#schooner sailing cruise

[boatrentalitaly]

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[pasparal]

“Cruising Cursors” Illustrator: Yarek Waszul

[ltwilliammowett]

Glossary of Nautical Terms - as used in the late 18th and early 19th centuries

Aft: at or towards the stern or after part of a ship, the opposite of bow.

Aloft: overhead, or above.

Athwart: across.

Bank: a rising ground in the sea, differing from a shoal, because not rocky but composed of sand, mud or gravel.

Becalmed: to halt through lack of wind.

Bow: the foremost end or part of a ship, the opposite of stern.

Bowsprit: a large mast or piece of timber which stands out from the bow of a ship.

Burthen: the older term used to express a ship's tonnage or carrying capacity. It was based on the number of tuns of wine that a ship could carry in her holds, the total number giving her burthen.

Chase, to: to pursue a vessel in wartime with the aim of capturing, acquiring information from her, or destroying.

Colours: the name by which the national flag flown by a ship at sea is known, used to determine nationality.

Dead reckoning: a system of navigation where the position of a ship is calculated without the use of any astronomical observation whatever.

Fair wind: a wind favourable to the direction a ship is sailing.

Fathom: a measure of six feet, used to divide the lead (or sounding) lines in measuring the depth of water; and to calculate in the length of cables, rigging, etc.

Fore: the forward part.

Hail, to: to call to another ship.

Helm: the instrument by which the ship is steered, and includes both the wheel and the tiller, as one general term.

Jib: a triangular sail set by sailing ships on the boom which runs out from the bowsprit.

Jury-mast: a temporary makeshift mast erected to replace a mast that has been disabled or carried away.

Jury-rudder: a makeshift arrangement to give a ship the ability to to steer when she has lost her rudder.

Keel: the lowest and principal timber of a wooden ship - the single strongest member of the ship's frame.

Knot: the nautical measure of speed, one knot being a speed of one nautical mile (6,080 feet) per hour. As a measure of speed the term is always knots, and never knots an hour.

Landfall: the discovery of the land.

Land-locked: sheltered all round by the land, so that there is no view of the sea.

Lead: an instrument for discovering the depth of water, attached to a lead-line, which is marked at certain distances to measure the fathoms.

Lee: the side of a ship, promontory, or other object away from the wind; that side sheltered from the wind. It is the opposite side to windward.

Lee shore: a coastline on to which the wind blows directly - consequently it can be dangerous as the wind tends to force the sailing ship down on it.

Leeward: with the wind; towards the point to which the wind blows.

Letter of Marque: a commission issued in Britain by the Lord High Admiral or Commissioners of the Admiralty authorizing the commander of a privately owned ship to cruise in search of enemy merchant vessels. The letter of marque described the ship, her owners and officers, the amount of surety which had been deposited and stressed the necessity of having all prize vessels or goods seized condemned and valued at a Vice Admiralty Court for the payment of 'prize money'.

Lie-to: to prevent a vessel from making progress through the water - achieved by reducing sail in a gale. The objective is to keep the vessel in such a position, with the wind on the bow, as to ensure that heavy seas do not break aboard.

The Line (or 'Crossing the Line') Sailing across the Equator. Nautical tradition where seamen celebrate the crossing of the equator by dressing up and acting out a visit by King Neptune. Those who have not previously crossed the line are summoned to the court of Neptune for trial, followed by a ritual ducking (in a bathing tub of seawater) and sometimes lathered and roughly shaved.

Mainsail: the principal sail of a sailing vessel.

Mizzen (or mizen): the name for the third, aftermost, mast of a square-rigged sailing ship or of a three-masted schooner.

Muster: to assemble the crew of a ship on deck and call through the list of names to establish who is present and accounted for.

Muster-book: the book kept on board a vessel in which was entered the names of all men serving in the ship, with the dates of their entry and final discharge from the crew. It was the basis on which victuals were issued and payment made for services performed on board.

Pintle: a vertical metal pin attached to the leading edge of the rudder; it is fitted into the metal ring or 'gudgeon' bolted to the sternpost of a vessel. This provides the means for hinging the rudder on the sternpost and allows a rudder to be swung or turned as desired (by use of the tiller); where necessary (ie. when the rudder needs to be removed or repaired) the pintles can be unshipped quickly and the rudder detached.

Port: the left-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern; also a harbour or haven.

Privateer: a privately owned vessel armed with guns which operated in time of war against the trading vessels of an enemy nation. Each privateer was given a a 'letter of marque' which was regarded as a commission to seize any enemy shipping as a 'prize'. The name 'privateer' has come to refer to both the ship and the men who sailed in her.

Prize: name used to describe an enemy vessel captured at sea by a ship of war or a privateer; also used to describe a contraband cargo taken from a merchant ship. A 'prize court' would then determine the validity of capture of ships and goods and authorize their disposal. 'Prize' in British naval history always acted as considerable incentive to recruitment with many men tempted to join the navy in anticipation of quick riches.

Prize Court: Captured ships were to be brought before prize courts where it was decided whether the vessel was legal prize; if so, the whole value was divided among the owners and the crew of the ship.

Prize Money: the net proceeds of the sale of enemy shipping and property captured at sea - these proceeds were distributed to the captors on a sliding scale from highest rank to lowest seaman.

Road or Roadstead: a stretch of sheltered water near land where ships may ride at anchor in all but very heavy weather; often rendered as 'roads', and does not refer to the streets of a particular port city but rather its anchorage, as in 'St Helens Roads', the designated anchorage for shipping located between St. Helens (Isle of Wight) and Portsmouth, or 'Funchal Roads' at the island of Madeira. (see Elizabeth Macquarie's 1809 Journal).

