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I left off my last log the night before leaving Alexandria on June 13. We had just completed a round of activities and receptions in Washington D.C. and Alexandria. A brutally hot weekend left us longing for a breeze, even if we had to make it ourselves by motoring down the Potomac River toward the Chesapeake.

June 13 started early. We cast off at 0430 for a 0445 bridge opening. Once below the bridge, first light revealed a soft, pillowy mist washing over and obscuring the banks. Through a blue gloom the ship moved down the river. We felt our way from buoy to buoy. With little for the naked eye to orient by, the heart does a wee victory flutter each time a marker looms up where it is expected to be. The gunner, John Shellenberger, fired the customary salute as we passed the spot where Mount Vernon should be. And on we went.

Later that day, a report of violent thunderstorms persuaded me to anchor in the shelter of the St. Mary's River for the night. Our First Mate, Mr. Flansburg, maneuvered the ship to the proper position, and called "let go" to the foredeck. The anchor splashed into the river easily enough, but something was not quite right. The chain failed to pay out properly and the catrope was taut and apparently still attached to the anchor about seven feet beneath the keel. In a flash, Bosun Jesse slithered down the catrope to free it. Instead of that happy outcome, before our very eyes he slowly but inexorably descended into the river until submerged to his neck. Now the Bosun was soaking wet and the catrope was still fouled. Could things possibly get worse? After deep-sixing the hasty suggestion to cut the catrope, there was nothing for it but to heave back and see what the mystery was all about. Sure enough, when the anchor broke the surface, the catrope was pinched in the shackle that attaches it to the chain. Never having experienced this particular anchoring fiasco before, I would say that it was definitely a fluke. But after taking stock of the situation, and much crossing of arms, the anchor was re-laid and all aboard Pride II rested easily for the night. The thunderstorms never came.

Good sailing continued to elude us the next day on the lower Bay. During this spring's tour, we have had some wind but it frequently has come too late in the day, just as we are approaching our destination or is too gentle to allow us to maintain our schedule even though sufficient to effectively sail the boat.

Cape Charles Rescue

Pride II's next adventure came on June 14 while approaching the town of Cape Charles, Virginia. The occupants of a small power vessel, the Pelican, were sighted waving lifejackets in our general direction. What nice, new orange lifejackets those people have! They must be so proud of them that they want to show them off to every passing vessel! No, no, no. I immediately took way off the ship, which was easy because we were under power at the time. We maneuvered toward the disabled vessel. One concern for us was that, eager as we were to help, the Pelican was drifting along the edge of Old Plantation Flats where the water is too shoal for Pride II. With seventy feet of water still under our keel, we eased up to her and took them alongside. Keeping the Pelican on our hip, Pride II towed her back into Cape Charles, from whence they had come for a day's fishing. Needless to say, they were grateful for the assistance and we were glad for the chance to do a good turn.

We were welcomed at the dock by former shipmates, Greg and Laura Lohse. Both Lohses are licensed captains of considerable experience, and Laura is the Harbormaster at Cape Charles. They had just returned from Beaufort with their new schooner Serenity.

Pride II was not the only sailing vessel in Cape Charles that night. The skipjack Martha Lewis from Havre de Grace, and the Pride of MANY out of Georgetown were in the southern Bay to participate in the OpSail event at Norfolk. They, too, sought shelter at Cape Charles. The people of Cape Charles, who are always hospitable toward visiting sailing ships, put on a little party for all the crews. Pride II's crew was included even though our appearance was more or less spontaneous.

Meeting the Fleet at Lynnhaven Roads

The next day, Pride II set out to join the gathering fleet at Lynnhaven Roads. Lynnhaven is an open roadstead at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay. It is just inside Cape Henry, on the doorstep to the Atlantic. A light southerly breeze built slowly through the day, as did the sense of anticipation among the crew about seeing the other ships. After all, this is the big year for tall ships, and Norfolk was our first taste of it. After some sail drill off Little Creek, we passed through the tunnel-bridge and toward the anchorage where the fleet was assembled. It was good to feel the hand of Mother Ocean lifting Pride II upon the Atlantic swell for the first time since last year.

