My Memory of the
“HMS” Rose ‑ October 1996

To reminisce about a sailing trip doesn’t usually begin with the mention of a death in the family, but in May of 1996, my dad passed away from cancer. His death caused me to ponder upon life and lost opportunities. In time I realized, the reality of death cannot overcome the prevailing winds of life. From a broader perspective, death can be perceived in various forms, but despite the seemingly insurmountable burdens, it is not an end unto itself; rather, death is a passage through which newness of life is discovered.

As I look back at my choice to spend some time with the Rose, I needed to get away. I wanted to do something out of the ordinary that had great personal relevance. It needed to be a celebration of life, the kind of celebration that we all could choose but often defer for one dutiful obligation or another. By getting away to the Rose, I feel I became one of the fortunate minority who, albeit for a short time, got loose from the doldrums of status‑quo society and its relentless threat to crush every effort to be free from it.

Since childhood, I have always been fascinated with ships of all sorts, but as an adult, my focus centered upon tallships. Although small boat sailing has been my hobby, my interest in the great wooden sailing ships came largely from reading books.

While serving in the U.S. Navy (1980‑1986), where I was often under the sea in a submarine, the classic tales of life aboard sailing ships provided my imagination wonderfully satisfying experiences. My interest in the world of sailing and its history was instilled in me when I read Richard H. Dana, Jr.’s, Two Years Before the Mast. From then on, one book led to another. Among several books, I had read Alexander Kent’s Richard Bolitho series, followed by C.S. Forester’s venerable Hornblower.

History books about the Royal Navy were always welcome. Every account from Admiral Byng’s tragic failure to Nelson’s glorious victories, provided profound insights into human suffering and human nature, not to mention, of course, the great ships.

After my career in the Navy, I eventually found myself adjusting to a civilian office job. During this time, fortunately, I discovered dear Patrick O’Brian’s magnificent writings. They were to keep my mind focused on life at sea, though I was engulfed by my life on land.

I am pleased to share with you some memories of my two weeks aboard the Rose. It has been about six years since my experience and I am writing completely from memory.

Meeting The Rose

That was a beautiful October day on the Atlantic when I met the Rose in the Azores, on the island of Sao Miguel at Ponta Delgada. She was in the midst of her first European tour.

From San Francisco, I traveled by plane. I was physically beat from the long trip, which included a layover at New York’s JFK International, where there was no time for sight‑seeing, followed by a ten hour layover in Lisbon, Portugal, where I experienced an amazing amount of cultural curiosities, touring as much as I could. On the bus back to the Lisbon airport, I was so tired I fell asleep, my head bobbing.

Yet my senses were alert on the last leg of my flight. Over the blue waters, among the lush volcanic peaks and amidst the pure blue skies of the Azores, I knew we were going to pass over the port where I was expected to meet the Rose.

With my heart racing with anticipation, my searching eyes ached to see Rose for the first time. Then there she was, alone, like an antique diamond in a modern setting, a seagoing ambassadress for a majestic era.

History had come alive as I peered down out of my airplane porthole. Rose stood peacefully, her square‑rigged sails tightly furled on her yards along her three stately masts. I could see her starboard side, the Royal Navy black and yellow, punctuated with black gunports, as were the British warships of Nelson’s time. Her long bowsprit was pointed eastward to the open sea.

This American Tallship "HMS" Rose was a reincarnation of the original 18th Century HMS Rose, a British Royal Navy frigate which was scuttled during the Revolution in American waters. Indeed, Rose, in her new life, was a most beautiful sight.

Having come half ways around the world, I was going to begin my sailing adventure.

Underway

A couple of days later on a breezy afternoon, Rose got underway. One of our first assignments as trainees, once out in open ocean, was to assist with removing the gaskets from the sails. I was directed to assist with the mainsail, having to climb up the ratlines, step across the futtocks and untie the sail from its stowed, or furled, position. Before leaving port, the crew taught us about the many safety precautions related to going aloft and, by the way, when the ship is rolling and pitching, you definitely keep them in mind.

