, so to speak. Quite a guy. Deserves a hand.

Our perambulations next took us along the waterfront past the House of Mitch and up the hill to the Fitz Hugh Lane house. Here the great maritime luminist painter lived in a house that looks out upon Rocky Neck, Ten Pound Island, and down the harbor toward Eastern Point. Last stop was the Crow's Nest, the gritty establishment featured in The Perfect Storm. The place is real and life goes on there.

The next day was the first of June. The nor'wester was still blowing but it was fast fading. Our schooner set forth from Gloucester into a clear blue morning. We rounded Eastern Point, bound for Portsmouth. As the morning progressed, the crew busied themselves polishing brass and scrubbing down the deck till all was gleaming in the morning sunshine. The breeze dropped away entirely, leaving us to motor across a glassy sea. But as noon approached and the Isles of Shoals took shape ahead, a fair sou'easterly began to fill in. This time the weatherman called it right and all was well on God's blue ocean.

The Isles of Shoals are a small cluster of very small low, rocky islets off the coast of New Hampshire. I have it on good authority that there is soil on some of them, but that it was brought by boat. As early as 1615, an English fishing station operated on the isles. Despite the modest size and resources these tidbits of rock represent, the political balance in the early times of settlement must have been such that, not only was New Hampshire relegated the most meager coastline of any colony, it didn't even get all of these rock outcroppings, even though they are directly off their coast. And so the New Hampshire-Maine boundary runs right through the Isles of Shoals with Maine getting the lion's share. A kid building a sand castle in New Hampshire might need to grab a few scoops from Maine to finish it off. The Isles are home to a Marine Lab on Appledore Island and a massive rambling Victorian hotel on Star Island. On the Isles of Shoals, small is beautiful and life flourishes beneath the sea if not above.

Approaching the Isles, we set sail -- four lowers and the fore tops'l. A southerly Force 4 makes for a nice easy sail. After so many days of damp and rain, the warmth of the sun is more delicious than a free lunch.

As we approached the pilot station, the crew went below to put on their uniforms for the arrival. When they hit the deck, they were in uniform all right but it sure wasn't the "regulation" one, no sireee Bob. Like ball players hitting the field for introductions, they trotted aft one at a time sporting Pride crew shirts and spandex baseball pants. Some wore caps. One had a mitt. Two crank-all bats completed the picture and they mustered by the helm extremely pleased with themselves. A pair of my very own spandex baseball pants, with an attractive red and orange stripe, was thrust my way and, well, if you can't beat 'em... So we posed awhile for the cameras to the great amusement of all as the vessel closed with the coast. Just moments before the media and the pilot boarded, in a twinkling, everyone was back in standard issue Pride uniform. None of the new arrivals aboard could have guessed at the momentary plunge into the theatre of the absurd our ship's company had just taken.

With the pilot and the media aboard, we carried a fair breeze up the Piscataqua River. The maximum current predicted for this particular day was five knots, but according to one source it can run as high as twelve knots in places. Slack water was recommended for arrival and I cared not to differ.

Going up the river it seemed like everyone and his brother owned a cannon, and none of them held regular jobs. There were cannons going off from houses, docks, public parks and parking lots. Our gunners, PJ and Abigail, were hard pressed to keep up the return fire. It was hot work on the old Pride of Baltimore II that day. The breeze freshened and came ahead as we passed below Seavey Island. The water was 85 feet deep and I could hit the shore with a wad of spit. The Pride carried canvas on up through the two lift bridges and took in sail off the dock just as the flood tide was beginning to build.

Once alongside, the crew scurried to stow the ship before going ashore to be welcomed by the Mayor, the Port Authority, and Sue Cobler of the Piscataqua Maritime Commission. It was a warm welcome indeed. The Star-Spangled Banner was sung along with a song written by Baltimore's own Pat Brennan entitled Pride of Baltimore II. While the day of arrival was beautiful in every way, unfortunately the weekend weather was dismal. It poured nearly all day Saturday. Sunday was chilly and damp, though a fair few people came out anyway.

On Monday and Tuesday there were school tours in the morning and more Open House time in the afternoons. The crew stayed busy hosting the public and tending to the needs of the ship. Quite a few former crew stopped by, some of them harkening back to the "old boat." Many of the current crew had friends and family in the area who dropped by.

Portsmouth is an attractive town, steeped in maritime history. The streets are winding and irregular, great for walking, hell for driving, just the way I like it. John Paul Jones' command, the Ranger, set forth from here to harass the British during the American Revolution, much like Chasseur and numerous privateers did from Baltimore during the War of 1812. The Portsmouth Navy Yard was established in 1800 and is said to be the oldest shipyard in the country. The city's long involvement with submarine development also looms large in the collective consciousness. The loss of the Squalus and the Thresher are remembered personally.

Our hosts, the Piscataqua Maritime Commission did a great job organizing volunteers to help with the open hours and the Port gave us every assistance with logistics for the vessel itself. All too soon it was time to think ahead to the voyage up into the St. Lawrence River and eventually into the Great Lakes.

Watch Below,

Captain Dan Parrott