Passenger's Write

Philadelphia, PA to Solomons Island, MD
September 24-27, 2003
Entered by Marge Freudenberger
Allentown, PA

With a fascination for tall ships and a curiosity for what it might have been like as a traveler 200 years ago, I was overjoyed to discover I could book passage on Pride of Baltimore II as a working crew. Lasting three days, my voyage begins in Philadelphia, and ends in Solomons in Maryland. Following is an account of my voyage.

Wednesday - September 24, 2003

Arriving in Philadelphia with time to spare, I stop at Penn's Landing for a brief walk. Pride of Baltimore II can be seen in the distance, topsails billowing as she returns to port from a day trip. Looming above, the Ben Franklin Bridge makes Pride II look small yet majestic. At 19:00 hours I board at Pier 24. Another guest crewmember, Mark, arrives at the same time, followed by Barb and Bud, and our guest crew is complete. Towards the rear, a large ship's wheel stands watch over our home-to-be. A wooden dinghy, the Chasseur, is on the port side and a myriad of ropes reach endlessly skyward. Four black canons stare menacingly into the approaching darkness. Below deck, the regular crew is having dinner and a delicious smell of herb sauce and pasta wafts up from the galley.

At 20:15 we are given a brief orientation. Amidships, three small cabins are reserved for guests, each accommodating two people on bunk beds. With only four guests on board, I am fortunate to have a cabin to myself. Good thing. My head and feet just fit in the bunk, touching the walls at either end. A small dry sink occupies the corner, while my duffle fits nicely on the floor. I have to step over it to get in my bunk. My cabin is on the port side next to the galley, handy for breakfast, which will be at 07:30. But then everything is handy on Pride II. The captain and mate's quarters are aft while the deckhands share a space under the bow in the forecastle.

The highlight of our tour includes the "head" and its operation. To work it you first locate a red lever above and turn it up to allow water in, then press a button under the sink twice to flush, then turn the red lever down. There is a hand pump on the wall to the left to be used to empty the sink. Hope I can get it straight when the time comes. Everything on board must be secure; doors closed or, if left open, fastened with a large hook, while personal items are to be placed inside the dry sink. This is already far superior to anything the first settlers might have had. I was expecting a hammock. Batteries supply electricity for lights. However, we are advised to limit their use and to be sure to turn them off when not in our room. The remainder of the night is ours to do as we wish. I decide to remain on board and soak up the ambiance.

Talking briefly with Barb and Bud, I learn they live outside of Baltimore and have a small boat of their own. They are familiar with the upper part of Chesapeake Bay and are anxious to sail past their haunts. Mark, a sailing aficionado, is from Detroit. As for myself, the sum total of my sailing experience is an afternoon in a one-woman sunfish on nearby Lake Nockamixon.

Lights are out by 23:00 and all is very quiet on board, even though we are in a big city. I won't need my alarm. We were told someone would wake us when needed. There are no portholes and the only illumination comes from prisms in the deck filtering light from above, scattering it around. My bunk is rock hard and my pillow stinks, offering little comfort. During the night the only sounds are from the river splashing against the outside of the boat and the occasional bellowing of the "head.". I am glad to be two cabins removed from it. Still, the racket is heard all over the ship. With cautious anticipation and angst, I drift off to sleep.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

I am up at 06:30 without being told, dress, visit the "head" and manage a quick "sink bath." There is a shower on board but we are advised to conserve water and showers are a luxury we must forego. The ship is capable of making fresh water from seawater, but with the recent storms, there is a lot of silt and the water would probably not be potable. By the time we get to Solomons, everyone will be pretty ripe. As a last minute thought before leaving, I threw a container of wet-ones in my bag - at least I can wash my hands and face from time to time.

The cook is busy in the galley. I see eggs on the counter and the aroma of frying bacon invades our space below. That should get everyone up. As I climb up on deck, cool weather nips my face and hands: the ship is blanketed with dew. To the east, the sun is just rising over the river. Some sorts of fish are jumping in the water, much to the delight of the local gulls. A cup of coffee would be nice but we were told there would be none until 07:30.

Breakfast consists of eggs, bacon, home fries and coffee. Everyone is responsible for washing his or her dishes. Two tubs are always in the sink for this purpose, one with soapy water for washing, and another containing clean water with a little bleach for rinsing. On the counter a container of room temperature lemonade or juice has a permanent home. A small cupboard below is stocked with goodies - cookies, chips, candy and otherwise healthy foods.

After breakfast the regular crew begins readying the ship for our departure. Captain Miles informs us that our route to Solomons will be entirely through inland waterways. We will be traveling down the Delaware River, through the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal and finally down Chesapeake Bay. The day so far is beautiful. Before leaving the dock, we receive safety lessons from the First Mate. We are given instructions for what to do in various emergencies; man-overboard; fire; and abandon ship. Below deck, we demonstrate putting on our life preservers, safety harnesses, and immersion suits. Immersion suits are a lot of work to get into and once on it is very warm. I guess if it is really needed you are glad for it. I hope we don't need any of these lessons.

We leave Philadelphia around 09:30, motoring since the wind is foul. I am dispatched to bow watch. The Delaware River is full of debris from hurricane Isabel - logs and entire trees can be seen drifting by. With my lousy eyesight, I am not sure I am the best person for the job, but I do my best. Fortunately, there are several of us watching. I actually spot a log before anyone else and warn the skipper. Our helmsman, Mark, one of the guests, is challenged maneuvering around the litter and we are all over the river trying to avoid a collision.

Just before lunch, I assist the Second Mate with a boat check, a refreshing pause as I am getting tired of watching for logs and am easily distracted by the passing shoreline and boats. We check the entire ship for problems, logging the current weather conditions as well as our heading. The aft bilge has more water than is acceptable, so the proper person is notified and the excess water pumped out.

Lunchtime arrives. Excellent. Cook has baked fresh bread and we feast on awesome turkey sandwiches. The bread is sliced an inch thick and the turkey mounded high. There is pasta salad and fruit for dessert. Our cook's domain is his narrow kitchen, where armed with a small propane stove and an oven, he prepares meals for the twelve regular crew and four guests. He told me he got his training by doing most of the cooking growing up and working in several restaurants before becoming a ship's cook. I notice he is very creative, making good use of whatever is available.

