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4 Minutes on the Picton Castle

01 Oct

Hello again!

Long time no write. Life has been busy back in Montreal, piecing everything back together and searching for new destinations. Oh yeah, and also trying to figure out what I want to do and how can I get there.

This journey has brought me to Boston, Portland, NYC, DC, and on many long long train rides. Thus, giving me plenty of time to finally create a little video of the journey on the Picton Castle from Cape Town to Lunenburg.

Follow this link: http://youtu.be/hC7wHbwwawQ

I hope you enjoy,

Dan

 

Homecoming: Dan in Real Life

28 Jun

Oh my… I am home. 385 days of travel. 23 countries and islands. 1 backpack and 4 shirts. Two jobs. One ocean. 8703 nautical miles. What an adventure: how can I possibly even attempt to describe this in words? Whatever, here goes nothing.

Our ship, the Picton Caslte, arrived in Lunenburg Nova Scotia on June 18th right on schedule, and what a return it was. That morning, we anchored a few miles outside Lunenburg to do some final preparations, and when I crawled out of my cozy bunk into the freezing outdoors, I was taken aback by the shockingly Canadian landscape. Pine trees. Dark waters. Low rolling hills. Damp cool air. Tim Hortons. “Wow, a totally different world: Canada somehow looks eerily… Canadian?”, I pondered. How deep.

After a smooth encounter with Canadian customs (Canadians are too nice, really), we embarked on a textbook sail into Lunenburg. With steady and strong winds off the quarter, all sails set but the royals, we glided towards the picturesque fishing village in style, fittingly. What a relief: imagine motoring into our final port after sailing around the world? We needed to sail.

Small boats joined us, honked their horns, and nudged us onwards. Seeing the docks lined with hundreds and hundreds of people, cheering their heads off, being as loud as possible, brought a lump into my throat. “This is it guys”, we all thought. It was hard to stay concentrated: I just wanted to wave at people and laugh and smile and cheer with my shipmates.

When we finally docked and family members flooded the ship, and my shipmates embraced their friends and families, I quietly retreated to the quarterdeck and starting coiling lines: I needed to keep my mind occupied. I was choked with emotion, tears hanging in my eyes. Even though I knew my friends were arriving the next morning, part of me not-so-secretly (or maybe just naturally) wanted to be greeted on the dock. Ha! Greedy me. I was scared to be home, happy to be home, conscious of the end but also of new beginnings. It was the climax of so many different emotions.

Luckily, I was rescued and adopted by one of my shipmate and her family, Wendy, and I am forever grateful for their generosity. It was so nice to be with somebody’s family, in somebody’s home, and I truly felt at home. Obviously, an epic party ensued that night at the local pub, The Knot.

But above and beyond everything, what I am most grateful for is having my friends Carlo, Sammy and Jonny arrive the next morning. To them, I owe everything. They drove over 12 hours to Lunenburg from Montreal, and we spent a good two days together in the area before returning home. Probably some of the happiest days of my life: I was simply boiling over with happiness. Happy to see them, for their support, but mostly because I got to share part of my experience with them. They met my crewmates, attended the silly (but ridiculously accurate) awards ceremony, partied with us at one of the craziest parties I’ve ever been to, and even spent an entire morning working on board, newest members of the crew. This was the greatest gift they could have given me. In some way, their presence validates the reality of the voyage: they can now remind me one day that it wasn’t just a dream.

I am lucky to have some of the most generous, loving and fun friends in the world. Someday, somehow I will repay them.

The return home to Montreal has been sweet. And difficult. It has been a whirlwind of reunions with friends and family, with my trusty bicycle, with familiar landscapes, and with … I am not quite sure. A trip of this nature will take some time to digest, and for a short while I am perfectly happy with embracing its complexities, not knowing whether I should follow my head or my heart.

