The second leg of Gazela's summer 2000 journey: 
Miami to Norfolk

By Dan Greenspan

The images in this document are clickable if you want to see larger versions. Most of them were taken on the Miami-Norfolk leg, but I used a few older images for "editorial reasons" when necessary.

On an impossibly sunny thursday I navigated the hazards of urban Florida and arrived at Dodge island, the main cruise-ship terminal for Miami.  A forest of masts peeked over the waterfront buildings, and suddenly it came upon me that I would really be going - that I was part of those masts and all of the activity!  As usual, Gazela's distinctive masts made her location obvious.  Memories of the previous week's Everglades-based vacation vanished in an instant; I became caught up in the excitement that always seizes me when I arrive at a foreign port and surprisingly, improbably, see this familiar object tied to the dock. 

 

A crew muster

As I hauled my gear on deck, the deep tans and weary faces of seasoned crew members spoke of the recent tropical journey.  The ship welcomed me with its familiar confines, and in one minute I felt right at home.  All hands were either busy on deck wth visitors or ashore in the city, so I made my nest in the sweltering fo'csle and wasted time ashore until the new-hands muster at 1800 hours.

That evening, I stewed in the Gazela's standard social soup of old friendships and unknown faces.

A meal in the foc'sle

It's always great to look forward to catching up over long midnight watches, and to learning new stories by the red light of the pilothouse.  Gazela friends may not have seen each other for years, but on ship, the friendship picks up right where it left off.  Gazela has her own sense of time, and she keeps it the way she likes.  Time spent aboard her has a way of being very well preserved, and of being handy immediately when the sole of your boot hits the weathered planks.  It's hard for me to imagine that the crew I've known for years wears anything but crew shirts and foul-weather gear, that they take regular showers, sit at desks, and don't usually get up at four in the morning to make sure the ship isn't sinking.

Saturday was my day to spend on deck, but first I had three hours to kill.  I planted myself on Miami Beach and enjoyed the surroundings and the water.  Upon returning, it was time to open up to visitors.  Every port has a personality, and Miami was very friendly and inquisitive.  Well, at least the people were; the port facilities wee somewhat lacking - no laundry, electrical supply, mail drop, or other small amenities. 

Sunday finally came - departure day!  A work gang was organized, and I spent a portion of the morning scraping and sanding above the main cross-trees. 

Looking down from the foretopmast crosstrees

After much labor, painting, and such, we were under way in a parade of sail.  All ships fired thier signal guns as they passed the reviewing stand.  As we passed the point of Miami Beach, the order came to set the squares, and up we went.

Going aloft

Unfurling the upper top'sl as we left the protection of Biscayne bay, we were reaquainted with the lever principle as the ship pounded into choppy water.  A two or four foot wave becomes a rather large arc when you're aloft!  From that elevation we could see a nasty black squall approaching, and shortly we were drenched with angry cold rain. At this point I discovered that the footropes were greasy in some spots - apparently the masts had just been greased, and some grease had gone astray. As the ship maneuvered northward, it heeled and there was some movement in the rigging.  Green as we were, wet, cold, slipping on the greasy footholds and working on an angle, it took forever for us to loose the gaskets (short lengths of line which tie  the folded sail to the yard) and I could hear the officers on deck losing patience.  Gradually and with much fumbling we did our jobs and headed back to the deck.  This was the first time aloft for some of the crew - a grand entree to the Gazela experience!

The parade of sail in Biscayne Bay Looking back while aloft Looking down from the fore-top Looking down from the topmast

Blue skies and a stiff breeze were enjoyable at first but quickly bean to show a dark side as sea-sickness selected its victims.  The water was not too bad, but choppy, and there were swells.  I was spared all day, but as the sun set, I felt the faint stirrings of that loathsome affliction.  By dark I was no longer able to tend to the handful of limp bodies strewn amidships (the middle of the ship, in ship terminology - it moves less than any other part).  I tried to go below for some shuteye but almost immediately ran, gagging, up the companionway.  The black water (sewage) tank has this little odor problem, you see... it was too much for most healthy people, much less for the seasick.  This is a problem that has plagued the ship for many years; it is a stink so violent that it makes the nose sting like a smelling salt.  I  spent that night huddled on deck in the fisherman (a folded sail).  Sleeping on an open deck in the cold rain actually felt good at that point, because it was a release. 

Miami recedes

During my waking hours there was the unending nauseating hyperawareness of motion.  You can imagine my horror as I sat on deck, watching the Florida shoreline recede, thinking of how this was only the beginning of 5 or 6 days at sea.  This continued for about 48 hours, during which time I would have welcomed death.  I alternated being sick with standing watch - when possible.  In this time I never went below, changed clothes, or ate anything other than saltines, water, and ginger ale.  My watch was 4-8.  This means 4-8PM and 4-8AM, in addition to the standard class and work period from 12-4PM.  It all blended together in one long, grey stretch of misery.  Ahh, I love sailing!