After lunch, the crew is busy sprucing up the ship: the canons are re-painted, the deck scrubbed, and fresh varnish rejuvenates tired surfaces. Two deckhands are up the mainmast oiling it to help the sails slide easier. Now it is my turn at the helm. The Second Mate gives me some instructions and I am on my own. I am given a heading and told to keep on it until given another one. Easy. At least the logjam in the river has lessened some. On the other hand, ship traffic has increased as the river is now congested with tugs, barges, freighters, and tankers. Anyway, ships are easier to spot than trees.

When we arrive at the C&D canal, Bud takes over at the helm and he navigates through. En-route, a crewmember up the mainmast drops her tobacco pack while in the boson's chair oiling the mast. She is ordered down, given a talking too, and has disappeared. Guess dropping stuff is a bad thing on ship.

Below, our cook is listening to Willie Nelson while preparing our dinner. Looks like it might be salmon, not my favorite - but all the fresh air is making me really hungry. My face is wind burnt. The engineer is banging on something. I hear he is the reason why there was so much water in the aft bilge.

The canal is long and scenic and abundant with wildlife. Along the way we see blue heron, hawks, and a couple of bald eagles. The shores are tree lined and will be spectacular in a few weeks when autumn colors take hold. We are still confronted with the occasional log, but 'ere long we will be scouting crab pots instead of trees.

The salmon turns out to be catfish, marinated in something orange. As usual, it is excellent. If I had not known, I would have thought it to be flounder as it is mild for catfish. The remaining space on our plates is consumed by broccoli, rice, salad, and more freshly baked bread.

We will be anchoring on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake along the Sassafras River for the night. Drawing only 12 feet of water, we are able to drop anchor fairly close to shore. Everyone is hoping for good weather tomorrow so we can experience Pride II under sail. Once the anchor is down - a process first requiring the chain be unraveled, then six crewmembers to swing it away from the ship - and all is secure, the captain holds a muster to give us our orders for the night. Since we are anchored, there will be no active watch required. However, we are advised to poke our heads above deck when visiting the "head" during the night to see if we are still anchored in the river or drifting somewhere in the Bay.

Watching the crew at work has been quite interesting. They really accomplished a lot today. (PS - tobacco dropper appeared after dinner.) Today has been a good day. The first time I drove a schooner. With a little practice it is easy. The ship takes 4 to 5 seconds to react to the wheel, which has to be factored into the recovery from the turn. Now that the engine is off, it is once again very quiet. And somewhat cloudy so there are not many stars. There is a thunderstorm off to the west. It is nice to just sit on deck and watch the silence. Some of the crew hang a Jacob's ladder over the side and go for a swim. The water temperature is 75 degrees - too cold for me - but it would be nice to rinse off. Guess I will settle for another sink bath.

Slept comfortably all night.

Friday, September 26,2003

Up at sunrise, another glorious one at that. Mark and I are the only early birds. The others don't know what they are missing. The mornings are cool and a sweatshirt is in order, but we have been blessed with perfect weather so far. The captain believes we will get some sailing in today.

Breakfast consists of hot biscuits with sausage gravy, coffee and juice. We are getting ready to move out. Raising the anchor is accomplished with the help of a manual winch and pulleys. There is navigation and weather equipment along with a GPS on board, but the "real" work is done with manpower. As captain Miles barks out orders, the crew springs into action. The anchor is up and orders are given to ready the jibs and foresail, requiring crewmembers to climb out the bowsprit and up the masts. Then it is all hands pulling and pulling and pulling to hoist the sails. In no time we silently emerge from our safe harbor. The order is given to raise the stun'sail and fore staysail. As this is not often done, the crew is briefly confused, but the task is soon accomplished. With topsails hoisted, our work focuses on the mainsail, our greatest challenge thus far. A cadence rings out, two-six-heave, and the sail inches skyward. We have all the sails up except one - a sail that extends behind the ship off the mainsail. My hands are raw and my arms and legs ache - and there is a lot more sailing ahead.

Once under sail, all the ropes must be put back in order. Some are coiled, some are made into a barrel shape, and some are formed into a three-ring shape called a ballentine, while still others are zigzagged on deck. There is logic to all of this I guess. Each rope is put back in a manner that allows it to unravel easily the next time it is needed.

It is much quieter sailing than motoring and small boats constantly circle round, with passengers quizzically waving. The crew gets to rest a little but is soon put back to work sprucing up the ship. As the morning progresses, the wind begins to die and shortly before lunch the captain gives the order to strike the sails. The Bay has become very calm. Lowering the sails takes just as much effort and team work as was required to put them up. All must be folded, tied and fastened and, of course, ropes are strewn everywhere

For lunch there is chicken, yummy salad, and fruit. I am eating too much. After lunch, the jib and mainsail are once again readied and we attack the task of raising them. I am beginning to feel like I shoveled a blizzard worth of snow. The stun'sail has a small tear and it is being mended. There are always ropes to coil for, no matter how carefully and neatly they are stowed, in no time they are in a shambles and have to be put in order again.

Around 16:00 we are ordered to strike the sails once more. So everyone huffs and puffs and the sails are down - and the ropes are a mess - again. We are motoring now with a threat of bad weather for the night. Meanwhile the cook is busy below chopping peppers and onions.

Anchoring this evening in the Magothy River, along the western side of the Bay, the captain tells us there will be a 06:00 wakeup. His home is nearby, so we launch the rubber outboard raft and he cruises off for a visit. We are on our own tonight.

Dinner is rice with black and red beans and ham - again, very tasty. We also have salad, and a special treat - COLD Yuengling! A case of the stuff was obtained in Philadelphia and cook chilled it shortly before dinner. A cold beverage of any kind is a treat; everything on board is warm. I feel like one of the roof-crew in the "Shawshank Redemption," savoring my cold brew, watching the sun disappear, and all is right with the world. The forecast for bad weather was false and the stars are plentiful tonight.

The crew is going for another swim this evening. I am really ready for a hot shower as I have not been this crummy since I was a kid. Wish I had brought a swimsuit. The Bay water may not be the cleanest, but it would be refreshing. Sailing is hard work, and we guest crew are not doing the tough stuff. The regulars scramble up and down the rigging numerous times a day. Every time we put sails up or down something gets tangled and someone has to go up top and untangle it .

