Daily Journal

June 18, 2010

By David M. Lawrence

This morning, many of us on the ship awoke to the sound of three blasts of the horn – a signal for man overboard, which was confirmed by yells of "Man overboard!" by the shipmates. As the ramp to total awareness (for me) is usually rather steep under those circumstances, I fumbled around for my gear in my small bunk space, and prepared to rush up to my muster station while: a) thinking thoughts that aren't printable here; and b) hoping that I would end up on deck with at least some skivvies on.

When someone goes overboard, those who saw the ill-starred crewmate maintain eye contact with and continually point to the victim(s). They are supposed to keep doing so until relieved, but may keep doing so until the rescue is completed. Others throw anything that floats into the water so that the victim(s) will have something to hold onto and so that they can be more easily seen by the rescue boat crew.

Each watch has a specific job during a man overboard emergency. A Watch deploys the rescue boat. B Watch is responsible for sail handling. C Watchers are the official lookouts. They will relieve those who initially saw the victim(s) go into the water.

By the time I got up on deck, the rescue boat was in the water and about to head to the victim. I staggered around (worse than usual, as I always seem to stagger around a rolling ship) to find my muster station and to do what I was told. I can't say that I was in much shape to do anything other than what I was told.

We heard on the walkie-talkie that the rescue had been effected, and all floatation devices that had been thrown into the water had been retrieved. After the rescue boat, its crew, and the victim were safely on board, we gathered on the quarterdeck for a debriefing. Captain Chris McGuire was pleased with the quick response – we rescued the victim in four and a half minutes, amazing considering that we had to back the sails to slow the ship, gybe, and then turn toward the victim. The captain's assessment was quite a relief, as I didn't think I was moving quick at all.

The victim turned out to be a hat that had caught too much wind and sailed itself overboard. First mate Tom Sullivan said that the victim was unresponsive in the water.

Unresponsive applied as well to the majority of B Watchers and C Watchers who had been on overnight duty and were in their bunks when the horn sounded.

Today was the day to challenge my own neuroses. During midwatch (2300 to 0300 hours) we hove to (slowed forward progress as much as possible) for a neuston net tow. One of the things we had to do as we readied for the tow was to drop and furl the JT (jibtops'l). The JT is one of the most forward sails – rising from the bowsprit in a position above the other forward sail, the jib. Dropping the sail was no problem, but furling the sail was a problem for me. We had to leave the comfort of the deck, step out onto a black net for support, and crawl along the bowsprit to reach and tie down the loose sail so that it would not catch the wind at an inopportune moment. The added hitch was that we were working in near pitch darkness. It really was fairly safe – I was tethered to a safety line the whole time – but I still didn't find that fact terribly comforting.

The two watchmates who helped me get through furling the mains'l and mainstays'l yesterday – Jenan Kharbush and Sarah Wegmueller – were also called upon to furl the JT. They patiently helped me again as I stumbled along the spider web that kept me out of the black water below.

Mid-day today, B Watch got its reward for being the first watch to complete a checklist of skills to master. We got to go aloft. Our watch leader, Second Mate Colleen Allard, gave us a safety briefing during our watch meeting, then she led us up the ratlines. To get to them, we had to climb up on the rail, make our way outside the rigging to the base of the ratlines, and begin climbing. When we felt like stopping, or when we reached a transition spot – such as between the lower ratlines and the foretop – we had to tether ourselves to something for safety's sake.

I was the last one up the foremast (another watchmate, Matt Ecklund, climbed up the mainmast). I took several deep breaths and muttered to myself as I climbed up and reached the foretop, the lower platform that leads to the course yard. (The course is the largest of our square sails.) I took a break as well as some pictures – journalism always calls – then I decided I had to try to go higher. The ratlines narrowed the higher they (and I) got.

I made it to the second platform, the crosstrees, that leads to the top yard. (The tops'l is our other square sail.) That platform was a bit crowded with Jenan, Sarah, and Marilou Maglione, but they began to work their way down as I arrived. I took another break and even more pictures.

One other watchmate was above me – Marina Cassio, but she was working her way down. After Marina reached the crosstrees, I slowly made my way up to the level of the top navigational light on the foremast. (The navigational lights signal to passing ships whether we are motoring or sailing.) By the time I reached that light, the ratline was maybe 10 inches wide, and I figured I should head back down to where there was more line, and ultimately a deck, to support me.

The photos I took while up there were well worth the effort.

Before I assumed my assigned duty as dishwasher for the afternoon, I returned to the bowsprit – for journalistic purposes, of course. I took more photos that I liked. This time, the bowsprit and its netting did not seem nearly as frightening as it had 12 hours before.