About fifty yards off the starboard side, there was a pleasing distraction. We could see several dolphins creating their graceful arcs over the waters. From our vantage point high above the deck, we could easily see the happy creatures beneath the surface, swimming at a good clip through the blue sea.

With the sails set free from their gaskets, the 1st Mate proceeded to give orders to set and trim the myriad of braces, sheets, tacks, downhauls, and halyards. For a new trainee, it meant to learn, not only a new language, but the location and the proper handling of each and every line, pin and cleat. After each evolution, all lines were secured in good seamanlike fashion, otherwise they would be redone. This was not simply for fine looks, but rather for proper care and operation.

Once the yards were braced and the sails were set for the first leg of our transit to Porto Santo, I searched for the ideal spot, by the bow on the leeward side. Upon leaning over the rail, my stomach began reeling from seasickness and in one great heave, threw up my dinner. I vomited a curious purplish orb that was so much an awesome sight, I shall never forget. It soared gracefully away from the ship’s side into the gently heaving Atlantic rollers.

It takes a stalwart spirit to learn how to be a good crew member, because it doesn’t all come natural except for with time, practice, and proper direction. But I’d say about getting started: it was darn confusing!

Fortunately, an experienced sailor is assigned to every new trainee and I was no exception. Actually, since there were only three trainees aboard, each of us received far more attention than we would otherwise have had...

One of the experienced deckhands that worked with me was Dave from Maine. Dave was a pigtailed, barrel chested fellow who helped keep me pointed in the right direction. Separated from the society of landsmen, he was perfectly at ease being part of Rose’s living history. He was like an incarnation of a symphony of ocean, sail and rigging. He had a generous dash of seagoing swagger together with a soft spoken New England intellect, making him, what seemed to me, the quintessential example of a tall ship sailor.

The Fish

The next day, both clear and warm, the trainees had an opportunity to man the helm of the Rose. While I was at the helm, the cook, fishing from off the taffrail, hooked a fine large catch. It shined silver, blue and green in color. This event was followed immediately by one of the most unusual ceremonies I have ever witnessed.

Having made a quick trip below, the Captain returned revealing a bottle of fine spirits (scotch whiskey, if I recall correctly). The cook held the big fish steady with its mouth pointed upwards, at which moment, the Captain promptly poured scotch copiously into the wriggling creature. A white bucket sat underneath the fish to catch the overflow from spilling across the quarterdeck. That evening, we enjoyed the fresh fish for dinner.

After all this time, I must admit, I still don’t know what that ceremony signified, but it was an A‑1 memorable experience.

Despite such an auspicious event as being at the helm when the big fish was caught, comfort conditions would drastically change for me.

Green Death

My previous joy was overcome by nausea and headache. For the first three days at sea, I was sick as a dog. Even though it seemed like pretty mild weather and seas, I could hardly fight my misery. One of the few exceptions, by some stroke of fate, when I was not consumed by seasickness, was when I was called to steer the ship. Otherwise, my state of being was quite fragile.

Normally, I derive great enjoyment from eating, but it took force of will not to pitch my insides while standing in line as I waited to dish up my food from the galley’s counter. I recall every meal starting like that for me. Sitting down to eat was better, but I couldn’t muster the determination to put down my fill. Those first days, I never went for seconds, even though Hunter, the cook, was cranking out some tasty meals.

During my idler’s watch, I usually found some solace by lying like a corpse on deck, as close to the centerline as possible. I think for a while, I became as much of a deck fixture as the capstan.

At first I was self‑conscious that I was looking quite foolish, especially since I felt I might be an obstruction. I didn’t want to open my eyes to find out if that was true. How I desperately needed to feel the comfort that had deserted me! My mental condition was so lamentable at times, even if someone stepped on me I probably would not have cared (thankfully, no one did!). At times I tried to force myself to get up to do something useful during my idler’s watch, but I was soon back down, flat on the deck.