Quarter: (1)the direction from which the wind was blowing, particularly if it looked like remaining there for some time; (2)the two after parts of the ship - strictly speaking a ship's port or starbord quarter was a bearing 45° from the stern.

Ship: from the Old English scip, the generic name for sea-going vessels (as opposed to boats). Originally ships were personified as masculine but by the sixteenth century almost universally expressed as as feminine.

Shoal: a bank or reef, an area of shallow water dangerous to navigation. Sounding: the of operation of determioning the depth of the sea, and the quality of the ground, by means of a lead and line, sunk from the ship to the bottom, where some of the sediment or sand adheres to the tallow in the hollow base of the lead.

Sound: (1) to try the depth of the water; (2) a deep bay.

Sounding: ascertaining the depth of the sea by means of a lead and line, sunk from a ship to the bottom.

Soundings: those parts of the ocean not far from the shore where the depth is about 80 to 100 fathoms.

Spar: a general term for any wooden support used in the rigging of a ship - includes all masts, yards, booms, gaffs etc.

Squall: a sudden gust of wind of considerable strength.

Starboard: the right-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern.

Stern: after-part of a ship or boat.

Tack: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another bearing by bringing the wind round the bow; during this manouevre the vessel is said to be 'coming about'.

Tide of Flood: the flow of the tidal stream as it rises from the ending of the period of slack water at low tide to the start of the period of slack water at high tide; its period is approximately six hours.

Trade Winds: steady regular winds that blow in a belt approximately 30 N. and 30 S of the equator. In the North Atlantic the trades blow consistently all year round, from the north-east; in the South Atlantic they blow from the south-east, converging just north of the equator. The meeting of the trade winds just north of the equator created the infamous 'doldrums', where sailing ships could be becalmed for days or weeks waiting for a wind to carry them back into the trades.They were known as trade winds because of their regularity, thereby assisting sailing vessels in reaching their markets to carry out trade.

Under way: the description of a ship as soon as she begins to move under canvas power after her anchor has been raised from the bottom; also written as 'under weigh.'

Voyage: a journey by sea. It usually includes the outward and homeward trips, which are called passages.

Watch: (1) one of the seven divisions of the nautical day; (2) one of two divisions of the seamen forming the ship's company.

Wear: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another tack by bringing the wind around the stern.

Weather: in a nautical sense (rather than a meteorological) this is the phrase used by seamen to describe anything that lies to windward. Consequently, a coastline that lies to windward of a ship is a weather shore; the side of a ship that faces the wind when it is under way is said to be the weather side a ship, etc.

Weigh: to haul up.

Weigh anchor: the raising of the anchor so that the ship is no longer secured to the sea or river bottom.

Windward: the weather side, or that direction from which the wind blows. It is the opposite side to leeward.

Yard: (1) a large wooden spar crossing the masts of a sailing ship horizontally or diagonally, from which a sail is set. (2) a shortened form of the word 'dockyard, in which vessels are built or repaired.

Sources: JEANS, Peter D. Ship to Shore: a dictionary of everyday words and phrases derived from the sea. Santa Barbara: ABC-Clio, 1993.

The Oxford Companion to Ships & the Sea. (ed.) Peter Kemp. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976.

[the-golden-vanity]

@clove-pinks I am so pleased to tell you we absolutely did privateer activities on our cruise! While I didn't get video of us firing the swivel guns on our final approach into Plymouth, here's what immediately followed.

I've read about how pirates and privateers of the Age of Sail preferred relatively small vessels like sloops and schooners (note: Pride of Baltimore is a schooner) so they could slip into shallow coastal waters, where much larger naval men-of-war could not pursue them. However, nothing I'd read could prepare me for the sensation of being aboard a 93-ton vessel, with 100-foot tall masts, this close to shore. I can only imagine what it would have been like during a battle or a chase.

[clove-pinks]

The capture of the slaver 'Bolodora' [Voladora], 6 June 1829: painting by John Moore, mid-19th century.

On the morning of 5 June 1829, while cruising off the north-west coast of Cuba, HM Schooner ‘Pickle’ discovered a strange sail. This she stalked until she had interposed herself between the stranger and land. She closed in on her after nightfall. Action then commenced and after 80 minutes the slaver, as she proved, surrendered.

[kroashent]

Dracula and the Law: Who Owns the Demeter? Part I

One young law student is loudly asserting that the rights of the owner are already completely sacrificed, his property being held in contravention of the statutes of mortmain, since the tiller, as emblemship, if not proof, of delegated possession, is held in a dead hand.

Between August 6th and 9th, the doomed cruise of the Demeter comes to its tragic conclusion, finally arriving in Whitby. But what, exactly is to be the fate of the ship itself? Let's set the stage and find out.

On August 6th, a Coastguard representative spots the Demeter from the cliffside, noting its strange behaviour.

"I can't make her out," he said; "she's a Russian, by the look of her; but she's knocking about in the queerest way."

On August 8th, a dramatic and sudden storm rises in the North Sea and Dracula makes his dramatic landing in England, shrouded in fog and storm.

The wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and the remnant of the sea-fog melted in the blast; and then, mirabile dictu, between the piers, leaping from wave to wave as it rushed at headlong speed, swept the strange schooner before the blast, with all sail set, and gained the safety of the harbour. The searchlight followed her, and a shudder ran through all who saw her, for lashed to the helm was a corpse, with drooping head, which swung horribly to and fro at each motion of the ship. No other form could be seen on deck at all. A great awe came on all as they realised that the ship, as if by a miracle, had found the harbour, unsteered save by the hand of a dead man!

