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I met up with the schooner at St. Mary's College on October 24. She was on her way back up from Norfolk and the Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. Scanning the shoreline along the St. Mary's River, it was clear that fall had begun to tip its hand. Finally, those trees in the throes of turning color outnumbered those that held fast to a tired, dusty shade of green.

During our short stay at St. Mary's, the crew had a full plate of Open Houses, School Tours, as well as a reception for the Port of Baltimore. Maintenance went on apace, especially in regard to the cannons. Two of them have been completely prepped and primed. Two more are being rust-busted. The crew has become quite efficient at slinging the guns ashore for maintenance and then back aboard at day's end. We wouldn't want anyone to run off with them during the night.

For me the trip up to Chesapeake City was a little different from a typical overnight trip on the Bay. Instead of carrying a random mix of passengers, six of my closest high school pals signed aboard for the overnight passage north. They boarded the night before departure and we sailed the next morning at daybreak. As per usual practice, they were each assigned to a watch and worked alongside the crew.

The 120 mile voyage to Chesapeake City was a breezy one. Fact is, it was the most breeze we have seen on the Bay all fall. The weatherman was calling for 20 to 25 knots, fresh by any measure. But by afternoon we were seeing 30 to 35 knots, with gusts over 40 knots. Yes, fresh by any measure. The breeze was mostly off the land, which kept the sea from building up so long as we were able to hug the western shore. Each time we approached a point at which I thought we could sail, either the wind flicked into the north and our speed dropped precipitously, or it piped up and the ship heeled sharply to leeward under bare poles. I thought to myself, out on the open ocean with sea room to spare, this would be a first class romp. Under the rare circumstance of having friends aboard, I was especially nagged by the temptation to crack on sail just for the hell of it, just to give them of a taste of it. But by turns the presence of shallows, tugs, barges, ships, and buoys caused me to reconsider. Moreover, if the wind shifted ahead in that kind of wind, the eastern shore would come under our lee very quickly, exposing us to the full strength of the wind and sea while robbing us of maneuvering room. Any difficulty in striking sail, especially the foresail, could quickly transform a thrilling but brief sail into a mouth-drying predicament, all the while knowing full well that I knew better in the first place.

So while we did not end up sailing, it was an adventure nevertheless. The ship plunged through the spray, soaking my pals on bow watch. They were cold and miserable. It was great. With each gust the ship heeled, and the grey chop flattened to a charcoal black. We passed under the Bay Bridge at dusk and negotiated the channel up to the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal in darkness. Vessel traffic was steady, but, judging from radio contacts, it seemed that the mariners manning the bridges of other vessels were equally alert to the conditions, making communications relatively straight forward. Also to our advantage, it was a very clear night.

Pride II entered the canal shortly after midnight, upon receiving clearance from the canal dispatcher. An hour later, we were secure at Schaeffer's Canal House on the north side of the C & D canal. The lines were doubled, chafe gear was rigged, muster was held, and it was all hands below. With the ship secure and the wind easing, I exhaled. It was three in the morning. Long day.

It is now the last weekend of October and autumn has waxed to the fullness of its season. Pumpkins perch on the porches of every abode in Chesapeake City. The moon is getting big but the looming question is, when it turns full, will it be blue? As every school child knows, when two full moons fall in the same month, the second one is known as a "blue" moon. Saturday night brought out a legion of Grim Reapers to haunt the streets of the quaint little town. Meanwhile a gritty struggle has begun between the Arizona Diamondbacks and those Yankees of New York. Each day is clear and breezy from the north. The trees now glow in shades of gold and red, so sharp against the sky as to make one think that the rest of the year must somehow be out of focus. The odd stand of cedars tosses furiously to and fro in green rebellion against the patina of grey that will soon be cast over this territory for a time.

Finally, we waken one morning to find the varnished mahogany rail sugar-coated in a light frost. The morning mug of steaming coffee leaves a ring in the frost, but by breakfast all traces of this early harbinger of winter have vanished, making unbelievers of the late-risers. Infidels!

There was one Big Night before my buddies cast off for their home waters. Guitars twanged into the wee hours as every song we knew (and didn't know) got what it had coming to it, whether it deserved it or not. The routine of Open House and School Tours resumed for our remaining days at Chesapeake City. The cannons were again hoisted ashore for more work.

On a Tuesday we let go the lines for the warmer climes of Charm City and The Land of Pleasant Living. With the wind light and northerly, we had an awkward time sailing dead downwind in the channel, but it beat the heck out of motoring. Later in the day, we got a better angle on the wind and skipped merrily across the waves. The crew made a nice job of sailing Pride II onto the anchor at the mouth of the Chester River. Sometimes I forget that although the sailing season is nearly done for Pride as an organization, it has just begun for this crew on this ship. As far as crew training is concerned, it is like April again and we have the whole ship and operation to teach and learn for the second time in a year. Every opportunity to sail the vessel is a valuable teaching moment, and the crew is lapping it up.

After a peaceful night anchored off the bird sanctuary on Eastern Neck, Pride II turned her head for Baltimore. The gang at the windlass broke out the anchor while a few hands hoisted the jib. The bow paid off and more canvas was spread. The breeze was light easterly and Pride ghosted easily toward home. She trotted up the Brewerton Channel till things petered out around noon. I nudged the girl along under Caterpillar for awhile till we got the wind back.

