Sailing the Martinique Channel, from the Atlantic to the Caribbean
Our first morning in the Caribbean was sparkling and balmy with steady Northeasterly trade winds. A perfect day for sailing. So, as Expedition Leader Tom O’Brien explained the complex ballet of the Sea Cloud II’s crew, we slowly began to “learn the ropes.” We were, after all, “the new man onboard” and “starting with clean slates.”
The yardarms were braced for a starboard reach. The crew nibbling then “hit the rig” and untied sail gaskets. Once unfurled, yardarms were raised and fore and main mast sails were unfurled, clewed and trimmed. Then two staysails and two jibs were set and braced. Sea Cloud II then jumped and began a seemingly effortless reach with the wind. In no time we coursed serenely at nine knots.
The narration was also an incantation of nearly forgotten language: halyard, topgallant, gaff, spanker, mizzen, each connoting a knowledge and skill which allowed for the exploration and colonization of our planet. Setting and trimming sail was a re-enactment of countless voyages of centuries of voyagers. We felt a kinship and connection with this history, so rare in this day of subsonic commercial travel. Sailing seems the perfect speed for human movement. Our spirits follow or sail along with us unhurried. Water-wind-sail presents an inexplicable allure.
Ironically, steam engines at first did not destroy sail but rather enhanced it, as powered tugs could push vessels to sea regardless of tides. Sailing vessels could become larger. Thus the greatest age of sailing vessels was the late 19th century, as steel and new fabric allowed for larger ships, taller masts, and more sail than ever before. Sea Cloud II is built on this paragon. Eventually speed became paramount and replaced skill and sails.
But while we watched the main mast “scrape the sky,” we drifted into private meditations on the sea, on sailing, on human history, and on maritime lore and language which still seems to pervade our conversations today.
Our first morning in the Caribbean was sparkling and balmy with steady Northeasterly trade winds. A perfect day for sailing. So, as Expedition Leader Tom O’Brien explained the complex ballet of the Sea Cloud II’s crew, we slowly began to “learn the ropes.” We were, after all, “the new man onboard” and “starting with clean slates.”
The yardarms were braced for a starboard reach. The crew nibbling then “hit the rig” and untied sail gaskets. Once unfurled, yardarms were raised and fore and main mast sails were unfurled, clewed and trimmed. Then two staysails and two jibs were set and braced. Sea Cloud II then jumped and began a seemingly effortless reach with the wind. In no time we coursed serenely at nine knots.
The narration was also an incantation of nearly forgotten language: halyard, topgallant, gaff, spanker, mizzen, each connoting a knowledge and skill which allowed for the exploration and colonization of our planet. Setting and trimming sail was a re-enactment of countless voyages of centuries of voyagers. We felt a kinship and connection with this history, so rare in this day of subsonic commercial travel. Sailing seems the perfect speed for human movement. Our spirits follow or sail along with us unhurried. Water-wind-sail presents an inexplicable allure.
Ironically, steam engines at first did not destroy sail but rather enhanced it, as powered tugs could push vessels to sea regardless of tides. Sailing vessels could become larger. Thus the greatest age of sailing vessels was the late 19th century, as steel and new fabric allowed for larger ships, taller masts, and more sail than ever before. Sea Cloud II is built on this paragon. Eventually speed became paramount and replaced skill and sails.
But while we watched the main mast “scrape the sky,” we drifted into private meditations on the sea, on sailing, on human history, and on maritime lore and language which still seems to pervade our conversations today.