The Coast Guard are the first to board the ship, securing it after Dracula has left.

------------

Human civilization has always had a deep, multifaceted connection with the sea, and the rights of Maritime Salvage are one of the most complex and evolving reflections of this. Let's take a look at the history, and play around with Dracula's landing a little bit across a few posts...

[sailsonthehorizon]

#Throwback Thursday: Skittles and the North Sea

A #ThrowbackThursday blog, back to the 2019 Tall Ships Races. An annual celebration of Tall Ships and their history - exhilarating sailing, stunning cruises and celebrations across Northwest Europe. It is insanely expensive to sail on the official race legs, but that year one of the ships was making a ‘delivery voyage’ from Aberdeen in Scotland to meet the Tall Ship Races in Fredrikstad, at a fraction of the usual cost.

The Tall Ship Maybe at Liverpool. Pentax MV / Lomography Lady Grey 400

The ship in question was the 38m gaff-rig schooner Blue Clipper - sister vessel to the Tall Ship Maybe who I stumbled across in Liverpool just a couple of weeks ago. 

My friend - a fellow Tall Ship appreciator - and I boarded our vessel at Aberdeen docks. Dwarfed amongst the metallic monoliths of commercial shipping, she was a welcome juxtaposition of wooden blocks and warm ropes against the unforgiving rust stained riveted walls of the freighters. An introduction to the crew, a tour of the boat and a safety drill later, sails were hoisted and we were heading out into the North Sea.

I’ll never forget the moment exciting serenity turned into stomach churning adrenalin, as we left the shelter of the harbour walls. The brutal Northerly wind slammed into the boat beam on. Our cabin was on the leeward side, that is the side away from the wind. Our bunks were at such a crazy angle, we were sleeping on the cabin walls more than the mattress.

That was the state of play for the next two nights, three days. The ship shuddering as wave after wave hit her sides, waves crashing and foaming over her bow. There was no longer any natural light in our cabin, just a dark, gurgling, watery vortex where the sky should have been. It was a new and exhilarating emotion, to feel so safe aboard a pitching and rolling sailing ship as we forged our way eastwards. The dark depths of the North Sea below us, the sails huge and full above our heads.

I was incredibly seasick. I lived on a couple of Skittles a day and spent most of the time being thrown onto the side of the ship, as I lay in my tumultuous excuse for a bed. It was surreal. Time stood still whilst the seas thrashed beneath me. 

By the fourth day Norway was well within reach, the seas had calmed, and our cabin was filled with daylight. I crawled out of my bunk and up onto deck to discover a glorious summers day, the sea a sparkling, unbroken blue circle of peace. As if it had always been that way.

That porthole, sun on the canvas, the Tall Ships at Fredrikstad (iPhone photos)

I peeled spuds on the deck, took the helm during a moonlit night watch, and relaxed on the warm wooden deck as we glided past the Summer Isles towards Fredrikstad.

The simplistic horizon became fragmented by the indistinct masts of distant ships, growing into beautiful brigs and schooners of all sizes and nationalities as we started to gather outside the port, waiting our turn to enter the historic harbour. 

There is so much more to tell that there isn’t really the time and space for here; entering the breathtakingly beautiful port of Fredrikstad, the Tall Ships celebrations, the train journey to Oslo, terrible £25 take-away pizzas and the The Kon-Tiki Museum. The Kon-Tiki Museum is hopefully another blog for another day, as that destination had been on my bucket list ever since I first read Thor Heyerdahl’s book aged 11.

My childhood hero - yes, my childhood hero is a raft! (iPhone photos)

The Tall Ships are visiting Helsinki in 2024. I LOVE Finland! By hook or crook I’m going to get there, ideally by Tall Ship but I’ll have to find out how much health I can recover once I start the neuro-physio…

…peace out ✌️

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 40- Azare

***

Azare watched their small schooner's sails fill with wind, watched their witch swoop low over the rigging, cut stark against the blue light.

The Great Leviathan.

It filled the sea and swelled it; waves crashed up the sand, drowning the reek of burning bodies and half-swamping his Witchhunters. They backed up the beach, collecting in close tight file like they'd been trained to do, rifles and blades lowered to fight. But none of them, not Ziva, not Azare himself, had been trained for this.

He looked out, into the incandescent heart of that blue light, and saw it.

A form. A creature. His mind tried to grasp it, fought to fathom its scale. It clawed and stuttered and failed. The Great Leviathan seemed to cruise beneath the surface of the water, but at the same time it was bigger than the sea, filling it entirely: not a whale, not exactly, but the current-carved ocean too, the shape of the sky and the stormclouds, the vast rushing spill of the sea climbing in stronger and higher waves up the beach.

"Sir," Ziva shouted.

The aurora brightened, distant and then not distant, following the Leviathan. Prism light flickered down the long, smooth arc of the beast's spine; its fin parted the waves, and it arched higher than the island, scar-hewn black hide, the glistening shadow of muscle moving the vast and terrible machine that was its body. The smell of salt and storms grew stronger, a pressure against Azare's senses, the approaching god a weight on the fragile surface of Azare's mind.

Oh, Margaux, he thought, amidst the rush of wind and water and the god's form parting the sea, if only you were here to see this.

"Sir!" Ziva cried again, and grabbed him, her fingers digging into his forearm. Azare tore his eyes from the Leviathan and toward her. Her lip bled from a gash, earned somewhere in the battle. Her hair was a wind-whipped fury around her face. Her eyes reflected the blue light in sparks and glints. She was beautiful, she was terrible. All things at once. All things in balance. "You're letting them go?"

