[adapted from an essay first published in 1999. Disclaimer: all opinions expressed are my own and do not reflect those of the Spirit of Adventure Trust]
With no small amount of trepidation, I arrived at Queens Wharf on a cloudy and miserable April morning. There were two ships berthed opposite each other, the white Spirit of Adventure nestled away on the inner T, sheltered and shadowed by her bigger black sister ship, but impressive and above all emanating a sense of enormity none the less. I nervously walked past her, and boarded the Spirit of New Zealand, trying not to look up into the rigging which seemed to tower above me into the sky.
The New Zealand is a steel hulled, barquentine rigged tall ship, designed specifically for the Youth Development programme run by the Spirit of Adventure Trust. 45 metres long, and displacing over 200 tonnes, Spirit’s main mast reaches over 30 metres into the air. The three masts together are capable of supporting 725 square metres of canvas, which all must be raised and lowered, tacked and trimmed, by manual strength of the 40 teenagers who were meeting for the first time that day. To sail this ship requires teamwork, leadership, strength of character – and it is here that the Spirit of Adventure Trust excels over other youth development programmes. Built in 1986, with ten years of sailing the Adventure to learn from, everything about this ship is designed to bring out these qualities in only ten short days.
The bunks (slightly redesigned for more room since 1995!)
I was greeted by the leading hands, two volunteer crew who have themselves sailed as trainees, and whose primary job is to act as a bridge between the older crew and trainees. Having participated in the programme themselves, they are there to explain how things run, to help out in any area and lead by example. It didn’t take long to learn the layout below decks, the accommodation up forward, and our mess and lecture theatre in the stern. Amidships was the crew’s accommodation, off limits to us. Our accommodation consisted of seven tiers of fabric sleeves stacked one on top of the other three high. Not quite hammocks, and not quite bunks, there was just enough room to lay flat on your back, with the person above you centimetres from your nose. Any attempt to roll over caused your shoulders to bump the person above, and wake them. I was on a top bunk, so had slightly more free space, though it was the solid ceiling that I hit, and not a soft body, whenever I moved. I was to spend the next 11 days with 20 other boys in this accommodation, and the rest of the ship. The starboard side was a mirror image, but for the girls.
With the Trust running two ships in these days, on fixed Tuesday to Friday schedules, we both left Queens Wharf together and anchored for the first night off Kau Bay. During the night, the wind shifted, and when we awoke the Adventure was no longer in sight – she had moved to a better anchorage. Our night watch had not noticed!
We saw the Adventure a few times during the day, before the two ships parted company. She headed straight out of the harbour, while we sailed across to Petone wharf to pick up our second mate. There had been a short notice change of crew, and our new mate had just flown in from Thailand, the set of the big budget flop Cutthroat Island where he and several other Spirit crew had been hired as extras and to actually sail the ship – and he looked the part of a pirate. Weatherbeaten and tanned, hair pulled back in a ponytail, a glint of gold catching the light from his earring, his vibrant yet down to earth stories told in a voice at once soft but made rough by years of smoking, were an instant hit with the trainees.
We too left the harbour and headed across to the sounds. The straits were calm, and we had some good days in Queen Charlotte, getting to know each other and the boat. Before we could sail this magnificent vessel, we had to literally learn the ropes, and learn to work with each other. The forty trainees were split into four ‘watches’ of ten, each led by a volunteer Watch Instructor. Under their guidance, we would take it in turns leading our group, and learning a different aspect of the ship each day. We were constantly pushed past our comfort zones, with everyone finding some aspect they could excel at, and some that to even participate in was a triumph. For me, the boat handling and sailing, knots and navigation came naturally, but everything else was a challenge. Heights were the worst, and not just climbing the mast. The morning swims, jumping off the side of the boat almost two meters into the water, was if anything harder. Climbing up the rigging I at least had control – I was the one holding on, and I wouldn’t fall all the while I didn’t let go. Forcing myself to jump was an entirely different story. Every morning there was that kick of nausea in the base of my stomach as I hung off the side of the ship, vision blurring while I talked myself into letting go. The water is an inky blackness that surrounds the ship, the ambient dawn lighting broken by the beams of high intensity light from the spreaders above, reflections dancing on the surface making the distance seem twice as far – then the horrible feeling of falling, lasting only seconds but feeling like a life time, until I hit the water and plunge down, down, before fighting to the surface again.