Standing watch also meant spending an hour checking bilges, pumping bilge water overboard, monitoring the diesel, filling out spaces with accurate numbers on a log sheet, and crawling into tight enclosed spaces. Consequently, after going along with Dave, checking the key areas from stem to stern, I knew roving below decks doing “boat check” was going to be futile in my given state.

Hence, as there were four one‑hour rotations with four deckhands and one trainee under instruction, I actually spent more like two hours at idle, or two hours of bow watches during the four hour shifts, along with one watch at the helm.

I was assigned to the 0000 to 0400 and 1200 to 1600 watches, that meant I could never sleep straight through the night unless it was only a half night’s worth at a time. Normally, this would not be a problem; after all, it is a common practice in the Navy, but it only exacerbated my loss of sea legs.

My pain was made worse by not being able to help others and learn from them the art of sailing the ship. My general suffering and uselessness as a helping hand caused me to wonder if I had made some cruel mistake by signing on for two weeks aboard Rose. My visions and dreams of serving with the great Lord Nelson, or even the convivial Jack Aubrey, were daunted.

Little did I know, however, during those spells of defeat, stretched out like a dead man on deck, that life was to prevail.

Her Character Revealed

The trainees, myself no exception, had several opportunities to stand watch at the helm of the Rose. During a 12:00‑16:00 watch, I was at the helm when something unusual happened again: Our subtle breeze became a long gust that seemed not to let up.

I had, in previous sailing experiences, skippered 25‑35 foot sloops though gusty conditions, but I had absolutely no experience steering a sailing ship, except for during the mild conditions, thus far.

Nevertheless, for about 20‑30 seconds, my adrenaline surged something fantastic as I maintained control. I could feel the rudder bite against the ocean surging past the hull, as the ship heeled a good 15‑20 degrees, maybe more, to port. Water rising high upon the freeboard was not a common occurrence during my time onboard, but I remember the water rushing anxiously past the length of the port side. Furthermore, I was impressed by the realization that the ship was still heading the correct course as the sails hardened and the ship continued to heel.

Between checking the ship’s heading on the compass and the head of the ship out to the horizon, I remember looking up and seeing the great towering masts with their complement of set sails and rigging move with new life. By the force of nature’s hand, Rose was making herself known. The deck was at a tilt and the breeze ran freely from behind me. I could feel the sounds of rushing water, wind in the rigging, the alertness of everyone around. Another look at the compass to check our course... thankfully, still true.

This interlude was as if Rose was a renegade princess, whose passionate glance, during an afternoon ride, revealed her true character... lively and spirited. For those glorious moments, I was filled with a sense of pure delight.

As the wind persisted, I was required to relinquish the helm, in favor of an experienced crew member. Soon after, we reduced sail to regain some stability. Our total number onboard was only 24, 21 crew and 3 trainees, which, I imagine, necessitated more conservative measures.

Crew

The weather was increasing throughout the afternoon as the swells that grew deeper blossomed into white caps. The ocean was beginning to cast itself from off the bow and across the main deck. Dave was assigned to rig the storm lifelines along the side rails, so I assisted him.

Dave installed a few stanchions that supported a taut line that ran about seven feet off the deck. He then told me how to form a safety net by running line up and down in a V‑pattern, securing each end with clove hitches. At times, I was getting doused by ocean spray as I concentrated on my task, until we finished filling in the gaps.

The urgency of the situation was enough to help snap me out of the worst of my seagoing paralysis. With the wind picking up and water washing across the deck, care was needed to keep a hand for the ship to avoid losing my balance.

When we were done, persons on board had more protection from getting washed overboard. I was awarded with the sense that I was doing something important and useful, beyond the normal routine.

That evening the crew did battle with some nasty weather, working under the cover of darkness. Alix was our watch leader and a great encouragement to us all. She was wise, experienced and good humored. During the early hours of the morning, Alix’s watch section was sent aloft to take in some reefs and directed to set up the main staysail for stability.