What I do know is that taking a year off to travel, to push myself, to see new worlds, to be scared, to rise to new heights and to plummet to new lows, has been the best thing to ever happen to me. I feel a renewed sense of self, a breath of fresh air has been blown into my relationships, a strengthened bond created with my wonderful family, and I feel a deep sense of calm and peace. Challenges will arise, life gets messy, but in the grand scheme of things, I have seen that everything will be alright.

Actually, everything will be… great!

Mom and Dad, thanks for your unwavering support.

Thanks for joining me on this adventure of discovery, looking forward to new adventures,

Dan

A new world and familiar landscape: Canada!

My shipmates looking on as we approach Lunenburg.

Great guys, unbelievable friends. From left: Jonny, Sammy, me, Carlo. Back on Canadian soil.

 

The Caribbean: Itching for More?

08 Jun

After experiencing ten different Caribbean islands, sailing in three regattas, and sampling ehhh… shall we say… ‘a few’ pina coladas we are now at our last port of call, St-Georges Bermuda: a mere 800 nautical miles from Lunenburg!

And what an experience it has been. Between the vibrant culture of Grenada, the lush tropical ruggedness of Dominica, the simplicity of Petit Martinique, and the quaintness of Bequia, I also learned a lot about myself. I learned how to embrace my individuality within a group, and how to follow my nose. But, has the Caribbean left me itching for more???

Some of my favorite experiences:

-          Bequia in general. This tiny island (only about 10 miles across I believe) is a perfect blend of African culture, markets, fried chicken, friendliness, gorgeous beaches, and of western amenities, i.e. ice cream. What was especially cool about Bequia was our scooter adventure. Three crewmates and I rented bright yellow scooters with matching helmets and ripped through the paved roads of this mountainous land mass. And some less paved roads… “The Picton Castle motor gang”. We did, however, get off to a bumpy start. My scooters skills, shall we say, needed some mileage… On our first steep curvy uphill, Suzanne and Dave, who were riding together (Dave riding as passenger, even though he is literally twice as big as Suzanne) didn’t make it all the way up and turned into the ditch. Trailing close behind, I dutifully proceeded to follow them into the ditch, tipping over, and snapping the left rear view mirror clear off. Oups. Also, my scooter wouldn’t start anymore. Double oups. So, after 20 minutes of adventure, I found myself back at our starting point, the scooter shop, asking for a new ride. Luckily, we survived the rest of the day unscathed and had a blast.

-          Hiking in the hills of Dominica. This island is the epitome of the jungle island. I did a couple of breathtaking hikes, including a six hour hike through the mountains to see a boiling lake, which included skipping from rock to rock over multiple boiling rivers, swimming in small hot spring pools that were connected by waterfalls, and finishing with a freezing fresh water swim in an incredible 50-foot gorge carved out over hundreds of years. Too bad my camera decided to go for a swim as well…

-          Another highlight was going on an island tour of Grenada. We visited a nutmeg factory, a rum plant which was powered by a giant water wheel and, my favorite, a coco processing plant. Grenada is teeming with natural resources, banana trees, nutmeg trees, coconut, coco, and so much more… and this is after 90% of the crops were wiped out by hurricane Ivan just a few years ago.

However, the projected climax of our Caribbean escapades was Sandy Key. Emphasis on projected.

As a special treat before leaving for Bermuda, the captain took us to this tiny, uninhabited island that represents everything the Caribbean should be: crystal clear water, fluffy white sand, palm trees galore, coconuts just begging to be eaten. The goal was to take over the island and for the crew to have once last hurrah together. Well, as we promptly proceeded to do just that, cutting down dead palms, collecting fire wood, making a giant fire pit and setting up our hammocks (it felt like something out of a movie), we started to feel little pin pricks on our backs. “Hmmm… maybe we disturbed the bugs in the forest of something” I thought. Ohhh… how I was wrong. Apparently Sandy Key is owned by invisible man-eating mosquitoes. Within an hour, we were all scratching, slapping, and just plain miserable! Maybe it was a National Lampoon movie… Anyways, almost a week later, we are all still scratching, and several people have bloody war scars remember their passage at Sandy Key. Seems like the Caribbean has left us itching for more!

