0950 - 46.58.2'N x 90.30.2'W - The Apostle Islands, Lake Superior - By Matthew Maples

I come up from below to a sun-lit deck and a brisk early morning breeze. It was the kind of morning where you expect to sit down to sip tea and watch the red-rock shores where invisible birds among pine sing. The stuff you see people doing in commercials for Michigan tourism.

Not today though.a plan far more ambitious than an early morning slack is afoot. My first clue is the safety harnesses leaving the rack and the cacophony of "click", "rattle" and "thump" as metal harness clips are adjusted and put on. Our sails above are furled, with line wrapped around them to stow them away from the stormy weather of yesterday. Up an up our crew and trainees go aloft to unfurl - this rare morning wind is not to be squandered!

We are to sail off the hook - basically, to bring up our anchor and use the wind to sail away without any help from our "iron sails" (the engines). The wind begins at our head, up forward where our anchor leads out. As we nearly finish heaving anchor, Captain Vos calls for the headsails to be set; all three jibs go aloft at once dramatically as a ready gang at the halyards hauls them home. Once set, they put force on our bow, slowly pushing us onto a port tack. Then we wait at the foot of our fore and main masts, ready to set the lower topsails (2nd highest square-sails) for power.finally, we get the word; clews and buntlines are cast away and sheets are hauled tight, bringing the corners of the sail to the waiting yardarms below. We don't stop there - more canvas! Up the mast each successive square is set and speed is gained as more sails are set aloft - with that power we make our way out of the bay. Someone then asks Captain Vos if he wants staysails set - belay that! He wants the royals (5th highest squares) set - more power!

By 0950 we are sailing in between Stockton Island (where we began) and Outer Island. Looking at the chart in the wheelhouse, I see that we are going to be tacking our way through a cluster of small islands, working our way to the north with the help of this north-westerly wind. I say to Captain Vos that this reminds me of sailing in the Virgin Islands."Yeah" he says, "but this is better, this is quiet!"

He is right. I see only one other sail boat out here with us. No "touristy" mess with us being mobbed by small boats darting about. Nothing else is here but islands, teal water and an open sky. A complete 180 from yesterday's oppressive gray cover, rain, lighting and headwinds. Our crew make the most of it, and by 1020 they are enjoying a coffee break in between tacks with abundant laughter and jokes to match the sun and the pine-tinted fresh air as we hug the coastline of Cat Island. We skirt it closely enough to spook our pilot! It is a good sail in the Apostle Islands to start the day.

We have continued our stop-and-go pattern to Duluth, sailing by day and putting into bay or harbor for the night. We made a short stop on the 26th in small Copper Harbor - a once mining town-turned-tourist resort of sorts. No doubt we helped the tourism trade that day.

The night before saw us in "Big Bay" - a remote anchorage with a nearby river, by which some of our crew and trainees entered with our small boat, "sloopie." To enter the river, they had to push the boat over a sandbar.

Gary Kirkpatrick, trainee, said that it made him feel like he was one of the first explorers of the Americas.

A special mention must be made for our newest trainee, Dan Vogt. He came onboard on a complete whim when we were in Marquette on the 24th. He met many of us on shore in town and he kept coming back to ask us questions.

The next morning he thought he was coming just to see us leave.but he saw our signs advertising for trainees. He decided, in a spontaneous moment, that he had to go with us, that he "had to do this." A mere few hours later, he was heading into Lake Superior, under sail and in style. I already know for a fact that this experience has changed his life, because he said so during a lunch - though he was, at the time, making a reference to the galley's Oxtail soup.

Another adventurous trainee of ours is Joan Young. I can now use her for an example when people in port ask if there is an "age limit" to our sail training. Though she may be seventy-six years old, she is on deck, hauling on lines, coiling and going ashore in the small boat. Joan even went aloft to see eye-to-eye with the main course yard. She says that it sure beats being at home in front of a television. I often cite the example of a volunteer on Niagara, John. He had his 75th birthday on board in 2008, and he is still there as a volunteer. He goes aloft to furl topsails and he rolls out of his hammock every morning to do fifty push-ups. With him and Joan as examples, it can be said that in reference to sail training, age is simply a number.

Tomorrow we enter Duluth and we end our sail across Lake Superior. Until then we hope to have a good sail for the other half of our day.

11:00 - Munising, Michigan By Matthew Maples

Imagine this: The Europa, with nearly all plain sail aloft, heeling over with the press of a close-hauled wind, gracing the coastline of Upper Peninsula Michigan. A starboard sunset sets the pine-crowned sandstone cliffs on our port afire and our once-white sails become as amber. A wizened, pearlescent moon of unusual size looms over the tree line accompanied by Venus, making her appearance with the stage exit of the ever-overbearing sun. A beautiful scene on its own, but I can only imagine what we looked like set against it.

Often the off-going watch goes below for relaxation soon after being relieved, but yesterday evening was different. Nearly the entire ships company was perched on the windward side, as if in a theatre, watching this twilight spectacle of water, wind and light on these "painted cliffs." Our evening showing of Irving Johnson's "Around Cape Horn" was understandably cancelled, because this was one of those particularly awesome sails - and we all knew it.

Twilight ended and so did our sail. The canvas came in and our docklines went out. We pulled into a dock in Munising, Michigan - a small town, but a friendly one in the midst of a fire-fighters "convention and games" of sorts. They gave us a great and immediate welcome and we returned the favor this morning with an open ship and some tours.

Since we left Sault St. Marie and its locks on the 21st, we have been making our way to Duluth in a leisurely fashion, sailing for the day and putting into an anchorage or dock for the night. The evening of the 22nd saw us drop our anchor at a secluded place; Little Lake Harbor - a pebble strewn driftwood beach with northern woods behind. So what do sailors do as soon as they get off their small boat and onto land? Apparently, they skip rocks and pluck wild blueberries to nibble on.

Here in the lakes, even when offshore, land never seems that far away. Ludwine, our ships doctor, says that she can smell the trees. Colin, a deckhand, mentioned with surprise that he could hear the drone of frogs from the woods while he was aloft - even though the shore was several miles away! Small insects are always a buzzing presence and a ridiculous amount of spiders have found our rigging and open portholes to be a perfectly inviting abode to dwell.

