Avast!
It is I, your intrepid heroine, returned from another week in Rockland! After taking a (very) long shower, eating some lunch and acting as cat furniture for a little while (my cat missed me) it's story time once again. Today, let's talk about the word, "schooner." The first schooner was built in 1642 in order to more effectively hunt the elusive schoon. A distant cousin of the snipe, the schoon was an agile marine mammal renowned for it's soft chartruse-hued fur. Unfortunately, due to many factors including the effectiveness of the schooner as schoon-hunting vehicle, water pollution, lack of schoon-industry regulation, dutch schoon disease and the popularity of chartruse in the fall collections of Paris designers in 1709, the schoon was declared extinct in 1740. The schooner, however, continued to be a useful boat for more pedestrian pursuits such as smuggling, blockade running, privateering and oyster fishing.
Okay, maybe not, but I like my version. In all honesty, the process of educating myself on all things nautical is going slowly. There's a lot to learn, and I'd say that if there was a list of Things One Must Know In Order Not To Look Like A Flippin' Idiot On Your Schooner, I'd know about 5% of the items on said list at the moment. (side note: if anyone has such a list, email it to me. please.) But when I get really frustrated, I remind myself of a few things:
1. This stuff is confusing. For example- a bowline (BO-lihn) is a knot. a bowline (BAU-line) is a line, which is a rope, but don't call it that. There is a different name for every scrap of wood, metal, canvas or rope (but remember, don't call it a rope, it's a line) on the entire boat and none of them make sense. Even worse, nothing is spelled like it sounds, so translating between written resources and spoken directions is difficult. Folks'll make fun of you if you pronounce "forecastle" wrong. Trust me.
2. I've been working my butt off. I haven't had much time to study anything in my off hours, because there simply aren't many of them. There's just so much stuff to be done to get ready on schedule that there isn't much spare time for education. I clean things. I sand things. I paint things. I try to remember the names of the things that I clean, sand and paint.
So all in all, I think I'm doing alright.
The fun project of the week did (of course) involve sanding and painting, but I was at least out sanding and painting the bowsprit and jib boom (long pointy nose thing on the front of the boat.) Weilding my orbital sander like a conductor with her baton, I danced blithely over chains and wires, seemingly supported by only the air itself, or perched like a figurehead of yore, restoring the appearance of my proud vessel to mint condition.
Okay, there I go with the romantic embellishments again. More accurately, I spent a great deal of hours crouched, clinging to the chains like a nautical dingleberry, realizing that not only is our bowsprit a huge pain in the ass to sand and paint, but that many people before me have realized this and thus half-assed (or in some cases quarter-assed or even sixteenth-assed) the sanding and painting, making my job much much harder. To my credit, though, it looks nicer now than it has in awhile.
I'm starting to feel like I'm actually making progress in terms of getting into shape. I don't like to weigh myself, but I feel more energetic and a tiny bit less flabby. I'm going to start rowing (at 6AM! Gah!) a few times a week starting next week- that should be tough, but definitely worth it. I have an actual suntan for the first time in years. I promise I'll post photographic evidence soon for those of you (hi Sean!) who didn't believe I was even capable of such a thing. Apparently I don't burst into flame and turn into a pile of ash when exposed to sunlight!
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Rainy day
Since I arrived in Rockland about three weeks ago, we have had absolutely beautiful weather. This has been great, as it's allowed us to get a whole lot done on the boat, but it's also kind of sucked, as every waking daylight hour (or so it seems) has been spent doing just that. On my weekends home, I've had just about enough time to do all the choir stuff that makes my mom happy and maybe do a little bit of laundry if I stay up late before getting up at 5 Monday morning to drive back here. As a result, things like getting a haircut, opening a checking account, getting new glasses, buying gear, blogging, getting my car registered in Maine, menu planning, researching food purveyors and shaving my legs have all been on the back burner for awhile.
Luckily, today the weather is absolute crap. We put in a morning's worth of work varnishing our rowboat and helping our carpenter with some big pieces of wood and were then turned loose to enjoy our "afternoon off." So far I've been able to knock a few things off my to do list, and once I work up the courage to brave the downpour and get some more things out of my car I'll be golden.
Rather than try and write about the last few weeks at any great length, here's a list of things I've learned so far:
1. The boat only seems small until you realize you have to sand and paint the entire thing.
2. If Jan says "Smell this!" the correct response is always, "No." Always.
3. Good shallots are not available in this part of the country, and it's a sign of dubious character that one would even want them.
4. A nine-year absence from the state of Maine effectively revokes one's "native" status, making me now officially "from Texas."
