Overstayed!

It took me less than a month to return aboard Shtandart. This time we sailed from Amsterdam north to the island of Texel before returning, via Amsterdam, to Rotterdam. March weather can be wonderfully unpredictable. One day feels like spring. The next, like winter has quietly reclaimed its territory. We woke up in Oudeschild to discover the ship covered in fresh snow. The deck. The yards. The ropes. Everything. It was sunny and freezing. Before that voyage I often wondered how so few people could possibly sail a three-masted frigate. Once aboard, the answer seemed surprisingly simple. The crew was divided into three teams—the foremast, the mainmast and the mizzenmast. Each had its own leader. Sometimes all hands were called on deck. At other times, when the ship settled comfortably on her course, someone disappeared below to cook for more than thirty hungry sailors. I discovered that preparing an omelette from one hundred eggs is an art of its own. The meals were as varied as they were unexpectedly good, despite the ship constantly moving beneath your feet. Below deck it was warm, dry and remarkably cosy, no matter how cold the North Sea became. The crew ate in shifts, stories were exchanged over steaming mugs, and everybody quietly waited for one particular sound. The captain's bell. It meant we had reached a safe harbour, and drinks other than tea, coffee or water were finally permitted. More often than not, somebody would appear with a guitar, and the evening would slowly drift into songs.

I had expected to step ashore in Amsterdam. Instead, the ship was heading on to Rotterdam. She was short-handed. Meanwhile, dark clouds were gathering over the North Sea. A winter storm was approaching. And somewhere during those hours another weather system quietly began forming. Not above the ship. Inside our minds. A friend of mine and I looked at each other and realised neither of us wanted to leave. The ship needed another pair of hands. We needed very little convincing. So we stayed. We stayed. I wish I could explain exactly why. I still can't. Yes, that decision gave us something I hadn't expected: a night passage through a stormy North Sea, black foaming waves chasing us from astern, and the peculiar satisfaction of helping sail a large square-rigger with fewer hands than usual. But it wasn't about that.