We left early next morning, and our afternoon was occupied by a close-hauled sail and a tack, into the lake and back again to the south shore - a nice sail with decidedly indecisive winds. Our trainees set all our sail for that day, as well as taking it in. A successful, slow tack was the climax of the afternoon's action. The time in-between saw a class on navigation, given by our pilot, as well as another on rigging - our trainees are getting a quality square-rig sailing experience. I can tell by their grins and their excited banter with the locals in our port calls that they think so too.

While the trainees were getting schooled, I was able to take a turn at the helm; A sunny day with a light breeze - nearly my favourite. I was reminded from my perch back aft, with its expansive view of sails and lake, of why I like helming. It is there you get to be at the crux of where our ship and the elements combine, where you can literally feel in your hands how wind and wave affect our ship, and how the fluid (or not so fluid) balance between them both is made with sail and rudder. Standing at such a crossroads you become at once more immersed in the scene, more aware of the elements. Yet, with such a view back aft, and your hands off the lines, you are simultaneously aloof and away with almost an external view of the action on deck.  A strange combination, but one that you need to feel yourself to understand.

As I write this I can see the layered cliffs with their sage-colored crowns pass by through the library porthole. Many of us were looking forward to Lake Superior for its scenery and I believe many of our expectations have been exceeded. What shall the days ahead bring?

July 20, 2010, 2345 - 45.32.7'N x 83.36.6'W

The second Tall Ships Challenge race, from Gravely Shoal to Drummond Island has become as much a race against time, as against our fellow tall ships. The finish line now lies a mere twenty-two miles ahead of us, yet we have but four hours to cross that distance. The entrance of the St. Mary's River is ahead and we need to be there by 0400 to enter with the current. We may be making five knots now, but if we turn on our engine for speed then we forfeit this race altogether!

This race is relatively short; only about 120 miles in its totality, but light and fickle winds have forced us to fight for ground; all plain sail is set aloft and our studding sails have been exercised vigorously. It would be unfortunate to drop out of the race this late in the game, especially since our competitor in our class, the Roald Amundsen, has become a small smudge on the horizon beyond our stern.

This was not always so. The beginning of the race, on the afternoon of the 19th, saw the Europa and Roald Amundsen throwing canvas aloft to snatch the barely-present winds, both grasping for ground to push ahead and cut off the wind of the other. Captain Vos tells me that in light winds, our two square riggers are fairly evenly matched - I believe it! At one point it looked to me like the Amundsen was gaining ground on us…then they tacked, putting themselves windward of us, perhaps in an attempt to block our wind. It was futile however, as our crew was hastily put up our studding sails, maximizing canvas aloft. With studding sails being set, the Amundsen found her speed dragging behind us at half a knot, while the Europa slowly accelerated beyond Amundsen's reach. Without studding sails herself, the Germans could do nothing but watch us nearly disappear over the horizon in front of them.

Our studding sails are a solid advantage for Europa over most of the other ships in these races. With all six of them set we can about double the canvas area of a mast - allowing us to put up an impressive amount of sail to fill with light winds. If set on both sides of our foremast as we run downwind, they make our ship look as if she has sprouted great wings of white. Positively majestic! With the help of our studding sails, I was able to wake up this morning and have trouble spotting the Amundsen far astern. She now trails us by 8.2 miles.

A highlighted aspect of the ASTA Tall Ships Challenge races it to push ship crews and trainees to compete against one another in order to build up their own teamwork skills. I think our studding sail setting should be the "poster child" of this goal. The amount of coordinated effort that is involved in setting them (especially when you see another ship gaining on your stern) is considerable! Hands are aloft, shipping out booms, sending down halyards and rigging sheets.  Line leads are improvised as we run out of pins to make fast our lines while eager hands unfurl them from their bags. When ready the studding sails are hauled aloft on one or more halyards, sheets are tensioned to keep the lower boom (an extra wooden spar to provide "framework" for the sail) and sail going aloft steady - like a kite they are hung aloft and held at a trimmed angle by two sheets. It is difficult to describe, but today I took a video of them being set from aloft - I will see if I can get it on this blog to illustrate my point.

The teamwork involved in setting them, is only heightened when they all need to be taken in quickly because of an impending storm - such a situation happened this afternoon, as our once-sunny horizon turned gray and dark. An excellent watch leader, Daniel Baxter, gave good direction as eager, helping hands among our crew and trainees ease halyards and sheets and haul on clews to bring the corners up, then lines are dis-attached and hands aloft bring in the naked booms left sticking out. All done quickly! We have sent our studding sails up and down several times in the past two days and I can already see our crew getting better with all this "practice".

Rain has drenched our deck this afternoon and lightning can be seen on the nearby shore. Yet it seems we have avoided most of that trouble. Now… if only we could be graced with just enough wind to finish the race and hopefully receive some recognition for the hard work of this crew!

By Matthew Maples

Bay City, Michigan - 0200, By Matthew Maples

It is refreshingly quiet and cool on deck now. No sounds, save for one barely audible conversation and the occasional car passing over the bridge. In a handful of hours, however, the quay will become host to a loud crowd, cheering and waving as we cast off our docklines, leaving Bay City Michigan behind us. We are looking forward to open waters and a lake breeze tomorrow…but I suspect we will miss the hospitality of our four days in Bay City before too long.

The last time the ASTA Tall Ships Challenge happened on the Great Lakes in 2006, Bay City won the distinction of being the number one port. I believe I can understand why! From a sailor's point of view, Bay City has set a lofty benchmark for entertainment and hospitality. Our crew enjoyed (among many things) two crew parties, a sumptuous brunch, and even free admission to an Alice Cooper concert.

You can tell the crew on Europa are tons of fun when they stand out at an Alice Cooper gig! We made quite the impression in our silly, black, second-hand T-shirts (matched to our own personalities) and black make-up. Especially our mate, Harko; his naturally great stature was accentuated with a home-made Viking helm with real horns! He looked like he belonged on-stage.

Ok, so we on Europa know how to have a good time (especially with our famous "braai" BBQ's!) but how seriously do we take our seamanship? How does first place for the first of the 2010 tall ships races sound? Captain Vos received that award last night to a thunderous applause at the Mariner's Ball. That award might be mounted on our "brag" wall down below, across from the galley, alongside the other plaques. With that win we have now established a precedent of pressure to maintain our lead in the upcoming races, the next of which begins tomorrow.

