The Captain's Logs are below.

Read the Crew's Views from John, KC, and Caroline as they reflect on their experiences in Asia.

Back to 1999 Captain Logs Index

We left Toronto on August 24. A Canadian film crew followed us out so they could get some footage of an American privateer for a documentary on the War of 1812. We steamed all the way to the end of Lake Ontario with the occasional assistance from the foresail and the staysail. Once in the St. Lawrence River, one pretty well expects to use the engines. But with the current running with us, our speed improved quite a bit; there was no wind against us. The fuel-to-speed ratio is a significant part of any voyage strategy where extensive motoring is predicted. We ran under only one engine except when maneuvering in the locks because, so long as the conditions are not strongly against us and we are not behind schedule, one engine is more fuel efficient for Pride II.

The St. Lawrence Seaway locks are not as dramatic as those of the Welland Canal, averaging about 30 feet in rise and fall. The turbulence is less dramatic on the drop than on the lift and the crew has fabricated some handy wooden "spuds" that fit over the chainwhales for protection. The locks are efficiently operated and Pride II passed through the system easily. At Montreal, Patrick the Pilot joined us for the run to Trois Riviere, or "Three Rivers" as the French Canadians say it. Patrick is French Canadian, as were all our river pilots. After rising through the ranks of the Canadian merchant marine he went back to finish high school, completed his degree at a maritime academy, and became an unlimited master before studying to become a pilot. His father and two uncles are also pilots. Piloting is something of a family affair the world over, but Patrick was quick to emphasize that he worked hard for his position, jumped through every hoop, and satisfied every new requirement that was placed in front of him. When I asked him how he liked being a pilot, he replied, "It's, ah, very nice."

We passed the splendid city of Quebec at dawn. It was a murky, gray morn and the wet stones of the walled city towered over our small ship like the somber medieval citadel in El Greco's "View of Toledo." Tempted as I was to put in and avail ourselves of the exotic, festive charms of this most unusual of North American cities, a favorable weather pattern was bearing down on us from the northwest and I knew we would not want to miss the spectacular sailing and free miles that it promised. So on we passed, leaving the cultivated slopes of Ile de Orleans on our port hand and the rural spaces of Quebec to starboard.

In passing through Quebec, one is struck by the ubiquity of church spires along the shore. At any given time one, is usually in sight of three churches. The Quebecois are predominantly Roman Catholic and some special effort seems to have been made to build churches within sight of the river. For mariners perhaps? In any event, there is a comforting, watched over aspect to this, as if we are being passed from one patron saint into the palms of another. As we proceed downriver, the villages and their spires grow sparser. Eventually the river widens, the shores pull away, and we find ourselves floating upon the salt sea again. The spires grow faint until we can see them no more, and once more we are alone.

The weather developed as predicted. A gusty southwesterly gave way to a steady nor'wester that built through the days and dropped back a notch a night. For three days, it blew 20 to 30 knots from the northerly quadrant and Pride II torched a path southeast to the Straits of Canso beneath a sky so blue it seemed to sear the eyes. Speeds of 12 knots were not unusual, though we never saw the elusive 13. Surfing down the face of the building seas, Pride II's stern swung boisterously from side to side like a dancer swinging her hips, corkscrewing along in a happy trance on the arms of North Wind. The music kept up for three days until we raised the coast of Cape Breton and left Prince Edward Island to starboard.

Though the wind was steady and favorable, this was not the peaceful easy pace of a tradewind passage. No siree. This crew worked the Pride across the Gulf. As the wind freshened to 30 knots, sails came in or were reefed. When it backed off closer to 20 knots, out came the reefs, up went the sails. The mainsail was reefed five times in 48 hours. You might say we got good at it. At one point, when the breeze was hovering just under 35 knots, main was triple reefed. She seldom felt over-powered; it was more for balance. Due to the relatively confined nature of the waters, it was necessary to gybe around every eight hours to make good our course. This involves two watches and quite a bit of work. We got good at this, too. Our four guest crew, two of whom had sailed Pride II before, also got the hang of these maneuvers. Finally, we funneled into the cul de sac of Georges Bay and the Straits of Canso where a single lock connects the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the open Atlantic.

It was blowing about 28 knots, and we were making six knots over the bottom under bare poles as we approached the lock. Feeling like a china cup about to be hurled down a dry well, we hove to a few minutes to study the situation. Eventually, with the wind nearly dead astern, we were able to crab our way into the lock without being slammed against one side of the lock or the other. With both engines astern throughout and modulating the rpm, we managed what amounted to a controlled drift into the lock. When the lock door opened, we cast off our lines and literally blew out of the lock and into Chedabucto Sound. By evening, Pride II was ghosting along the south coast of Nova Scotia upon the unruffled waters of the open Atlantic. The blustery north wind was diminished by the landmass of Nova Scotia and, but for a gentle swell, the waters were as smooth as a pond.

Over the next several days we sailed Pride II down the coast using light airs and zephyrs to make steady progress to the west. One day we spied a large schooner hull down off of Lunenburg. Though positive identity was never made, we suspect it was the Bluenose II, a replica of the famous Nova Scotia fishing schooner that dominated the races against the fishing schooners out of Gloucester, Massachusetts. The International Schooner Races were intense competitions in the 1920s and 30s between Nova Scotia and Gloucester fishing schooners that marked one of the great finales of commercial sail. The Bluenose now graces the Canadian dime. On another day, across hundreds of miles of ocean we heard the Securite call on VHF radio by U.S. Coast Guard in Boston announcing that the USS Constitution was undergoing her annual turnaround at the dock in Charleston. The woolen hats and garments that briefly appeared in the Gulf of St. Lawrence were stowed away as warmer days accompanied our progress toward native waters.

Just when things appeared to be going so well, an unholy trinity of mechanical difficulties visited Pride of Baltimore II. The water-maker failed, the port engine developed a fuel pump problem, and the diesel stove filter became clogged. The engineer, Dan Weaver, said, "After the first two things broke, I knew the third wouldn't be far behind." With the water-maker down, all showers were suspended and dish washing went to saltwater only, with a fresh water rinse. Once the filter for the diesel stove was replaced and the stove was functioning again, the cook, Erin Cloherty, kept a couple of kettles of seawater hot for washing up. Mr. Weaver was able to determine that the problem with the port engine was a faulty lift pump in the fuel system. Fortunately, we carry a spare. Once it was changed out, the engine performed normally. Mr. Weaver next turned his attention to the water-maker. One of the three membranes has suffered a crack in the plastic end-plug. It was irreparable and we carried no spare. However, the design of the system is such that it is possible to bypass a damaged membrane and still have the unit function, albeit at a lesser capacity. This is what we did. Instead of producing the normal 50 gallons an hour, we had to be satisfied with 30 gallons an hour. Once the water tanks were filled to the brim, the shower ban was lifted and life aboard returned to normal.

Late in the third day after entering the Atlantic, the breeze took leave of us. With much setting and striking of sail and the occasional engine assist, we had arrived at a point in the Gulf of Maine about 90 miles northeast of Gloucester, Massachusetts. The sea went glassy and a moderate swell from Hurricane Dennis lifted the vessel gently at intervals. After valiant struggle to sail all the way to New England, there was nothing for it but to fire up and get somewhere before a change in the weather came through.