We are honored tonight with a concert performance by several of the crewmembers. On board, there is a fold-up portable pump organ - not very large - but its music fills the otherwise quiet evening. One of the deckhands is an accomplished organist and while he plays several classical pieces another deckhand accompanies him on the flute. Later, the First Mate joins in on the guitar. Exhausted from the day's activities, I retire to my slab bunk, falling asleep before my head hits my non-existent pillow.

Saturday, September 27, 2003

I wake at 05:55 - just in time to hit to the "head" before the rush. With clean hands and face, I proceed out to the galley. I can hear the crew above preparing the ship for sailing. Cook has the coffee pot on, and with steamy cup in hand, I climb on deck. As all the others have been, the dawn is glorious. All alone in our harbor at the mouth of the river, the silence is broken only by the sound of a crewmember working the anchor chain. This authenticity stuff is nice, but the ship could really use a motorized winch to haul up the anchor. Since we will be motoring until after breakfast, I have a chance to sip my coffee and watch the scenery pass by.

Our captain is in marvelous spirits this morning; his visit home must have been good. For the first time, he joins us at the large wooden table in the galley for breakfast. Today it is poached eggs and ham on warm biscuits.

Working from bow to stern, we once again hoist up the sails. The wind today is stronger and the ship moves along briskly. One would think that with the sails up, one could relax. Not so. We no sooner than get all the ropes put away, the captain gives the order to tack and we must haul all the sails from starboard to port - which of course trashes the ropes. A brief rest and we are tacking again, this time hauling all the sails from port to starboard and once more trashing the ropes. I am actually starting to know which ropes get coiled, which ones barreled, which ones ballentined, and which ones zigzagged.

As we alter our course from shore to shore, we maintain a speed of about 5 knots. A pendulum at the ship's wheel tells us we are leaning approximately 10 degrees. It seems like a lot more. Shortly before lunch, the captain musters all hands. He informs the crew that Pride II will be participating tomorrow in a battle re-enactment of the War of 1812. Pride II will be flying the British flag and Canadian re-enactors will play the part of British soldiers. All this is to take place several miles up the Patuxent River. The crew will be responsible for launching Chasseur with her cargo of invading British troops and for firing the canons. By their facial expressions, I can tell they are not overjoyed, as they were looking forward to a day off, sightseeing in Solomons.

My last meal on board consists of hamburgers and salad. I have really enjoyed every moment of the voyage. The dedication and teamwork exhibited by the crew is a sight to behold.

After lunch, the captain orders the guest crew aft for sailing lessons. As we huddle around the Second Mate, he explains the mechanics involved as helmsman under sail. We are instructed how to keep track of the wind angle striking the sails while maintaining an eye on the compass and the horizon. There are gauges to assist in this, but the captain prefers if we sail by dead reckoning, watching the relationship of the bow to the horizon.

Ah yes, the sky is blue, and I am "skillfully" maintaining a wind angle of 50 degrees, a heading of 206 degrees, and charging down the Bay at 6 1/2 knots. The ship feels different under sail than when motoring and I am glad the Mate sticks close by. While at the helm, the tasks of tacking and rope handling are performed by the regular crew. During the remainder of the afternoon, each one of us guest crew take exhilarating turns at the helm. As we approach Solomons, the captain gives the order once more to strike the sails. So much for watching the crew - it is back to work again struggling to get the sails down for the last time. Neatness counts as we stow the ropes for our arrival at Solomons.

I can see the port just ahead - it looks very small, nothing like Philadelphia, with one road winding around several small marinas. Perched high upon stilts, a lighthouse welcomes us. It takes close to an hour to secure Pride II to the dock, after which the captain dismisses the guest crew. I cautiously make my way down the Jacob's ladder reminiscing in my mind the adventure that has come to a close. As I leave the dock, muscles aching, I glance back for a final look at Pride II sleeping silently in her pier. It is close to 18:00, and I am anxious for a hot shower and a change of clothes.

Marge Freudenberger
Allentown, PA

July, 1998

To the Crew of
PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II,

I'm sure you are all anxious to begin your homeward journey tomorrow. How ironic that you'll be setting sail at the same time that millions here will be beginning their workday. I would venture to say that yours is the more difficult and more rewarding of the tasks!

I hope you've had some time to explore the sights of this crazy city - maybe you've gotten to Asakusa or the Meiji Shrine, and hopefully sampled some delicious Japanese cuisine. I've been here as a student since 1995 but still have yet to get used to the pace of life here. There's a word in Japanese - ratsukashii - which means something like homesick or nostalgic but with a positive twist. That's what I feel looking at the ship here, both of us so far from home. That, and a good deal of PRIDE!

I've taken the liberty of sending along a few omiyage presents for you on your homeward journey. Some bookmarks (oshiori) made of traditional Japanese paper (called washi), a windchime, some sweets, and a very special turtle from an island in the Gulf of Thailand called Koh Tao (Turtle Island). While it might not be my first pick for a mascot for the PRIDE (wish we had a crab!), it comes from a place where the sea is calm and the sky is clear, and I hope you will be blessed with both en route to your home port of Baltimore.

Best wishes for your return voyage, and congratulations on the wonderful work you are doing. God go with you.

Sincerely,
Jennifer White

The Accidental Sailor

This article originally appear in Baltimore Magazine, June 1997. It is excerpted here with permission of the magazine and author.

But then I stumbled upon a little-known fact: For a price, the Pride takes passengers.

The ship has accommodations for as many as six guests in addition to its normal crew of 12. And space was available for the final leg of the ship's 1996 European Tour-from San Juan, Puerto Rico, to Baltimore. So I signed on. As a semi-retired sportswriter and an honest-to-goodness landlubber, I had no real boating experience, unless you count Inner Harbor water taxis. But what I did have was a lot of spare time and a passion for the Pride-what she is and what she does.

"Do you have any idea what you're in for?" seemed the consensus reaction when word spread of my good fortune.

What I was in for was the opportunity to experience a remarkable voyage and develop an even greater appreciation for the skills and dedication of the people who make the Pride work.

Not that there weren't some anxious moments. Or second thoughts. There were enough of both, especially the latter. And a lot sooner than expected.

