Day 0 – Getting There
A few months before this trip, I was looking around at schooner trips around the U.S. I had taken some friends on a sunset cruise in St. Augustine during a girl’s trip weekend and I learned that there were tons of schooners you could take expeditions on, whether for a few hours, a day, or a whole week.
I stumbled across the Schooner Zodiac like so many other things on the internet (thanks, Google) and was struck by how great the reviews seemed (including the food!) and how affordable it was for a 4-day trip – $700ish bucks for the whole trip, meals included. I took a chance, and selected the Fall Lighthouse Tour of the San Juan Islands.
The past two years I’ve made a few leaps of faith when it comes to sailing adventures, and there’s one thing I learned: Sailors are good people.
I fly out to Seattle on a Wednesday and spend the day roaming around downtown, including a trip to the Seattle Underground museum. My train to Bellingham leaves at 7 p.m., so I had a leisurely time and ate some delicious Thai food.
I’ve ridden on this specific Amtrak line out west before. After college, my girlfriend at the time and I traveled from Seattle to Portland, and the cool thing about that line is that it hugs the Pacific ocean. We’re talking super close, like sometimes you’re practically next to the water. That was my very first Amtrak trip, and it was memorable.
Flying along at sunset from Seattle to Bellingham, I was lucky enough to witness an incredible pink and orange sunset. I spent some time taking photos, and there was a sweet Gen Z passenger behind me furiously capturing it via watercolors. She seemed so into it and so ready to paint that I was curious if she was riding the train only to take in this view and work.
When Bellingham is announced, I grab my bag and step out into pitch blackness. It’s 9 p.m. PST, and I left around 5 a.m. EST, so I’m exhausted.
I walk the quarter mile to the hotel I booked in downtown Fairhaven, a cute little historic part of Bellingham that reminds me of Decatur. There is a solitary night-shift hotel employee on duty, and there’s a crackling fireplace. I don’t see any other guests, and walk upstairs and sleep nearly instantly.
Day 1 – We Head to Sea
The next day dawns gray and misty, and I check out and head to a cute little diner that seems like it exists out of time. I order the corned beef hash, and it’s fresh and salty and way more food than I can eat.
Boarding for the trip will be down at the docks, a short walk back in the direction of the train station. When I arrive, I notice other folks with luggage and sleeping bags lined up outside the steps to the slip where the Zodiac awaits. Fellow sailors!
As we march on to the ship, we drop our bags in a pile. Orientation begins! Our leader is a mid-30s woman named Dana, and she’s the mate of this trip. We go over some of the safety rules and regulations, and then are assigned bunks.
This isn’t a Royal Caribbean cruise, but that’s precisely the point. It’s more like glamping, or actually, I’d consider it like a floating hostel. There are individual berths about four feet wide, 7 feet long, and 2 feet high. These are stacked like bunk beds, and they all line the walls around what’s basically the forecastle – where the crew would traditionally have slept all together. There are a few private cabins, but they are basically the same vertical set up (two bunks close together) but they have the luxury of a door.
All 20 or so of us share 3 bathrooms, and while this thought is a bit daunting at first, I was surprised at how fine it was.
We take our stuff below and I finally meet Abby, the 10-year-old black and white ship’s cat. Have I been stalking her on Schooner Zodiac’s Instagram for weeks? Yes.
She’s a grumpy gal, it being the last voyage of the season and her having met 30 or so people each week. I tried to pet her anyway, and got a little scratch. Entirely my fault!
My bunk is in the central room around a huge table, and it’s on the second level, a heavy tan curtain my only privacy for the week. Climbing up five feet is a little tricky, but as I’m one of the younger folks on this trip, I think they decided my back is limber enough to handle it.
We head back up top on deck and we’re separated out into teams that we’ll be on all weekend. I’m assigned to the mainsail crew, and our job will be to manage the direction and position of the boom that’s at the back of the boat. It’s a long piece of wood that when stationary sits abeam the middle of the deck. When we’re on a point of sail, it’ll be loosened and then slip from side to side.
There are several other crews that have other jobs – the jib, the topping boom lift, the foresail. Tall ships require a ton of teamwork and listening, and schooners are actually crewed by fewer sailors than, say, a square-rigged ship, which has many more sails, including the super-tall top gallant masts that flutter hundreds of feet about the deck. The land of Billy Budd & such.
Hold on, I don’t think I’ve told y’all yet about schooners in general.
What the %#$* Is a Schooner?
The schooner we’re on, the Zodiac, was built in 1924 by the Johnson & Johnson family – you know, the baby shampoo billionaires. A schooner is a type of sailing ship that has two or more masts with the foremast (the one closest to the front) being smaller. They come in all sizes, but they are generally known for being fast and maneuverable.
