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July 27th, 2009 – At Sea, 70 50N 150 11W
by Zeta Strickland
(July 27): Today’s Log comes from Zeta Strickland of the Pacific Science Center, the first onboard educator to become a member of the crew aboard Ocean Watch on its voyage into the Northwest Passage and beyond. After leaving Barrow early Monday, Ocean Watc called at Cooper Island for a visit with its sole resident, scientist George Divoky, who has spent summers there studying black guillemots for the last three decades. We’ll recap our fascinating time on Cooper in tomorrow’s Crew Log.
In the meantime, Ocean Watch continues to pound upwind in stiff easterlies and short, choppy seas, the prevailing conditions and mode of travel since leaving Barrow. The full-time onboard crew is rather displeased that the weather hasn’t allowed us to introduce Zeta to the glorious joys of sailing – frankly, the current leg thus far has been a miserable, forced march – but it’s all part of the experience. To her everlasting credit, Zeta’s been a trooper, and we’d tip our collective hats to her if it were pleasant enough to take them off. In this second edition of her informal Teacher’s Log, Zeta talks about her inaugural impressions of life onboard.
A Sea of New Words
I’ve now spent my first two weeks on Ocean Watch, which vastly exceeds any of my previous time spent on a sailboat. And today we are actually sailing! (In reality we are motoring and not sailing, but movement is movement, and I have no complaints.) The past two weeks anchored outside of Barrow have allowed me some precious time to learn my way around the boat. Before we get too far out to sea, come onboard and I’ll show you what I’ve learned. For you sailors in the crowd, this will all be review; but for the folks new to sailing, like me, let’s go explore.
Let’s start up topside, on the deck. (Don’t trip over any of the ropes by your feet.) Some of those ropes (or “lines” to sailors – hardly any rope is actually called rope on a sailboat) lead to the mast, or the sails, or…well, I don’t really know yet. Once we start sailing I’ll be learning those, but for now, let’s move into the pilothouse: This is where we steer the boat. But for me this past week, this is the sunroom, the RV, the upper cabin, the porch and my napping spot. The clear plastic curtains that surround the pilothouse allow the sunlight (and warmth) in and block the wind. The result is a rather comfortable extension of the living area – we’ve had dinner here, read up here and it’s a great place to watch the world.
Okay, let’s head below now, be sure to duck and don’t hit your…whoops! Well, if it’s any consolation pretty much everyone who comes on board hits his or her head right there on the small overhang. (There’s even a sign: “All are welcome to hit head here!”) All right, let’s try again: through the door and down the stairs. (They’re not called stairs though; the entrance and staircase is known as the “companionway.” I don’t know why.)
As you go down the stairs (okay, companionway!) around the corner to the left (okay, port!) is the workshop. All our tools are here, as well a big deep freezer, and access to the engine, too. It’s a fairly warm space, so let’s hang up your wet gear here. Just forward of the shop is a desk: see it? This is the navigation and science station. We have laptops, our satellite phone and a pair of radios. Make sure the VHF-radio is set to channel 16; that’s the safety and distress channel for all boats, and everyone has their radio turned to it as a default. If we want to talk to another boat we’ll first make contact first on channel 16, then switch to a different channel to talk.
That clock? Oh, don’t worry, it looks like it’s running fast but it’s actually set to Universal Time – also known as GMT, though sailors call it “zulu” – because that’s how we record all our science observations. See? It’s 9:30 a.m. in Seattle, 8:30 a.m. in Barrow, and 6:30 p.m. in Greenwich, England, the baseline for Universal Time.
See that table to the right (okay, starboard!), beneath the bookshelf? The one with the couch all around it? That does double duty as the main worktable and dining room table. And that couch? That’s called the “settee” and it also serves dual roles: There isn’t a lot of room on the boat, so we have to get creative to store all the gear and food needed for six people for a couple of months.
Go ahead: Pull up one of those couch (okay, settee!) cushions and you will see pasta, jam, crackers, canned
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| The author discovers food beneath setee cushions. |
veggies…the list goes on and on. Food is stored in 17 different places on board, so finding anything in particular is tricky. We have a good inventory list that tells us how much of something we have, and more importantly, where to find it. (Flavoring/mustard/yellow? Three jars are under couch cushion #5! I’m told this process and system was mayhem until port coordinator Bryan Reeves came on board and sorted it all out.)
See those big orange bags in the rack over the settee? (I’m learning.) Those are the survival suits, one for each person. In an emergency (a big emergency) we’d put those on before we would have to…(is it bad luck to even say it?) abandon ship. The suit is hard to put on, and you look like a giant orange Gumby doll, but it will keep you warm and afloat in icy waters.
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| In an emergency a survival suit keeps you warm and afloat in icy waters. |
To the right of the stairs (starboard of the companionway!) you’ll go past the galley (also known as the kitchen). It has everything we need: sink, oven, stove, refrigerator, freezer and even a five-foot long spice rack. Everyone takes turns cooking (and we have some good cooks on board). Those who don’t cook clean (doing the dishes has been my main contribution so far.) Go past the galley and now you are in the very back of the boat, also known as the stern. This is the cabin for a couple of crewmembers, and yes, more storage space.
Let’s return to the companionway; there is a little hallway straight ahead. Yes, it is really narrow, but this is good. When we are really bumping around it can be hard to walk. The narrow hallway means you just sort of bump back and forth like a pinball, instead of getting thrown a long ways from side to side. Also each door, cabinet and drawer on board has a latch to keep it open, or a latch to keep it closed. Even in a little motion, unlatched doors will flap around with a frightful noise. It only took a couple days of not being able to open or close doors before I was automatically reaching for door hooks.
That little room to the left; yep, that’s my room. I’ve squished my mattress down to the foot of my bunk, and in the little gap left at the head of my bed is room for a book, my journal, and my iPod. It’s not a lot of storage space, so I also use that little cubbyhole up near the ceiling. That green cloth next to my bunk? That’s a lee cloth. In bad conditions we can tie that up; it makes a 4th wall to completely enclose your bunk and keeps you from being thrown out when the boat hits a big wave. I haven’t used it yet, but I’m sure I will!
Across the hall is the bathroom, also called the head. (Okay, it has to be said: I really don’t know why sailors can’t just call things as they are. A bathroom is a bathroom in an apartment, a house, a mansion, an apartment and a hotel… everywhere except a boat!) Anyway, Ocean Watch is quite well appointed compared to other boats; we have a shower, sink, and toilet, even a washer and dryer. (I don’t even have a washer/dryer in my apartment in Seattle!). We also have a good library on board, and half the books are in the head.
The final room is in the very front of the boat (also called the bow). This has more bunks for the rest of the crew, and storage space for much of the science equipment, as well as closet space for clothes (that’s my shelf: second from the top). Yes, it’s pretty dark in the closet; this is why there are flashlights everywhere, and why most of us have headlamps, too.
Well, that’s about it: 64-feet of storage, confusing names, and tiny dark spaces. But somehow it all works together to be this sailboat – currently, a motor-sailing sailboat – which for now is my new home. I’ll give you another tour of the sailing side of things once I learn it. You know, when we actually start sailing.
- Zeta Strickland with photographs by David Thoreson
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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