I flew down to Puerto Rico a few days early to get on the good side of the crew by buying a few brews. My indoctrination to the seafaring life came during an afternoon sail the day after the Pride arrived in San Juan. In my mind, this figured to be a photographic joyride, a three-hour cruise to nowhere.

Fellow guest crewman Scott Sheads, a National Park Service ranger at Fort McHenry, was one of the volunteers who helped build the ship at the Inner Harbor in 1987 and 1988. He had arranged this day sail for his colleagues at El Moro, the fort that guarded San Juan harbor in the 1800's. The visiting rangers may have been well versed on the history of the vessels that frequented their port, but they had little sailing experience, as it turned out. During the choppy five-mile sojourn, a few brave souls cavorted near the bow, getting up close and personal with the waves that were heaving the schooner up and down. The rest were hanging over the starboard side. The trip past El Moro and back was scenic, but it wasn't always a pretty picture.

In his log, Pride captain Jan Miles wrote that the ocean was "lumpy". It was a generous description. Seasickness soon forced me to assume what in the days to come would be my predominate position-horizontal. As my cabin mate (and often personal steward) Dennis Henderson fed me water and saltines, a few questions came to mind. "If we're having this much fun in a couple of hours, what's it going to be like for 10 days and 1,400 miles?" Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Henderson would have none of it. Almost 30 years ago, the two of us had been 20-ish colleagues at the News American, and though we hadn't seen each other since (he's now chief attorney in the Appellate Division of Maryland's office of the Public Defender), Henderson was soon showing me the ropes. He had already made the 19-day Atlantic crossing from the Canary Islands and had so much fun he re-upped for two more weeks. Sailing, he said, has a way of bringing people together. Too bad it hadn't brought us together while he was making the calm crossing to Puerto Rico

"It might take a couple of days, but you'll be okay," Henderson said in his most reassuring tone, after we finally docked and released the guest rangers from their sea captivity. "C'mon, let's go. It's bee o'clock."

And he was serious. Amazingly, he was also right. The Miller Lite stayed down. Even food, unthinkable a few hours before, tasted good. Maybe there was hope after all.

[Pride II and her crew were delayed six days in Puerto Rico due to mechanical needs and because of the threat of bad wheather in the area where the original Pride had capsized and sunk nine years before.]

When the Pride finally departed Puerto Rico, the only thing we were certain of was that Thanksgiving would be spent somewhere in the Atlantic. Captain Miles had given everyone a thorough briefing, advising of the possibilities of more weather-related delays. There were some fronts ahead to deal with, Miles said, and he offered passengers the option to jump ship if time or comfort were of paramount importance. He had no takers.

As we motored into the mirror-calm Caribbean, there was an almost eerie silence on deck as we passed El Moro, where our ranger passengers from the week before gathered for an unofficial farewell. Peering through his binoculars, Miles broke the spell. "Wave goodbye to our friends," he said.

"Can we shoot at them?" engineer Dan Weaver asked before firing the ship's cannons in a farewell salute.

It would be more than a week- until the next sighting of land- before there would be more high spirits. Our journey had begun. It was time to go to work.

Traveling as a passenger on the Pride is something like being a volunteer crew member; you are assigned to one of the three watches and participate in the operation of the ship to the degree to which you are capable. In addition to Kilkowski, Henderson, Sheads, and myself, there were two other "volunteers" aboard. Bob Tiedman, from the suburbs of Cleveland, is a submarine veteran (and father of the ship's cook, Theresa); New Englander Gary Clairmont is, like Henderson and Sheads, a sailing junkie making a second voyage on the Pride. That left one very obvious novice in the crowd.

In some respects, the first day out was a mirage. But in another instance it was an indication of what was ahead. The water was almost purple, and a glorious sunset soon gave way to a moon just 24 hours from being full and nearly bright enough to read by, a setting somewhere between mystical and magical. "As calm as I have ever seen the trade wind belt," said Miles, who kept the Pride under motor power for seven hours before letting her do what she does best-navigate under sail.

The calm before the storm.

The change came about two hours into our group's first nighttime watch (midnight to 4 a.m.). "We got a little rain up ahead," said Mike Smith, a member of my watch. "You might want to get your foul-weather gear."

The "little rain" lasted into the next watch, and the first lesson learned was that "foul weather gear" means more than just a raincoat. On call round the clock, Miles made his first appearance on deck to direct the reducing-sail operation-one that would become commonplace as the Pride settled into her journey home. The rain squall would prove to be a good tune-up for tougher tests ahead.

When the next day dawned calm again, with refreshing breezes and the bright sun, second mate Chuck Ertle engaged in a bit of wishful thinking. "I'll take this the rest of the way," he said from he helm as midday approached. But he knew better. One of Miles's strongest traits as a captain is an uncanny knack of forecasting the weather, and he had already informed his officers that the pleasant conditions would be short-lived.

On such a trip as this, rapid weather changes are the rule, rather than the exception. On each watch someone is, quite obviously, watching-scanning the horizon with binoculars, constantly checking the computers below, on the lookout for traffic and weather changes. All hands alternate in one-hour shifts at the helm, maintaining the ship's course. There are also hourly safety checks, in addition to the normal maintenance that goes on around the clock. "The only thing you can count on is that something will happen," said Smith. "It always does."

The Pride moved briskly for three days, at speed up to 10 knots, covering more than 600 miles-almost half the distance it would take to get home. But is was a case of hurrying up to wait.

The winds were picking up, gusting above 30 knots at times, and the third night provided the first anxious, hectic moments. One of the sails broke loose when a pin holding it in place snapped. There was no official call, but all hands were on deck, except one. (Guess who decide it was best to stay out of the way?) It sounded like an impromptu fire drill was taking place on deck, but order was soon restored. By daybreak we had rediscovered decent weather-and an uncomfortable parking space, stalled about 350 miles east of the Florida coast.

In sailing terminology they call this "heaving to" (an unfortunate phrase). In layman's terms, the sails were set in such a way as to keep the ship more or less stationary, but with our bow pointed into the waves and wind. In other words, we weren't going anywhere soon while Miles waited for a cold front to pass in front of us. For those of us already experiencing motion "uneasiness, " the constant stationary rise and fall of the ship presented a new challenge.

