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B y Bob Rice
Gold Coins And A Salmon Bake
Without any assertion of accuracy or special
knowledge pertaining to the intricacies of U.S. law
and its implementation, I make the following
observation. When interpreting law there is often a
discussion of the subtle differences between the letter
of the law and the intent of the law. There's a federal
law known as the Jones Act that states something to
the effect that foreign vessels, be it planes, ships or
donkey carts can't take paying passengers from point
A to point B within the U.S. That, very loosely
stated, is the letter of the law. Apparently, the intent
of the law is to prevent foreign carriers from
competing with domestic carriers. The Coast Guard,
in its ongoing quest to protect U.S. interest,
apparently cracked down on the Endeavour for
charging voyage crew members for their passage on
various legs of the ships itinerary along U.S. coastal
waters. Rumor has it, they actually threatened a cease
and desist order to curtail the Endeavour's activities.
Don't get me wrong, having personally been rescued
at sea while on a disabled sailboat, I have the utmost
respect for the skill and tenacity of the Coast Guard.
However, in this case of whether we are paying
passengers or working crew, I think the vigilant
Guard has overstepped its bounds. Did it not occur
to these officials that when it comes to the spirit of
the law: The Endeavour isn't in any way competing
with other domestic, commercial passenger carriers
while it goes on its way reenacting James Cook's
historic eighteenth century voyage? Well, to the
credit of the concerned parties, a compromise was
struck. All payments made by the voyage crew to go
on board and participate in this historic and
educational experience were returned to us, and we
in turn had the option of making a financial donation
to the Endeavour Foundation.
So, before disembarking at Gray's Harbor —
I've always liked that word and now I've actually
gotten off a bark — the entire crew assembles below
deck where Captain Blake awards each of us with a
beautiful certificate attesting to the fact that we have
crewed on the H M Bark Endeavour, listing the
pertinent ports and dates. He also distributes a
whimsical map portraying the course of our voyage,
including statistics of distance covered and the fact
that we were under sail 54% of the way. This
document was a combined creative effort of second
mate Jason and two artistic,crew mates. Jay and,
Rich. Finally, to satisfy the requirement of payment
for our services, the Captain presents each crew
member with a shiny, new Australian gold coin.
Much of my second voyage — from Gray's
Harbor to Victoria B.C. -- is encased in gray skies
and fog with little wind. The final tally will be a mere
27% of the voyage under sail. But none of these
factors dampens my enthusiasm, nor that of my new
set of mates. One effect of the gray days is that our
focus is turned inward to the ship's operation and
less outward to the stars and far horizon. However,
there are plenty of sublime incidents to keep things
interesting. At one point Helen, once again my
captain o' top, this time for the foremast watch, calls
us to our muster station. We are facing toward the
starboard side of the ship when Richard shouts,
"Wow! did you see that, a whale jumped clear out of
the water"? He is facing the port side, to our backs,
and for an instant we assume he is messing with our
minds. Nevertheless, we turn in unison just in time
to see a repeat performance. It's a stunning sight to
witness such a magnificent creature propel its
enormous body entirely out of the watery realm to
hang suspended in midair for a magical moment with
a shimmering moon as a backdrop.
Those who are familiar with Pacific
Northwest ocean waters know the late summer
advent of phosphorescent plankton. It envelops
anything moving through the water in a sheath of
luminescence. This makes bow watch in the wee
hours of night a transcendent experience of a singular
magnitude. Not only is the bow wake transformed
into a psychedelic light show, but it becomes a
surfing haven for porpoise who frolic about and sing
in a chirping voice. Occasionally, holes open in the
clouded night sky allowing a few stars to shine
through. With the diesels churning away, I steer the
ship by fixing on a star twinkling through the
rigging, referring to the compass to confirm our
course. Under sail we can steer the ship so as to
maintain our relative angle to the wind. While the
diesels propel us we move through the water like a
cumbersome, snub nosed bathtub pushing through
the heavy swells, but with the billowing sails flying
we gain lift and the ship itself as well as the crew
respond with elation.
Geoff has warned us to avoid certain things
while we go about the business of sailing the ship.
One of these is to not push a particular bottom as it is
satellite linked and will set off a world wide distress
signal and search and rescue effort. A false alarm can
be a very expensive mistake. However, one day after
notifying the proper authorities and all ships and
planes in the area, the permanent crew shoots off a
dozen or so date-expired emergency Hares. There are
a few fishing boats nearby, but having heard the
radio announcement that this is only a drill they enjoy
the fireworks display along with the rest of us.