What was the ultimate highlight of our time in Bay City for us though? Our epic-scale slingshot! Diven's hasty and makeshift contraption birthed during the last race has morphed into a sophisticated machine of twisted elastic bands and whisker booms. From our sloop deck during we unleashed a torrential barrage of water balloons, day in and out!. Our targets: Anything moving in the river, including other tall ships, sweating recreational boaters, bow bunnies and the Coast Guard auxiliaries.

The Coast Guard auxiliaries were especially good sports about our sling shot, with many of them idling in circles down our range, taunting us with jeers and just asking to be soaked! We obliged them time and again, and an uproarious, seemingly unceasing fit of laughter came from our sloop deck. Children and adults alike adored our water-bomb sling shot and even the people being shot at loved it too! Many of the boats went out of their way just to give us a better chance of hitting them. At one point we even ignited a rivalry with the tall ship Lynx after a few well-placed shots landed on their decks. They returned the favor with three rounds of close-ranged cannon fire blanks - just loud enough to scare the dickens out of everyone and make babies cry.

The head of the Coast Guard in this area even gave a "shout-out" to the Europa during the recongnition ceremony of the Mariner's Ball for being the "fun ship" that everyone, especially his auxiliaries were talking about. We are now known as the "fun boat" - a very fitting description for us, I think, as we do have a lot of fun here. Would those who have been crew on this ship keep doing it for this long if it wasn't fun?

Fun and foolery aside, we have a race coming up tomorrow. We hope the weather will defy the forecasts and give us some more exciting wind then what is expected. We shall see what happens…

Thank you Bay City!

1540 - 41.35.5'N x 81.55.3'W
By Matthew Maples
"Get ready on the courses! Only two minutes!" says Captain Vos. A flurry of activity follows his commands; canvas crackles as it tumbles from the yard and eager hands haul on lines. The billowing course sails, the lowest and largest square sails on our fore and main masts, are "tacked down", their clew corners hauled close to deck. Then, a mighty blast from our foghorn announces the beginning of the first of the Tall Ships Challenge 2010 races.

Now, hours later, the wind has died down and the ships lazily race for Pelee Island in west Lake Erie - less than thirty miles away. It is a short race, with barely a breeze. This race though, may instead be quite long as we creep ahead at barely two knots. Ahead of us now is the German brig Roald Amundsen, we have closed a lot of distance to her, but have not yet been able to overtake her as we grasp for inches in this race. With the spirit of competition in the air, Diven and Daniel, to amuse themselves, have rigged up a large makeshift slingshot from a galley pot and some bungee cords. They have already launched a water balloon at one of the Appledore schooners, with their ammunition landing a mere four meters away! They said that the Appledore IV crew was very surprised!

Though all plain sail is set there is little wind to work with, so Jay has taken to teaching our new trainees "the ropes;" "Sheet, clew, bunt, bunt!" I can hear her drilling them about the line location for square sails. No doubt they are confused after an afternoon of fast-paced sail handling as we scrambled to get canvas set aloft as the race began. With little time to explain, we thrust ropes into their hands and said "pull!" The rush is over though and now we will begin to take the time to explain more about just how our ship works - we want them good and trained for tacking and wearing ship since we are, of course, obliged to put the engine to rest and replace it with canvas, muscle and a lucky breeze.

There is plenty of teaching to do! We picked up eighteen more spontaneous souls then we expected in Cleveland, bringing our voyage crew total to twenty-five. The vast majority are green, but refreshingly eager. One of them, Nick Jameson, came to give the ship a casual visit yesterday. Now, less than twenty-four hours later he is on board and on watch! A spontaneous decision, but one he feels quite good about. After our afternoon of hauling on braces and halyards, I find him relaxing under one of our canvas towers. He tells me that as soon as he stepped on board he "knew it was awesome" and that "he had to do it." I ask him what he is hoping to get out of this experience, and he tells me that he expects "a little food, a little company…and maybe some direction." Then the deep New Zealand accented voice of Sam Swinburn, our chippy (carpenter) pipes in to our conversation; "You gunna find the meanin of life?" We all laugh. We'll see what happens! A few people claim nearly as much when they leave a ship like ours.

Cleveland now lies about eleven miles off our port - a city that treated us well. Many of us enjoyed our free passes to the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame and the Science Center. Our liason officers and their cadre of volunteers were awesome in getting us supplies, and most importantly, a television to watch the World Cup Final on (A match we will no longer talk about). We also thoroughly enjoyed our well-stocked crew party at Cleveland's Edgewater Yacht Club.
Cleveland now slowly falls into our wake as we make for Bay City. But first, a race!

By Samara
Yesterday, after traveling 28 miles up the locks of the Welland Canal to Lake Erie we came up alongside for the night in Port Colborne. Though I am considered a guest aboard Europa, I do not know ship life without chores. Thus, in my first few days I have tried to lend my hands in the work of the permanent crew. Without the need to fill the watch duties I would otherwise be responsible for lookout and helm. Instead I helped take care of the ship in other ways. To those that do not know shipboard life, it may be surprising that there is much work to be done aside from sail handling. But I am wiser, and after most people had gone to sleep last night I was happy to assist with some of the daily chores in the galley – baking fresh bread and cleaning.

After breakfast this morning we resumed travel towards Cleveland. However, in the presence of little wind and football (soccer) fanatics aboard we traveled closer to shore in hopes of streaming the Netherlands World Cup soccer game. Though we were unsuccessful in catching live footage of the match – the connection was strong enough for us to learn that the Netherlands won and would be advancing to the final!

 In the meantime, our steady sailing made for a good opportunity to work aloft. Of course, I was eager to climb the rigging. I helped reattach the lower top sail to the course yard (it had to be removed when we traveled through the canal). This process included an encounter with one of my nemeses aboard sail boats – mousing. Mousing is thin wire, much like an unfolded paper clip, that is used to secure tackles.  Not only is it sharp, but as you might imagine, maneuvering thin wire with pliers while balanced on the narrow tip of a yard is a challenge. But with close guidance, I finished nearly unscathed.

After the rig was put back in order we set twenty of Europa’s thirty sails, and I went aloft once again to ensure that the square sails were completely unfurled. I climbed up the foremast and out on every yard – the view was a spectacular reward for my work. Even from over 100 feet above the water I was unable to make out any land masses through the haze, a sight I fondly refer to as “360 degrees of nothing.”

Tonight the crew enjoyed the rare treat of a swim call, a steak dinner, and a stunning blood red sunset. Now it is nearly my bedtime, and I must get some sleep for tomorrow we will arrive in the United States!