"Don't let it bother you," John Tohanczyn, the ship's bosun and my watch commander. "It happens to all of us at one time or another."

"If you get sick, just make sure you're on the leeward side," added Smith, meaning the downwind side of the ship. Why didn't he give those rangers that advice?

While the Pride was temporarily stalled, the one thing that didn't cease was the continuous preventative and cosmetic maintenance. Above deck, the ship is an authentic replica of an 1812-era Baltimore Clipper topsail schooner, with no modern machinery to assist in its operation, making it imperative that potential problems are eliminated before they surface. On every watch, it seemed as though somebody was aloft for what might appear to be mysterious reasons to the uninitiated. The rig is constantly checked for chafe, halyards shifted to alleviate pressure on the lines (there are 170 of them), and bilges pumped every two hours to prevent water accumulation. "We probably spend as much time taking care of the Pride as we do sailing her," said Smith.

"Within the industry there is a high level of esteem for the Pride," explained Miles. "Not only for the boat itself, but for the manner in which she sails, the way she is cared for, and the company that manages her. All of those factors combine to give a little extra magnetic pull.

"And no other vessel has adventurous a mission as the Pride. As a result, we have about five applications for every available position. The reputation and general respect of the Pride is very, very high."

We finally got going again on Thanksgiving eve. Instead of turkey and trimmings, there was hauling and pulling. Miles had spotted an opening between two fronts, and the Pride resumed chopping her way through the Atlantic, heading northwest to the Atlantic, heading northwest to the Chesapeake Bay and home. There was light at the end of the wind tunnel.

If there was more urgency to the chores now, there was also more determination. It was pedal to the metal, with both diesel engines roaring and every useful sail unfurled as Miles pushed hard to beat the second front. It was during this period that the crew was at its best. The final rays of the tropical sun had been left behind at the hove-to position. Shorts had been replaced by layers of clothes, gloves, and wool caps, and the crew fell to their chores with renewed energy.

On the ninth day there was land. After eight days at sea, the Pride made her way past Cape Hatteras and alongside the Virginia coastline. For a welcome change, we were moving completely under sail while making the tricky turn into the mouth of the Chesapeake.

Racing a fast-approaching storm form the southwest, the ship was well heeled to the port side (that's leaning over hard to the left for some of us), roaring through the channel at speeds that reached 14 knots. It was a rush even for the veteran crew hands.

Pride II made it to the Bay in eight and a half days, ahead of schedule despite the 30-hour pause in the mid-Atlantic. A two-night stay in Norfolk (more maintenance and refueling) was followed by a layover in Annapolis, where the entire hull above the water line got a cosmetic paint job. Just like mothers, it seems a sailor's work is never done.

For the passengers, there was time for reflection as we made ready to pull into home port. Fittingly, it was Kilkowski who best summed up the experience.

"The Pride is a marvelous vessel, the finest sailing ship I have ever seen," Vic said. "But a boat is still only a collection of hemp and wood. It takes a good crew to make it work. I came on board to see the ship-and I would do it again-but I ended up watching and enjoying the crew."

Not even the dreariest, dampest of days as we motored into the Inner Harbor could dull the official culmination of a remarkable trip. As promised, it had been an exciting adventure on a special ship that offered a little bit of everything nature has to offer. And a good example of what can happen when all hands are pulling in the right direction.

One Week Before the Mast

(Our Pretty Good Great Lakes Adventure on)

As experienced and reported by Vic Walton, Let's-pretend Deckhand

[The author, Victor Walton, is a leadership consultant from Ansonia, Connecticut. He sailed aboard Pride II as a guest crewmember from Wyandotte, Michigan, just south of Detroit, to Chicago, IL. Other members of the Walton party aboard included Vic's brother, George Walton, and his sister-in-law Bobbie Walton. The following is Vic's colorful account of his "One Week Before the Mast," with no apologies to Richard Henry Dana.]

SUNDAY morning, July 13, 5:00 am
Ansonia, Connecticut

I was so excited. I said goodbye to my neighbors, Lil and Bob, and the cats, Bill and Hillary. My wife, Bernie, drove me to the airport north of Hartford. Soon I was on my way to Detroit seated next to a screaming 2-year old. It was the trip from hell. I figured if I could survive this, I could survive a week "at sea."

In Detroit, I picked up my luggage and went to the World Club, where I am a member. I consumed a "ginger-mango soft ice cream" and then strolled down to gate C-24 to meet Brother George and Sister-in-law Bobbie who were coming in from Washington. I recognized George right away - he was the one in the red socks. Soon we were on our way to Wyandotte (on the Detroit River south of Detroit) to board PRIDE.

As we pulled into the municipal park, I saw PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II for the first time. There she was! I nearly soiled myself! We went aboard and were welcomed by the crew.

We were shown to our bunks below - our "home away from home" (no closets no bureaus). After a last quick dinner ashore, we came back on board where Deckhand Pamela took us on an orientation tour to show us where things were and to give us a sense of the general procedures for doing things. About 10:30 pm we hit the sack. In addition to being too excited to sleep, I found that sleeping with my duffel instead of Bernie took a little getting used to.

MONDAY morning, July 14, 6:00 am
Wyandotte, Michigan

I got up around 6:00 am, got a cup of coffee, and headed for the deck to watch a beautiful sunrise, chat with other "guest crew", and take a couple of photographs. At breakfast, when the ship's cook, Mary, served us blueberry pancakes, it became clear that we were going to eat well. This was just the beginning of a week of "Mary's Creations." Nick, the First Mate, gave us our "watch" assignments. Bobbie and I pulled the C-watch - 12 to 4 every afternoon and NIGHT!

Jason, the ship's Bosun, was to be our watch officer. Our other watch mates were seasoned deckhands, Pamela and Summer. The first order of business was to prepare to leave Wyandotte. From that moment on, we (the guest crew members) were actively involved and were constantly learning. "Do this." We did that. "Pull that." We pulled that. "Stand over there." We stood over there. "Put this over there." We put that over there.

Soon we were underway and motoring up the Detroit River past the impressive buildings of downtown Detroit, under the Ambassador Bridge, and up into Lake St. Claire. Later, over a wonderful lunch in the salon, we struck up a brisk conversation with Captain Miles about global warming and other significant issues of the day.