By then we were approaching Fort McHenry and that gave rise to the idea of firing a salute. This in turn inspired the notion of a salute to Fells Point, and another to So Bo and Federal Hill, and so on and so forth, etc. With no need to coordinate the precise instant of arrival to a pre-arranged script, we sailed the ship better and with more heart. She entered the Inner Harbor under four lowers and all three topsails. Sail came in smoothly like the folding wings of a migrating falcon after her long peregrination is through. To us, this felt like the real homecoming. The crew of the Constellation scrambled to battle stations and let fly with a magnificent cannon shot as the Pride came head to wind and backed down under her tops'l. On a day such as this we feel lucky to be alive.

The last full moon to grace our skies came on October the second. Tonight is Halloween and if the moon were any bigger it would surely explode like a cheese omelet every which way all over the sky. But however much we sought to convince ourselves that the glorious orange orb upon which we gazed so enraptured was a full moon, and hence a true blue moon, the Nautical Almanac told us in no uncertain terms that, in fact, the moon we admired so fatuously would not be full in the astronomical sense until shortly after midnight. No full moon on Halloween. No blue moon in October. No ‘Great Pumpkin.' But at least the Yankees are staying alive.

While few moon events can top the symbolism and atmosphere of a full moon on Halloween, viewer consolation lies in the fact that November will indeed succeed in its quest for a blue moon, with one falling on November 30, the last day of the month. Personally, I fail to see how a 30 day month can best a 31 day month in a contest for a blue moon, but I guess it all comes down to pitching. November, with that overpowering fastball only minutes into the new month, can still bring its best to bear on only 30 days rest and put on another full moon performance in the late innings of the month. October, while possessing many advantages, seems to rely upon mystique, mojo, and the weight of tradition in respect to black cats, jack-o-lanterns, ghouls, and all. Be that as it may, this autumn's battle of the moons has been a thrilling performance to witness, and we on the Pride have had front row seats for the whole series. I confess that I am a devoted fan of October and I was sorry to see October lose out in the final minutes of the month, but now I now see the error of my ways and realize that there is something refreshing about November getting the blue moon for a change. Yeah, right. Wait till next year.

Pride II's final foray from Baltimore of the 2001 sailing season began on November 9 from Baltimore, bound for Annapolis. It was a day trip and again we had a fresh nor'wester to blow us down the Craighill Channel. Wendell Phillips, Pride of Baltimore, Inc.'s newest associate, made the trip down with us. Passing Gibson Island , one could easily see that in just a few short days, the leaves had peaked and autumn's glory days had passed for ‘01. The unmistakable taint of grey now hangs upon the partially clad trees like a grinning wraith of Death masquerading in the threadbare finery of some hallowed but mortal king at the moment of his passing from this world. All things must pass, including this truly spectacular autumn.

The ship was tied up at Annapolis and secure by 1530, but it was well after dark before the crew was finished stowing the deck, furling sail, and generally making things shipshape and Bristol fashion. Such is the shortness of the days now. I am happy to report that the cannon project is complete. Like the Tin Man at the hands of the Wizard's salon artists, these guns have been buffed, rebuffed, polished, painted, and perfumed. They have been massaged, belly-rubbed, back-scratched, and generally spoilt rotten. After so much labor and so many stages of care, they are our pride and joy. I couldn't say for sure if it is the gun crew or the tender loving care, or both, but these guns are booming as never before.

Somewhat to my horror, though I admit a part of me is proud, the crew has recently discovered the delights of one of Maryland's most renowned natural resources, National Bohemian beer. A case can be had for $7.99 and Willie Don says it's A-OK. Several of the crew have spoken of becoming naturalized citizens of the Land of Pleasant Living so as to have greater access to the brew, though others have expressed concern about living near the one-eyed guy with the moustache. I have tried to explain that the one-eyed guy doesn't really have one eye, but that he is actually a two-eyed guy winking, but sailors are a superstitious lot and there's the whole Odysseus thing with the Cyclopes and all.

Annapolis is always good to the Pride. Many friends of the ship have stopped by to say hello. They invariably comment that the ship is looking good. Nice to hear. Fact is, the ship has seldom, if ever, looked this good at the end of a season.

Speaking of friends of the ship, sad news came our way recently when we learned of the passing of Eamonn McGeady. As a friend of the ship, Eamonn was in a class of his own. Going back to the old boat, he was a steadfast supporter of the endeavor. Eamonn freely lent his considerable maritime expertise and resources to aid both Pride and Pride II whenever he was called upon and without hesitation. From the perspective of a bystander, stepping and unstepping the Prides' masts was perhaps the most visible form of assistance Eamonn rendered, but the contribution that he, and his entire family, have made to the Pride over the years goes far beyond that, often in ways not readily seen. His wit, his advice, and his helping hand will be sorely missed by Pride of Baltimore, Inc. and all who sail Pride II in the future.

Tomorrow Capt. Miles comes aboard for a short sail over to Chestertown and then back to Baltimore by Thanksgiving. And that will be that for another year. Dig out the quilts, give your sweetheart a wink, and pray for snow. See you in spring.

Watch Below,

Captain Parrott