0011 -  43.50.6'N x 78.52.8'W
By Matthew Maples

"Sorry, I hate pigeons" said Harko, the mate, after he slammed his flip-flop loudly on the deck to scare away a scrounging pigeon. I remember when I first saw him, on board, this pigeon - during the afternoon coffee break on the 27th. How a solitary pigeon finds its way onto our deck on Lake Ontario, relatively far from land and cities is beyond me. I didn't mind him at first, but I realized that I agreed with Harko after I cleaned the library early yesterday morning. The bird had taken refuge after a small thunderstorm made our deck unpleasant at our anchorage. After cleaning up his excrement, he thereupon proceeded to create an even bigger mess!
Suddenly his walking our corridors, bobbing his head lockstep with his feet seemed a lot less cute. Apparently Harko tried to throw him overboard that morning, but he just flew back on to the ship!

The highlight of yesterday was a long overdue, yet fantastic, sail! Not long after heaving anchor that morning did we set all plain sail.
We sailed from the north end of Lake Ontario, to its southern shore, and then tacked the ship to reach the north again, ending at an anchorage just twenty miles from our final destination, Toronto. During my watch in the afternoon, the ship was heeled over and we could hear the waves forcefully and loudly parted by our bull-faced bow as we made an average of eight knots. After so many weeks of motoring it is a relief to have the too-rhythmic "thrum" of the engine replaced by the hum of staysail sheets as they vibrate with the wind.

Our tack in the afternoon was good. Harko told me afterwards that it "went well" even though we had a "quite small (amount of) hands.(and
that) not everyone had done it before." The tack was a maneuver using the wind and our sails to push our ship towards a new direction. With this tack, we were able to change the heading of our ship, from the South West to the North West, and sail her close-hauled until the end of the day - a mighty good and refreshing sail that filled spirits on board as surely as canvas.

The end of the day also saw a filling to our bellies, as we ended with a "braai" barbeque - always my favorite type of day on board Europa - a thoroughly satisfying and well deserved feast of lamb, beef and pork cutlet for the post-climactic sail of our voyage leg. High spirits rose with the smoke and scent of cooking meat, which tasted better after an afternoon of hard, but good, work. We now have our anchor dropped at the north of Lake Ontario, a mere 20-ish miles from Toronto. We are close enough to civilization that I just heard a train pass by while I type this in the ship's office.

One of the best things about tall ships is the relationships you develop with the people around you. In land-life, you have your family that you know and the friends that you pick. A ship, however, will challenge you to work and live with people "outside your norm". In the case of Europa, that can encompass not just any age group, but any culture as well! Always we are busy on ship, so you do not have the time to sit down and interview everyone. But one by one and bit by bit, you learn tidbits about people and over time you come to realize that they are almost always far more complicated (in a good way) than you initially imagined.

An example would be our voyage crewmember Pieter Kesteloo.
Initially, when he came on board in Panama he was quiet and observant. Yet, with the departure of a large amount of voyage crew in the last few ports, Pieter has stood "up to the plate" to fill in the gap -He works as hard as the crew and can often be seen varnishing the wood or furling errant canvas aloft! In short quips over meals and in between jobs I have come to know him much better and I find that many of his sentiments echo my own, despite our age and cultural differences. Some of which I feel are "fit to print."

Pieter came to Europa with a small mission in mind; to reflect on his forty years of life; "Out on the ocean with zero influence," he said, is a "mind clearing experience." He summed his time on Europa with one word; "balance"; Living on Europa made life more "elemental". Travel, he explained to me, makes life simple. For here he could meet new people, enjoy passing scenery, work hard, learn and reflect. Here far away from his home in the Netherlands and from the distractions and noise of our modern, wired society, he could finally think, away from obligations.

There is an inherent simplicity in travel that he says he cannot find at home. For at home there is the burden of meetings, calculation and corporate diplomacy inherent in working for a large Dutch natural gas company. Here on Europa our days our determined in response to the wind and waves as we find solutions to getting from point A to point B. It is a simple life, mentally, he says; "it is regulated, organized, challenging and ever-changing" - a perfect backdrop for deeper thinking. For here, on quiet nights away from city lights, there is a certain solace among the bare elements.

After nearly seven weeks, Pieter's reflections have given him some insightful conclusions; for one, he is thinking about a career change.
His corporate life, he says, leaves him several degrees removed from being able to witness the good his actions cause. Whereas on the Europa, where we work as a team, our individual actions have direct effects on the crew around us-a decision to help a shipmate in need as they furl a sail may directly affect their success or failure.

He says that he wants to work "on something beautiful or work at something that gives people pleasure." As he tells me this during lunch yesterday I realize why he may have come to Europa. This is a beautiful ship, no doubt, and wherever we go we leave smiles in our wake. I think it really "brings up" someone else's day to see us, whether on the sea or coming down their river. Sailing ships are a symbol of freedom and of living in harmony with the elements around us. Something that I feel makes a difference, however small, to those who see us.and much more to those who come sail with us. As a symbol, our working existence is a material manifestation of dreams and ideals - an inspiration, so to speak.

We have apparently inspired Pieter, after his reflection, to pursue a new career that allows him to make "more direct" differences in the lives of people around him. He wants to see them smile; much as I see others smile and wave as we sail past their towns and homes, and as they come visit our ship in port.

Speaking of, we should arrive in Toronto early tomorrow morning for a parade of sail and the beginning of a tall ships festival. Should be busy and hopefully, we will make many people happy and perhaps inspire a few to something new.

0500 - 43.56.4'N x 76.56.13'W
By Matthew Maples

We are now in the Great Lakes and in our wake lie days of motoring through the St. Lawrence Seaway and its locks. As the confines of the green river gave way to the open gray horizons of Lake Ontario, we decided to celebrate our new "sea room" with a sail and some tacks to get our crew back into "sailing shape" for the Tall Ship's races we will be participating in this summer. Our tacks were cancelled when our partner, the wind, stood us up - we dropped anchor instead near Prince Edward Point. As the afternoon ended, the wind left so little a trace of itself that the water of our anchorage became a mirror to reflect the setting sun. In a few hours we will heave anchor, and hopefully sail to Toronto. We are apparently making good time, so maybe we can wait for our belated wind.