Our watch went on duty at 12:00 noon (that's 1200 in sailor time). Bobbie and I were temporarily excused to join with the other guest crew for our safety orientation. Second Mate Christopher, the Safety Officer, went over the procedures for "fire," "man overboard," and "abandon ship." All this talk of fire, man overboard, and abandon ship was all very encouraging and helped us to feel all warm and secure inside.

On a brief trip down to the galley for coffee, I noticed Mary studying a recipe from a book and decided to test her sense of humor. I joked, "Will you look at that! One day out and the cook is already having to look up stuff." She smiled and then I was good-naturedly put in my place when I learned that she wrote the book and had been the cook for many summers on the schooner VICTORY CHIMES, the largest windjammer in Maine. Mary and I hit it off just fine after that.

Back topside, Pamela gave Bobbie and I a lesson in rope coiling. Its not as easy as she made it look and we learned that there are different coils for different lines depending upon their function. Although she made it all look easy, by the end of the week, while Bobbie got pretty good at it, I still had a lot of trouble.

When we came off watch at 4 pm (1600), there was always a snack in the salon since dinner was not until about 7:30. I took a nap from 4:30 till about 6:00. I soon learned that a basic strategy for surviving the watch schedule -- sleep whenever you can! I paid the price for violating that principle several times since I was torn between sleep and the fear of missing something!

About 7:00 pm that evening I went back topside to find George at the helm. He said he thought he heard a car horn blasting away on shore and so I picked up the binoculars to have a look. To my delight, I saw my nephew, Dave, his wife, Lori, and their three children all waving wildly!

About 45 minuets later as we approached the Blue Water Bridge in Port Huron, all sorts of things happened. Dave and family appeared for a second time, two smaller schooners fell in behind us in a sort of mini-parade of tall ships, and the sheriff's boat came along side and jokingly inquired, "Are you sure you've got enough life jackets on that thing?" Everyone had a snicker as they sped off. To round out the hour, a bunch of Jet Skiers buzzed us.

By 8 pm, as we were headed out into Lake Huron, a big storm was brewing. For the first time, I witnessed three deckhands scramble up the rigging to do some work on the yardarms. The fact that there was lightening in the distance didn't seem to phase them much. I was grateful to the "Great White Spirit" that I was neither fit nor skilled enough to join them. Feeling a bit humbled, I went below to catch some sleep.

By the time our watch started at 12 midnight, the storm had subsided and we were faced with an almost dead calm. I learned that the winds on the Great Lakes are much less predictable than those on the ocean. We went under power and I took the helm for the first time. What a thrill! After about an hour, Jason moved me to the bow watch. It was beautiful out. Except for the drone of the engine, it was very quiet. Fireflies invaded the deck and it was magical.

Pamela, our patient teacher, gave Bobbie and me a lesson in how to do "watch," i.e. what to look for, how to determine direction, what to report, and how to report it. Then Pamela and I did a "boat check." Essentially it involves collecting data on the status of the weather, the ship's present activity, and the ship's condition. It included reading instruments, making log entries, checking instrumentation in the engine room, checking bilges, checking the deck to insure that all lines are coiled and everything is in it's place, etc. During our week aboard, I never did acquire sufficient confidence to do it alone. When our watch finished at 4 am, I went to my bunk and crashed.

TUESDAY morning, July 15, 6:00 am
Somewhere on Lake Huron

I heard the engines stop and then I heard George's watch up on deck doing their "huff 'n puff" routine --"Two-Six-Heave! Two-Six-Heave!" After about a half an hour of "heaving," we were under sail and I could feel the ship respoonding. All that human grunting and groaning up on deck made it hard to sleep so at 0700 (see, I'm getting the hang of this ship's time stuff, I hope you are), I got coffee. As the exhausted B-watch ate breakfast, they warned us of fate that faced us should we be called upon to "assist" in managing the sails. I went on deck - it was one of the most beautiful sites I have ever seen in my life! Our schooner was under sail. I went back down to the salon and commented to B-watch that I thought the beauty of the ship was certainly well worth THEIR effort! My compliment was not well received.

After a great breakfast, I went above again to help out even though our watch wasn't officially on duty until noon. I pitched in with Chris' crew to raise yards and sails. We all got very busy there for awhile. For the second time, I was amazed at these young women scurrying up and down the rigging without hesitation to help set and strike sails and to work out on the yards.

Hard deck work was usually offset by periods of relaxation when you could get a cup of coffee and chat with people. I hung around the deck and had a nice chat with Parks, another guest crew from St. Louis. We found much in common and conversation was easy between us. I was so excited and having so much fun that I plum forgot about lunch. Mary had to come up to remind me. In fact, everyone had to remind me about everything for the entire week. I was so excited about everything that I was easily distracted and I'm afraid my usually unquestioned reliability became a bit tainted that week.

Tuesday afternoon, our watch seemed to drag on forever. Perhaps it was because I had worked most of the morning too. And it was hot. There was hardly a puff of wind. Jason struggled to gain us a little headway. I appreciated his skill and concern. They say you haven't sailed until you've sailed in a calm. Unfortunately, to try to get something going, he called for more sail. Now it was our turn. "Two-Six-Heave! Two-Six-Heave!" (Note: B-watch, I am indeed sorry for my dig at breakfast. I now know that it was not funny.)

A little later, when Pamela and Bobbie went on a galley tour, they came back with a pitcher of water and Pamela (our qualified medical professional) made it very clear that we had to consume lots of water on days like this. We had no argument with her since we had reset the mainsail to a position where there was no shade from the sun.

Hungry for amusement, we had the thrill of watching Summer go into her "swat-the-biting-greenhead-fly dance." I won't go into detail, but it made the jitterbug look like a country western line dance. It should be noted that those little bloodsucking flies were vicious and everyone was victimized. Even our worthy Captain, Jan Miles, went on a personal campaign to wipe out the little buggers. This generally mild-mannered person, cultured and rational under normal circumstances, became "SWATTERMAN: Preserver of the American Way of Life", who, once bitten, turns into a vicious, give-no-quarter killer, ready to take on the entire greenhead fly population of the Great Lakes and part of Canada, too.

