Mission to Haiti: The Opening Chapter by Mariah Warren

So, there's no place to start but the start, and that's where I'll begin. This is a first draft, and also a personal account, so just expect it to be a little rough and occasionally vague. Sometimes on a boat when the going gets rough and shit starts breaking, a wise crew member just hunkers down and doesn't ask a lot of questions. Like, only one: What can I do? So in some of my accounts, I'll describe situations through a very narrow lens: this is what I think went wrong, and this is what I was doing. I hope that anyone else who was there will feel free to correct me, or add the view from their lens.  We were twelve people on a boat, and on any boat, there's human drama. Okay, maybe not on unmanned (emasculated?) submarines, but otherwise, my point holds. I'm not going to focus too much on the soap opera aspect here--who hated whom, who flirted with disaster or dismissal or each other. Wanna know? Too bad. Wait for the expose novel. Or maybe a reality show: Real World--Tall Ship Edition. In the fishing community, we jokingly call the soap opera of boat life "As the Gurdy Turns." Mostly, I just don't want to use this venue to have the last word. We worked our asses off, we got the mission done, and along the way we occasionally pissed each other off--but most importantly, we got it done.


So, here's the start. Kim Carver heard about the first mission to Haiti on the Liberty, and posted
a mention on Facebook. And I was in Ketchikan. Need I say more? Wait, I'm sensing some blank looks from the audience. I was in Ketchikan, Alaska, okay? In January. Visiting a friend whose heat had been turned off, in Ketchikan where the wind screams down Tongass Avenue and throws icy grit in your face. And I would have wanted to venture off a-sailing in any case, but I was cold & sunlight-deprived & had grit in my eyes. And it just sounded suspiciously like something I would do, so I helped fate along by emailing the ship's captain. Unfortunately, that first trip aboard Liberty was filled already with aid workers and photographers and similar dangerous types (joking, jeez). But when round two came around, different story. I had actually met and worked with Kim on the Lady Washington, and she was willing to recommend me to Captain Jared; we struck up a series of phone and email conversations, and he offered me a place on the boat. The Liberty, that is. Dun-da-dun-daaaaa.

Almost two weeks later, following a long string of airports and three nights without sleep, I landed in Fort Lauderdale. Jared picked me up at the airport, driving a van full of boat parts, power tools, and rollicking canines. Well, only two, but quite accomplished in the rollicking department. And Jared in a similar state--a little frantic, a lot hyper, bouncing off the walls but leashed to the phone--even on the ride back to Miami, his cellphone never stopped ringing. He just balanced the phone with a cup off coffee, talking to me and fielding sequential phone-calls while piloting the van through heavy traffic. Occasional rebukes to the dogs, who were hassling over the space on my lap. Shifting gears, shifting personas, a hobo jumping between trains of thought--and I thought: This bodes well, for a captain. the hub of our expedition, a consummate multi-tasker. This bodes well for the trip.

I was the first to arrive outside of the core crew, and I wandered through those first introductions in a fuzzy, sleep-deprived haze. First Justin, the chief mate and Jared's brother, who was stepping off the boat as we stepped aboard: looks like a movie star gone punk-rock; tattooed and pierced, loves horror movies and heavy metal, soft-spoken and sharp-witted and beloved by animals and small children. And the rest, in no particular order: Tino, hard-partying sailor's sailor, would provide our link to the Halie and Matthew. Lovely Mallory, senior deckhand and Justin's girlfriend, resembling nothing so much as some fantasy-game avatar with her long whips of dreadlocked hair, bright blue eyes and twin hoops in her lower lip, like tiny silver fangs. And the First Family of the Liberty, the owners and their two children, who remind me of some sea-faring version of the Cleavers (but with a trendy edge): mild-mannered Phillip, who morphs into Mr. Incredible when the chips are down (wait, you'll see); Sharon, graceful and stable as a tight-rope walker; and like a tight-rope walker, so smilingly sure-footed that you can hardly believe she's balancing, like, a sofa and a bicycle and five clowns juggling chainsaws. Amazing. Their two children, I have no doubt, will either save the world or take it over by force...Fortunately, their powers seem to be oriented toward the good. Bright and personable; too clever by half. I like to attribute it to being homeschooled, since they seem like good company to keep. All in all a hardy crew, and cheerful at that: everything was so uncertain then--the funding, the schedule, the plan at large--but one thing seemed quite certain in everyone's mind: that the mission to Haiti would happen, and that it would be a great success.

