The Final Leg
28.03.2017 - 10.04.2017
On we sailed, straight towards Portugal (“as long as India’s at the helm, we’ll go straight there” ha. ha.) for a few days. We expected some heavy weather, but it never came. Watch and school continued, a seemingly endless rhythm. We tacked to start going north, and I tried to enjoy every moment of hanging on the mizzen with all my weight. Because that’s how we do it. Close-hauled, to create speed. Ok guys, pull that mizzen over to the other side of the ship. With all our strength we push and pull it over, a fight against the wind. Then we have to keep it there. The helm is turned. Jibs loose, let ‘em flap. Tight again, so they have the wind from the wrong side (‘bak staan’ in Dutch, no idea what it is in English), to give us that extra push. Sometimes it doesn’t work in one go, so everything has to go back, the mizzen too. That’s definitely your workout for the day. Once the mainsail and schooner are over, the foresails are pulled to the other side, and the gaff sails adjusted. Time to coil the lines. I love being at the helm during manoeuvres, as you have to be very precise and stay concentrated. On a Tall Ship working together is key, you can’t sail it single-handed. Everyone on deck does their part, and that’s how we get from A to B. On a normal school day someone from the watch’ll come in and say, “Come on guys, time to raise that schooner.” We’ll rush out, take our places. Someone leads, purely because it’s hard to oversee everything when you’re pulling a line with all your strength. We know exactly what to do, where to stand. If all the crew would fall overboard, we’d know how to sail the ship. The only thing we’re not allowed to do alone is a gybe, because the mainsail can be dangerous. But even then, the only thing Sam does is the sheet.
As the sea went from dark blue to green, I started thinking more and more about what it was going to be like to go home. Sorry mum and dad, but I’d rather keep going for a few more months, see the rest of the world. Because home stays, but once I step on land, there’s no turning back. From one day to the next, I’ll go from being around everyone all day every day, to hardly seeing them. No more holding my glass when a wave comes, or throwing everything out of the window. Everyone will ask “How was it?”, and what am I supposed to say? They won’t understand anyway. I can’t just say “Do you remember that time when…” and have a good laugh about it. Back to school, back to my old life. I remember the end of a book by Thea Beckman, “De Gouden Dolk”, where the guy comes back from the failed crusade, and everything seems bleak, and he finally understands how his brother always felt in the little village. I have the feeling it’ll be the same for me. And I know I won’t be able to sit still. I want to travel, see the world bit by bit. Go to places with friends, work so I can pay for it myself. Change the school system, which is crap at the moment. School at Sea proves that you can do more than six months of school in less than ninety days, and see the world, sail and make friends for life at the same time. Everyone deserves that, in one form or another.
We went fast, and arrived in the Channel. Another ship takeover was due, and I went for captain again. But everyone already knew who’d be it a long time ago. It was Maud, who’s a very good sailor, and, well, is liked by Sam. She deserved it. But what really made me (and a lot of others) mad was that two ex-captains got to be mate. Are you kidding me? I thought everyone was supposed to get the chance to have a nautical function. And then you give two people who’ve had the highest function, the second highest? They too are good sailors, and nice guys. It’s not about me not getting a function (again), if other people had been mate it would have sucked, but ok, that’s how it is. But this? I still need to talk to Sam about it, because it just isn’t fair. We already knew that they were, well, liked a bit more, but this was a step too far. Dear oh dear.
The day after the takeover began, I helmed into the harbour of Cherbourg. It’d been England one moment, France the next. The wind just made a stop there most practical, and we spent two nights in the port. Off again, into a Channel that stayed totally flat all the way home. We sailed slowly, because there was no point in arriving in Ijmuiden way to early. At three o’clock in the morning we anchored just before Dover, to wait for the current to turn. For the first time everything we’d done seemed like long ago. Oh shit. It really was ending.
On Monday the tenth of April 2017, about twelve o’clock, the dreaded message sounded through the intercom: “Land Ahoy!” Far in the distance, Zandvoort could be made out next to a windmill park. That windmill park, that’d seemed endless that first night, blinking red lights to starboard. That was six months ago.
Slowly Ijmuiden came into sight too, and the long, Dutch coastline of beach and dunes. Hardly anyone was happy, most of us just cursed. I spent the last two miles in the mast, filming with Nikki – we documented the whole takeover, and made daily videos. I can't publish them, sadly, as the presenter would rather not have images of him being ridiculous all over the web.
One by one the sails went down for the last time, and we went into the harbour. There Jet and SaS office people awaited. Docking took ages, along the small jetty meant for yachts. And that was it. We are never going to sail with School at Sea again.