WEDNESDAY, Midnight, July 16
Northern Lake Huron

When we went on watch at midnight, it was beautiful out, a scene that can't be adequately described. Clear and calm. The most peaceful "starry" night I've ever seen. Here we were, out in the middle of Lake Huron, no lights anywhere except our modest running lights and the red glow of the compass and the instrument panel in front of the wheel. I was at the helm for an hour or so before going on bow watch. Summer and I chatted a bit. It was one of those "philosophical" and "spiritual" nights. We were getting close to Mackinaw Island and it was pretty clear that we were enough ahead of schedule to stop there.

At 0400, George relieved me on watch. We chatted a bit about the wonderment of the circumstances and how wonderful it was that we were having this opportunity to be "out here - doing this." Soon, I went below, wrote in my log, got a snack, and hit the sack. I couldn't sleep much beyond 0630 because I knew we must be nearing Mackinaw Island and I sure didn't want to miss that! I was back on deck at 0645 just in time to watch us come into Mackinaw Island Harbor. It was a beautiful scene. Captain Miles maneuvered PRIDE into place and we anchored down. A beautiful sunrise greeted us. The Chicago-to-Mackinaw yacht race had just concluded and the harbor was full of beautiful sailing yachts. It looked a bit like Newport at its best.

We were delighted to learn that we would be staying the day there and would be leaving early the next morning. After breakfast, we off-loaded the Zodiac, and the guest crew was allowed to go ashore. Deckhand Samantha (Sam) piloted the six of us (and later the rest of the crew) back and forth to shore.

George and I have been on Mackinaw Island many times. It has changed little since our youth. George and Bobbie and I strolled down Main Street and took in all the ambiance. There are no private motorized vehicles allowed on the island, so everyone walks, rides bicycles, or travels by horse carriage. It is just "wicked quaint." Bobbie had never been there before and so it was an especially wonderful experience for her and she loved it! We shopped for this and that, and George bought a mandatory half pound of fudge for each of the 18 people on board. And a lucky horseshoe. He had the store imprint it with the "Pride Of Baltimore II".

As is our family custom, we chatted with lots of islanders and tourists about this and that. Of course if anyone wanted to know anything (I mean ANYTHING at all) about PRIDE, we had a really good and imaginative answer. Gosh, it was fun.

That afternoon it was decided that everyone could choose to stay on board or go ashore. George, Bobbie, and I chose to stay on board where I volunteered to help sand down and refinish a section of the railing. I also took the opportunity to repack my bag that was always in a state of disarray. (Why is it that whatever I need "right now" is always be at the bottom of the bag?)

Latter on the Walton clan decided it was a good time to have a little fun. I had brought along a couple of colorful wigs and Grocho Marks noses for just such an occasion. We took a few "nutsie" photos and George flew our "Been-Everywhere" pocket kite. It's flown over the Great Wall of China, Red Square, Yellowknife, NWT, and now the deck of PRIDE OF BALTIMORE II. It was fun just fooling around a little.

That evening there was a particularly beautiful sunset over the island and Gunner John loaded up the cannons. We sent a "Sunset Howdy" to the Island folk. Since we were still on stand down, our watch would not have to stand our usual midnight-0400 shift, so we all looked forward to a full night of sleep.

THURSDAY morning, July 17, 0535
Mackinaw Island, Michigan

It was a clear crisp morning. Then "All hands on deck!" That means, 1) strike the salon tarp and stow it, 2) get the "hook" up (i.e., lift the 2,000 pound anchor up by wench [a job fit for no human]), and 3) coil all lines. The engines started and we began to move out of the harbor, past the faŤade of Mackinaw Island (including the Grand Hotel with its famous Verandah), and out toward the Mackinaw Bridge. It was a beautiful scene since the sun was just beginning to rise. George was at the helm when we passed under the bridge and the morning sun popped out just as we entered Lake Michigan. We told the little cluster of people on deck about crossing these straits on a ferry before there was a bridge.

At 1000 there was another "All hands on deck!" to set sail. (Groan!) There was a brisk wind to carry us down Lake Michigan and across Little Traverse Bay and we had a great sail until about 2:00 pm that afternoon. We were heeled right over and water was pouring into the cannon ports. It was the first time in my life that I consumed a whole lunch on a 45 degree angle. My hat was off to Mary. How did she ever prepare it? Naturally she did it with her usual style and grace - a real pro! Of course, her cake came out triangular!

As we neared the Bay Harbor Yacht Club (just south of Petoskey), John sent a proper cannon salute to announce our arrival. We were escorted into the harbor to dock smack in front of the "Club" - a truly "wicked fancy place"! We were warmly greeted and given free access to the facilities including a twelve-passenger van for our use during our stay. Of all the facilities available to us, the showers were what most impressed the crew. This is not to say that the showers on board PRIDE are not of superb quality. But those at the Club received positive reviews from all hands. I also did my laundry, which was hailed far and wide as one of the finer gestures of goodwill I had ever accomplished in my life.

Meanwhile, out on the patio next to the pool, George bought drinks all around for the crew at the impromptu "after-shower" party. We were then ushered into a lovely dining room and were dinner guests of the Club. It was beautifully done - presentation, presentation, presentation! In short, it was simply a wonderful stay. Everyone involved was most cordial and accommodating.

I must also compliment the PRIDE staff. They handled themselves in a manner befitting the great ship they sail so well. After dinner we loaded up the van and were off to Petoskey for a brief pub run. I can attest that I had NO trouble getting to sleep that night.

FRIDAY, July 18,
Bay Harbor Yacht Club, Petoskey, MI

[On Friday, the Waltons had a mini-family reunion with relatives from the area. All enjoyed touring Pride II and the chance for a good family visit.]

SATURDAY morning, July 19, 0620
Bay Harbor Yacht Club, Petoskey, Michigan

Up and breakfast - hash and eggs, orange juice, and oatmeal - yummers! I went ashore to make one last call to my bride, Bernie. Then it was time to get under way. The usual routine: take down the display, retract the gang plank, take in the Zodiac, free the shore lines, say good bye to folks, and we're off under power.

Once clear of the little harbor lake, we motored north a bit. And then "All hands on deck!" to set sail. (Groan!) I counted eight sails when we were through. WHEW! This is a lot like work! I'll have to talk to someone about a bonus. Jan maneuvered us so as to do one more " sail by" of the Bay Harbor waterfront with cannons blazing. John was in a volcanic mood! Then we set out southwest past Charlevoix, the entrance to Grand Traverse Bay, and on down between Leelanau Peninsula and Manitu Island past Sleeping Bear Dunes National Seashore and out into Lake Michigan.