"They're not our concern," Azare shouted back. "The whale is all that matters now. Get to the longboats. We can intercept it before they do."

The longboat reared and bucked on the waves, half-swamped. Oars juddered in the rowers' hands, nearly torn from their grip. The sky swirled like a hurricane overhead, luminescent blue, flashes of too-bright stars visible through the ragged clouds. The Mistfox reared too, swaying and groaning on the swells. Wind whipped through Azare's hair as he climbed aboard. Their witch stood on deck, swathed in chains, his arms thrust outward, his eyes closed and his body shaking from the strain of keeping the winds at heel.

His eyes sprang open as Azare closed in.

"Take us out to the whale," Azare ordered. "Now."

"You feel it," the witch said. "Don't you? You feel it coming. And you're wondering if you can do what you came here to do. Such bloody work."

The witch's gaze flicked to the bolt cannon on the bow. It stood, silhouetted black against the sky, jutting over the Mistfox's prow like some great predator lunging for its prey. The twin fellfoxes shone vivid blue. Witchhunters supported the javelin crate between them, two to each side, carrying the crate steady despite the pitch and roll of the Mistfox.

"Kill a god," the witch said. "Not an easy thing to do."

Azare grabbed the witch's chains. He yanked tight, wrenching the iron collar round the witch's neck. Its edge cut into his pale skin. The witch's golden eyes sprang wide. Lightning arced and crackled between the Mistfox's masts, spirit-fire and feylight, casting an eerie glow over the rippling sails. Azare felt the thrum of power in the deck under his feet, the spatter of rain against his back as the storm strained at the witch's control.

"Take us to the whale," he snarled. "Or I pull this tighter and snap your neck."

"Ghost on your back," the witch whispered. "Claws in your heart."

"Remember your promises, witch."

A smile fluttered over the witch's face, showing the sharp points of his teeth. "And you should remember yours."

Azare's grip trembled. He shoved the witch away, and the boy stumbled, chain scraping chain, his skinny body bent nearly double under their weight.

For Estara.

Azare turned before the witch could rise and felt the pressure in the air shift. The sails lifted, swelling taut as the Mistfox met the wind. The blue light swept closer: nearly two miles out by his estimate, and nearing by the second. Valere's schooner was a black scrap on the surface of the sea, almost at the first tendrils of blue radiance.

"Ready the bolt cannon!" Azare roared. "All hands, prepare to sail, prepare for hard winds! We are all of us children of Estara, and tonight, here on the edge of the world, we honor her! There has never been greater glory. There has never been a brighter horizon than that which we fight for, you, and me, and all of us. For our king. For our empire. For Estara!"

Shouts echoed him, from the throats of his soldiers, from Ziva, her voice harsh as a bird of prey's hunting call. For Estara.

Blue light flooded the Mistfox as it plunged ahead, loosed by the witch's winds, waves turned to mist and salt spray hissing against the ship's hull. The waves were vicious; there came the crack of breaking ropes as one spilled over the Mistfox's deck, tearing free a longboat and swallowing it down, lost to the sea. Two men heaved a javelin into the bolt cannon's toothed gears, winding back the firing mechanism. It locked into place. Now the machine seemed complete, vast twin bow-arcs sweeping to a deadly, humming point.

Like Luca Valere's harpoon, Azare thought grimly, his head down against the spray as he walked the deck, calling orders.

"Sir," called one of the men at the bolt cannon, "it's ready to fire."

"Not yet." Azare narrowed his eyes. "The beast's not close enough."

"Soon," Ziva breathed at his side.

She burned with some strange fire, her body tense, her eyes wide, filled with that brilliant blue glow. Stars trembled in them- stars in the water, in the sky, Azare didn't know. The light filled the clouds, filled the sky, pulled the stars from their settings and cast them into the sea.

All things made one.

The Leviathan's back broke the surface again, an impossible expanse, scars like ravines, ancient wounds made by ancient horrors. Power pulsed in Azare's blood. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive.

Do you remember what I told you about the Great Leviathan, Severin? The same thing I told you about the world.

The sea teemed with life: Azare looked down as a vast shape cruised by and saw the ocean filled with creatures, like the Leviathan's coming had shaken out the skirts of the world and gathered all its beasts in this singular span of sea. Sharks, and flat gliding rays, and monster fish he had no name for,  entire shoals of herring winking like stars. Phosphorescent things half-flower and half-squid danced on the currents. Platefish with great crushing jaws swam inches below the surface, and even the armored gray flanks of sea-orks gleamed in the Leviathan's light. Their tusks jutted above water as they breached and snorted and shook their massive heads, venting their lungs into the air. Blow-spume spattered the decks, hot with breath and glimmering blue. The waves lifted like fortress walls, enormous breakers to shatter masts and men alike.

Gods are in balance.

Just as the world is in balance.  

Flukes rose, sliding from beneath the ocean. Azare could not look away from the Leviathan. A wound gouged a half-moon from its right fluke, edges ragged and crusted with ancient scar. He smelled it, the weird animal reek of it, heady and salty and living musk. All too real. This beast was flesh as much as it was divine.

Balance.

He remembered Luca Valere clutching his dying sister, Sirin's eyes as she stared him down, prepared to kill him, to kill herself in the doing of it.

He remembered Cereza, the princess whose death he'd engineered. A child, clinging so ferociously to life despite the curse crushing it from her.

Emotion rose, tangled like it always was, a razor snarl inside him. He remembered Alois in the corridor of Pavaloir Tower, the last time he'd seen his son alive. Alois's eyes, so like his mother's, had shone with such hope. He remembered being young with Daval, laughing, sparring, the brilliance of his friend's smile, the surety they would fight together forever. He remembered the first time he'd seen Alois, a sleeping baby, fragile and defenseless.