Watching the others high in the tops amidst the eeriness of the green and red running lights gave me a sense of awe of their courage, agility, and experience, if not downright audacity. It was difficult enough for me to find the right line during the day when there was light, but to find things at night was a true test of ones familiarity with the ship’s rigging. Sometimes I could hear the others calling out from above, but couldn’t see them through the darkness.

Still handicapped by seasickness, but mainly from inexperience, I watched and assisted from the security of the deck. The gusty winds and roll of the ship threatened to catch anyone careless with their footing. This made watching Billy, another crew member in Alix’s watch, all the more incredible as he moved from one precarious looking position to another, breaking out the mainstaysail from its stowed position along the foremast.

Hauling up a sail on a ship takes some serious brawn, but, unlike the old men‑of‑war that usually had massive manpower at their disposal, this ship had to do it with only the handful of dedicated crew that stood every watch.

As sunrise approached during the 0400 to 0800, the weather became more severe. As I lay in my bunk below, feeling the uneasy movement of the ship, I could hear the exertions of the watch reefing in more sails during a slashing rain squall. The crew of my watch were probably out there giving their mates some extra hands.

New Life

Eventually, my sense of wholeness was restored by some idyllic days of the most placid sailing I think I will ever experience. With all regular sail set and without the engines, the lazy puffing breeze gently willed us across the Atlantic. The sun was warm, the clouds were sometimes pink, and the skies were truly blue. Through it all, the Rose, made a regular two or three knots across calm seas.

Fine days like those, were opportunities for the crew to get much work done, keeping the Rose in good order, while offering trainees detailed looks at her anatomy. For instance, Jesse, the bosun, was replacing a long section of plank in the main deck, taking great care to fit a new piece in. We could see how getting the right gap between planks was important, in order to fill partially with felt material before applying the pitch that provides the outer seal.

During the day, after our work details, laying across the sun‑bleached deck became a popular leisure activity.

Late during the quietness of the midnight watch, with the ocean lapping at the hull of the ship, we would talk about life and observe the constellations. The bow watch became like a quiet space exploring the insides of each other’s thoughts, as we peered into the star lighted darkness out to the horizons.

Eventually, I was able to be involved with the watch below decks and a more useful line and sail handler. Being able to pay greater attention to Dave and others was invaluable. By God, even eating meals was becoming a satisfaction again!

It was another sunny and warm afternoon, on our journey before Madeira, when the crew setup something special for the trainees. A bosun’s chair was rigged off the starboard side. The purpose: A bit of water skiing, Rose style.

Under the guidance of John, the 1st Mate, virtually every available deckhand was called to man a whip suspended from the end of the forcourse yard, from which was attached the chair. The whip, a block and tackle arrangement, allowed vertical control of a giant hook, normally used to lift heavy loads from the pier or another vessel. A lanyard was also attached to the hook to steady the load, or, in this case, to haul a person, hanging on for life, sitting on a bosun’s chair.

Being a precarious looking contraption, the chair needed to be tested to get the trainees to try it. Debbie, the 2nd Mate, gladly volunteered to demonstrate. Her successful exhibition was enough to relieve most of our anxiety.

Andy, from San Diego, and Suzanne, from Germany, the other two trainees, went on before me. They were having a great time! Meanwhile, watching the deckhands, I was a bit embarrassed to think that the crew needed to work while we got to enjoy ourselves. Nevertheless, enjoy ourselves we did and, for our sakes, the crew was encouraging. Indeed, since we trainees were only there as part of the company for a week or two, why not a bit of decadence?

The Rose was moving at a good seven knots or better under power, during which I, seated upon the bosun’s chair, was handsomely lowered over the ocean. I had anticipated a certain coldness, my thoughts prejudiced by a preconceived notion that the Atlantic Ocean was a frigid body of water; perhaps, it must have been all those old German U‑boat documentaries or thinking about the Titanic. However, as they lowered me onto the blue ocean, I was engulfed with an incredible surprise: the pleasure of soothing bath water refreshing my body... from the second largest bathtub on Earth!

I was quick to adopt the chair as a ski and proceeded to pickup speed by planing outward, over and over! The thrill of being seated on the comfortable ocean, skiing along side the Rose towering above, will be always etched in my memory.