The Straits of Juan dc Fuca are notorious for
their rough waters and heavy tidal flow. They are
also a major shipping lane serving the port cities of
Washington State and BriUsh Columbia. We sight
Neah Bay, at the mouth of the straits, just before
dusk on the fifth day of our voyage. By nightfall we
are engulfed in a dense fog, limiting our visibility to
a mere two hundred yards. After serving a turn at
sounding the ship’s fog horn, a six second blast
every two minutes, Jason as ofticer of the watch
sends me below to the chart room to relieve the
crewman at the radar screen. I'm given a brief
refresher course on radar watch duty and then lei t
alone. Within minutes a blip appears on the screen
seven miles out and I scurry up to the helm to inform
Jason. Together we return below where he mans the
radio to contact the Canadian navigational control
authority. It turns out to be a large freighter bean ng
down on us and since we're cruising with diesel
power we show a white running light. If we were
under sail we'd be showing green and red lights
indicating that we have right of way. It takes only
twenty minutes to close the distance between us and
the freighter refuses to yield its course, coming way
to close for comfort, well within our limited range of
eye sight.
The fog lifts a bit and the wind picks up
enough to warrant setting sails for a while, but this
proves to be short lived and we go aloft to again furl
the sails in anticipation of reaching Sooke harbor
sometime after daybreak. The wind shifts, now
coming straight at us and kicking up a good sized
swell. This makes for a lot of "rock n roll" as we
strain to hang onto the yardarm and haul in the heavy
topsail. We're scribing quite an arc against the night
sky and once Helen is satisfied that the sail is secure
we cautiously step off the rat line and descend the top
shroud to the battle platform half way up the mast. At
this point one of my watch mates finally feeds the
fishes - if you get my drift - and the stench sparks a
chain reaction. Most of us, despite our best efforts at
restraint, join in the "hurling contest". Fortunately,
most of our watch crew is aloft rather than down on
the deck and nobody gets a shower. However, the
battle platform is transformed into a skating ring of
slime and we make haste to descend to the weather
deck lest we slip off to oblivion.
The next morning we motor into a beautiful
and well protected bay where lies the charming town
of Sooke. A flotilla of varied crafts escorts us to the
inner harbor. There are long boats from around the
northwest that have assembled for an annual series of
combined rowing and sail races, fishing boats,
pleasure crafts and four long dug out canoes with
intricate carvings and paintings on their hulls. These
i
are being paddled by members of the local Indian
Band (tribe) including relatives of Jennifer, a young
woman who has been part of our voyage crew. Once
we have set our anchors we shuttle ashore where we
are welcomed by townsfolk and Indians. The Chief
presents Captain Blake with a hand carved mask of
great beauty and he in tum presents the Chief with a
special canoe paddle. Indian dancers in full costume
perform, and drumming and prayers are offered.
Following this the entire ships company is treated to
a fantastic salmon bake before some of the crew slips
away to find the nearest pub.
We hav e three days in Sooke and some of us
accept the town’s hospitality by taking a guided tour
of a delightful historical museum packed with
artifacts from the local Indians and early European
settlers. With great civic pride our guide also shows
us a rather derelict looking remnant of a shipyard that
once served a thriving fishing industry, and a town
park that doubles as a venue for an annual timber
festival. On one drizzly day six of my mates and I
rent bikes and take a drenching thirty mile ride along
an erstwhile railroad track.
Victoria and the end of our voyage awaits us
after one more day of motoring. As we approach the
city Geoff calls me aside to say that I am definitely
on for the voyage to Hawaii and he expresses
confidence that I'll be going on to Fiji and New
Zealand as well. I'm stoked as we enter Victoria
Harbor to the greetings of thousands of onlookers
lining the shore and following along in boats. We
blast our cannons and the harbor fireboat shoots
arcing jets of water into the air as we proceed to
dock. Once our mooring lines and gangplank are
secure Anthony, Dougal, Paul, Jordan and Richard
live up to their reputations by wrestling Dominique to
the deck and then throwing him overboard to
celebrate his twenty-sixth birthday. As the drenched
fellow climbs back up the ships ladder his mates
dump a bucket full of baking flour on him, thus
creating a glue monster who is again pitched
overboard. When Dorn finally regains the deck the
curs bind his wrist and string him up to the main
staysail block where they stuff his pants with cooked
spaghetti and fresh seaweed. If anyone asks on the
ocean voyage, I think I'll say that my birthday is on
the thirtieth of February.
Bob Rice’ s Grande Endeavour w ill continue next month.
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