How the world seemed to break, then: all hopes thrown aside for this child, his son sleeping in Margaux's arms. How he'd broken the world again, and again, for Daval, for Estara, for duty and honor and loyalty, for the love of a dead woman, for all he had thought was right.

For Estara.

For Estara.

He had thought his loyalty was just, pure as Bellana's light. But it was dead inside, a devouring rot at the heart of him.

All things in balance, Severin.

"Keep her steady," Ziva cried. She strode toward the bolt cannon, the sleet soaking her curls. "No faith lost now, Witchhunters. We're so close-"

Azare reached out and caught Ziva's wrist.

Ziva jerked back and spun, wrenching her arm from Azare's grip. Her eyes narrowed. "Captain, what by all Saints-"

"Not yet," Azare said.

"What do you mean not yet? We're in range." She swept a hand toward the Leviathan. "We can take the monster down now. We can end this now, sir, in one shot. One damned shot."

"No," Azare said.

She stepped toward him, her eyes still wide, still burning blue. He took her by the shoulders. Spray rained across them as the Mistfox cleaved closer. He felt Ziva's heartbeat under her skin, the shiver of her muscles. She wanted this. She wanted to see the ocean set on fire. This was her life coming to a point, all her fury and all her pain at last made worth it.

Azare's heart blazed with love, and fear, all the things he'd once kept locked so deep inside him.   Ziva's eyes and her beautiful face were inches from his.

"I saw you," she shouted. "I saw you let them go-"

"None of that matters," Azare said. His hands found her face and held it, his fingers wound into the dense, wet tangle of her hair. Ziva's fingers braceleted his wrists. "Look at it, Ziva."

He turned her head so they both looked toward the coming Leviathan. Valere's ship was no longer visible amidst the waves.

"Look at it," Azare said again. "We can't destroy it. Not for Estara. Not for anything."

"Have you forgotten your vows? We both swore them. I swore them at the feet of Bellana herself. At any cost, sir, at any sacrifice-"

"I remember them. And I am defying them."

"Captain," Ziva said. Her chest rose and fell, her eyes shining. "We have a mission."

"Damn the mission," Azare said. He turned Ziva's face toward him again. "Do you understand? We kill it, we kill everything. All mercy. All hope. It made the world, Ziva."

Her nails dug into his wrists so hard they cut in. "How long, sir? How long have you doubted the mission?"

"I don't know. A long time, I think." Tears streaked her skin with silver. Azare stroked her face with his thumb, wiping them away. "Not long enough."

"The king-"

"Daval can have his empire," Azare said. "I'm done with it, done with his wars and his vengeance. We can leave. You, and me. We can be anything. We can be free."

Her mouth trembled. Her hands left his wrists, climbing to his chest, to his face, cupping one cheek. Her skin was so warm. A sob choked him. He needed her, needed to gather her to him, to hold her and be with her and rest, pure and sweet and unbearable. Twenty years he'd fought alongside her, watching her rise. All those years with her wasted, all of them dedicated to nothing. Soldier's oaths. War, and blood, and sand. Dead men, and fire, and children weeping in the dark. How much else had they lost, in this campaign of dust?

The blue light brightened. It cascaded. It illuminated her, glory, glory. He heard the Leviathan's song, then, shuddering from below, more feeling than sound.

Ziva heard it too. Her eyes creased, as if holding back some great strain. "You," she echoed. "And me."

"Yes. Yes."

"All this time."

"I know. I am so sorry-"

"Severin." She drew closer, her hand still cupping his face. She traced the line of his cheekbone, his lower lip. Her eyes still shone with tears, refracting the Leviathan's light.

"Severin," she said again, and he heard the rush of feeling in her voice as if for the first time. There was no more fear. All had turned to starlight inside him.

Azare pulled her face to his and kissed her. Her lips were chapped and warm against his; he tasted blood from her split lip, the rasp of scar, the softness of her skin under his fingertips. Ziva's lashes fluttered against his face, light as moth wings.

They half-parted, a bare thread of wind snaking between them. Not for long. With a soft oh she twined closer, lips parting, deeper, harder, brilliant, all of him alight.

His mouth left hers, and the wind returned, the light, the roar of the ocean. The Leviathan's song peaked, a wave of sound.

"Ziva," Azare murmured.

She smiled, and it transformed her: no hook of a grin, no reservation, just that smile like sunlight.

"Severin," she said. He felt her pulse quicken under his hands, felt another wave of whalesong, so close it shivered in her eyes. "I've loved you for so long."

Cold slid into his heart.

Azare stared down at Ziva's dark eyes, the shifting veils of blue in them, and at her fading smile. He couldn't breathe. Cold was inside him, and pain, a white spear of it straight through him. He tried to draw breath, and the pain sharpened. He looked down, between them, as heat spread under his uniform.

Her hand gripped the bone hilt of her plain knife.

Her knife.

In his heart.

He looked up at her again. Her smile was gone, her eyes wide. No tears anymore- just traces of salt lingering on her cheeks.

"But I've loved Estara longer," she said.

Whalesong rose. Azare heard it stronger than before. Dark pushed in at the edges of his vision. He staggered forward, closer to her; the knife slid deeper but he felt no pain, just pressure, just the cold of it in him. So much cold. Had it been cold before? He didn't remember. He held Ziva, her shoulders, her hands. They were slick with his blood, and red to the wrists. The world became narrow. All he saw now was her face.