The Zodiac still has her original rigging, with none of the modern conveniences like automatic winches. Working her is completely analog – even the cleats are old-timey pins.
Of course, she does have a diesel engine. But that’s only for when we’re leaving the harbor or not finding any wind. Which leads me to another fact of sailing:
Usually, if it’s a brilliantly sunny day, there’s not going to be a ton of wind. That’s what happened on our trip, but honestly, to have four brilliant days of yellow light and mild temps in the Pacific Northwest in shoulder season, it was worth the smell of diesel exhaust during the day.
Back to Work
The beauty of this particular schooner trip is that you can work as little or as much as you like. Some folks being older meant they wouldn’t be able to heave and ho, but the rest of us did!
Together, all of us helped raise the mainsail and the foresail. We were divided into two sides, the peak and the throat. This is because the sails are gaff-rigged, which means that they have a funny, uneven shape that takes care to raise simultaneously.
For the first time in my life, I realized the power of heaving together as a team against a heavy load.I can see why they had songs to beat in time to this! Also, this trip was like a sailing camp. It was glorious.
Out of the gate, we’re sailing south from Bellingham, but I know not where the destination lies for today. In this way, it makes you feel like a regular able seaman, who’s definitely not in charge of anything and only obeys orders.
The wind is slight, but it’s cold in the shade and warm in the sun. We are cruising through the San Juan Islands, taking in all of the pointy-firred beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
The only other ships we see are the occasional lone sailboat, and the crossing ferries from time to time.
The ship’s cook rings the bell for lunch and we start salivating. She’s a no-nonsense but friendly woman dressed in shorts and a tank top despite the cool 60- degree weather (no doubt because of the heat of the galley). Though the boat is slightly listing to port, we line up and spoon steaming hot bowls of mushroom soup into bowls, butter some fresh bread and toss it in.
The crew, composed of about 10 volunteers, eats last, grabbing bowls in between on-deck tasks. The mate eats finally as the very last, and I see her marching back to the helm not with soup but carrying a plate with two grilled cheeses. The privileges of command are various but enticing.
After lunch we’re cruising slowly, idly chatting with fellow passengers. I meet a fellow passenger interested in cribbage, her eyes light up. Throughout the afternoon we stay busy sightseeing and learning the ropes (literally). We walk by the open kitchen a lot, and the cook is already preparing meatballs for dinner, I hazard to guess.
They ring the ship’s bell every half hour in the old traditional way, marking the half-hour increments of the old-timey four-hour watches. One stroke of the ship’s bell indicates the first half hour of the watch. Then another bell is struck for each succeeding half hour. Thus eight bells indicate the end of a four-hour watch.
For example, the first watch is at 8 p.m., and at 8:30, one bell would be struck. 9 p.m. would be 2 bells. Midnight is then 8 bells. Rinse, repeat.This is such a simple thing, but I found myself finding it very comforting. Your gal loves a routine.
Lighthouse, Ho!
We tried to visit our first lighthouse this afternoon, but there was soil rejuvenation work going on and we weren’t allowed to get to land.
The wind wasn’t amazing, so we decided to take the sails down. That was an incredible experience, working together as a group to climb up on the boom (which, to be fair, though, is only 10 feet above the deck, not super high like on square-rigged ships) to furl them up against the boom.
We settled into Hughes Harbor on the South End of Lopez Island and anchored. We dropped some dinghies and a small sailboat and a kayak. I was the lone volunteer to drop down and paddle around looking for wildlife. Only managed to see some jellyfish. Cute little tiny ones that flitter about.
We came back on deck and waited out the dinner bell. Meatballs, brussels sprouts, and an herby cheesy risotto. The food is fantastic, varied, and flavorful. Definitely not the salt pork and hardtack rations of days gone by.
In the evening, like in the old days, a crew member would sit in the bow pulpit and play a lonesome violin. I asked him if he knew the leitmotif that plays at the beginning of every episode of Ken Burns’ Civil War. He goes, “Ashokan Farewell?” and I replied with a wide-eyed “YES that one!” Give me a mournful dirge any old day.
Abby the ship’s cat wandered on deck, presumably to watch the sunset. She took a moment to sharpen her claws on the rough twiny ropes of the halyard.
I chased her around for a bit trying to take the perfect photo. She is my muse.
After the sunset, we hear some final bells – there’s desert! Pears and ice cream in a fruity savory reduction.
Then we bundled up on deck and watched the stars settle in above us. I saw a shooting star, and could see the brilliant white smudge of the Milky Way. That doesn’t happen very often in my daily Atlanta life, damn light pollution.
We go downstairs and change, and I ply into my top bunk. How many people will snore in this room that has a dozen people stacked on top of each other? We shall see!
Sleeping in a room with a lot of strangers is interesting and a bit of a struggle.