As we cruised down the St.Lawrence river yesterday morning, our pilot (we need a local pilot on board while we are in the lakes to guide us) regaled us with fish stories and photographs of the large lake fish (muskies, pikes) caught in the area. It inspired Frank, our engineer, to put forth a considerable effort this afternoon to catch a fish. He arrived on deck first with a small fishing pole and a huge lead weight and hook intended for sea fishing. Eventually more proper fishing gear could be found. Alas, he caught no fish, but said he would not let his bait of bacon go to waste. I'm not sure what he did with it. Between him and Diven, there may be a competition to catch the first lake-fish.

We made a stop in Montreal, staying from the 22nd to the morning of the 25th - This "very-French" city in Quebec was a unique place to explore for our crew in their time-off and it gave us time to catch up on maintenance to beautify our ship for Toronto. The hull was cleaned until it shone white again and the pin rails gleamed with a rare coat of varnish. Diven put his welding skills to work putting rings for the Desmond sail onto its new stay.

Most notably in Montreal, Diven accomplished a feat of eating; a challenge issued by a pub to eat a plate of ridiculously hot chicken wings.
I don't know what the sauce was, but I licked some off my finger and thought for fifteen minutes after that my lips and tongue were bleeding! Diven however, methodically wolfed it down in a mere five minutes - a gluttonous feat worthy alongside the twelve labors of Hercules! He is very proud this conquest and wants the world to know what he has done.

As I write this, I notice a bit of a breeze in the flags aloft, maybe we will sail off the hook this morning as we turn towards Toronto? We shall see.

0715 - 46.14.0'N x 72.46.18'W

Exciting news! We have news! Our pilots that came on board this morning brought the early-bird newspaper with them. We normally go long periods without detailed news, but as of late the crew has been yearning for some word from outside. Why? The World Cup! - A now-dominant theme to our coffee break conversations, which, in the absence of detailed news have been littered with speculation instead. Therefore, it was not long before Ewout "Woody" Van Grondelle had the sports section sprawled onto the poop deck to thoroughly peruse the soccer scores. Now we can update the chalkboard outside the galley that is keeping track of the teams representing several of our nationalities on board, including (besides the Netherlands) the United States, South Africa and France.

Before this timely "delivery" of Canada's "The Globe and Mail", we had been following the World Cup by catching the contest results over our shortwave radio at sea via a station called the Dutch World Service. Even though team Netherlands has advanced to the second round, the Dutch on board are reserving their enthusiasm and expectations. (Not at all like the unabashed hopefulness Chicago has for its Cubs baseball team - despite an achingly long century of ever-perpetuating disappointment).

I asked the mate, Harko Lambarts, if we would have a party if the Netherlands does well in the World Cup; he says that we will, "if they win everything." Now that his statement has been published in the logbook for the record, (where it can not be retracted) all we simply need now is a Dutch win and voila! Big party! (If the US wins then I will make a party for myself!)

Meanwhile, we are steaming down the St. Lawrence River on a calm and very sunny morning. A relief of fair weather welcomed by all - but no two more than Rensje, who wants to serve her meals on deck again and Tom who needs sunshine to dry his varnish. Yesterday evening was the re-inauguration of our daily ritual of a good meal on deck while we foolishly poke the drying varnish on our deck benches to see where we can sit. We thoroughly enjoyed our steak, potatoes and ratatouille (divine meal!) as we motored past picturesque Quebec City. The lively banter on deck, smiles and camera snapshots whirring were a welcome contrast to our more quiet, sombre meals in a chilled deckhouse. It is amazing what some new sunshine can do to the mood of the crew - We will enter Montreal today in good spirits.

Our topsails were able to be set yesterday afternoon. It was not until later in the night when the wind from our stern died down that the sails started backing and were taken in. A curious sight during dinner; our speed forward matched the speed of the wind coming from behind - therefore we could feel no wind, the flags hung limp, yet the topsails did not "back" full with wind from the wrong side - a strange equilibrium of forces.

We have been in awe of the natural beauty of Quebec. Like the velvet curtain before the grand stage show, the thick, sunlight-strewn, morning fog of yesterday teased our senses with momentary glimpses of pine-capped hilltops with rocky shores and cliffs spotted with lichen, strewn and scattered like encrusted emerald gems. The fog was so thick at times that it would have been impossible to see that we were cruising right past these tall hills and those of us on deck could not see the cargo ships passing us by in close proximity - but we could hear their foghorns! Then, at times the fog would suddenly and quite literally, be pulled away - the veil lifted and the beauty behind shown, but often for only a few minutes before the curtain was drawn to a close again. It was not until mid-afternoon that the sun finally chased away the tricky, teasing fog.

Now the hills have given way to flatter lands; homes, churches, industry, and the occasional small city are crowding the space once occupied almost solely by trees. The once blue-gray river has given way to green and brown as the St. Lawrence River narrows and we finish the final stretch before a stop in Montreal.

 By Matthew Maples

49.25.5 x 66.06.8'W

We have now rounded Cape Breton Island and have been largely steaming for a few days into the Cabot Strait heading for the St. Lawrence River. The Gaspésie peninsula and its gray-blue stretch of high hills lie about 14 miles to our port. Meanwhile, the radio chatter has taken on a distinctly French accent - the likes of which our deckhand Daniel Baxter cannot help but lampoon to our French deckhand Lucie L'Haridon.

Headwinds or too light of winds have offered little opportunities to put up our canvas. Now, while the engines do most of the work our crew now finds the time to repair our few wind-beaten sails; the main course and its big leech seam tear is now fixed and the sail is now bent back aloft, ready for action. As I write this Diven is finishing bending on our inner jib in the bowsprit. Now, all that is left is a rip near the clew of our fore-topmast staysail; a more troublesome fix apparently, but one that will have to be accomplished.

As we move inland to green-tinted waters, we seem to be leaving the stark chill of the North Atlantic behind us. Yesterday, for maybe the first time in days, the off-going watch stayed on deck to banter in the afternoon, instead of fleeing to the deckhouse or their bunks. We are getting just enough sun in the mornings to trick poor Tom into thinking he has a good varnishing day, only to be ruined, time and again by an unpleasant afternoon of rain, spray or both!  However, maybe our luck will turn now that Diven finished having a talk with the "Divine" at our 0800 watch change for more sun on Tom's behalf - a request for a hot, dry sunny day here in Quebec. I laughed.