She turned, knife still in him. Her hair lashed in the wind as she looked to the Witchhunters, ready at the bolt cannon.

"Fire!" she cried.

And she wrenched the knife from him, and shoved him, hard. Azare struck the gunwale and toppled over the side of the Mistfox, toward the heaving waves below.

He had no strength to resist. Ziva's face receded. He hit the water, hungry current pulling him down.

The next wave rolled over.

Azare sank, a plume of red trailing behind him. He closed his eyes. All became blue light and whalesong.

[ainews]

Schooners have long been known as the favored mode of transportation for minotaurs, the powerful and revered creatures of fantasy lore. These magnificent beings, with their bull-like heads and humanoid bodies, have always held a special place in the hearts of their human counterparts. And now, with the latest trend of mayors opting for schooners as their official means of travel, it seems that these majestic creatures are once again in the spotlight.

But why exactly are clutches (or groups) of schooners mayoral for minotaurs, you may ask? The answer lies in their shared qualities of strength, resilience, and leadership.

Schooners are renowned for their size and strength, able to withstand the tumultuous ocean waves with ease. Likewise, minotaurs are also known for their exceptional physical prowess and unmatched endurance. With their combined might, a fleet of schooners and a group of minotaurs make for an unstoppable force, capable of conquering even the most treacherous of seas.

Moreover, both schooners and minotaurs exude an air of leadership and authority. From the sleek design of their ships to the regal horns adorning their heads, they command attention and respect wherever they go. It is no wonder that mayors, who are expected to be strong and authoritative leaders, are drawn to these powerful creatures and their iconic vessels.

But beyond their physical and symbolic similarities, there is also a deep-rooted historical connection between schooners and minotaurs that makes them a natural pair. In ancient mythology, minotaurs were often depicted as seafarers, using ships to travel across the sea and establish their dominance. It is said that these creatures would frequently sail in schooners, favoring their agility and maneuverability over larger, slower ships.

And now, in modern times, mayors have once again embraced this age-old tradition, opting for schooners as their preferred mode of transportation. Gone are the days of stuffy limousines and motorcades – these leaders of today are choosing to harness the power and grace of schooners, just like their minotaur ancestors.

So the next time you see a mayor cruising through the waves on a schooner, remember that it's not just a fashionable choice, but a symbolic and historical nod to the legendary creatures that have long captured our imaginations. And with their strength, resilience, and leadership, it's no wonder that clutches of schooners are mayoral for minotaurs.

[stories-from-peter]

An Unfortunate Coincidence

When Barb and I were first married we both had good jobs and indulged ourselves in some ways. Barb had always wanted a horse and I had loved sailing ever since I was a teenager at summer camp. Barb found her dream horse and spent much of her free time riding. I found a small sail boat that came with a trailer we could tow with our little car. Barb’s family had a cabin in Point Roberts where I parked the trailer with easy access to the sea.

Thanks to a generous mother-in-law, Barb and I were able to take a trip to Hawaii when we had been married about two years. Barb’s parents took a vacation in Hawaii every year and told us all the best hotels to stay at and the best places to visit. We spent a week on Oahu swimming, surfing, and visiting all the usual tourist spots. Barb noticed an ad for windjammer cruises and suggested we sign up for one. We would get to travel on an older sailing ship like the ones that used to sail across the Pacific and Atlantic oceans carrying grain and other goods. Dinner and unlimited drinks were included in the price.

The day of our cruise we climbed on a bus full of tourists along with several other bus loads all headed for a cruise. A Hawaiian girl came on the bus and announced that the bigger ship was over booked and could some people go on the smaller ship. Barb raised her hand and volunteered. The “smaller” ship turned out to be a 90 foot staysail schooner called the Salee which at one time was the Vanderbilt family yacht. It had a solid teak hull and gold faucets in the bathrooms among other things. The Hawaiian girl escorted us onto another bus and later made sure we got seats next to the bar on the Salee. She also spoke to the captain of the Salee about us volunteering to travel on his ship.

We were under way in a short time and the bar was already open when we were seated. I was thoroughly enjoying the experience enhanced with a few drinks from the bar. I was surprised to be introduced to the captain who walked back to the bar to meet us volunteers. I was also surprised to learn he was from Saskatchewan, which is about as far as you can get from any ocean. I felt compelled to tell him I had a sailboat. I neglected to say it was 12 feet long. He invited to me to take the helm of the Salee. How could I refuse?

I managed to keep the Salee on course, aided by a few reminders from the captain, for much longer than I expected. My duties came to an end when dinner was served. Barb had been entertained watching an older couple slowly getting plastered with a steady stream of selections from the bar. Not long after dinner we heard that the woman of the couple had vomited her dinner over the gold faucets of one sink.

After two weeks we had to return home. We noticed the older couple from the cruise were on the same flight back to Vancouver. In those days security at airports was very loose. Passengers waiting for luggage mixed freely with people meeting arriving travelers. On arrival in Vancouver Barb saw her friend Sandy and her new boyfriend waiting near the baggage carousel. Barb had to tell Sandy all about our adventures in Hawaii, including the tale of the lady on the cruise. Barb pointed out the couple to Sandy just as Sandy’s boyfriend spotted his parents. To our horror we all realized that Sandy’s friend and Barb were pointing to the same people.

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[ltwilliammowett]

Admiral Schank and the “Sliding Keel"

John Schank (1740 -1823) was a British sailor who was very skilled at mechanical design and constructed a cot fitted with pulleys that allowed it to be adjusted by the person lying in it. this won him the nickname “Old Purchase”, from the navy term for using a block and tackle to gain mechanical advantage.