At Lynnhaven, the visiting sailing ships from all over the world were strung out in the afternoon haze over a three mile stretch of roadstead. There were full riggers, barques, barquentines, brigs, brigantines, topsail schooners, schooners, skipjacks, pinnaces, and rigs of every description laying to their anchors. It was, perhaps, the most impressive sight we are likely to behold in this entire OpSail year, but only time will tell.

As Pride II entered the anchorage, the breeze stiffened to a good 15 knots true, 20 knots over the deck. She was close reaching under a pile of canvas. Carrying all her lowers, all her topsails and her gants'l, she accelerated through the fleet making nine knots and a bit. At one stage, a bit of rigging associated with the gants'l carried away and the lot had to be sent to the deck. Not exactly what we had in mind for our grandstanding, but it added a touch of drama. After tacking at the western end of the anchorage, Pride whistled back through the fleet with the current behind her, guns blazing. One more tack brought the ship to her designated anchoring position. With the tops'l aback, Pride II settled back on her anchor and chain. The anchor bit the bottom. The chain came up tight. All sail was struck and furled.

Beside us was the three masted barque, Cisne Branco, on her maiden voyage from Brazil. Her sails hung in their gear and loud latino music blared across the water. A little bit ahead of her lay Guayas, a big three masted barque from Ecuador. Off on our starboard side lay the Dewaruci, a barquentine from Indonesia.

We were not long at anchor when the Mate and I were whisked away by a prowling pilot boat to attend a Captain's meeting being held in advance of the Parade of Sail into Norfolk. Later that evening, as we approached the ship by boat, it seemed that one of the big square-riggers was much closer than she had been. No sooner were we back aboard ship than an excited crew told of how the Cisne Branco dragged anchor for over a mile and would not respond to radio or our ship's horn. Finally, a pilot went aboard and returned the ship to her anchorage. However, upon re-anchoring, she ended up a bit too close for comfort. Once again, efforts to hail her by radio failed to elicit response. But hey, the music sounded great.

OpSail Norfolk - Parade of Sail

The Parade of Sail into Norfolk was a considerable logistical feat, and it came off quite well. A sou'westerly enabled most of the ships to carry sail for the length of Thimble Shoals Channel. From time to time, there would be a slowdown at the front that would ripple back through the fleet. Aboard Pride II, the foretops'l was set not less than four times. She just wanted to go. Several crew commented, "This is the first time I actually sailed in a Parade of Sail!" Parades of Sail generally involve committing unnatural acts with sailing ships for the benefit of the spectators.

The time in Norfolk was characterized by heat, crowds, and too much activity to possibly absorb, but to some extent this is what one bargains for in an OpSail year. A highlight of the visit was when our liaison, John Carl, was able to arrange for the entire crew to take a private tour of the big Russian four-masted barque, Kruzenshtern.

The Kruzenshtern was built in 1926 as the nitrate barque Padua. She was the last of the Flying 'P' liners built by the Laeizs Line of Hamburg. She was built to make the punishing run around the Horn to Chile, east to west, and lived the first decades of her life with no auxiliary propulsion. The construction of this massive vessel, seven years after the end of World War I, represents an almost unbelievable commitment to the traditions of carrying cargo under sail. The Russians took her as a war prize after World War II in the same way the United States took the Eagle. Unfortunately, on her way across the Atlantic this year, Kruzenshtern had a brush with a freighter and lost one of her original anchors. They were patching up damage when we were aboard.

Other Norfolk excitement included the squall that ripped through the waterfront on our last night in port. As usual, all the masters and officers were attending a gala function when it hit. The spud barge holding the Cisne Branco and the Sagres dragged down onto the Norfolk Rebel and pinched her against the dock. In the morning light, Town Point Park was a vision of a dismembered carnival. The twisted frames of pavilions intermingled chaotically with overturned carts and the strewn tools of the food vendors. Ragged bits of torn clown suit hung from the boughs of trees. It was definitely time to leave the party. We cast off and headed north to Annapolis. As seems so typical this year, we were pressed for time and had to steam for it.

Annapolis

It was our second visit to Annapolis this year, so it was somewhat old hat for the crew. However, we got the laundry done which always puts a smile on everyone's face. Pride II was open to the public twice while in Annapolis. The interest on the part of the general public, as compared to other visits, was nothing short of startling. Tall ship fever has definitely gripped the collective imagination. Whereas on other occasions, 50 to 100 people might amble aboard, this time over a thousand people boarded in just a few hours. 'Tis amazing to see.

