Underway in the Parade of Sail. Our first job was to get the mizzen t'gallant mast out of the channels & stowed safely below decks. It's passed in through the stern window in a delicate operation. I haven't really slept, due to screaming bilge pumps & bed vibrating from the generator just below, & no one woke me for breakfast, so I'm thinking more about food than taking pictures.
No gentle introductory up-&-over at the dock like on the Rose... sails flogging in 15-20kt wind & "if anyone wants aloft instruction" we'll go up & furl the ROYAL. My brain isn't wired for heights. I hate it, but there it is. For now, I stay on deck.
We're going to IRELAND. And somehow, now that I'm aboard, it doesn't seem real. I'm here for a day or two, a few days, going to go in the parade of sail & maybe for a little ride. Not across the ocean. Surely that isn't possible, that I could find myself in the freakin' middle of the freakin' ocean on a 49-year-old wooden ship?!?!!
Hypothetically speaking, it's 2350 miles to Belfast, but that's just a line on a map between a couple of dots, & it doesn't look real either.
At least I am not sick. Yet.
Pride of Baltimore >>
We have some company the first couple of evenings but will soon be alone on the ocean.