Admiral John Schank by John James Masquerier 1799 (x)

Schank was one of the tiny handful of sailors who made the transition from the lower deck to flag rank. He joined the Royal Navy at an early age during the American War of Independence he was placed in charge of local building of ships to battle the revolutionaries on the Great Lakes.

He was the first person in the western world to advocate the use of a keel that would slide through the centre of the boat and could be raised when not in use. This board made the ships faster, easier to manoeuvre in shallow waters and they could no longer drift sideways so quickly. On his return to England, Schank convinced the navy of the value of adjustable keels, and a number of vessels incorporating this feature, most notably Lady Nelson, were built. She was sent on a two years expedition to chart the southeast coast of Australia, and was involved in the founding of a number of settlements there, including Melbourne and Hobart. However, the sliding keels did have some problems with leakage and jamming, and for a time they went out of favour.

Ship Model, 1799 HMS 'Lady Nelson' with her three boards (x)

Captain Molyneaux Shuldham came up with some modifications in 1809. He was a prisoner of war held by the French in Verdun, but he smuggled out a model of what he called his revolving keel. It was exhibited at the Adelaid Gallery in London, where it came ti be noticed of three brothers from New Jersey, who in 1811 patented it in the US as the centre board. This was quickly taken up and vecame a standard feature on 80% of America's enormous coastal fleet. In due course American yachtsmen saw its advantages, but few British racers took it on. An accident in 1876 was a tragic setback, however, Mohawk, a 43m schooner, had her precarious 1,8m draught made safe by a larg 9,5m centre board. Anchored off Staten Island during the preliminaries of the America's Cup, she was just setting sail for a laisure cruise when she was hit by a squall. Her centre board had not been lowered and she capsized and sank; the vice commodore of the New York Yacht Club and all his guests died. More improvements came over the years, and now the centre board, based on Schank's pioneering idea of a sliding keel, is standard fitting on yachting vessels.

Dauntless and Mohawk racing, October 26, 1875, by William Yorke (1817-c. 1888) (x)

Schank himself died on 6 February 1823, fellow of the Royal Society and Admiral of the Blue. Mount Schank and Cape Schank, Australia, were named in his honour in 1800 by Lieutenant James Grant during his exploratory voyage while commanding Lady Nelson.

[convairsailingclub]

Sailing Serenity: Exploring the World of Sailboats

Sailboats, with their graceful silhouettes and ability to harness the power of the wind, have been captivating sailors and adventurers for centuries. Whether you're a seasoned sailor or a curious landlubber, Sailboat Sailing San Diego offers a unique and enchanting way to experience the beauty and tranquility of the open waters. In this blog post, we'll delve into the world of sailboats, exploring their characteristics, types, and the timeless allure that makes them a symbol of seafaring dreams.

The Beauty of Sailboats:

Sailboats embody elegance and simplicity. Their sleek lines, towering masts, and billowing sails create an aesthetic that is both captivating and timeless. From classic wooden sailboats to modern fiberglass designs, sailboats are crafted with meticulous attention to detail, blending form and function to create vessels that are as stunning as they are seaworthy.

Types of Sailboats:

Sailboats come in a variety of types, each with its unique characteristics and purposes. Here are a few popular types of sailboats:

Monohulls: Monohull sailboats have a single hull, making them the most common type of sailboat. They offer stability, efficiency, and a classic sailing experience. Monohulls range from small daysailers to large cruising yachts.

Catamarans: Catamarans have two parallel hulls connected by a deck, offering spaciousness, stability, and speed. These multihull sailboats are popular for their comfortable living spaces and are ideal for cruising in shallow waters.

Trimarans: Trimarans feature three hulls, with the main hull flanked by two smaller outrigger hulls. They offer excellent stability and speed, making them popular for racing and adventurous sailing.

Keelboats: Keelboats have a fixed keel beneath the hull, providing stability and enabling upwind sailing. Keelboats come in various sizes and designs, catering to different sailing preferences, from casual day sailing to bluewater cruising.

Sailboat Rigging:

Sailboat rigging refers to the arrangement of masts, sails, and supporting structures that enable sailboats to harness the power of the wind. Different types of rigging include:

Sloop Rig: The sloop rig is the most common rig configuration, consisting of a single mast and two sails: a mainsail and a headsail (jib or genoa).

Ketch Rig: Ketch rig features two masts: a taller main mast and a shorter mizzen mast located aft of the cockpit. This rig provides versatility and ease of handling.

Schooner Rig: Schooner rig has two or more masts, with the foremast being shorter than the mainmast. Schooners are known for their classic, romantic appearance.

Sailing Capabilities:

Sailboat Membership offers the thrill of harnessing the power of the wind and embarking on unforgettable voyages. They enable you to navigate vast oceans, explore coastal wonders, and reach secluded destinations that are inaccessible to larger vessels. With skill and experience, sailboats can handle a range of conditions, from light breezes to stronger winds, allowing you to adapt to the elements and embark on incredible sailing adventures.

Sailing Community and Culture:

Sailboats have a rich history and a vibrant community that spans the globe. Sailing culture is characterized by camaraderie, a shared love for the sea, and a deep respect for nature. From yacht clubs to sailing events and regattas, sailboats bring together people with a common passion, providing opportunities to connect, learn, and share experiences.

The Joy of Sailing:

The true essence of sailboats lies in the joy and freedom they offer. Sailing San Diego allows you to disconnect from the hustle and bustle of daily life, immersing yourself in the serenity of the open waters. It's a chance to experience the gentle lull of the waves, the exhilaration of catching the perfect breeze, and the feeling of harmony with nature.

