Climbing the shrouds of a tall ship

Posted on 09/04/2013 by Michael

The Main Mast of a tall ship in the Bay of Biscay

What’s it like to climb up the shrouds to get to the yards of a sailing tall ship? Perhaps the video link in this post will be able to answer that question.

Considering I’ve been on the ship for the best part of a couple of months I don’t know why I didn’t make a video whilst I was in the Caribbean, where the seas were calm, the sun was shining and the temperatures were pleasant and I had plenty of time. The reason was – I didn’t think of it until we were on the second part of the leg from The Azores to the UK. After making the decision about a video the weather turned nasty and apart from grey skies and seas the movement on the ship was erratic.

An opportunity arose on the day we went past the western edge of the Bay of Biscay. Uncharacteristically for this time of year (the middle of March) it was like a mill pond and ideal for going up to the top for the sake of it. Also there was some sunshine and this was reflected in the colour of the sea.

As an explanation the video was taken on a small digital camera and I didn’t know what the results of my efforts would be until I came down. Not wanting to throw myself off the ship by using a hand to hold a camera I fixed up a makeshift camera holder which was attached to my chest. The intention was to give as close a view of what I would see myself.

I think it worked reasonably well. The video, together with the still pictures in the slideshow at the end, will hopefully give an impression of what it entails to climb about 100 feet above the deck to set or take in the sails.

I did plan to make other visits with the video but that intention hit the same sort of problems to Burns’s mouse.

Click here for a 15 minute, more or less, video taking you from the deck, climbing the shrouds to a platform about 100 feet up the main mast.

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Caution: Flammable Liquid

Posted on 06/04/2013 by Michael

Sunset Very Strong Rum

I wrote about the experience of drinking in the rum shacks of the Caribbean before I started the trip back on the sailing ship.

I mentioned that one of the most popular brands in the St Vincent islands was one called Sunset and that there was a warning about opening the bottle in the presence of a naked flame. At that time I didn’t have a bottle to hand to show that this was not just a joke.

An almost full bottle of Sunset made it all the way back across the Atlantic as the ship was dry when at sea and there were limited opportunities to imbibe on the few occasions we were on land before returning to the UK. I feel that it showed a considerable level of restraint in not touching the bottle as, I’m sure, a drop of this fire water would have helped to overcome sleep deprivation.

I’ve drunk all kinds of weird beverages in different parts of the world but, I must admit, this is the first time I’ve allowed a liquor to pass my lips where the producers have accepted that it’s equivalent to paint stripper.

Anyway, here are a couple of pictures for your information.

Sunset Very Strong Rum – warning

Celebrations on a tall ship in Mid-Atlantic

Posted on 06/04/2013 by Michael

View from main mast in Mid-Atlantic

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At 11.45 (more or less) on Thursday, 28^th February the ship officially crossed the half way point between Bermuda and the Azores, effectively the Mid Atlantic.

How was this celebrated? Apart from many people staying in their bunks trying to catch up on sleep the answer is – not at all. There was an announcement but no real celebration. At the same time, why should there be? We had made close on 900 miles in seven days, which is considered good going, but it also meant that there was another 900 to go.

One reason that the situation was somewhat subdued could probably be accounted for by the understanding that we had at the time. This was that a second storm was ‘chasing’ us and it would catch us in the next day or so. In the morning the question was not whether but when. However, later in the day that forecast was downgraded and on the 28^th there was no expectation of especially bad weather in the immediate future.

That does not mean to say, however, that there haven’t been preparations in case we have to face high winds. If they don’t come in the next couple of days there’s nothing to say later next week, or on the stretch from the Azores to the UK.

The ‘fear’ of a storm relentlessly pursuing us was made all the greater by the fact we had already gone through one (for about 30 hours) soon after leaving Bermuda. That created some impressive waves and interesting living conditions on board.

So in lieu of any celebration there was a session of tearing up cardboard and, just as that task was close to completion, a visit to the top of the main mast to try to make the two top yards more secure, the battening down the hatches approach.

Tearing up cardboard in the mid-Atlantic

Obviously I’m far from being an expert but I assume that these measures (which effectively mean that at least one of the sails couldn’t be used quickly in the future) were taken as we will be unlikely to use them in the conditions you’d expect to find in the North Atlantic in late winter/early spring.

(Here I totally misunderstood the situation. When under sail it’s best to keep the unused sails as tightly stowed as possible, to prevent any sort of damage, however minor. And it doesn’t take that long to make them ready for being set again, and this happened a number of times during the rest of the journey.)

As the trip advances volunteers are slower and fewer to go to the top of the mast when the ship is under sail. People will do so if they have to but try to reduce the time aloft. This is understandable. Apart from the precariousness of your physical position it’s hard work – especially if you are stowing away the sails. Whoever designed the rigging, either the original in centuries past or the late 20^th century equivalent, the conditions for the mariners was never a high priority and the work has to be carried out in very unnatural circumstances, i.e., standing on a thick wire bent double over a yard arm.

Stowing the Royal sail

I didn’t expect to be climbing today but (fortunately) had my compact camera in my pocket at the time so was able to capture the view you get from something like a 100 feet above the deck. They are in the slideshow below. Assuming we don’t hit particularly bad weather consistently in the next few days I hope to get up, when there is no work involved, and be able to give a better impression of what it’s like to climb the shrouds of a tall ship.

Self portrait on main mast

The expected length of the journey between Bermuda and the Azores was 18 days. Reaching the half way point in seven means that we can potentially cut that down to 14. And the vast majority of that has been done under sail, the engine only being used for less than a day. At the moment the seas are calm and progress is average so that full four days off the original estimate might be optimistic but there is a general attitude on board, I believe, that although it’s an achievement to cross the Atlantic in such a vessel, the quicker it can be done and we celebrate with a drink in an Azorean pub the better.

And the tearing up of cardboard? According to Marpol Regulations you are only allowed to dump cardboard in the open sea if it has been torn up into, more or less, inch square pieces. Then the location has to be recorded in a log book kept by the Bosun. It seems that this has been the situation in the Royal Navy for more than 50 years but is now part of Merchant Navy good environmental practice, but how strictly it’s kept to might be open to question.

One other point of interest, possibly, is that since leaving Bermuda behind on the afternoon of Friday 22^nd February up to the night of the 28^th we have only seen one ship, day or night.

It’s certainly the case that when you travel on a 114 foot sailing ship in the middle of the North Atlantic no-one can hear you scream.

And a part of me is now, forever, in mid-Atlantic. My woolly hat blew off when I was on the t’gallant yard arm and there was no great enthusiasm to stop the ship, turn around and recover it.

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