Now, as we travel north, the weather is quickly changing, and we are all cold. Tuques on, sweaters on. Can you blame us; it is only 23C around these waters! Brrrrrr! No, but seriously, we are all freezing… On a more serious note, it feels like the figurative autumn of this trip; the adventure is wrapping up, and it is time to start thinking about the next step.

I am embracing my last night watches under the stars, and looking forward to seeing everybody back home.

Next post from Canada,

Dan

Our little yellow scooter gang in Bequia.

The crew at the boiling lake. Forgot to bring an egg...From left: Dave, Me, Dapper Dan, Brad, Boss, Aase, Rebecca, Robert and Siri

Walking on chocolate in Grenada! Or, airing out the coco beans.

Sandy Key. This picture does not do it justice at all !

Bug bites! And itchy as hell. This is nothing compared to some of my crewmates.

 

Just watch me

29 May

Are you getting tired of reading these blog posts? If so, don’t fear: I am almost home! In fact, in only a few short weeks the Picton Castle should be docking in Luneberg, Nova Scotia: our ultimate destination (June 18th – come and party!). Before that, we will continue our Caribbean odyssey and attend Foxy’s Wooden Boat Regatta in Jost Van Dyke (British Virgin Islands), then Bermuda, then… home!

Either way, here is more Dan blabber coming your way.

Since hearing about the Picton Castle, you might have wondered “What do they actually do on board?”.  The goal of this post is to try to answer that very question. OK, admittedly I should have talked about this earlier, but better late than never.

When we are at sea, we stand watches, i.e. work shifts. The crew is split into three different watches of approximately 6-12 people which work for 4 hours, have a break for 8 hours, and then work another 4 hours; this goes on around the clock. Clearly, I am repeating myself here, but there is more…

Each watch has different set of tasks to be completed and thus a distinct personality. We rotate through the shifts approximately once a month. Here’s a rundown of each watch:

8 – 12: If you like sweeping and a regular sleeping schedule, this one is for you! It is by far the best shift (in my opinion) and is aptly named the “domestics” watch. In the morning, we start by cleaning all the living areas of the ship: sweep the floor, mop, and clean the toilets. Fun stuff! As you can imagine, some people deplore this, loathe it with their entire body, but I personally don’t mind it (can you say “neat freak?”). Then, we do about three hours of ship’s work: this depends on what needs to be done, but is usually some form of painting, sanding, varnishing, rigging, organizing the hold, rust busting, or sail handling. At night, we shine the galley house and scullery, and we standby on the quarterdeck. But, what is mostly amazing about 8-12 is that you have the entire day off (from noon until 8PM) to do WHATEVER you like, and you can sleep through the night.

12 – 4: This is the watch I have stood the most: aka the “night animals”. This group is awake during the ungodly hours of the night, when only raccoons should be active. However, we also do the most ship’s work: everyday from noon until 4 pm, under the sun. Paint, sand, grind, melt away, etc. At night, we are on standby on the quarterdeck, eat popcorn, scrounge the scullery for leftovers, drink coffee, and chat. With a good group of people, it’s a lot of fun, and the discussions flow. If not, 12am – 4 am feels like death in slow motion. Sometimes is just feels like being in a parallel dimension. This watch is great if you enjoy the cover of night, stargazing, unreal moonlight, and sleeping in the morning until lunch.

4 – 8: OH man, this one sucks. First off, you get woken up at 3h30 AM every night. Just when you’ve reached your deepest sleep, dreaming your weirdest dreams – BAM! WAKE UP! So painful…  This watch also does the deck wash every morning (scrubbing invisible dirt off the deck), rinses all the woodwork with freshwater (please contain your excitement) and has to rush through dinner to clean up after everybody! Somehow, people still love the 4-8 watch…

A common thread for each shift is that you always either have 1) one hour of lookout (standing at the front of the ship and spotting other ships or dolphins), or 2) one hour of helm (steering the barque!).