Unscheduled Training

I am certain that Funchal, Madeira, is not one of the Captain’s most‑loved harbors to moor his ship in. This was our next port of call.

It was nightfall with the breezes rapidly increasing when we made our approach to the harbor. Rose, with all sails furled, needed to back into a mooring along the ocean wall, starboard side to, close to the harbor mouth. There was a large offering further in, but we were informed by the local port authority it was being reserved for a cruise ship that was scheduled to arrive the next morning.

As the conditions were to prove, this was no cake walk. The increasing winds caused rearward movement, pushing against the hull, mast, yards and rigging, in a way that was overcoming the drive of the engines. The Captain, observing the developing complications, took direct command. In his masterly fashion, he proceeded using several techniques in order to get his ship into position.

The use of engines, helm and sail were being orchestrated by the Captain with fluid calculation. All hands stood by in silence between orders that would be executed smartly. On the starboard rail, a trusted deckhand stood anxiously, poised with his heaving line attached to the huge double braided mooring line, should the Rose get within distance of the pier. The awaiting Portuguese line handlers stood waiting to receive it.

The proper handling of Rose was a matter of pride and determination for everyone on board. With the necessary heave, ho, hauling and tailing needed, the crew went about their tasks with great expedience and precision. The spanker was being used to balance awkward effects of the wind. At one moment, a team of line handlers would be casting loose one line, and across the deck another team would begin to quickly haul its counterpart. Meanwhile, the wind and tide would catch the Rose from various angles. One moment from one direction, the next moment another. The spanker would be hauled to one side or the other then trimmed.

I was not aware of how much time had passed throughout this surreal scene, as we and the engines exhaustively attempted to maneuver Rose into her assigned mooring. I waited for orders, my eyes fixed largely on the Captain, the great ship fixed under his feet. Behind him were the surrounding lights of Funchal harbor, passing to and fro, as if we had entered some bizarre carnival ride. Somehow I recall the Captain’s order to a trusted hand to lead a party to make ready the anchor for letting go.

Apart from his formal commands which were quite clear, the Captain’s secondary thoughts, expressed calmly in a somewhat whimsical manner, were especially noteworthy. However, it was understood, the gravity of the situation restrained any offhanded acknowledgments or comments from anyone else. Nevertheless, there was no doubt, to those around him on the quarterdeck, what he thought about the necessary timing and restrictions of our arrival. Without going on into specifics, I believe his sentiments were shared by everyone on that deck.

After further exertions, at last, one of the final cards had to be dealt and the Captain ordered to let loose an anchor while we were still in the channel. I speculate, this was in order to check our drift or maybe to prevent the bow from being forced to either side by the growing wind. With the anchor charging downwards into the bottom of Funchal’s harbor, we continued our efforts to get the Rose in close to the pier.

However, it would become evident that the wind was not going to cooperate. When all peacetime efforts to get the ship right were exhausted, the Captain decided to opt for the mooring further downwind, where the authorities pierside were yelling that we needed to keep free for the cruise ship. As hard as we tried, we were unable to accomplish this formidable task.

Early the next morning when the winds were calm, we hauled the Rose back up to the assigned mooring near the position of the lying anchor. With some hearty heaves around the capstan, we crept up along the sea wall as foot after foot of dripping line led us back to where the anchor lay. Once the anchor was aweigh, we maneuvered the Rose over and into her proper spot.

This whole remarkable event was great dose of excitement and although it was not part of our scheduled training, it helped bind our small company together. As I mentioned earlier, there were only 24 of us manning the ship.

Afterwards, going out on the town to sample Madeira, the one we know in a bottle, was all the more appreciated. Not to mention, of course, we all took in the fine cultural sights and tropical scenery of the beautiful Portuguese island paradise.