5. If the captain says, "Hey Ria- I've got a fun job for you!" the correct response is to don as much protective clothing as I can get my hands on before even asking what I'm about to have to do. [fun jobs to date: cleaning the bilge, powerwashing the hull (which actually was fun,) and cleaning the soot out of the charlie nobles (schooner-speak for stovepipes.)]
6. It's called a "boom" because that's the sound one's head makes when one fails to duck under it for the third time in an hour.
7. I am not in nearly as good physical condition as I thought I was.
8. It is not as easy as it looks. Ever.
9. My job rocks.
Luckily, today the weather is absolute crap. We put in a morning's worth of work varnishing our rowboat and helping our carpenter with some big pieces of wood and were then turned loose to enjoy our "afternoon off." So far I've been able to knock a few things off my to do list, and once I work up the courage to brave the downpour and get some more things out of my car I'll be golden.
Rather than try and write about the last few weeks at any great length, here's a list of things I've learned so far:
1. The boat only seems small until you realize you have to sand and paint the entire thing.
2. If Jan says "Smell this!" the correct response is always, "No." Always.
3. Good shallots are not available in this part of the country, and it's a sign of dubious character that one would even want them.
4. A nine-year absence from the state of Maine effectively revokes one's "native" status, making me now officially "from Texas."
5. If the captain says, "Hey Ria- I've got a fun job for you!" the correct response is to don as much protective clothing as I can get my hands on before even asking what I'm about to have to do. [fun jobs to date: cleaning the bilge, powerwashing the hull (which actually was fun,) and cleaning the soot out of the charlie nobles (schooner-speak for stovepipes.)]
6. It's called a "boom" because that's the sound one's head makes when one fails to duck under it for the third time in an hour.
7. I am not in nearly as good physical condition as I thought I was.
8. It is not as easy as it looks. Ever.
9. My job rocks.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Welcome!
As promised, here's the schooner blog.
A bit about me for those of you who don't know: My name is Ria, I'm twenty-something years old, and I cook for a living. I tend to be a bit of a wanderer, I'm always up for an adventure, and when I grow up, I hope to be a pirate. I spent the last few years in Austin, TX where I attended Texas Culinary Academy. For my externship, I called in a favor from an old friend of my parents who had once told me "if you ever want a gig cooking on a windjammer in Maine..." April 7th, I packed my cat and everything I own into my Saturn and drove north.
I should probably tell you at this point that the largest sefaring vessel I have ever helped operate is a canoe. In the interest of full disclosure, I'll also say that I'm about 20 pounds overweight, and while I'm pretty strong when it comes to lifting a stockpot or doing a hundred knee bends a night to reach into a low-boy, I couldn't do a pull-up to save my life.
So I went from working insane hours indoors, never seeing the sun, and going home to my cat and a couple absentee roommates to working insane hours outdoors in the sun and crashing out in a 2br apartment with 6 other schooner bums. I've got to say that so far it's a change for the better. (BTW, my cat is livin' large with my parents in southern Maine.)
With any luck, this blog will be an account of how one pudgy hash-slinger transformes into a skilled, knowledgable and fantastically fit sailor, learning many life lessons along the way. Or maybe it will end up being a comical tale of hubris and humble pie served up on a woodstove. Probably a little of both.
A bit about me for those of you who don't know: My name is Ria, I'm twenty-something years old, and I cook for a living. I tend to be a bit of a wanderer, I'm always up for an adventure, and when I grow up, I hope to be a pirate. I spent the last few years in Austin, TX where I attended Texas Culinary Academy. For my externship, I called in a favor from an old friend of my parents who had once told me "if you ever want a gig cooking on a windjammer in Maine..." April 7th, I packed my cat and everything I own into my Saturn and drove north.
I should probably tell you at this point that the largest sefaring vessel I have ever helped operate is a canoe. In the interest of full disclosure, I'll also say that I'm about 20 pounds overweight, and while I'm pretty strong when it comes to lifting a stockpot or doing a hundred knee bends a night to reach into a low-boy, I couldn't do a pull-up to save my life.
So I went from working insane hours indoors, never seeing the sun, and going home to my cat and a couple absentee roommates to working insane hours outdoors in the sun and crashing out in a 2br apartment with 6 other schooner bums. I've got to say that so far it's a change for the better. (BTW, my cat is livin' large with my parents in southern Maine.)
With any luck, this blog will be an account of how one pudgy hash-slinger transformes into a skilled, knowledgable and fantastically fit sailor, learning many life lessons along the way. Or maybe it will end up being a comical tale of hubris and humble pie served up on a woodstove. Probably a little of both.
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