Although Bobbie had been at the helm while we were under power, this was her first duty at the wheel under sail. She did a fine job. We had a good steady, fairly strong breeze. Everything was going fine and then Summer gave me a "fire ball" (you know, the kind you got as a kid and used to suck on and see how long you could keep it in your mouth without taking it out?). Well, I had forgotten the joys of that challenge. I will not soon forget her gift!

When our watch was over at 1400, I went below, had a snack and a nap. I got up at 1900 to discover that the Lake had calmed down considerably and that we were now under power. Mary outdid herself for dinner. We had shrimp Creole, peas, rice, and peach cobbler for desert. How does that woman do it?

SUNDAY, July 20, on watch, 0100
Mid-Lake Michigan

When I arrived on deck, it was quiet, calm, and very nice out. The full moon was beautiful. Jason assigned me to bow lookout. I will remember this watch as the "Alberta Clipper Watch" because, for this time of year, it got about as cold as anyone would ever care to have it. I put on about everything I could find to keep warm. There was a pretty good wind. We were heeled over and making good time. Other than the cold and learning to walk on a slant, our watch was fairly smooth.

At the end of our watch at 0400, we went below to encounter a new challenge - sleeping on a slant! Not having learned the secret, I didn't do too well. At breakfast John shared the secret. "Lift the mattress out of the bunk frame and place it off the side of your bunk to even things out a bit." I tried it and it worked! When I got up, I chatted a bit with people about what we should wear for our watch since it was raining and rather nasty out. I was thrilled - I was afraid we were going to get all the way to Chicago without wearing our foul weather gear. Eureka!

When we took over at noon, the wind had dropped off again and we were down to prayers for fresh wind. We continued our course toward Port Washington, Wisconsin. There was nothing much to do. Jason sent me below to help with the dishes. I arrived back on deck just in time (OH JOY!) to set the main topsail. (Groan!) For some reason it was particularly hard work this time. In spite of our efforts, the wind continued to drop and we kept wenching up and coiling line... and we coined a new toast, "May you have no kinks in your ballentine." Below, a far more important drama was unfolding. The heads were backing up! John, in his Engineer role, and Cindy, Ace Assistant Engineer, to the rescue! They got right into the problem.

At 1600 that afternoon, we got relieved, and I went below for snacks and another "cat nap." When I got up for dinner at about 1930, our "head doctors" announced ultimate success and victory in fixing the head, and a proper celebration followed. For our last dinner on board, Mary prepared a Thanksgiving dinner in July, complete with caramel apples for dessert! (She made up that little tradition herself.)

Around 8:15 pm, I was seated at the large dining table in the salon when Sam started down the ladder from the deck. She slipped and crashed to the galley floor some 10 feet below, landing square on her butt! Now, not being a particularly fleshy butt, the impact was pretty profound. It stunned me and I was sure she was seriously injured. Nicholas and Pamela were over her instantly checking her over and asking lots of questions. It still amazes me that after five minutes or so, Sam simply brushed it off, stood up, and continued on to her bunk. The next day, believe it or not, she proceeded about her duties as though nothing were wrong. Either she is one tough cookie or she's a great actress.

I learned that the plan now was to motor down the 80 or so remaining miles to Chicago, then lay offshore until noon. We were to set the sails (wind or not) and parade into Chicago's harbor with "cannons a' blaze."

MONDAY, Midnight, July 21
Somewhere between Milwaukee and Chicago
(Our last watch!)

It started out nice but by 0300, it was clouding over and we began to worry about our grand entrance into Chicago. No rain yet, but it started to lightening, and the cloud cover came in pretty thick. Getting relieved at 0400 was kind of sad. It signaled the beginning of the end of our adventure. Can you imagine being sad about the last time we would be called to duty at midnight? But all great adventures must eventually end. That's life. I slept well.

At 0700 on Monday morning we had a great breakfast and then went topside to hang out on the back deck chatting and having fun. Then around 1100, fun time abruptly ended. "All hands on deck to set sails." (GROAN!) We all got involved in preparations for our entry into the harbor and docking at Navy Pier.

As we started in, two other schooners came along side. One was WINDY, Chicago's new four-masted schooner, and ALLEGRO, a smaller vessel who promptly raised the skull and cross bones and began firing at us. I'd say 20 or so rounds were leveled at us before it was over. Although John became neurotic with desire to blow them out of the water, Captain Miles urged him to restrain himself. As we rounded the lighthouse into Navy Pier, John finally got his long awaited reward. "Fire in the hole!" and we leveled 4 giant boomers at the Windy City! There was so much smoke that it took about five minuets before anyone could see much of anything.

Then, once again, Jan eased that schooner right up to the pier as First Mate Nick supervised the mooring chores. Soon we were snug to the pier. The lovely and enormously talented Erin Lassen, PRIDE's Public Relations Director, greeted us along with many Chicagoans, including the Claytons, our Chicago relatives.

Once the mooring routine was complete, it was time for us to say an official "Goodbye." We won't get into the specifics of that except to say that, for me, it was tough saying "Goodbye" to this experience, these people, and PRIDE herself! I guess the trip meant more to me than I thought.

TUESDAY morning, July 22, 0645
Harvey, Illinois

We were up about 7:00 am for a quick breakfast, a couple of rounds of "Goodbye and thank yous" to the Claytons, and a quick trip to the airport bus that took us out to O'Hare for our early morning flights back to our respective homes. The plane trip was an opportunity to just let things roam around my mind for a couple of hours.

What an experience!

THE END.

(For now.)

Jane Craig

I was doing some refinishing in the garage and this wonderful breeze began flowing through the door. It brought with it wonderful memories of sailing on Pride II.

Thank you for allowing me the adventure. I had never sailed before and wasn't a lot of help. I always tried - sometimes that meant just staying out of the way. I hope you will always allow others like me to have this wonderful opportunity.

Everyone was most kind and thoughtful and the food was excellent -- it's hard to believe that it's excellence was made right there in the galley!

Thanks again for the memories.

Sincerely,
Jane Craig