A rope full of stars

                                                                                                                                14th July 2015

Rain. It was raining a little bit this morning when I woke up. Now, the sun is shining though, well sort of shining, sort of ish. It’s not as clear a day as our night watch was a few hours ago. I was on watch from 00-04 am again. I think it’s my favourite.

During our watch we had to brace a little bit to starboard, and the sheet of the course ended up in the water. There is something about the water, so full of life, it’s burning, glowing. Quite literally. As I was pulling the rope out of the water, I couldn’t help but stop for a couple of seconds, to admire it.

The full length of it was covered in glowing algae, bright blue green little lights, and I thought to myself, if ever I was to haul on a rope made of stars, it would look no more beautiful than the simple sheet of the course, comparable to the belt of Orion itself. later i was washing my hands in a bucket, and as i was stirring the water, the little lights appeared again, thousands of them, and for a few minutes, i was holding my own little bucket of stars.

I have seen the algae almost every night for quite a while now. When I look over the caprail I can see them floating by, mirroring the night sky. A sea full of stars, a bucket full of stars, a rope full of stars.

Yesterday I was organizing the paintlocker, for whatever reason. I really enjoyed it though, which is odd, considdering the fact that I am most probably the most unorganized person to ever step on board the Tres Hombres.

After my watch, I went to sleep for a few hours. I was woken up by a bell ringing. 3 short... Then someone screamed "all hands on deck, man overboard, man overboard"

I tumbled out of my bunk, and ran on deck, everyone was pulling the lines, bracing, I went to tack the jibs, to pull or slack, whatever was needed, and in my head I was going over the trainees and the crew, thinking, calculating how much time we had before hypothermia would kick in. It was a nice day. Sunny. Warm. But still the north sea. It's not known as a caribbean climate.

I was pulling on the ropes as fast as I could, running from port to starboard to tack, but there was no wind. She didn't want to turn. I was watching as the lifering was drifting by, no more than 10 meters further North-West. It was empty. I could feel my body go cold.  We had to tack again.

I ran aft to be spotter, and as I was standing on the caprail, i heard the Captain say quietly with a grave voice: "Wow. She really doesn't want to turn. What must this person be thinking. watching us sail away" I could feel a cold river run down my spine, as I spotted the lifering. with no one in it.

I told the Captain that I had eyes on it, but it was drifting further and further away, and the waves would make it disappear for a couple of seconds, before it would return to my sight. I could feel my heart pumping as I heard the order: "Launch the MOB -boat, get the whip, ready on the bow- and stern falls, don't think, don't stop, just pull"

 Second mate embarked the boat. I saw him sail towards the lifering. I took a deep breath as he grabbed it. The drill was over.

We coiled the ropes. We fixed the sails to get on the right course. I did a roperound to make sure that all of the ropes were in the right place. We ate. We did our watch. We joked. We laughed, and we had fun. We ate some more. Then we slept.

We went on watch again. Today was a sunday kind of day. I painted the wedding gift, i plan on giving to my mother on her wedding day. A knotboard. I went aloft with two of the other people in my watch, we were sitting on the Topgallant yard, and afterwards the Course. Just talking.  Getting used to the heights. There is no bonding like aloft bonding.

It started raining so we went down. We are getting to know the Danish summer, since we officially sailed into Danish waters a couple of hours ago.  We caught a lot of fish, well someone else did, I wasn't particularly involved. It was a nice day. A really nice day.

And yet I can still feel the cold river down my spine whenever I think of Captains words: " What must this person be thinking. Watching us sail away" 

Greetings from Victoria

On heading 310 heading home

Speed 5,4 knots

Sailing with fair winds and followong seas

And i wish the same to you 

For you

Dear whoever may find this,

I truly hope that someone, any one, will find this letter and read it one day. If you read this, know that you have fulfilled one of the greatest wishes I have in this world.

My name is Victoria Hejlskov, I was born and bread in the north, and I used to as a deckhand on board the good ship Tres Hombres, the worlds only cargo sailing ship, with no engine nor propeller installed.

 As I was writing this, a couple of months ago, we were sailing in the Atlantic ocean on our way to the Caribbean, trading our French wine, with rum, coffee, and cacao beans. It was my first Atlantic crossing.