Yesterday, I got to scrape the varnish off a doorframe. This was genuinely exciting! A nice project, all to myself. Three hours of scrapping and sharpening my scrapper. Passers-by also pointed out how nice this project was. Really! Today, I got to paint the breezeway ceiling with “tropical blue”. Two hours of neck breaking Michelangelo-esque work might seem dreadful to some, but I was truly happy to do it. Sooo… in conclusion, either my sense of fun is completely warped, or the ship work is actually growing on me!

When I first considered joining the ship, I remember how the website (and other sources) told me that being part of the crew would help develop my leadership skills. However, what I am now realizing is that it is my ability to follow which is being developed, which is equally important. To know how to receive instructions, which questions to ask, how and when to report progress, how to be in the right spot at the right time and how to gain trust through being a good worker.

More to come on our jungle adventures in Grenada and Dominica.

Watch below,

Dan

Alli and Davie cleaning the topsides (outside) of the Picton while underway.

Cleaning the salon head. Everyday.

Hauling on the fore upper topsail halyard.

The Picton Castle in all her glory. This was on our passage from Anguilla to St-Barthelemy. Great sailing. (photo courtesy of Jean Jarreau)

Another awesome helicopter shot. The royals and gaff topsail are not set here. Nor is the flying jib. Photo courtesy of Jean Jarreau.

 
 

Pirates of the Caribbean. Sort of.

12 May

Disclaimer: Wow, I am having trouble writing from the Caribbean. We seem to be jumping from island to island faster than I can process any of it. Here is a first attempt to share the experience, more to come… hopefully!

**Written from the Caribbean sea, somewhere between St-Barthelemy and Carriacou.**

As I try to keep my balance on a foot rope 100 feet above the Caribbean sea, swinging alone on the fore royal yard of the Picton Castle with a little bucket of tar hanging off my hip and the strict order not to drop a drip (tar ruins sails), I think to myself “What the heck am I doing here?”. I mean, what was I thinking??? I am truly nervous. Even scared. But, I am also exhilarated.

When I finally manage to get over myself and my heart rate drops below marathon-running levels, I notice the surroundings: mackerel skies, blue waters, and… mountainous islands! You’ve guess it, we are in the Caribbean. And, we are exploring it in style.

Imagine sailing from island to island in a square-sailed barque straight out of the early 19th century. First off, this is cool because we are received like heroes at every island we visit (or pirates?). Secondly, this is cool because who really gets to spend six weeks on a sailing vessel to explore the different islands?

In my ultimate naivete, my vision of the Caribbean clumped all the islands into one entity (paradise with plenty of pina coladas and white beaches), similarly to how people consider Africa one country. Oh boy, how I was wrong…

Since we arrived on April 15th, we have visited four islands – Antigua, Anguilla, St-Martin and St-Barthelemy – each possessing a unique flavor, like a different version of rum punch. We have experienced the yatch-y character of Antigua; the laid-backness, beaches and hitch hiking of Anguilla; the cities and general development of St-Martin; and the ritzy-ness of St-Barth’s.

But, there has been a common thread throughout our journey – small boat racing. In Antigua, we were the flagship of a regatta featuring a mix of multi-million dollar schooners, sloops, ketches and bohemian boats dotted with hand-made fixes. As crew of the Picton Castle, we had the unique opportunity to crew on some of this boats. Then, in Anguilla, we watched as the locals raced their small boats with oversized sails – this national passtime of Anguilla is like playing hockey in Canada. In St-Barth’s, we raced on the edge in Carriacou sloops – traditional vessels built on beach that sail till they break. Now, we are sailing to Carriacou to see how the boats are made. How cool is that?

