Got a chance to crew on the tall ship Bill Of Rights as she made her way up the coast. Modeled after traditional American coastal schooners from the late 1800's, she was built by the Harvey Gamage Shipyard (est. 1850) in South Bristol, Maine and completed in time for the 1976 bicentennial celebration. For any boat nerds out there, she's 136 feet long, has a beam of 24.6 feet, a draft of 10 and her mainmast stands 115 feet high. I think she usually requires a crew of 5, but between the daysailors, Age of Sail-ers, auction winners and actual crew we figured 25 would be just fine.
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Thanksgiving Day
Drove down to Monterey to meet up with the newly appointed crew and join in on the sail up to San Francisco. They'd just made it up the coast from San Pedro and a feast was definitely in order.
The first indication that this was to be a trip unlike any other.
Jesse and Evelyn came down and helped peel potatoes.
This awesome little houseboat across the way had a pen with two ducks on its bow, complete with a mound of earth covered in moss. Later in the day we got to watch as two older ladies with Crystal Gayle hair and large sunhats gathered the mallards into a crate and got into a small rowboat. A younger man rowed them to the pier, at which point they all disembarked and got onto bicycles, duck-crate and all. Just after dark they all returned and by this time our curiosity was beyond control and we sent Franklin over as our delegate. Turned out they'd lived on the boat in that exact spot for 17 years and had the ducks for 2. Everyday they rowed ashore and biked to a nearby lake where the ducks were set loose and the ladies went about their daytime business of selling fresh duck eggs (which they never ate themselves, so as not to hurt the ducks' feelings). On the way home they stopped back at the lake, called to the ducks (who came every time), re-crated them and they all went home. The lady duck's name was Honeygirl and the drake's name Arikara, a word which we were told to repeat over and over should the seas get rough, as it has the ability to change the molecular structure of waves and calm them. At least I think that's what she said.
Sometimes I get distracted.
Back on the pier Captain Stephen's father deep fried us a couple of turkeys. It wasn't until later in the journey that Verle recounted the story of his missing ring finger, involving a wedding band and the emphatic advice "never wear a ring on a ship". Probably a good thing he waited as I'm sure you can fill in the gory details.
Miss MJ, our fearless leader.
Alice aka Cookie aka Mister Watts
Our new friend McNair.
Ate, drank, sang and played Wrinkle into the night, until somehow Franklin and I wound up sleeping under one of the tables in the salon.
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Day 1
Awoke with a reeling hangover, always an auspicious start to a 3-day voyage at sea. Breakfasted on the pier and watched this man row his dog about and felt much better. Still wondered how we were going to maneuver 140-feet of ship away from the dock without banging into the maze of smaller craft.
The answer: Some less than gentle nudging from Sarah, Jeremiah and Tiller.
And we're off.
Wasn't sure which would hit first, the seasickness or open-water fear. Watched a couple good upheavals over the side as we got into the big swells, but managed to contain myself in a general state of queasy despair until about 2 am, when it finally loosed itself in a healthy stream during nightwatch. Jeff and Kelly wised up early and brought blankets up on deck.
The smart ones were sleeping.
Franklin stood by unfazed, kindly carrying my plate when I'd bolt from the salon to eat in the cool air on deck and then washing it below again for me afterwards. It'd been at least ten years since I'd been out in the open sea on anything other than a ferrry and I'd forgotten how devastating the old mal de mer can be. Funny, I'd thought I'd be too nervous to be sick but it ended up being quite the other way around.
A nice sunset always brings a peaceful lull.
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Day 2
Slept through breakfast and woke to the rousing cry of "all hands on deck" sometime around 8. Went above feeling much better, sort of the way you'd feel after the breaking of a night's fever, which is the best description I can give for the sort of haze I felt through most of the night. Bright and vivid nightmares until our midnight waking for watch and then the gripping, childlike fear of being sick out in the dark. A sound vomiting into some lovely phosphorescents and then a blanketed huddle until back to bed at 3. Its funny how quickly we can return to feeling small and fearful, knowing that there's really nothing to be afraid of and yet unable to dispel it when you're cold and sick and someone's turned the lights off.