I know nothing of the future, so I cannot for sure say where I am going, I can only tell you where I have been. If you are interested, if this bottle ever find it’s way to human hands, I can tell you a story.

A lot of stories have been told before, and a lot of stories will be told soon enough, but this story still deserves to be remembered for a time. And all of those stories you have read before, are funnier, better, brighter, but not the same. No story is like this one. I will let you decide if it is worth reading.

I have made mistakes. I have lied, I have fucked up, I’ve been angry. I’ve been hurt. I have cried. I have hurt others. I have been happy. I’ve laughed, I’ve gone out on adventures, I have been in danger, and I have been afraid.

I have succeeded and I have failed. They say it’s human to fail. I say it’s even more so to give others the blame. But this story is not about giving others the blame. Not this time. This story is a journey, and I am yet to find out where and how it’s going to end.

You can join me if you want. I’ll entrust my journal to you, the finder of this bottle. Keep it. It belongs to you. We’ll take this adventure together

Red moon rising

                                               
Hands.
my mother used to say that you can notice change on your hands.
it starts with a constant burning, the result of the ropes you have been pulling. the creases gets dirty, the kind of permanent dirt that doesn't really wash off, a witness to your work outside. your nails turn black if you have any. i tend to not have any, i bite them down. then the burning stops, and your skin turns hard, and white bubbles appear on your palms. then the bubbles disappear and your skin turns even harder. you have small cuts and wounds and bruises everywhere, and you are not entirely sure how you got them. the cuts turn to scars that light up your hands in pretty patterns. another witness. hands.
i agree with my mother.
it begins with the hands.

the good ship tres hombres is in the north sea. i can feel the sea beneath me, moving, rocking, up and down from side to side.
i can see everything around me, there are no buildings (except for the oil platforms mutilating the ocean) no mountains, no woods, no hills, just pure nothing-ness.

no lights at night it is actually possible to see the stars. all of them. i feel like the entire galaxy is open to me, Venus and Jupiter were aligned almost perfectly just a few nights ago, they were among the first lights to appear. and after them came the red moon.

have you ever seen a real red moon my friend? i have had friends describing the phenomenon to me in the past, but whenever someone spoke of a red moon, i always thought "so are we talking orange or just more yellow than usual"
but no.

 red moon, red as in dark crimson, blood, wine red. we saw it rising from the horizon, bigger than i have ever seen the moon before, i stepped on deck for my night watch just as it appeared.
tell me, friend, is there a better place than a tall ship to watch a red moon rising, no sound of an engine just the soft sound of her hull gliding through the water.

a few days after that night we hit a bit of rough weather. we had to douse and set the royal twice. i went up once to douse it. i had been in the galley a few minutes before and heard captain Andreas say, "don't think, don't stop, just climb" and those were the words i kept repeating to myself as i climbed. don't think, don't stop, just climb. it made it easier. repeating something to myself, focusing on something to repeat, having something to focus on, as i went up.

i am afraid of heights. the first time i went aloft, i was shaking so much the entire mast was shaking along with me. i want to have the respect for the heights, i do believe it to be healthy, but i don't want to be controlled by it, to be ruled the way i have been in the past.

and so i sail. i push. because you have to on board, you have to push yourself a little bit, always. the ship becomes your whole world, the people there your family, your home. every morning when i wake up, i feel a little bit different than when i went to my bunk the evening before. and every day during watch, we oil, and sing, and sand, and play the guitar, well others do. i just listen. we tell jokes, and riddles and useless facts. we splice and whip, and climb the rig and we play games at night to make the watch pass quicker. we sleep and we sail, we do rope-rounds and we brace.
greetings from Victoria
10th of July 2015

how naive i was back then.
i am reading what i wrote so long ago, now, and can hardly believe how much time has passed in such a short time.
how much have changed. how much i have changed. a young and carefree little child was writing that. i know that that is not true, i had plenty of cares, plenty of issues, but it sure seems that way.

reading this now, how i sounded back then, before i truly saw the ocean. before i knew just how ruthless it can be. before i knew how ruthless people can be. i learned. they say that experience is a brutal teacher. but at least you learn. by god you learn.

greetings from Victoria
28th of December 2015
i wish you fair winds and following seas my friend.