Although this encounter with small boats is interesting, encountering the local people is even more so. The Caribbean is turning out to be a weird collision of European and African cultures. Baguette, camembert cheese meet crappy loud speakers. Fancy shops meet drum beats. And more witty couplings that I can’t thing of now.

I like it.

After Carriacou, we head to Grenada, then probably some obscure islands in the Grenadines.

Any experiences in the Caribbean to share?

Love,

Dan

Stowing the Royals in Anguilla. My belt actually broke after this picture was taken and thus my knife fell to the deck - 97 ft down! The price to pay: a case of beer for my watchmates.

One of the many amazing Caribbean sunsets. Notice the small sloop towards the right. Part of our crew was sailing on it.

Sailing on the edge in New Moon.

Racing on Pipe Dream. From left: our Captain Paul (2nd mate on the Picton Castle), Pania, Meredith, Me.

The fleet of sloops. We stopped at a beach in St-Barts for cold beers and food!

Yummy Caribbean food: salt fish, coconut and sweet potato dumplings, occru and eggplant stew and salad.

 

Crossing Boundaries – 28 days at sea

15 Apr

Hello all!

Today, we arrived safely in Antigua. Wow, what a passage! Here is a taste of the last 28 days:

“Image this. It’s the middle of the night. You’re on watch on the quarterdeck with a small team of five crewmates. It’s pitch black tonight. I mean absolute darkness. ‘You can’t see your hands’ dark. However, a few miles off the beam, you notice that one of the black clouds is blacker than the rest… “Hmmm… that’s peculiar…” you ponder as you scratch your head. Then, the rain starts pounding down like pellets, and the wind suddenly picks up tenfold. You quickly figure it out: SQUAAAAALLLLL!

A spew of commands are instantly belted out by the mate. “TAKE IN THE FLYING JIB. TAKE IN THE ROYALS. UP AND STOW ROYALS. TAKE IN THE MAIN AND MIZZEN T-GALLANT STAYSALS. NOW!” Not much unlike androids that are switched on, we all move in synchronicity to the right lines. Well, I might take a little detour towards the wrong line, then the right one. Nobody noticed…

It is exciting, it is exhilarating, and it is also slightly mad. Nevertheless, this was the story for about 10 continuous days after crossing the equator. Welcome to the North Atlantic!

And, not a minute too early. After leaving St-Helena, the wind died. Not even a light breeze. Not even enough to put a ruffle in your shirt. Thus, the engine was turned on and we starting motoring towards the equator. One day, two days, three days… five days… ten days! With this, the sun kicked into high gear, and we started melting on deck. The general mood started to sour as well. To tell you the honest truth, I feel guilty to admit that I was having a dismal time. I didn’t feel like I fit into the group in any way, was almost completely incompetent in terms of sailing, moody and sleep-deprived, and was deeply questioning why I was putting myself so far outside my skill and comfort zone: i.e. I was in a funk.

The group’s spirit was temporarily lifted with an impromptu swim-call-slash-“beach”-day. Imagine taking a dip in the crystal-clear blue waters of the middle of the ocean, leaping 30 feet off the main yard, or going for a backflip off the swing rope. Truly incredible. Beach Boy tunes blasting out of the sound system (heck, nobody else is around to hear it so why not?), and fish of the day along with springbok shanks on the barbecue. Beers and rumballs to boot. It was a pretty surreal day.

Unfortunately, the high quickly faded, and the tension resumed. Patience was running thin, and for many of us, apprehension was mounting around the equator crossing (I won’t go into details here, but the crossing can be… let’s say ‘uncomfortable’ for equator virgins). I felt truly challenged, low on energy, and out of place.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, if it was at the “no pants” party in the batcave (one of the rooms on board), or during one of the squally days in the North Atlantic, but sometime shortly after the crossing, everything shifted. I started to find my groove. I started feeling at ease. I started having good conversations with people, finishing my little projects, embracing the adventure and somehow fitting in.It was like crossing the equator had helped me cross invisible boundaries and come out of my shell.