I tossed and turned a bit in my bunk, but managed to grab sleep in chunks. I spoke to many folks and they felt the same. It’s definitely unlike sleeping on vacation in the traditional way.
Day 2: More Lighthouses!
I woke around 6: 30 and noticed the top hatch was open, so I ascended in shirt sleeves to the dew-dampened deck and was treated to the most gorgeous sunrise. The cove we sheltered in for the night was absolutely calm. A few friends rose to regale themselves as well. We whispered awe in the twilight, all of us saying every few hours, “Damn, we’re so lucky.”
Coffee in the galley, and breakfast was a treat. Our superhuman cook had prepared fresh fruit, an absolutely enormous pot of savory oatmeal with peas, carrots, and onion in a brothy base, served with chunks of sharp cheddar cheese. And for protein, immaculately poached eggs and crisp crumbled bacon.
There is no wind today, on Friday, so we’re steaming south to the Olympic peninsula. The sea is as calm as glass, the sky and sea fighting for who’s bluer. Animal spottings today include a bald eagle and a lone harbor seal doing laps next to us.
After breakfast we have chores. I am excited. Some folks set off to polishing all of the various brass objects on deck, while I was part of the deck washing detachment. Overnight, fresh water dew accumulates on deck, which is bad for the old wood on it. Using the salt water hose, we drenched it, apparently salt water helps protect wood. Folks came behind me and scrubbed with brooms the bird poop and shoe detritus that had collected.
I also go to use a power hose and shoot the mud off the anchor as they raised the chain. It’s incredibly satisfying to knock off loose clumps of wet dirt.
We’re still not sailing today but motoring along the glass-calm water of the Strait of Juan De Fuca. So diesel powered, we boated through on to the Olympic Peninsula to visit the new Dungeness lighthouse.
We sped on the dinghy and landed on a driftwood-strewn beach. A cool thing about many lighthouses is that they tend to have immaculately manicured green lawns. A remnant of coast guard policies, and also probably just there to keep keepers occupied in the down hours, something to tend.
The lighthouses of the San Juan Islands tend to be short and squat, and a little homey. We chatted with the volunteer keepers, and wandered around the little spit for a bit.
After our lighthouse sojourn, we dingy-ed back to the ship, and motored down to see two more lighthouses on the way to our final resting spot of the day in Port Townsend, a sleepy peninsula town known for its art galleries and cafes.
I had duty this afternoon, which consisted of a brief chart orientation (which I was an old hat at due to my prior sailing experience) and taking the helm.
Lunch called in the middle of my shift at the helm, so I retook it and stood at the wheel and pointed us toward the southeast. The wheel is fairly sensitive, but takes a few minutes to react.
So you’ll turn a few degrees and then won’t feel the ship start to turn for a bit. This means you’re constantly course correcting.
After standing in the sun for 30 minutes, it was time for bow watch duty. You sit at the very tip top of the ship with a pair of binoculars and keep a weather eye on potential obstructions – things like other ships, animals, logs, waterlogged logs (called deadheads and they float vertically), buoys, and anything else that could hit the ship and cause trouble.
Lunch was stuffed acorn squash and a pear salad. It was divine. All of the reviews for this trip said the food was good, but I was skeptic and though, oh right, like baked ziti, sure. Nope! Everything is interesting, amazingly spiced, and varied.
We motored around the rest of the day, taking in the gorgeous water and sky. When you’re not on duty, which is most of the time, you talk, you read, you do a crossword puzzle. The weather being gorgeous, we practically lived on deck.
Dinner was homemade injera, spiced chicken thighs, curried cabbage and carrots, and a daal.
The dessert was chocolate mousse with whipped cream.
The sunset was gorgeous, and you could make out Mount Baker behind us.
After dinner, we played hearts and shared a bottle of wine someone brought on board. This process of sleeping together and living together with strangers is fascinating. There’s a wide assortment of ages of passengers, though it definitely skews older. The youngest is probably in their late 20s. Me in the middle-ish, 40.
Part of a crew
In the days of sail, those who weren’t officers lived and slept “before the mast,” which means you stayed abreast of officer country, which is where the ranking folks lived. There’s a separation, of course, and less privacy.
On our ship, we’re a little more rowdy and play cards together, while others are reading, some dozing.
We only interact with the crew (all volunteers, but for all intents and purposes, officers in terms of chain of command) while on deck. They eat after us though in the same kitchen. In the olden times, they’d have better food and more of it.
The volunteers are all extremely nice, and they’re helping us to learn the ropes. They’re a varied group, from all over the U.S. and even Italy and Switzerland. It adds to the cosmopolitan air.
I head to bed, happy and tired to be in my little berth. It’s cozy.
Day 3
Saturday morning, another day dawns beautiful with absolutely no wind. Honestly, for the amount of work it takes to raise the sails and keep them trimmed, not to mention tacking, I’m not terribly upset about another day of motoring.
