A philosophical ramble from an undergraduate chemist
Just
as every drop of rain that has ever fallen from the sky has made its way out to
the sea, so too does the ocean call out to the blood of a certain few. This is not the call heeded by the sun
bleached surfer or the bronzed beach babe; it’s the call of the sound of the
wind through rigging and the scent of salt breezes.
Towards the end of last year a
terrible set of circumstances unfolded and later climaxed in my life. Instead of facing up to these problems I
decided to take the clichéd route and ran away to sea; for the sea turns no
soul away. For most of my life I’ve been
a square peg in rooms filled with round holes; the sort who would attend a
‘looking out of place’ convention and be asked “What are you doing here?” But in this environment, fitted in like a
foot in a glove.
Now for the ship? It wasn’t a yuppies’ yacht, smelly sheep ship
or crud encrusted cargo carrier but Western Australian resident tall ship, STS
Leeuwin.
There is a romantic elegance surrounding a tall ship, for they have a
type of hypnotism. They are so much more
than an inanimate form of transport.
They are living, breathing entities.
For there is no logical way of explaining why it’s one of the best things
I have ever done. Abruptly you are
woken, just before midnight to a gentle whisper of “You’re on watch”, though it
seems that your eyelids haven’t yet fully closed or your head touched the
pillow. You clamber into a set of
clothes (cleanliness somewhat suspicious) as quietly as possible, so not to
wake the five other souls sharing your few square feet of cramped cabin. Why?
All so you’re ready to fight fatigue, cold and seasickness for the next
four hours, all for the good of the ship.
So why then do we do it? No sailor I’ve ever met has been able to give
me a straight answer. The usual response
is generally an awkward silence. I too cannot give you a straight answer. All I can tell you is that all the negatives
fade into oblivion when you get to the good times.
Don’t get me wrong, the aforementioned, that’s all still awful. But standing on deck in the early hours of
the morning, a hundred miles of the coast, surrounded by only an infinite
number of stars and the great ocean; without a trace of civilisation or the
outside world as far as the eye can see.
Or when you’re tearing along at eight or nine knots under full sail,
being moved only by the power of the wind.
At these times I can’t imagine wanting to be in any other place in the
world.
“So how can I share this
wonderful experience?” I hear you cry.
Well, before you can join the ranks of the volunteers, you’ll first have
to do a trainee voyage. Don’t be afraid
it’s base level entry. All the knots,
lines and skills will be covered thoroughly over the seven days.
Although the only “free” thing
about the voyages is the wind that powers them. Don’t be deterred by the cost. There are a
wide variety of scholarships available if required which can cut your ticket
price in half. So send in an application.
What is there to lose?
The ship does 19 voyages
annually most voyages start and finish from Fremantle. The ship also visits
Bunbury, Busselton, Geraldton and Monkey Mia.
The voyages run January to December so chance has it that you’ll be able
to work one into your schedule.
Although my experience is
relatively limited (six voyages and counting) I have never come across anyone
who could say that they got nothing out of the experience. Every voyage is greatly different from the
last. Just as you can never step into
the same river twice, for fresh water will
constantly wash over you, the same is with Leeuwin; for its decks are
constantly awash with fresh faces.
I can’t say that the transient
life of a seafarer is for everyone, but I also can’t imagine anyone who gazes
out to sea and sees a tall ship heading under full sail and not smile a little
to themselves. For these redundant
creatures of a bygone age now take the same ranks as steam locomotives, penny
farthing bicycles and other superseded forms of transport which can bring a
tear to the eye and a lump to the throat and lead us to question whether
technology took the right turn.
I can’t recommend this enough,
even if it’s just a one off thing. And
if you’re worried about seasickness?
Don’t worry I get it pretty bad myself, so I’m always medicated up to
the Plimsoll line. So throw yourself in
there, I’m know you won’t be disappointed.
Fair winds and plain sailing.
[Hermoine, 22 - Voyage Trainee]