When I did get sent aloft to furl the sails, I wasn’t exactly happy, but things were not too bad. We had safety harnesses, which we attached after we were above the first futtocks, and as one of the watch leaders said: ‘It would be stupid to let go, you might hurt yourself’. I made it out onto the yard arms, and inched my way along, my legs shaking enough to make it hard for the others to stay on the footropes, and my knuckles turning white from holding on.
‘Now, just reach over, grab a bit of sail, and pull it up’.
The mast goes up, and up, and up...
We were planning on going ashore for a walk one day, but the weather closed in over night, (so badly that we even managed to get out of our morning swim, and were given a lie in instead). After a few days, we headed out of the Sounds, south around Wellington and Cape Palliser, and then north up the Wairarapa coast. As soon as we poked our heads out of the calm Sounds, we hit rough weather in the Straits, and the sea sickness began. They say that sea-sickness has two stages: The first is awful, when you think you are going to die; the second is worse, when you realise you aren’t. The crew attempted to keep us busy and occupied with deck games, but their efforts were not always successful.
We sailed all through the day, and then split to watch on/watch off for the night trip up the coast. By sundown, we were about half way, and my watch drew the 0000-0400 watch. There was not a lot to do on night watch, so mostly sat around on the aft deck, while the crew tried to raise the spirits of those of us with weaker stomachs, with some good sing-alongs. After heading below at the end of our watch I crashed, and did not even wake when the anchor dropped after our arrival in Tolaga Bay.
We went ashore here, with the intention of exploring some caves, but couldn’t get the Jet boat through some kelp beds. In the end, we paddled to a beach, where we had a barbecue and bonfire. Unfortunately, one of the girls was injured playing some of the more boisterous beach games, and on being taken into Gisborne, was told she had a broken leg… the end of the trip for her.
After playing around there for a while, we practiced our ship handling, sailing off the anchor and heading south back down the coast, until we sailed back on to the anchor off the north point of Hawkes Bay. The ship’s Master talked to us for a while about trainee day. This is a practice unique to the Spirit Trust, and on the last full day, the crew stand back completely, and allow a crew elected from the trainees to run the ship.
During the subsequent elections, I was nominated for 1st Mate, but was not elected. I was then nominated again for navigator, and this time elected to the position. While we had covered simple navigation principles, and on night watch we were required to check position by taking compass bearings off prominent points, we had not been introduced to any of the electronics. My day began, then, with a crash course in using the radar and GPS for the task of plotting and monitoring a course.
During the talk, we were also told what the crew had been keeping from us for a few days – that the sea water circulation system for the main engine was broken. This was the real reason we had been spending so much time sailing onto and off the anchor. Whenever we started the engine, we were using our fresh water supply to keep it cool, and by this time were running very short on water!
We successfully navigated and sailed the ship into the entrance to Napier harbour, despite the best efforts of the real crew, who were doing their best to get in our way and play the fools. Some things were quite passive, as when asked to help with the sails they would profess complete ignorance. Others were more actively disruptive. I would often be down at the chart table plotting our course, and look up and find we were sailing in completely the wrong direction. The Master, or one of the mates, was standing at the wheel behind me, constantly changing the rudder angle, and the helmsman up above hadn’t noticed the ship slewing around. This caused a few unexpected tacks, and a very ragged course across the water.
Eventually giving this up for a boring game, they switched to another tactic. As we were coming up to the entrance to the harbour, the other navigator had become sidetracked, and left me to it. I was a panicking a little that it was all up to me, when I went above decks to get a better idea of where we were and look for the channel markings. The Master came up behind me, and pointed out a buoy a way off the starboard quarter.
“Shouldn’t we be on the other side of that?” he asked.