Conclusion:

Sailboats are more than vessels; they are gateways to adventure, beauty, and a deeper connection with the sea. With their timeless elegance, diverse designs, and the ability to navigate the waters under the power of the wind, sailboats offer a unique and captivating sailing experience. So, whether you dream of leisurely coastal cruising or embarking on a daring ocean voyage, sailboats are ready to carry you on an unforgettable journey into the heart of the sea.

[dertaglichedan]

Jeff Bezos’ $500M yacht has a 246-foot support ship, Lauren Sanchez figurehead

Much like Amazon, Jeff Bezos’ $500 million superyacht offers every bell and whistle imaginable, from A to Z.

The colossal, triple-masted Koru began its career serving the world’s third richest man this week, cruising the Mediterranean around Mallorca.

The 417-foot schooner first left Rotterdam in the Netherlands for sea trials in February. Dropping anchor in Mallorca put its jaw-dropping size on full display.

It also showed the extent of Bezos’ fleet: Not only did the Koru sail into harbor, so did its support vessel, Abeona, a mega-boat in its own right, the luxurious fast-launches used to move between the two — and aerial support in the form of his girlfriend Lauren Sanchez’s personal helicopter.

Sanchez also seemingly serves the fleet’s mascot, with the Koru’s figurehead, a part of traditional large sailing ships, modeled after her.

[california-slow-take]

Midwinter is the perfect time for a voyage of discovery on San Francisco Bay. The bay and its tributaries affect everything from the weather to traffic jams. The bay gives the region its name and purpose. You could argue that without the bay there would be no San Francisco.

“The bay is full of history and great stories, from the native people to the Gold Rush, Spanish, Mexicans, Yankees and beyond to the present day,” said James Lessenger, a physician and regional historian. “And it’s a story that keeps going.”

Winter is a good time to see the bay because winter is the season of change: sunny clear days sometimes, storms and wind other days, and extreme high and low tides that both flood the shore and expose mysterious pieces of the past on the same day. The bay is always moving.

Like a lot of people who grew up in the Bay Area, I’ve always enjoyed the salt water, and sailed on the bay one way or another since I was a smaller kid than I am now. I’m not impartial.

So here are two bay stories — one a mini-cruise of discovery, the other a mystery from the bottom of the harbor.

The mini-cruise was aboard the ferryboat Argo from San Francisco to Oakland and back on a sunny winter afternoon. The Argo is sleek, clean and modern. Also near empty on a midday winter crossing. San Francisco looks at its best from the water, the city towers framed by the Bay Bridge with a foaming white wake. The Argo zips across the bay, then slows to enter the placid Oakland Estuary.

Here is global commerce up close. Six cargo ships were tied up on the Oakland side that afternoon, one sailing the next day for Hawaii, another for Japan, another loading scrap metal, others discharging cargo. Big cranes looming over the piers. On the Alameda side is a working shipyard and two seagoing tugs shepherding a barge, a reminder that 90% of everything we use comes by sea.

The ferry lands at the western edge of Jack London Square. I thought I’d stay for an hour or two, like a passenger on a cruise ship in a foreign port.

Jack London’s waterfront was clean, warm and very quiet. I stopped off at Plank’s just up the street, a combination bowling alley, restaurant and outdoor beer garden, with tables under the trees and a view of passing ships. It comes with a soundtrack — the whistles of passing passenger trains in the background. Nothing like it in San Francisco.

That’s just one of the ferry trips around. The shortest is a 10-minute “short hop” between Oakland and the island city of Alameda, the longest an hour-long ride north up the bay into San Pablo Bay to Vallejo. Some trips go to Mare Island, an old Navy base full of history. And a brewpub.

But Marin has always been my favorite destination: Sausalito, Larkspur, Tiburon, Angel Island.

I rode the ferry Del Norte to Sausalito last weekend, the time of the new moon, the Lunar New Year and the days of extreme tides. The water level can rise and fall nearly 9 feet. I took a stroll on the Sausalito waterfront at twilight, just before the last ferry back to the city.

It was a time of extreme low tide, and in the fading light, I could see the remains of a very old ship, bones and ribs and part of the bow, barely awash, sunk in the mud. It was about 60 feet long, a bit broad in the beam. It looked like a sailing vessel.

Mysterious pieces of the past surface at low tide, especially in backwater ports — old anchors, parts of deck gear and machinery, even the rusted fuel tank of the old lumber schooner Lassen, run aground at the foot of Johnson Street 90 years ago.

But this old wreck was different. It is usually invisible, underwater. But it had appeared in the twilight on the day of the new moon, like the mythical Scottish village of Brigadoon, a place unaffected by time that appears once every hundred years.

Historians say that part of the Sausalito shore was once the site of the Crichton and Arques Shipyard, which closed more than a century ago. Was this old skeleton of a ship part of that yard? Or something else? Members of the Sausalito Historical Society were consulted. No one knew for sure. “You’ve uncovered quite a Sausalito mystery,” said Jerry Taylor, the historical society’s president.

Meanwhile, farther up the bay, the very low tide on the weekend exposed what’s left of the shipways of the Matthew Turner Shipyard in Benicia. Turner, a master shipbuilder, built more than 200 wooden vessels at Benicia. Lessenger said a piece of the whale ship Stamboul, built in Massachusetts 179 years ago, also shows up at very low tide when the bay gives up its secrets.

One of Turner’s most famous ships, the brigantine Galilee, was run aground at the foot of Napa Street in Sausalito and abandoned years ago. The bones of the Galilee also reappear in low water.

“The bay is a fascinating story that keeps going,” Lessenger said.