Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Mary Day
Day 2: Hells Half Acre Island, Stonington to Pulpit Harbor, North Haven
Ben McCanna
Captain Barry takes a dip.
(page 1 of 3)
Relaxation is a mysterious thing. At a glance, it seems rather simple: combine a peaceful setting with a span of unencumbered time, and relaxation should theoretically ensue. But relaxation isn't formulaic; the mixed ingredients don't always catalyze.
I am especially bad at relaxing.
It's a bluebird day over Penobscot Bay: sunny, warm, not a cloud in the sky. I started the day in a rowboat with a fellow passenger named Richard. We'd both hoped for a solo excursion, but when a deckhand put us in the rowboat together we didn't complain. We weren't going any place special; we both just wanted to row around our anchorage and perhaps circumnavigate one of the nearby islands.
Richard took the first turn with the oars. He was a strong rower, which surprised me. Richard is a middle-aged man from New Jersey who at first seemed like he'd be more at home in a late-evening Teamster's meeting or an all-night poker game than sitting in a small boat in Merchants Row at 8:00 in the morning. It turns out, however, that Richard had been a whitewater rafting guide during his college days and hadn't lost his knack for rowing. He guided the boat smoothly over the glassy water alongside the sun-baked shore of Bold Island.
When it was my turn to row, it was clear I was supremely less skilled. In my hands, the rowboat spun in circles, the oars popped out of their locks, and we made little headway.
When I finally wrestled the boat into a tentative groove, Richard surprised me again.
"Mind if I chant?" he asked.
"Not at all."
And so Richard chanted in low, meditative tones, while I muttered curses each time the oars popped out.
Posted on Tuesday, June 17, 2008 in Permalink
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Reader Comments:
Hi Ben!
Gaila from the Mercantile here. It is always fun to see what one has experienced in print. What separates the writers from the dilletantes is the ability to write a piece that makes one wish they were some where else, even more than where they have been. Well, it sounded good in my head...you get the idea.
Son, you write real good. I'm strangely proud of ya.
But my question is, when did you get the time? and, with all these mad interactive journalistic investigative experiences, the energy? Ah, youth.
Also, got your email (prob pix, thank you) but it went to spam and it got deleted before I could save it. Like your hat, in the ethernet drink. If you resend, I can fix that. If not, ah, well. Here is my acknowledgement, and my thanks. For the what you added to the ride, and for memorializing for us.
If anyone asks about my trip- I am sending them to you.
G,
Hey Ben,
Thanks so much for your log of your adventures on the Schooner Mary Day. It makes me wish I were there---in fact, I plan to be there later this summer. Thanks for the photos and video of Sara Andreatta.
From her mama who misses her and at the same time is very proud of her.
Susan Andreatta
Hey Ben,
one correction for your glossary--
The Forepeak is the forward-most compartment on a vessel, and often where the crew live on a schooner.
The Foredeck is the forward-most part of the deck where all of that action takes place.
Good job otherwise and best wishes.
molly
In his "Wake of the Coasters", the bible of coasting schooners and their history, John F. Leavitt Had this to say about the Maine windjammer fleet: "The dude cruisers are only maritime ghosts in an atomic world and bear exactly the same relationship to reality as dude ranches do in the old west. Their holds, once redolent of past cargoes, now smell of perfume and shaving cream faintly tinged with bilge water. Instead of tiers of lumber or carefully chocked blocks of granite, there are accomidations for the schoolmarms, bank clerks, and secretaries who make up their paying crews." Although I think Leavitt's view is a bit dismal and harsh, there is some merit to the idea that some windjammers do not accurately represent what schooners on the Maine coast were one hundred years ago. Although the only way that they can continue to be profitable, and in turn still exist, is by way of vacationing passengers, they could often times stand to look and feel a little more authentic. The Mary Day is in my opinion the epitome of Leavitt's bitter and nostalgic disdain. Although she is undeniably gracefully and a majestic vessel in appearence as well as performance, she does not harken back to the days of commercial sail. I am in no way trying to discredit her as a fine member of the windjammer community, but rather to point out that she is a different type of vessel that only resembles her ancestors in appearence and does not represent a true working vessel the way that some of the other schooners in the fleet do. I feel that there is room for all kinds of boats and windjamming experiences. Some people care more for the luxurious attributes of a newer and more passenger-friendly vessel, and that's fine. However, as beautiful and comfortable as boats like the Mary Day and Angelique are, let's not forget the fascinating history and rugged work boat accuracy that schooners such as the Lewis R. French, Stephen Taber, and Grace Bailey carry with them.
Just finished a working / training session on the Mary Day - and it was FANTASTIC!
I am retired Army with no real experience on the water before this week. The instruction was great, with just the right balance between theory and practice. The "practice" was challenging. Lots of lines to pull and more than enough chain to "flake." The food was fabulous! Captain Barry and all his crew were consummate professionals - and great people!
I'm in an office and back in my "real world" now... and wondering if that world out there is not the REAL world. Can't believe I already miss the ship and the people so very much!
Regards to all who read,
Torch