STUDENT ENTRY

My bare feet slapped the pavement as we strolled through the rain. Spirits were high as we laughed and joked, approaching the pan yard. A warm glow emanated from beneath the roof of the yard, and we could see steel pans littering the arena, empty oil tubs lining the walls. The men were tuning pans, loosening up their arms, legs, and ears before practice. We shuffled in, not at all sure of what to expect. The men gave us warm smiles as they took their positions at the pans. Not a word was spoken. Then, with a gesture from the conductor, the symphony began. I cannot recall what song they first played, but I so vividly remember the joy that struck me. My face lifted, and the tired ache from hiking the previous day floated away from me. The loud, overpowering flood of notes commanded my body: dance. The evening grew to night, and the stars grew brighter, so they played on, smiling and laughing between songs. Band members came and went, and my classmates stepped in to participate here and there. As our time to leave approached, they handed over the drum sticks to us, and so patiently showed us each note, each rhythm, each pan. And so we played, laughter rose with the chaotic melody that protruded. As we left, we thanked them each for their time and patience, and continued on our way, steal pan rhythm still echoing in our chests.

Iyla, Brattleboro, Vermont

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STUDENT ENTRY

We are about ready to leave the port. The mainsail is set to keep us into the wind, like a weathervane. The mate of the watch gives the call “hands to haul the anchor.” The command is repeated at different points of the boat. Wooden bats that give us leverage are slipped into place and we say “ready to heave around.” The mate gives us the go ahead and we start to work. The “click, click, click” is monotonous. Sometimes we sing bits of songs, strike up conversation, but soon we are too winded to talk. We swing the bats up and down, up and down, again and again until the mate says “ring one bell!” That means the anchor is off the bottom of the ocean. Depending on the clarity of the water, “two bells” might come soon or late. It means the mate can see the anchor and it is clear. We heave around with alacrity because we know that “three bells” will soon be struck. “Three bells” means the anchor is out of the water and cranked in all the way. The anchor is lashed horizontally to the gunnel and away we sail!

Peter Wieser, Lenord Town, Maryland

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STUDENT ENTRY

If you asked me to tell you about the most beautiful sailboat I have ever seen, you might expect me to describe the modern, large, fancy floating piece of fiberglass that people sail around these days. The most beautiful boat that I have ever seen is a classic little boat. She is handmade, five years old, white hull with red accents, and only has only a main sail and jib. She is a sloop built by brothers in Carricou, an island rich with traditional boatbuilding history.

In Carricou we studied the history of the sloops: how they are made and what they are used for presently and in the past. A local named Uncle Cee, also the captain of the sloop I described earlier, was kind enough to take us out on his fishing sloop to show us what traditional sailing is like for the people of Carricou.

I am so grateful for the experience. Ripping through the water, sitting on the cabin top, getting splashed by waves and watching the crew of thee sail that little sloop was a high moment for me. Seeing experienced and understanding their love for the water, their sloops, and what they do every day really made me gain an appreciation for sailing. I will never forget the feeling of being unstoppable as we soared through the water and how much we all laughed as the waves kept washing over the side onto me. Carricou, by far, has been one of the highlights of our voyage. I am beginning to really understand how lucky I am to be here.

Patricia, Brooklyn, New York

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STUDENT ENTRY

Carricou

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GREETINGS FROM TRINIDAD

March 10, 2012

Dear Family and Friends,

Greetings from our Southern-most port stop of our voyage and the northern extent of the Andes, Trinidad. We are clearing out of customs this very moment to leave Trinidadian waters, so I need to keep it brief and just pass on a few tidbits.

Our last port stop to Carriacou was rather pleasant. During the first week of our semester voyage, we caught wind of the traditional boat building activity currently going on in Carriacou. We were inspired to meet the remaining Carriacou sloop builders face to face. Word was sent ahead that we were sailing their way, and upon our arrival to Windward, Carriacou, we were welcomed by the small boat building community with open arms. (See Zack’s posting about our visit for an account of our visit with the sloop builder, Alwin, for more details). We even were fortunate enough to go on a day sail on one of the working fishing sloops from Windward with the boat builder and captain, Uncle C. Carriacou was also a good place for us to focus on our academic coursework during heavy rains; explore the nearby coral reefs using our masks and fins; find ourselves in paradise on the secluded and postcard perfect Anse la Roche beach; and kayak through mangrove swamps in the Oyster Bay Marine Protected Area. Friday night we even had the opportunity in Tyrell Bay to socialize ashore and dance to live string band music.

Sunday morning we hauled back the anchor and got underway for Trinidad. By Tuesday we were on Port of Spain’s waterfront eating a variety of tasty West Indian food and drinking soursop smoothies at the well-known, “Breakfast Shed.” Since then, one thing has led to another and all of the sudden we must cut our ties to shore. In addition to eating delicious rotis and bakes, we have visited Hindu temples; watched hundreds of Scarlet Ibis’s roost in the mangroves of Caroni Swamp; hiked along a stunning stretch of Northern coast line in stands of Mora rain forests; partook in a special celebration of the Hindu celebration of color, Holi; joined in a steel pan band practice at a nearby Trinidadian pan-yard; spent a day at the Asa Wright Nature center; and enjoyed the waves, beach and bakes of Maracas Bay. Once again, people have generously shared their time, energy and life experiences with our group during our stay.

Student letters home were postmarked this morning. Hopefully you will receive these notes in your mail boxes in the near future to learn more details about some of these recent excursions listed above. We will post more pictures and words during our next port stop.

This upcoming passage will be the furthest of our trip so far and the students are also entering a new phase on watch standing: Junior Watch Officers.

We hope all is well with each of you and we will be in touch.

Best Regards,

Christine Simpson

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STUDENT BLOG ENTRY: CARRIACOU SLOOPS

On our first day ashore in Carriacou, we had a nice tour of the island. We left from the pier and drove up one of the six major streets on the island (they were barely big enough for two cars to pass). Our driver pointed out the local furniture shop, which was an open building with a few big tools and stacks of lumber all around. Most of the lumber is mahogany, local to the island. Our driver then took us the highest point in Carriacou (it was only 945 feet above sea level), where we could see everything. There was a hospital there, which was built on a high point to blow away mosquitos during a malaria outbreak… The people in the hospital have a nice view.

We then went on a search for a man named Dave and found him walking down the road with his daughter. Dave took us down the road to see a local man, Alwin build a fishing boat. We heard about the boat builder from a photographer named Alexis Andrews in English Harbor. Alexis has been doing a movie project about the Carricou sloops to record and pass on the knowledge of the few remaining boat builders in the area. When the bus stopped next to two rickety houses, I couldn’t figure out why. Then I saw it: two logs spread out on the lawn and the frame of a small sloop. I love boat building, and I know a lot about it, so I was excited. Dave introduced us to Alwin, a kind man in his fifties. He got into boat building after a fishing boat he was working on sank. He was one of the only survivors. This chilling experience lead him to boat building; he wanted to understand how boats work and make them more seaworthy. Alwin showed us the project which will take him about six to eight months of finish, working alone. This amazed me because he only used a chisel, clamp, chainsaw, straight edge and hammer. Even with these tools, the work looked perfect. He used local wood: white heart for the keel and white cedar for the frame, but imported the wood for planks from another island. We didn’t want to hold him up longer, so we left and spent the rest of the day at the most beautiful beach I’ve ever seen.

Zack

Newburyport, MA

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