With my new post-crossing haircut and beard, I have found my sailing groove. After 28 days at sea, crossing 3800 nautical miles from St-Helena, and 5500 nautical miles from Cape Town, I find myself almost hesitant to go ashore.”

All the best from the Caribbean,

Shellback Skate

Calm seas. Warm waters. What about a nice dip?!

Katelin jumping off the fore yard. I was next... !

Oncoming morning squall. Watch out!

Working aloft. My foot in the bottom left corner. Only 90 feet up! It's not that scary if it's not raining and dark...

The girls praticing their Polynesian dance, getting ready to showcase it in Antigua.

Beautiful sunset in the North Atlantic.

 

Navigating the Seas and Personalities

15 Apr

3 bathrooms. 50 people. A ship 150 ft long by 24 ft wide. No escape for almost 45 days (unless you want to go for a really long swim).

What does that add up to?

Communal living at its best, of course! And, as you can imagine, sometimes at its worst…

A hard reality of sailing on tallships, or any other type of small-community-living-in-a-restricted-space-with-fifty-strangers for that matter, is that you won’t get along with everybody… This is especially hard for me, because I truly want to get along with everybody, not much unlike a naïve cocker spaniel puppy at a family party. It is also hard because I was mostly useless as a sailor for the first 45 days, and as I quickly learned, respect is gained through skill, not good manners.

Therefore, at first, you somehow just have to learn to cope. Cope with the hardcore sailor chick who needs to dominate, is liked by everybody (but you), and who likes to bark orders at newbies. Cope with the person on your watch who has a “sick day”, or “sick days”, every two weeks as they comfortably watch movies in their bunk. Cope with people who have zilch communication skills but need to tell you what to do.

But you do cope. Part of it is that you find people who are on the same page as you. Amazing people with whom you really connect, and friendships are born that will last a very long time. Another part of it is that you are forced to take a nice long look at yourself. I often caught myself thinking “If people are annoying me, I am surely annoying them!”. Thus, as insecurities slowly surface from long lost corners of your sub consciousness and gnaw at your very being, you learn how to evaluate who you are, be proud of your quirks, and find your place.

In the end, what I am realizing is that sailing a complicated vessel like the Picton Castle is not only about learning lines, but also about adapting to different personalities, and eventually morphing into a whole. Becoming less useless helps too.

“Watch below!”

Dan

Goofing off during our reggae party on the hatch. This is one of our typical Sunday "Marlinspikes"

“I had come to identify with my camouflage to the point where the masquerade became more important than the truth. This posturing was so finely tuned it was no longer deliberate… My camouflage, begun so many years before… was now threatening to become the complete man. It was time to slough the mottled and cunningly contrived outer skin, to emerge as myself, to face the risk of exposure, to regain the power of one. I had reached the point where to find myself was essential…” Peekay from The Power of One, Bryce Courtenay

 

Next stop: Antigua Classic Regatta

15 Mar

Ok! One last post from St-Helena.

We will be setting sail on Thursday for Antigua in the Carribean, a 30-day passage. We will be trying to reach the island for the Classic Regatta, a huge tallship event. Hopefully we will be able to stock up on some fruit and vegetables here on the island, or else it might be a very long trip.  At least I have chocolate…

So, the blogging will be on hold for bout one month, wish us luck.
Thinking of you all,

Daniel

 

Namibia: Yield to the Sand

15 Mar

Hello again!

I didn’t have time to write about our port stop in Namibia, so here it is. We stayed in Luderitz, a small fishing village of approximately 4000 people built on large unwelcoming boulders which seemed to be peaking out from under the sand. A real moonscape.

I was lucky enough to have two consecutive days off. Thus, with three other shipmates, I escaped on a 1000 km road trip to see Fish River Canyon, the second largest in the world! It was great to get away from the ship, but above all to get a real taste of the country and its desert-ness.