I learned the ship first in bits and pieces: that initial view of her, laying alongside the main pier by a sign advertising sunset sails; then a half-tour, galley and head (the vital stuff!) and a walk along the deck...all seventy-eight feet, freshly painted and ready for the sea. After months of repairs and re-rigging, sanding and scrubbing and tuning, the schooner Liberty was poised for action. I napped for a couple of hours below deck, slowly swimming up from the foggy depths of sleep deprivation. Overhead footsteps hurried and hatches slammed. A tight ship, a tidy ship, just touches to finish.

A few days earlier, Jared warned me on the phone that I should have travelled sooner--I was going to miss all the boat work. I think I squeaked, "Jinx!" and ran to knock wood on behalf of the mission. At least, I hope I did. I should have.  

PLEASE VOTE

OK, PEOPLE! No matter where you live in the world, today you have the power to promote maritime culture in Seattle by SIMPLY VOTING ONLINE for one of these boats to win a grant.

If you are already familiar with the vessels below, then go HERE , pick a username and password (no other hoops to jump through to sign up!), and find the vessel and click on it to vote.

If another program looks like it's in the lead, DO NOT assume that your vote is pointless. Around a dozen of the top programs will get funding. We have to at the very least make sure that Adventuress and Arthur Foss are in the top 10.

Schooner Adventuress


Tug Boat Arthur Foss

Nova Scotian Sailor

"I struggled to figure out where we were, and constantly fearing we were on the verge of hitting bottom. My brain managed to organize all the lights into two possible channels, but I was at a loss as to which one I should follow. I looked up, and, no joke, a shooting star streamed directly down one of the two perceived channels. Good thing I believe in signs."


Check out this great sailing blog by Laura McCrossin 

Engine Room Volunteering Opportunity:

Joe V. Peterson:

Presently, since 2007, OIC c1944 xUSN 202, xUSCGC WMEC 202 COMANCHE, 143' ocean-going tug, the last of her class and one of the largest tug in the Puget Sound. Still crusin with original WW-II vintage equipment. Volunteers welcome, no experience needed! Check out Tug Comanche on FaceBook

Historic Naval Ships Visitors Guide - USCGC Comanche

www.hnsa.org

Length: 143 feetBeam: 33 feet, 10 inchesDisplacement: 860 tonsDraft: 13 feet, two inchesSpeed: 13 knotsPropulsion: 2 - Cleveland V12-228A diesel-electric engines, 4-blade single screw.Complement: 7 officers, 42 enlistedArmament: one 3"/50 gun, two twin 40mm guns

16 hours ago · Comment ·  · Share · Report

Jack Tar Magazine 

Hey Joe can people volunteer in the engine department?

5 hours ago · 

Tug Comanche 

Absolutely.... fantastic engine room... it's big, just over two decks deep, with great vintage equipment and a work bench area, too. And when we are underway we need folks to stand engine room watch. See pictures of the engine room in our album. They are some of the oldest operating Cleveland V-12 278A's still going. Our engineering staff are experts, some having served in that very same engine room in the Coast Guard or on Modoc, plus Mr. Tom Payne, an authority on old engines, including steam (but we don't have steam.) And we have over 13,000 spare parts, some of it still in packages from WW-II as well as hundreds of blue-prints and manuals.

Cold Is The Sea - My Kind of Maritime Art

Thanks to Cold Is The Sea for this awesome piece he did for Jack Tar. I was going to save it for my next cover but I'm not sure how soon another hardcopy will be printed, and I needed to share this with everyone!

http://coldisthesea.blogspot.com/