A real purpose behind my writing in Europa's logbook and the ASTA (American Sail Training Association) blog is to inspire others to sail on tall ships. It was not until after college that I became involved in this offshore lifestyle - certainly not too late, but if I had known about this when I was younger I would have been frothing-at-the-mouth excited about getting involved! Do not be fooled - a tall ship may seem far away when you see it from the shore, but getting your hands on its lines to set sail is a more accessible experience than most people realize.

On Europa I have had the pleasure of meeting and working with one shipmate who was influenced through my writing to get directly involved in tall ship sailing - Nate Engel. Like me, he wishes he had known he could have started sailing earlier.
Nate, in the six weeks he has been on Europa, has gone from being a trainee on the voyage crew, to working alongside the professional crew in their longer watches and extended responsibilities. While it is not unusual for hardworking and diligent trainees to be asked to join the professional crew, what makes Nate unique is that, unlike most, he came to Europa with that goal specifically in his sights.

Hailing from Grand Rapids, Minnesota, a self-described "middle of the woods" town, Nate comes from a seemingly unlikely place for an aspiring tall ship sailor. Where then did the now 24-year-old Nate, among the lakes and woodlands of his home get the inspiration to sail on an ocean-faring square-rigger? His inspiration was largely kindled by going to ASTA tall ship festivals and events in the Great Lakes. As a child, he says his family would drive hours to see the ships come into port, and that in later years he himself would travel extensively in the lakes to visit any port that had the tall ships. Even from childhood he says he aspired to be a "pirate." Not to go robbing and plundering of course, but to live a lifestyle the literary pirate symbolizes; as Nate says, a life of "bravery, independence and freedom."

After two years of college in an engineering school and unsure of the course set ahead for him, Nate started working full-time to save money to come on board the Europa as voyage crew. As he put his nickels and dimes in the bank, Nate needed to decide on which ship to go on. Picking up the ASTA "Sail Tall Ships" book, he was astounded. "A whole new world was opened up to me," he says. "I had no idea there were so many tall ships willing to take inexperienced people." His decision to choose the Europa came quickly after reading my article and excerpts from the logbook entries from my own summer on Europa in 2009, along with a visit to Europa's website for more details. It seemed, to him, a natural place to start.

Nate feels, in retrospect, that he made the right choice; "As soon as I stepped on board I felt more comfortable than anywhere else. I immediately fit in and knew I made the right choice as to where to start sailing." Wanting to learn and get onto the professional crew roster as a volunteer, Nate's will to work soon found him in the day watch, working 8am to 8pm to assist the bosun and to also help master-varnisher Tom Fitzgibbon beautify the ship in preparation for this summer's festivals. His hard work afterwards landed him an invitation to join "port watch" to work with the professional crew. Now his duties go beyond steering, lookout, sail-handling and helping out with deck maintenance. He now can be seen working with us to accomplish some of the less-glamorous, but still essential daily work; cleaning, dishwashing and baking bread (which is fun, when it works.) But being on the crew has many perks, and Nate now gets to stitch sails or fight the wind in furling our high sail aloft. It is less sleep and longer hours, but we all think it is fun, good and honest work, something unique that you know you can really talk about.

Of his time thus far on Europa, Nate says that "It's more of a job interview than a vacation."  He doesn't hide the fact that he wants to make a career out of sailing tall ships. His only regret is that he didn't know he could do it earlier. "I am so glad tall ships still exist and feel lucky now to be a part of them," he says, "I can't see myself doing anything else." "The feeling you get when you are at the helm and the ship is completely powered by wind in the sails, will never change." It sounds like he has more direction now, then he did back on shore when he was trying to find his way, before he discovered the tall ships.

Nate told me a story about the first port he sailed into on Europa; Guayaquil in Ecuador. As the crew was going ashore, Ruud Blokzijl saw Nate staying on the ship. He asked him, surprised "Nate, you're not going to shore?" Nate's reply? "I spent over 20 years on shore; I think I prefer the ship."

Nate's experience mirrors my own in that I did not realize just how open, friendly and accessible the tall ship community is to newcomers. You do not have to be a sailor, but you can become one, whether for a few days or weeks to have a unique experience or for something more, the ships are open to those enthusiastic and willing to learn their ways. Perhaps, in so doing, you can learn something about yourself in the challenge sea-faring offers. It is really quite easy, pick up a book, visit a ship, visit a website and be unashamedly brash about your questions! There is something in it for everyone.

By Matthew Maples

45°54.6'N x 059°56.2'W

By Matthew Maples

 "Welcome to Norway" says Japke Van Urk, ship's doctor, to my groggy-eyed face as I shuffle towards my dinner. Norway? She reads my confusion, telling me that the place we have dropped our anchor this evening looks just like Norway. "I believe it" I say as I finish buttoning my cold-weather jacket for a dinner in the lounge. Thankfully though, the chilled air coming down our tweendeck corridor is defeated by a timely, steamy plate of beef stew and rice.

I've never been to Norway, but this place appears to be what I'd expect its shores to look like; sea-battered, lichen-strewn rocks with a line of pine wood behind. A sole, small lighthouse marks a small cape with a sleepy, small looking town behind. This, of course, is not Norway, but Cape Breton Island, just east of Nova Scotia. The palms and sun of Bermuda seem a lot farther than nine days away.

We've dropped our hook outside Louisbourg, seeking shelter from some nasty headwinds that were otherwise awaiting us at the entrance of the nearby Cabot Strait; our entryway into the St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes.

Instead, we wait for a low pressure system and its unfavourable winds to move on, rather then face them head on and toil our engines and burn too much fuel. Even now as I write this in the library back aft I can hear the gusts of wind rudely rumble through our rigging.

The water and wind of Nova Scotia's Grand Banks have been much as I remember them from past voyages; cold wind, fogged horizons, and spray across our deck. The strong winds of the past few days have died down, only to begin to return today. Meanwhile, our night watches have grown longer in these colder nights, but our voyage crew have stoically stuck to the wheel and kept a vigilant eye in a "darker" void, interrupted by few objects to report. It is not unusual for us to go several days without visually seeing another sign from the 6+ billion other humans on this planet. Since our crew for this voyage is so small (20 people) we have all had to put an extra hand in to help with the work, and our crew and voyage crew alike have become "as one" to pull our weight together. Our voyage crew is becoming much more familiar with the ship and are really "stepping up" to lend an appreciated hand.