The buoy was not a green or red lateral marker, nor a yellow and black cardinal marker. A little startled, I ran below to check the chart. Feeling more and more frantic, I couldn’t find any reference to it on the chart. I also still couldn’t find the other navigator. Tension building like a knot between my shoulder blades, the weight of my lack of knowledge started to press me down. It seemed as though everything they had tried to teach us, both the nautical knowledge that I had been so proud of picking up with seeming ease and the hard-learned self-confidence, was draining out of me, leaving behind a pit of black despair. With our maneuverability right down as we had no engine, I was all too aware of how fast we were moving, and knew I needed to make a decision in seconds. I flashed back to three days beforehand, when the 1st Mate had been teaching us about buoys and beacons, and rules of the road. After her lecture, we were all called in to the crews mess one by one, to be tested. Feeling fairly confident, I walked in, to be confronted with a whiteboard with various eclectic symbols on it.
“You’re sailing on port tack, on a lee shore in 35 knot winds. You can see a green and a white light on your starboard side, and a white light group flashing 2 dead ahead. What do you do?”, Dee virtually spat at me.
I froze, trying to assimilate it all. A white light, group flashing two – that’s isolated danger. We’re on a lee shore – we shouldn’t get too close. A green and white light to starboard – that’s the starboard side of a power vessel.
“Twenty seconds have gone”, put in Dee.
I knew the answers, but in my nervousness said nothing. What if I was wrong? I could not bear the possible humiliation.
“Twenty-five seconds!”
I started to stammer that the isolated danger marker was the biggest threat, but even as I said it, I was told that it was too late, we had hit the rocks. Black feelings barraged me, the red flush of humiliation, frustration at my shyness and insecurity, blood roaring in my ears with anger at the unfairness of the test. I turned around to flee, run away from the situation, when she called me back to say that that had been a situation she was given for her mates exam, and she had not expected me to get even as far as I did. I’m sure this was meant to make me feel better, but her complete lack of understanding of the problem only served to fuel my anxiety.
Back in the present, I ran back up to the wheel to get a better look, and make sure we were where I thought we should be, then back down to the chart again. Virtually in tears, the same time pressure was on me again, and again I froze. Heading up to the wheel, the Master was very surprised by my obvious distress, and finally took pity on me. He explained that the buoy was not a channel marker at all, but looked to be a race marker, and that our course was fine. To make up for being so mean, and to show me that I could actually handle pressure situations, he made me take the wheel. He kept me on the helm right through the harbour, calling out bearings for me to steer, until we were berthed safely on the wharf.
As we were coming in the breakwaters, we started the main engine, dropped all sails, came alongside and berthed, and shut off the engine again, all within ten minutes, and with mere decalitres of water to spare. Once berthed we were able to take on some water for showers, and once clean again for the first time in 10 days, we all gathered in the aft cabin for a prize giving. After a late night staying up talking, we bade everyone goodbye on Friday morning.
‘Just add water and watch them grow’. That is the catch phrase of the Spirit Trust. Self knowledge, confidence, are these human inventions? Every trip on the Spirit is different. A different mix of 40 teenagers and 12 crew, each bringing something to the trip, different locations, even different weather conditions. But they all have something in common. Take 40 teenagers out of their comfortable lives in front of televisions, computers and mobile phones, put them in a melting pot, a beautiful black ship, for 10 days, nurture them, push them a little, and you create an experience of a lifetime. People speak of the Trusts programme as being a life-changing venture and in these ten days I had learnt a lot about myself, and had been forced to push my own limits and anxieties – heights, public speaking, leadership, but it is so much more than that. Was I the same person I had been ten days before? Sure. But did I look on life the same way? Not at all.
In the 21st century, is there still a place for this organisation? The aims of the Trust have changed over the years from a Sail Training organisation, to a true youth development programme. More than 30,000 teenagers have experienced this programme, and as they have been changed, so has the programme had to change with the times. Financial issues have forced the sale of the Spirit of Adventure, and seen the southern ports all but lose sight of the ship. Interest in the programme has fallen from the point where every voyage had a waiting list, to where many sail with spaces. Volunteers, the mainstay of the sailing programme, are few and far between.
We need a place where our children, the future, can experience what it feels like to jump in the ocean at 6 in the morning. Where nobody knows them, and they can be whoever they want to be for ten days, with no preconceptions to haunt them. That’s all I know. Things about the Trust drive me crazy at times, but we need them. Can the Trust survive in this changing environment?
I will do everything I can to see that it does.
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