We leave Port Townsend and head north and east toward Vancouver Island after a hearty breakfast of sausage, egg, and cheese muffins. We sat and lounged on the deck, discussing music.
We have more lighthouses to see today after lunch. Strange to think that tomorrow afternoon we’ll be heading home to Bellingham. I feel like I’ve been gone for weeks, but also only a few hours.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to sail away on a whaling ship or a schooner for 2 or 3 years, with only the present crew for company. You see groups form, and people with whom you clearly have a connection to. It’s like a growing family.
Today I polished brass for about 30 minutes and found it supremely satisfying as all of the gunk came off, revealing the beautiful shiny exterior underneath. It’s a constant battle against the elements on the ship.
There are three bathrooms on board for all of the passengers, and I expected it to be a mess. It’s not!
Haven’t seen much of Abby today. She came up top for sunrise but that’s all I’ve glimpsed of her. She got in trouble yesterday for peeing in a passenger’s bunk, so the captain put her back in it and gave her a stern talking-to.
She’s around 10, and has lived on the Zodiac her entire life. She’s a grumpy cat, but it’s not because of her nature, I don’t think. It’s because she’s constantly surrounded by new groups of strangers every few days during the season. When she wants attention, she’ll ask for it.
There’s a rule on board that if you leave personal belongings in the chart room, they’ll get strung up on a halyard to the top of the ship. The Swiss guy has been looking for his shoes, and little does he know that they’re suspended 20 yards above the deck. The other crew (and some of us passengers) know where they are, but we’re all staying mum.
Lunch was a baked potato with beans and coleslaw and a side of roasted broccoli.
We found some wind after lunch and got to raise the sails for the first time since Thursday! We practiced tacking and started making our way to Stuart Island. We passed a few tiny lighthouses today, and zoomed around them without stopping. We sheltered for the evening in Prevost cove, a rather large inlet with a few silent houses standing silent watch over the area.
While on bow watch, I was zoning out a bit, listening to Tina Turner and the Talking Heads, and all of a sudden I saw something moving under the water. I heard shouts and murmurs bubbling along the whole expanse of the deck behind me. We haven’t seen much wildlife on this trip, a bit of a bummer considering this is where the orcas and whales hang much of the year.
But lo and behold, beneath me darting in front of the bow back and forth was a pod of what I soon learned were Dahl’s porpoises. We have porpoises and dolphins in Savannah, the coastal town I grew up in, but these were different. Instead of the smooth and shiny gray veneer that I was accustomed to, these porpoises were colored like orca whales – mostly matte black with a bit of brilliant white.
Remember the scene in Titanic when they’re at the bow and see the dolphins racing? It was exactly like that. It lasted, all in all, for about 3 minutes.
I counted myself extremely lucky, because not only had we not seen much marine life, it was on my bow watch that they appeared. I like to think that I summoned them with David Byrne.
Dinner was salmon pie with a dressed salad, and it was amazing. Dessert was a spiced cake with a caramel sauce. Abbie slunk up for the first time all day on deck and I gave her a tiny bite of salmon; she was appreciative.
As twilight settled around us, John had pulled out his violin and was quietly fiddling away. It’s a nice ritual to hear, especially as it was so incredibly quiet around us in the cove.
We saddled up to the bunk table to play another game of double elimination hearts. It’s fun to laugh with strangers that you know you’ll never probably never meet again, to share this space and time with nice folks.
The mate gave us some Sour Patch Kids, and we gave her in return a half bottle of red wine, which they said they’d drink when off duty with the crew.
Two folks are braving the elements (it’s a cool 50 degrees and there’s the promise of impending dew) and sleeping up top on the deck. I bet $10 they’re back in their berths by sunrise.
Update! They had the best time and stayed up all night.
Breakfast was pumpkin butter pancakes and greek yogurt with granola.
Our last day we had until 3, and we decided to go out chasing the wind. We raised the sails one last time, exulting in the teamwork and sweat it takes. There’s a common saying that mother nature likes to tease sailors, and as soon as we hoisted and sails were set, the wind completely died. We motor-sailed a bit, and then dropped them altogether.
Lunch was ramen with bok choy, corn, and szechuan ground beef. Absolutely incredible.
For the last bit home to Bellingham, we had to make up for a bit of lost time, and we headed through the small pass between Lummi Island and Portage Island. Mount Baker, long in the background for most of the trip, suddenly appeared and loomed like a giant.
Docking was fun – a few hundred yards out, some of the crew hopped out onto the dinghy to head to dock so they could catch the lines. Then, all gathered on deck – including Abby, who was up top to supervise from amidships – we watched as the mate expertly BACKED into our slip.
What an incredible trip! I have another train trip back to Seattle then a flight to catch home.
I can’t wait to do this again.