As I look over some charts with the mate, Harko Lambarts, he shows me that we are now at a "half-way" point between Bermuda and Toronto in terms of the miles we need to cover. From Bermuda we have left 875 miles in our wake with a little more than half that to go. Time, as usual, feels like it is going much faster than us.

Lately we have had a rash of ripped sails. Next to me in the library lies our now-patched main course sail (the lowest, largest square sail on the mainmast). The starboard leech was torn at the seam as it was being taken in during the near gale-force winds of a few days ago. The watches, with heavy needle and stitching have repaired it after two days of work. When the wind dies down, it will be sent aloft and "bent" back on to the main course yard. We would scarcely have time to enjoy the satisfaction of a finished job; It was not more than a few hours later when a new rip appeared in the seam of another sail - the Inner Jib! It is another sail-repair project to keep our stitching skills sharp.

Work and weather aside, many of us saw a truly awesome sight last night - glowing dolphins (Seriously!). A trio of dolphins escorted our bow in a sea awash with bio-luminescence. Bio-luminescence is a night-time phenomenon out at sea - basically small creatures in the ocean letting off a short, green-yellow flash at they are "disturbed" by the movement of our ship. Last night was one of the brightest displays of bio-luminescence I have ever encountered; as those dolphins swam in our wake, their movement caused many small creatures to continually emit light, bathing the dolphins in their collective glow. As they swam effortlessly in our bow, the green-glowing dolphins looked like wavering ghosts in the black sea, like twisting, neon phantoms beneath the surface that left a flurry of firefly-like lights with the staccato of static in their trails. Our ship likewise triggered those little glowing "lanterns" all along our sides and left them sparkling like momentary nova stars in our wake before they returned to the featureless dark of before. We will miss the ocean and its curious creatures as we enter the fresh water lakes.

0030 - 39.40.0'W x 62.17.6'W

"Very, very interesting" is what deckhand, Diven Mohlanlall called it. Personally, I would use the term "rowdy". The event in question? Why, that would be the 58th birthday of our shipmate, Tom Fitzgibbon, our trusty "varnisher-in-chief", auctioneer of ship's goods and king of making our brightwork beautiful for the summer tall ship festivals. Not that his birthday celebration itself was "rowdy" beyond keeping a rapidly melting (yet delicious) cheesecake from pasting the deckhouse tables as opposed to our stomachs - it was what was going on outside that deckhouse that was rowdy.

"Rollers" I like to call them, big, troublesome things stirred up to mischief by the wind to give us a good "knockabout". They are large swells up to 6.5 meters high created by winds that that nearly approached Force 8 at times on the Beaufort scale (about 40 knots of wind).

The day before Tom's birthday, June 9, was unassuming enough. Sunny enough for a day of varnishing, quite calm with most of our canvas set. The next morning, however, saw the wind picking up, hour after hour, as my watch began to shorten sail in response. The royals and topgallant square sails came in with the outer staysails. A strong Force 7 wind kept up through the night and by morning the rolling seas that kept burying our lee, starboard cap rail into the water forced us to shorten our sail yet further - leaving our masts but bare sticks save for the lower topsails - our strongest square "storm" sails, along with our lowest staysails.

In the Europa's official logbook, the description of these swells and the sea condition is "wilde zee" (wild sea). I agree, and I believe our cook, Rensje does as well. She said that it was "like being in the Drake…but minus two!" It is a pretty awesome sight to see, those deep gray-blue moving hills that crest over with white foam and turquoise at their tops, as if in imitation of actual mountains; A tumultuous turmoil as far as the eye can see in all directions.

The question most often asked of me as a sailor is; "Have you been in any storms?" People have a real fascination with storms at sea, and they often seem to have some misconception that the sea is always stormy or rough. I suppose the mariner's themselves are to blame as I doubt they spend their time in a port watering hole talking about their adrenaline-heart-pounding "sunny day with a beam reach" and BBQ on deck. Rough seas, squalls and gales are all exciting to see, but they are a real pain to work and sleep in!

Above deck it is a wet and salty affair, with spray dousing even the wheelhouse, the lee rail dipping into the occasional wave, and torrents of water rushing from the scuppers trying to grab at sailor's ankles, trying to mischievously pull them into the lee scupper to give their beards a good rinsing! Both Divan and me were at times swept off our feet by waves coming over the windward rail and were washed into the lee scuppers! (Diven still insists that this weather "is nothing" - after the Drake he is not impressed). This wind is not even fun for the animals - I saw a large bird try to land on our deck, and as he turned toward us he was, quite literally, blown away!

Below decks it is akin to being in an earthquake that can go on for days; everything not tied down, falls down. Pots, pans, big wrenches, books and loose doors all reach out from the walls to try to tap your nose. A normal corridor turns into a twisted funhouse as you keep your balance in a space moving at wild angles - and those spry enough to manage without difficulty get to push their skills by ascending rolling stairways with pots of steaming hot coffee, knowing that it must not spill because a cold and wet crew needs that coffee. Over time you learn to time your movements and brace against the big rolls. As Diven says of rolling; "hold onto your coffee cups and tack your sandwich." - Decidedly sound advice after I saw a bowl of soup end up in someone's lap at lunch! No amount of advice however can fix the sleeping problem - I haven't yet met anyone who says they can still sleep well being tossed to-and-fro in their bunk.

Its fun at first, but after the first hour this rolling gets old - cleaning everything that's breaking and breaking more things as you thrash about cleaning the things that are already broke is a bit frustrating! My real pity goes to our cook who simply wants a nice day for a lovely meal on deck. She woke me yesterday morning with a grumble about us having "another day in the Drake." If you ever wanted to know what it was like to be those poor ants getting shaken up in the ant farm by the bad kid in science class, well, this is the time and place!

Things have calmed down now though today - enough for me to write this without the laptop and I sliding off the library bench. We even had a nice coffee on deck and Tom did some wet sanding, so things are going back to normal…for now. Although, I have to admit, when it is all over I am going to feel pretty satisfied to get to see the ocean in such a "rowdy" state. It really is an awesome sight and it will be what I tell people in port about to re-affirm their idea that the sea is always like this. It was worth the trouble, in retrospect, to see the ocean like this.

Finally, after dinner our crew took a break for a birthday, wearied from a day of sail-handling, furling, fixing broken things, dealing and chasing things not lashed down. As Tom ate his birthday cheesecake I had to ask him; "So Tom, just what was your birthday wish today?"

