Life on Board A Tall Ship (2)

After a couple of days, the ropes and their terminology became more familiar. Halyards are the ropes that pull the sails up the mast. Yards are the horizontal beams that the sails hang from, and the ropes to manoeuvre these are the braces. Sheets (which I always thought referred to sails) are the ropes attached to sails. It was a proud moment for me when I could triumphantly point to and name each of the 12 sails.

With my minimal upper body strength, I was often put on rope coiling duty. With each clockwise loop, you twist the rope slightly to iron out the kinks. The hardest part was mastering the final little loop to fasten the coiled rope over the wooden pin. Many was the time that I didn’t get it quite right and the rope would fall on the deck and have to be coiled all over again. Grrrr!!! It felt like the nautical equivalent of learning to tie your shoelaces. On the other hand, I did avoid getting severe blisters. After some vigorous rope hauling, Christine sported the beginnings of some real beauties. It reminded us of our uni rowing days, when the only way to get rid of them was to keep on rowing until they burst, and then they would heal over. “They’ll be alright after 5 days” said one permanent crew member consolingly, forgetting that we were only onboard for 4 days.

When the sun was out, it was wonderful lying on the sun-warmed wood of the poop deck (the raised deck section at the stern) and looking up at the billowing squaresails. However, all that lovely wood and brass comes at a price – daily maintenance. We washed the decks down with salt water to ensure that the wood remained swollen enough to prevent gaps between the boards. Once I accidentally used the “dry” broom for this task – much to the horror of James the first mate. The brass had to be polished – Christine, Jon and I would grab cans of Brasso and head towards the wheel and compass, as they were lovely big shiny areas of brass, unlike all the tiny fiddly bars across the hatch windows.

The braver (and more agile) of the VCs went up into the rigging to learn how to unfurl and also tie up the sails – that was a complete no-no for me with my lack of co-ordination. I did however make it up to (but not onto) the fighting platform, the first level above the deck. At each step, I remembered the advice to push myself up with my legs, instead of pulling with my arms. This was sometimes easier said than done, especially when some of the distances between the “rungs” were just a leetle too far apart for comfort. The last stage involved climbing up and over the edge of the platform from underneath. To do this, you have to lean back and straighten your arms so that you have enough leg room to get up the final 45 degree angle steps. At this point, you’re clipped onto a rope (no-one uses the safety harness on the way up, as it would mean clipping on and off at every step). However, my natural instinct was to cling to the rungs – try as I might, I just could not make myself relax enough to lean back. If my arms or legs had been longer, I’d’ve been able to reach the steel cable above and haul myself up. Despite not making it over the platform edge, I was glowing from the adrenaline rush for hours afterwards. As someone who never made it to the top of the fixed gym climbing frames at school, it was a great personal achievement.

All that sea air and activity makes for a healthy appetite, and I have to say that I’ve never been so well fed before on holiday. We had 5 meals a day – breakfast, lunch and dinner, plus mid-morning and mid-afternoon tea breaks - and never ate the same meal twice. All the bread for the breakfast toast was baked on board daily, and there were always freshly baked biscuits or cakes to accompany the mid-afternoon tea. I still don’t know how the girls managed to pull off all those delicious meals cooked from scratch for 30 people in a kitchen that was no bigger than my one at home.