Sunrise

One day I came on duty for the 4AM watch and realized I no longer felt sick.  The unadulterated joy of this was indescribable.  As another beautiful sunrise crept over the horizon (being on the 4-8 watch,

Sunset

I saw every sunrise and sunset) the whole thing began to be slightly worth it.  Some hardship is good for the spirit; how can you know what you've got unless you lose it? The cook began breakfast, and it smelled good, a sure sign of health.  I ate cautiously and improved steadily.  That night I slept in my fo'csle bunk and had no symptoms.

We hugged the overdeveloped coast of Florida for some time before hitching a ride on the Gulf stream, taking advantage of its relaxed northward current.  The Gulf stream not only gave us a speed boost but also provided calm seas, warmth, plentiful sea life, and a startling, beautiful indigo color.  On the few occasions I have traveled with it, the Gulf stream has always been friendly.   On this trip we sailed right through the Bermuda triangle.  Unfortunately, we didn't see any UFOs.  What we did see were water surface features as the edge of the Gulf stream interacted with the atlantic around it.  Half a mile from the ship was a hill on the water - it wasn't flat! 

Rob Cahill and Becky rigged a fishing line with an ingenious alarm system.  Attached to the stern-trailing fishing line was a bicycle innertube tied to a bell on the pilothouse.  The stretch of the innertube allowed some play from the currents, but if a fish bit, the bell would sound out.  This didn't happen that often, but on two occasions we hauled in enomous cow-eyed, square-headed fish (Mahimahi?).  One of these fish was enough to provide the entire crew with a small but reasonable dinner portion. 

Dive! Dive!

The wind died, but there were no complaints because we hove to, lowered ladders, and went swimming!  A shark watch was sent aloft, and the all-clear given.  The rail of the ship sits about 10 to 12 feet above the water, and one by one we

Swim break

jumped into the water.  That jump was so much fun, many of us did it again and again.  Small rafts of sargassum seaweed floated by, accompanied by crabs and "sea lice" that left minor rashes.  The water was bathwater warm and clear as glass, although there wasn't much to see because it's more than 6000 feet deep.  On the surface, the leviathan ship interrupts the glassy surface with perfect perpendicularity; a glance below reveals the uncommon sight of its coppered bottom, keel, and propeller hovering over a fathomless blue void.  It appears that the only foothold for 140 miles, our sole support system, rests on nothing.  The solid decks, the massive spars we strain to brace around, our bunks, food, beds - our world - is magically suspended over that blue void.  It is a moment when intuition and intellect are in perfect opposition.  Is this what a spacewalk feels like? 

Xander, looking rabbinical The view from the surface Cannonball! Swimming in over a mile of water

The swim was declared over and normal ship life resumed.  With no wind, we had to use the engine, but within

Looking down from the topmast

15 hours the wind picked up.  From that point on we sailed, occasionally changing the rig to reflect changing conditions.  With little wind, all sails - including the fisherman - were set. 

Wind-filled square sails

In poor weather or when the wind picked up, the fisherman, t'gallant, and sometimes other square sails would be struck.  The captain would also reduce sail if he felt that dangerous conditions lay ahead.  The t'gallant sail is a particularly difficult and treacherous climb; better to change it during the daytime with all hands on deck than at night in stormy conditions.  Day after day we sailed though the vast, barren, and featureless sea.  Watches changed regularly, classes and work gangs were arranged every noon, and meals were much anticipated at 8 Am, 12 PM, and 6 PM (Audie, the sole cook this season, did a great job). 

Billowing staysails The vast & empty sea Staysails from aloft The fate of old hot dogs

Our schedules may have been predictable, but daily events were not.  I watched eagerly for flying fish, which appeared while we were in the Gulf stream.  I observed two types; a small, 6-inch variety that

Dolphins in the bow wave!

would leap in groups from the crest of a wave, hover in the breeze for several seconds, and then plunge back into the water.  The second type was more surprising: it was large, about 12 inches, with a "wingspan" (finspan?) about as long as the body.  They were always alone. 