A good deal of hauling and hollering and we managed to raise the sails. We'd been motoring so far due to the north wind and the change in the ship's feel was almost instantaneous.
Still some good swells, but smoother coasting and no diesel smell in the salon.
Bright sunshine and a course for the Farallons, its a good day for us.
Charted by Captain Stephen and Chepa the dog.
Even this cloud gave us the a-okay.
Land ho! Just like the island in King Kong.
Don't know if its always like that, but the waves were huge, rolling in from way out and crashing up on the rocks.
Even though they're about 25 miles off shore, the Farallons are still part of the City and County of San Francisco, District 1 (aka the Richmond). That tiny building atop the highest hill is a lighthouse which overlooks the research stations of the Farallon National Wildlife and Wilderness Refuge, founded in 1969 to protect the largest seabird colony in the U.S. outside of Alaska and Hawaii. From the time they were discovered, the islands played host to years of egg-harvesting culminating in the notorious egg war of 1863. The islands also saw the dumping of approximately 47,000 barrels of nuclear waste between 1946 and 1970 by the Naval Radiological Defense Laboratory as they took in (and subsequently got rid of) ships contaminated by the nuclear test at Bikini Atoll and conducted their own tests down in Hunters Point. In 1951 they went so far as to fill the the contaminated USS Independence (who survived both the pacific theater of WWII as well as being anchored 1/2 mile from ground zero during the Bikini Atoll testing) with barrels of toxic sludge, towed her out near the islands and sank her. A report by the EPA in 1980 stated that the hazard to man and sea would be greater in trying to remove all the waste than just letting it lie. Interesting.
We'd saved our turkey carcasses for chumming with toxic sharks, but sadly nothing came leaping out of the water. If we go out there again we'll have to bring some steaks and take our time. Or just dangle a glowing dog over the side.
Rounded the southeastern islands and headed east towards the mainland. Kind of weird seeing another boat so far out, especially after being alone all day.
This guy seemed psyched to see both of us.
Made it the twenty some miles to Drake's Bay just in time to drop anchor and admire the sunset, at least in theory. The anchor hadn't seen use in quite a few years and a few unlucky ones spent the hour chipping rust from the chain and slowly letting it down while the rest of us ate and admired the sky.
The fog rolled in so thick you couldn't see much past the rails. Kind of eerie knowing vaguely what's out there but not able to figure out exactly which direction it might be.
Didn't much matter for the present, as we were sung and warm in quiet waters.
Food and music and the gentle lapping of water at the side.
Felt so good I even managed a bilge and engine room check at watch time.
So nice out under the stars. I think we all slept soundly that night.
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Day 3
Woke to another "all hands!" and realized that someone had accidentally stood the 5 a.m. to 6 a.m. watch for Franks and I. Good morning for sure.
Maddy supervised the preparation for pulling up the anchor, another very manual process. This time everyone got in on it and sang chanteys in time with the clacking of the winch.
With the sun just rising and the inventing of new verses, it was one of my favorite moments of all time.
Franklin and Jeff manned the coal mine while we enjoyed the views above.
Time to head home.
Passed by Bolinas and Stinson and watched huge waves rake across the Potato Patch.
In through the Gate.
Looking up it seemed like we'd barely make it. I can only imagine how those cruse ships feel.
Caught sight of the Seaward. So that's what we looked like all this time.
And there you are.
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One if by land? The Bill Of Rights is currently docked down at the Hyde Street Pier, replacing the Balclutha as home for our Age Of Sail program. She'll be there through February and though she's not open to the public there's ranger led tours every once in a while. Or you can give me a holler and so long as there aren't 35 screaming lads running around, I'd be more than happy to have a picnic onboard. Maybe we'll even get a day sail in before she goes...