OpSail Baltimore

Pride II made her grand entrance into Baltimore on Friday, June 23, to kick off OpSail Baltimore 2000. Aboard were a number of local school children representing the varied nations of the visiting ships. Despite an adverse nor'westerly breeze, we managed to carry sail up into the Inner Harbor, guns a'blazin'. Pride II lay at the amphitheater and, along with the Constellation, formed the backdrop for the kick-off festivities.

After the ceremony, Baltimore Mayor Martin O'Malley made his first visit to Pride of Baltimore II.

The Infamous "Incident"

Unfortunately, these opening festivities were the high point of Pride II's participation in OpSail Baltimore. The next day at about 1230, I happened to be standing on deck during a very well attended Open House. I was eyeing the variety of smart looking craft that were to be seen moving about the waterfront when a tugboat hove up in the vicinity of Pride II. As the tug approached, my casual observation changed to concern and then disbelief when it slammed into our starboard quarter at a rate of about three knots. It was sickening. The conflicting urges to cry and to kill had to be set aside in order to deal with the ensuing mayhem.

The blow to Pride II rocked her to the very soul. Nearly a hundred people were aboard at the time, but as fortune would have it, none were hurt. The force of the blow parted the bow line. A piling holding a spring line was snapped in two and tumbled into the harbor. Pride II's stern was shoved into the dock, gouging the transom and the quarter timbers, while the bow paid off toward the Amerigo Vespucci which was moored beside us. I fired up the engines to try to maneuver the vessel. Quick work on the part of the crew, both the duty watch and off duty crew, got the ship back on the dock before she could come to further harm. For Pride of Baltimore II, the remainder of OpSail Baltimore was a succession of surveyors, inspectors, Coast Guard investigators, and concerned citizens, leaving just enough time in between to log it all.

After the dust settled, the primary concern was assessing the extent of the damage to the ship. Successive inspections revealed considerable superficial damage to finishes and woodwork, but little evidence of structural damage. No water entered the hull. Strong ship. The single biggest issue affecting the seaworthiness of the vessel was the apparent damage to the steering gear.

Close inspection showed that the worm gear was bent in at least two places. While the deformities were obvious, what we could not know was the degree to which the integrity of the metal itself was compromised.
Our schedule called for us to lead the Parade of Sail out of Baltimore in a few days, followed by a very full schedule of tall ship events farther up the coast in New York, New London, and Boston - plus a voyage to Europe! But steering is generally regarded as a critical function aboard a ship. Undertaking a protracted voyage with uncertainty about the steering not only goes against the traditions of good seamanship, it is flat out negligence. But what were our options? Drive down to Schooner World and pick up a new one? Call over to Worm Gears R Us and have them hold one for us? Make no mistake, a steering system for a vessel like Pride of Baltimore II is an unusual and specialized item.

What happened next was nothing short of miraculous. If the gods had not smiled on Pride II on the day that the tug hit her, now they did. The next morning I spoke with the manufacturers, Edson International, in New Bedford, Massachusetts. They, it turns out, were up to the challenge. Upon explaining our situation, they kicked into high gear and pulled off what, in my opinion, was a remarkable coup. By the end of that day, and after many phone conversations, a complete, shiny new steering gear had been assembled in New Bedford and packed for overnight delivery.

We received it the next day at lunch and it was installed by dinner. The next day we demonstrated it for the Coast Guard and received their approval. That evening, the new gear was christened with a dram of "Nelson's Blood." The day after that, Pride of Baltimore II took her place of honor at the head of the Parade of Sail and led the fleet out of Baltimore, bound for the Independence Day celebrations at New York City. Hallelujah!

Edson were not the only ones to respond in the Pride's time of need. Leroy Surosky, of Peregrine Construction, was one of the original builders of the Pride II. He and his people dropped everything when they got the word and set to repairing all of the damage to Pride II's woodwork. The crew handled the painting and varnishing so that when the ship sailed from Baltimore, she was as beautiful as ever to any observing eye. This is not the way we would have liked to remember OpSail Baltimore, but Pride of Baltimore II came through it gleaming.
This is the Pride way: take a lickin' and keep on tickin'.

Watch Below,
Captain Parrott