Once day I noticed Doug Whitman flying a large, elaborate kite from the stern.  It was nice, but I didn't think much about it until he pulled out his invention: a 35mm camera mounted on a special platform.  The platform attached to the kite's line and had miniature pulleys on it to balance the camera.  The platform had radio-controlled motors for pitch, yaw, and azimuth.  A microminiature video camera transmitted a picture to Doug's handheld TV, and when things looked right, he triggered the 35mm camera remotely.  It was ingenious and worked perfectly.  It hung several yards below the kite and maybe 100 yards from the ship; the view from the TV camera entranced everybody.  When we reached port, Doug gave each of us a copy of the best picture, which looked like a helicopter view. Olga and Doug with his invention Kite's-eye view (small image) Kite's-eye view (large image)       Eventually I lost track of what day it was - I hadn't worn shoes in days - but we had to be approaching Norfolk because we had left the Gulf stream.  The water had a gray-green appearance and was choppy.  It got cold at night; cold enough to wear many layers.  Ships began to appear occasionally on the horizon, and there was more radio traffic.  What a shame - now that we were in fine shape, and ready as ever, the leg would soon be over.  We spent a lot of time painting and making things shipshape for our appearance in Norfolk's parade of sail.  Just before unset, an astonishing thing happened.  Without any warning, and without sound, a jet fighter appeared seemingly fom nowhere.  I didn't even see it until it was really close, and it was hard to believe what I was seeing because of the lack of sound.  It was moving really slowly, and was flying well below the height of our masts.  It barely managed to get around us and circled us twice before zooming off.  From behind, the noise of its engines was unbearable.  Many crew ran below to get cameras, but the whole thing was over in seconds.  About half an hour later, the same thing happened with a military helicopter! Those guys were having a good time that morning. The next evening we dropped anchor in Lynhaven bay, surrounded by the largest tall ships in the world.  Lynhaven was nice to us, providing motor launches for shore leave.  We had to laugh at our rolling gait - even after a week at sea, we had our sea legs!  The place was saturated with curious and drunken sailors from distant parts of the world, including the Gazela. The pride of Baltimore (large image) What do you do with a drunken sailor... earleye in tha mor-nin?       On watch the next morning, I watched the Kruzenstern pull in before sunrise.  What a monster!  Before noon all ships had arrived, and we marshalled for the parade of sail up the Elizabeth river into downtown Kruzhenshtern in the Norfolk Parade of sail Norfolk.  There were literally a million people (acording to the radio) lined up on shore.  The river itself was choked with pleasure craft; the coast guard kept a narrow lane open for the tall ships to sail through.  And sail we did; we were busy all day.  We had to maintain distance between the ships around us, and were continually setting and dousing the headsails and staysails.  Submarine off the port bow! At one point we used the squares as air brakes by bracing them around straight ahead.  We passed the naval shipyard, and many craft were in the water; a submarine passed us on the port side.  An aircraft carrier was anchored in the river, with what looked like its entire crew complement on the deck.  Formations of helicopters and military aircraft flew overhead, and news helicopters buzzed about like flies.  Every kind of watercraft imaginable was floating in that river; fishing trawlers, private yachts, dinghys, cigarette boats, and even kayaks.    During the hours it took us to sail up that river - all morning and afternoon - every inch of river bank was packed with people.  I don't think anyone in the Norfolk area stayed at home. A river full of boats Helicopters The John Hancock Aircraft carrier and Kruzhenshtern Master Gunner Gay Burgiel fires a devastating salvo Hauling on the port jib sheets Bracing around Setting the fisherman Changing the watch   Once docked we found ourselves in the boondocks.  We had plenty of visitors, but the waterside park locations were reserved for the monstrous ships, which are rarely seen - the Gazela is already familiar to Nofolkers.  Gazela's 98-foot masts and 178-foot length usually Fireworks - a little too close! seem large, but are not much next to a A forest of masts ship like the Amerigo Vespucci!  So we managed to avoid the crushing crowds usually found at Norfolk's Harborfest.  During my off time I ventured over to the park to "see the elephant."  It was so crowded that it took me 45 minutes to move about half a mile, and the largest step I could take was a shuffle.  I managed to tour some of the ships but couldn't handle the crowds and fled back to the NOAA wharf and Gazela.  Fireworks that evening were pretty good, but a little too close tothe ship - we were deluged with falling debris.  A deck awning was singed, but some brave soul sacrificed his beer for the good of the ship and doused the flame. My time was up, the new crew was arriving, and I was all ready to go home when there was a tremendous microburst storm.  A wedding was being held on the deck of the Gazela, and it was an occasion to remember - there were tornado-like downdrafts of 75-100 miles an hour.  A furious rain drove horizontally.  The storm came from nowhere and passed in 20 minutes.  When it was all over, ther deck was strewn with lobsters and champagne; broken plates rattled in the scuppers.  The stunned wedding party, which had fled to a shoreside garage during the storm, cowered in silence.  Police, fire and other emergency vehicles cast a bizarre light on the scene with thier flashing lights.  Elsewhere, ships were ripped from thier moorings and people were blown into the river.  The entire area echoed with the sound of sirens.  Trees and stoplights were blown over. How fitting for such a memorable trip to go out like a lion!   greenspa@kuiper.gsfc.nasa.gov