34.29.8'N x 63.44.0'W

By Matthew Maples

Our weekend stay in Bermuda seemed too short, though it was as sweet as could be expected - sun-dappled streets of pastel houses, turquoise-water beaches, and of course, the rum! I feel I speak for more than a few when I say that I was not looking forward to our Monday departure.

However, as we sailed to the north-east of the island after leaving the port of Hamilton, our crew enjoyed a pasta dinner on the main-deck as our topsails carried us along Bermuda's coastline - a whirl of color from its houses, trees, sunset sky and water. A light breeze, a great dinner and a fantastic view to match (It is just like it is in the brochures!). As the lime-stone roofs of Bermuda lazily drifted by I realized how lucky we are to be on a tall ship to enjoy times like this. We could have put up more sail, but I think we were enjoying going a bit slower this time - to make it last.

As we rounded the north-east corner of the island, we could see some flags waving to us from the grim-gray stones of Fort St. Catherine.

Closer inspection with the binoculars revealed them to be some of our departing voyage crewmembers, among them Lucy Hollis and Alexander Schiewart, bidding us farewell and fair winds. Their enthusiasm was returned likewise by Europa's mighty foghorn. On Monday Lucy stopped by on her scooter to say goodbye to us at least four times - she obviously enjoyed her second voyage on Europa and will miss us, as we will miss our crew who left in Bermuda. Among them many who were with us since Panama, strangers then, but friends now.

We also had to bid farewell to our good first mate, Marteyn Blok, his characteristic coffee-guzzling, his ever-present "Sardus!" T-shirt, and most of all, his awesome teaching skills. He must have missed us as well, for we soon received an email from him from Bermuda's airport, lamenting their lack of a lounge and telling us that he misses us already. He goes on now to be the second mate on the Norwegian square-rigger Sorlandet. The mate's position is now being filled by Harko Lambarts.

Today saw us begin our morning with clouded skies, with gray seas rolling like a slate tile roof rippling in an imagined earthquake.

White swells came from behind as we sailed downwind - a "rolly" course, but enjoyable as we made about 6.5 knots. The dour, rainy weather has annoyed our cook, Rensje, as she greatly prefers meals served on deck in sunny weather. She has made sure to wake me up with "grumbly" news about rain on deck again. For the first time since the tropics the crew has donned hoodies, jackets, boots and foul weather gear - this will be the new norm I suppose, and our shirtless days of endless sun and jacket-less nights are in our wake. All this rain isn't so bad, as long as we are sailing in it, I think.

The starboard watch after us however, got to enjoy an afternoon of motoring and rain as sails were taken in - apparently our fun morning of sailing was in vain because it is too far off our course, past Nova Scotia.

We needed to head higher into the wind. Captain Vos says that we will make what distance we can until an expected breeze from the southwest in a day or so can relieve our hard-working engines.

27.45.8'W x 69.59.9'W

Now the thrum and hum of the engine is silenced, replaced by the comparatively relaxing sound of deep-blue water passing the hull. While we have had wind for most of our voyage from Panama to Bermuda, it has been from the wrong direction - namely the one in front of our noses! Early yesterday, we altered course to a more north-westerly direction - enough for us to sail close-hauled off the wind. We are trying to go around a high pressure system that lies between us and Bermuda. Its "center" contains little wind, so we are trying to skirt it's boundaries as the system heads more east.

It is always a better voyage under sail and not just for the inspiring sight of our stretching canvas. The ship heels over slightly, held down by the power of the wind aloft - it creates a more stable (and therefore, comfortable) movement over the waves, as opposed to using only the engines, which, without the pressure aloft, we feel the roll of every wave. It works as long as you don't mind walking in slanted corridors, using heads (toilets) in slanted rooms and (in my case) "tacking" your body in your athwartships bunk, switching which side you sleep on so that your head is higher than your feet. It is always a slightly harrowing part of the day when you have to carry a large pot of steaming hot soup up a slanted stairway that is rolling with the waves. It always reminds me of those vintage pictures of the cargo-carrying square-riggers, where you see the poor cook or another unfortunate, struggling to carry a pot of stew as the wild waters swirl around his thighs - threatening to upset lunch (and everyone's day) with a loss of food for a voraciously hungry crew. I wonder how they managed meals without "sticky" mats.

I love birthdays on this ship, and today's was one for Mark Meyrick - a voyage crewmember, genial fellow and all-around helpful chap. He is making sure he enjoys his time on Europa by volunteering for any duty or work, no matter how fun or menial. Our welcome wind kept blowing out his candles for him, forcing Woody to make a hand-tent around one lone candle for Mark to blow out for his birthday wish.

Whatever he wished, his birthday was a special day for me too because the galley made apple pie. The best five apple pies I have ever had were served on Europa by either Marianne or Rensje and Annalies. Fantastic! Apples, cinnamon, raisins, even the cross-hatch pie pattern on the top. I can't even explain how heaven-sent it is, you simply have to have it. Today must have been a particularly lucky day, for Woody made cinnamon buns rolled in brown sugar for breakfast in the morning. I love those too! You don't get this kind of luxury on every tall ship. These awesome little things matter! Many tall ships smell like pine tar and moldy wood all the time, but Europa often smells like bread baking in the oven, fresh coffee, or brownies, or brown sugar and cinnamon glazing over raisin bread, pies and more. We love our galley, and they love us.

The weather of the past few days has been consistently sunny and pleasant, especially since we have left the barely-breathable steamy heat of the tropics in our wake. A cool breeze now makes our lounge, forepeak, heads, crew cave and library liveable again! Tom Fitzgibbon has harnessed the sunny weather to bring his varnishing project to "all ahead full". Day after day, the rails and benches are sanded and varnished again, to bring our brightwork into stunning shine after a rough marring from the extremes of the Antarctic voyages and tropical sun. Anyone sitting idle long enough soon finds themselves roped into his project. I competed with him for helpers as I scoured the deck for volunteers to help scour the old varnish from blocks, a direct labor-pool competition with Tom's projects. Regardless, the work is being done and we should be shining in time for the summer's tall ship festivals in the United States.

First though, we have Bermuda to visit. As I write this we are about 400 miles away, as the crow flies and closing to its sun-lit, palm-laden shores and famous rum drinks. The ever-potentially mischievious Divan of our crew keeps talking about how he is going to "shut the town down" - whatever that entails!