Discovery Island

After our stay in Madeira, the Rose, enroute to the Canaries, traveled to an obscure Portuguese island preserve. If I am not mistaken, the island was formerly used as a naval target by the Portuguese Navy. The human population of this desolation island was between zero and two ornithologists, depending on which part of the year you happen to visit. The Rose anchored about a half mile off shore, due to the shallows. The rubber boat shuttled groups of us into a rocky cove where the landing was.

It was as though we were explorers in a bygone era. With the Rose laying off in the distance and no other sign of civilization in sight, it felt like we had transported ourselves to another time.

We hiked up the craggy cliffs of this ‘discovery’ to observe the flora and fauna. Following each other up a narrow trail, we took note of the odd sea birds that made their habitat there. Nestled comfortably deep inside the recesses of rocks, we saw some of the natives, fuzzy haired black and grey birds who may have been keeping their eggs warm. They seemed to take note of us passing strangers, but seemed far more interested in staying protected from the wind and cameras.

Reaching the top of the path, we crossed a grand plateau. The general landscape was void of tall trees, but it had an abundance of low brush and other wind swept vegetation. Rocks, boulders, and metal shrapnel were strewn across the flat of the plateau, having been pounded by Portuguese naval guns in World War II.

Searching outwards around the island, one could marvel at the sights of sailing vessels that have passed through the centuries by this secluded spot in the Atlantic.

After about an hour’s time, we carefully descended the sometimes steep traverses back to the landing, while an occasional stone tumbled down to remind our wing‑footed mates we were still behind them. Then, braving the rocky and wave swept landing, we boarded the boat.

The cove conditions were such that, Chris, the 3rd Mate, who was in charge of the rubber boat, had to wait for the exact moment to take off from the cove. He needed to synchronize his acceleration away from the landing on an outgoing wave to ensure a smooth exit. Go too soon and we would be blasted with surf; go too late and we would bottom out on rocks and then be blasted with surf; go the wrong way, we’d meet head on with the rocks that broke the incoming waves, bottom out on rocks, and then be blasted with surf.

All at once, rapidly accelerating, he handily maneuvered the rubber boat, avoiding the jagged rocks, safely out into the open water.

Parting Shots

The last experiences that I would like to share with you is when Rose was approaching Los Palmas, in the Grand Canaries. That was another beautiful blue skied day, but with a good steady sailing breeze. The waters seemed extra broad and blue as we maneuvered the ship, under all the glory of sail power. Several times, we brought her about, tack upon tack, making use of the fine conditions.

I remember Dave, putting me through as many sail and line handling orders my simple abilities could handle. Some of the others were wondering why he was making me run to and fro, on deck and aloft, from mainmast to foremast, taking care of one thing or another, all in a gruff sort of nonstop manner. To the bystander, it looked as though pigtailed and barrel chested Dave, barking orders from the deck, was trying to run me into the ground.

However, I think we all knew, that this was my last opportunity, when Rose was still in the open ocean preparing to enter Los Palmas. This was the last time I would be able to handle all these many lines and sails, to climb and traverse the rigging on a sailing ship when it mattered. It was one last chance to be free, a sailor on one of the greatest wooden sailing ‘men‑of‑war’ afloat.

I was called to help furl in the foretopgallant sail. Climbing up the ratlines, way up high, you can see the horizon in all directions, until you get to that point where you’ve got to step across those futtocks.

Perched high above the sailing ship’s deck,
my belly flat across the t’gallant yard...

Fisting in armfuls of sail,
the wind blowing across my back...
I looked down at one of the most wonderful sights,
I could never have imagined:

The spritsailed bow, far below,
white crested waves, flowing around its curved sides...

The rise and fall of the frigate,
bestriding the world...

Like some magnificent, mythical sea‑horse,
galloping, surging, leaping....

There is more that is memorable than what I have written, for instance: Sight‑seeing around the islands, getting to know the crew and other trainees (especially Andy from San Diego), drinking foreign beer, meeting other folks from other sailing vessels, trying to communicate with the locals, partaking the Portuguese and Spanish cultures, eating food at strange restaurants. For now, those experiences will need to rest in the comfort of my memory.

copyright © 2002 Challen K. Yee