Highlights from the trip:

-The canyon, obvisouly

- Getting stuck in a sandy river bank. Our Toyota wasn’t exactly all-terrain, even though with some positive thinking we thought she could do it. Turns out it took twenty singing railroad workers to literally lift our car out!

- Cool desert nights. Actually, it was bloody hot. Leave your sleeping back at home.

- Stopping for gas at the indicated town on the map, only to find out a real-life ghost town!

Well, they say a picture is worth a 1000 words, so here are a couple pics.

Fair winds,

Daniel

The Gorge!

Luderitz at sunset, as seen from the ship.

YIELD TO THE SAND!

YIELD TO THE WIND! With LIam, Paula and 3rd Mate Rebecca

Oh yeah, pieces were falling off the bottom of our car...

The Picton Castle, as seen from Luderitz

 
 

Hello from the Middle of the Atlantic

15 Mar

Written on March 10th 2011at sea

Yesterday we crossed the Greenwich Meridian, and we are now in the Western hemisphere, having approximately traveled 1000 out of the 1300 nautical miles to our next destination, the island made famous by the exiled Napoleon: St-Helena.

The passage has been smooth. We are sailing in some of the most consistent winds you can find, the South East trades. Basically, this means that it is blowing on average at 16 knots everyday from exactly the same direction. The view is exactly the same each day, and it feels like we haven’t moved an inch. I can’t imagine how the explorers did it 500 years ago. Talk about a leap of faith. Even my instincts tell me that we are going to sail off the edge of the world. Luckily, the GPS tells me otherwise.

The days are melting into each other. This is probably because I am now on the 4-8 watch, meaning I work from 4-8 PM, then I get my wake-up call at 3h30 AM and work until 8 AM. Sleep? Bahhh, who needs it!

This change of sleeping schedule led to a ridiculous situation.

I was previously working on the 12-4 shift. However, every Sunday, three people are assigned to work the Galley (the kitchen) and cook three meals for the entire crew (50 people). Let me tell you, a daunting feat indeed! Imagine receiving your entire extended family for the whole day. My turn was last Sunday, the same day as my change of shift. A one in 150 probability (1/50 crew X 1/3 galley people).

So, my day started at midnight. My “galley mates” asked me to prepare the bread overnight. At 2 AM I was alone in the little galley-house, under a dim red-light, the ship rolling like mad, trying to find the ingredients to make a quadruple batch of bread. 24 cups of flour later (including 2 cups on myself) and a now messy kitchen, the dough was ready. I felt like I was cooking in the slanted kitchen from the Canadian Science and Technology museum in Ottawa (or from hell). I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

After sleeping 3 hours, I was woken at 7h30 AM to help with breakfast. Dishes until noon, then cleanup from the beef quesadilla lunch. More dishes, then preparing dinner. Fish fillets with sausages and cole slaw. The non-stop day finished around 8 PM. Wake up at 3h30 AM for my next shift which finished at 8AM. I almost died.

Funny thing. The next morning I was at the helm during sunrise, and in my semi-awareness it seemed that the whitecaps from the waves were flying away in all directions. Swirling and dancing. For a second, I was sure I had lost my mind. But then I realized it was flying fish! Cool beans.

OK. Maybe it doesn’t seem so bad, but I guess the constantly rotating schedule can take its toll. No going to bed past 10 PM (even on the weekend), because your wake up is in the middle of the night, seven days a week! Now I know why sailors drink so much when they hit a port. I hope St-Helena has good beer…

Royale blue seas. Stars at night. Daily workshops on navigation. Ditty bag sewing.

I can’t complain too much.

Love from the deep blue sea,

Dan

Helming at sunset.

At the end of galley day. That was a good feeling. Until the wake up at 3h30 AM.

This made me laugh. It is the sign that Abby (hilarious crewmate) made for our Sunday galley day. Chibley is the cat.

Chibley. 1st mate.

Sunset look-out. Ahhhh....