Last night I took time off to go see the Chicago Tall Ships exposition. Yesterday afternoon was a Parade of Sail, and in theory the ships were to be available for viewing in the evening. Well, many of them were, kind of. One could stare in awe from dockside at most, and with others one could look with perhaps a touch of envy at the "private function" going on aboard. For an Old Salt of one week's experience from the Rose there was but contempt for those "suits" sipping Perrier & something, but a real interest in the important things like lines, pinrails, guns to a broadside (on the Brig Niagara,) docklines, taffrails, ratlines, etc.
As we stood off from the Niagara I started for my wife, daughter and her friends a description of the various parts, uses, problems, etc., and went through the various evolutions, and procedures, etc. By the time I finished I noticed, immodestly, that a crowd of about 15 had gathered around. I magnanimously answered questions for a while, dropping in descriptions of my trip aboard the Rose. I was however, perfectly straight when someone asked, "How do you get to do something like that?" My response was "All you really have to do is write a check!"
The evening was wonderful, but long. I did get a chance to talk to a number of crew, those magnificent persons on the other side of the restraining fence, the same position I had so casually occupied just 6 days ago. I can only hope that I looked then as casual, competent and fun loving, as did the ones I saw last night. I found out that there are other tall (well, at least middling height) ships that will take volunteers, and on many the criteria are but two: sweat equity and availability. I shall be looking into this in greater detail.
The world of tall ship sailing is a small one, indeed, and on two of the ships I ran into crew who knew many aboard the Rose. I exchanged some tales of Captain Bailey and Jesse the Bosun of the Big Leatherman with one mate in particular, but while he was certainly willing to be talkative he didn't respond to my subtle hints of regret at missing the privilege of seeing the actuality of his beautiful boat because I had to depart today for a long distance race. I remained, alas, on the wrong, or shore, side of the fence separating those that do from those that dream.
This was particularly galling because I had changed into my working shorts, donned Leatherman and rigging knife, and put on my America's Sail 98 Glen Cove T-shirt with the depictions of all the ships which gathered on Long Island last week. Surely any roving press gang would have spotted me for a seaman without an exemption, and should have dragged me - only slightly protesting - aboard the Niagara to do my bit for Mr. Madison's War.
I have to go race for two or three days tomorrow, and on a new and different boat, and I think the first thing I shall do after my Rose experience is kiss each winch aboard. (I would like to try to kiss each wench ashore, but those days are, sadly, long past.) The Rose, like her contemporaries, is totally labor intensive. I was rather sore and tired each day, and there were moments aboard when I longed for those trips of Jack and Stephen's when neither a line nor a sail was touched for days or weeks on end. Pride forbade me from reaching for the easy lines when a sail evolution was called, and stupidity kept me volunteering at times when a bunch of my old sergeants would have counseled otherwise.
John Donohue
Currently in Evanston, but about to race up the Illiwimichiana Sea. Think Wind! (Preferably out of the South)