Short-timer Sam

So here I am, Short-timer Sam, with my bags half packed, looking expectantly toward my departure on June 4 from Tongyong, S. Korea - a flight that has been planned since February in Hawaii. Well, my mother has a favorite expression that goes, " If you want to make God laugh, just say `I have a plan'." So here it is, the evening of June 2, our official date of arrival in Tongyong, and we are once again hove-to (for the third time in two weeks) about ninety miles from our destination in eight foot seas with 25-30 knots of wind coming at us from exactly the direction we need to go, i.e. northeast. Am I worried about getting to my plane on time? Nope, I do not have the right. I am a sailor and I work on vessels powered by the wind that can carry us from Panama to Hawaii, hardly lifting a finger, or turn fickle and blow right on the nose one day before our expected arrival. This is not a train or bus with an hourly schedule carrying commuters to and from work.

We have two engines, but with a limited supply of fuel and conditions like these, they are of very little use to us. It was only about nine days ago, hove-to en route to Keelung, with second mate Amy (my awesome watch officer for six months) packed and ready to go, in the same situation -- the wind right on the nose. When we fired up the engines in an attempt to get underway into another pounding sea, we took such a series of waves that buried the whole bowsprit. Then on the upswing, as Pride was unable to free herself of the sea, Jennifer and I saw a wall of water at least five feet high come over both sides of the caprail and rush down the deck like whitewater rapids. We saw all the lines on deck floating one foot above it, and ourselves up to our knees in water, thirty feet aft at the braces, fighting to keep our feet under us and our hands on the lines. While this was an exciting experience, it also served to remind us that we are at the mercy of Mother Nature, and she has her own schedule.

The last days of a tour are interesting ones, a mixture of reluctance to say goodbye to this beautiful, powerful boat and her fine crew, and anticipation of the next adventure. For me, it is time to look back over what I've learned and what I'll take with me from this experience. Besides the huge amount of knowledge and confidence I've gained in the engine room as assistant engineer, two things stand out:

The first, of course, is China (this is a place I only imagined visiting), most notably the people, for they are what give life to a place. I have had the luck of traveling extensively in my young life, and very rarely have I found people as kind, friendly, and open as these. In every port, I was continuously faced with situations that brought a smile to my face. I recall one in particular while touring around the city of Xiamen at a tourist spot and school called Jimei University village. We were in a courtyard surrounding a well known monument and there was a class, about tenth graders, sitting in a circle playing a game similar to the wonderball (I think I may be dating myself with that one). While the music plays, you pass the ball; when it stops, whoever is left with the ball must perform something (song, poem, etc.). I walked over just to observe and they invited me to join. Of course, the ball stopped on me. Even though my performance consisted simply of exhibiting my limited Chinese vocabulary ("hello, goodbye, thank you," and "I love Xiamen"), they were overjoyed at my effort. Everyone smiled, thanked me, and shook my hand, and I spoke a little with the teachers about our mission and travels. It was an experience I will never forget, and only one of many.

The second, and largest part of my learning on this voyage has been my observation of the sky. When I was in middle school I took astronomy. I never quite got it back then. But now, through practicing my celestial navigation (which uses the stars to determine the boat's position) and reading Jennifer's great book, The Stars, by H.A. Rey (yup, the Curious George guy), the stars in the night sky are like my old friends. The crucial point is that I was able to see what I was learning as it happened.

A little summary: the earth rotates around the sun - why we have seasons. The earth also rotates on its axis - why we have days and nights, sunrises and sunsets. Where you are on the earth determines when those sunrises and sunsets occur. As we travel west (against the direction of the earth's rotation), physically the sun sets and rises later. This means that the stars are in different places when they come out at sunset. After learning certain constellations in Jennifer's book, I could then follow their progress through the sky from day to day. As we sailed west, I would come on watch at 8 PM to see one constellation setting (like Cassiopeia) that had been high in the sky the previous week; and at the end of the watch, at midnight, see totally new ones (like Bootes, the herdsman - one of the oldest recorded constellations) rising behind me. It was like making a new friend.

Not only did I learn about the constellations and their stories, about the stars and their characteristics (for example, Rigel in Orion is about 100 times as luminous as our sun - that's pretty bright), and about comets and meteors, etc., I also gained a true physical reference for how the earth behaves relative to everything else. It's been quite an eye opener and knowledge I will pursue my entire life. This is what I'll be thinking about as my friends on the new crew sail from Japan to Seattle as I try to figure out what their night skies look like. As I return to sailing and teaching on inland waters, it is now my turn to surf the web and follow this fine vessel on her journey.

Fair Winds,
Sam Heyman
Deckhand

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