Classic Sailmaker: 10/22/06

Want the tall ship experience without the riggors of sail training? Today's Detroit Free Press spotlights a vacation aboard the schooner Yankee Clipper. A week on the YC would be a great vacation, but wouldn't a season on the YC be a great job!!??

Cruising under sail is adventure
October 22, 2006
BY GARY A. WARNER
ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Monday morning, the passengers of the Yankee Clipper, a former millionaire's yacht, squint into their first sunrise.

The deck is pitched at a 20-degree angle as the schooner carves through the waves of the south Caribbean north of Grenada, its sails rattling and lines groaning against the masts.

There are those passengers who are wide-eyed and smiling, the breeze in their hair, ecstatic at being at sea under sail. Then there are those who realize they have signed on for a week sleeping in a windowless broom closet that heaves, creaks and shudders. They might agree with the 18th-Century English wag Samuel Johnson, who said going to sea has "all the comforts of jail, plus the chance to drown."

The first group are veteran "Jammers," lovers of Windjammer Barefoot Cruises' highly eclectic collection of vintage sailing ships, along with new converts. "I have been on all the Windjammer ships, and from a sailing standpoint, this is the best," says Bill Fleming of Omaha, Neb.

A Windjammer cruise is not for you if you need luxurious accommodations, tight schedules, defined itineraries, fine dining, don't drink or don't like to be around people who do, and can't stand off-color jokes.

For my seven-day cruise, I chose the smallest and fastest of the four sailing ships in the Windjammer fleet: the Yankee Clipper. It sails the most unique itinerary, threading between the small islands of the Grenadines in the far southern end of the Caribbean chain.

My fellow passengers, mostly couples in their 40s and 50s with a smattering of older folks and a quartet of 30-ish professionals, meet on Sunday night at a gritty wharf in St. George's, the capital of Grenada.

We would soon be off to the beaches and snorkeling spots of Carricaou, Union Island, Bequia and Mayreau. But in what order, for how long and where else we might go was up to providence and Capt. Julian Peterson. "The Caribbean is La-La land," the captain says. "We don't ask where we're going or when we're going to get there."

The 197-foot white schooner pulls out at 11:30 p.m., motoring from the harbor before the notes of "Amazing Grace" come on the sound system, first a bagpipe version, then a dreamy vocal version. This is the signal that it is time to raise the sails, and guests scramble to join the crew in grappling with the great ropes that lift the sheets into the stiff evening breeze. The ship takes on a slight tilt as the wind bites the canvas and we glide off under a star-pocked sky.

"It's just wonderful to be out here," says Joe Vulcan of Madison, Ohio. We spend a day ashore on Carricaou, sipping odd but tasty concoctions like linseed and milk.

We take a swim with the brilliant small fish in Chatham Bay on Union Island. Best of all is lolling on the beach at one of the tiny Tobago Cays, the water such a brilliant azure that it seemed the bottom of the ocean had been painted as white as a suburban swimming pool.

"I want to snorkel every day," says Frank Zellerhoff of Seattle. "On this itinerary you can do that. No shopping. No fancy restaurants."

Afternoons are spent back on the ship. Time for drinking rum swizzles and waiting for the sun to set. Dinner is in the polished mahogany dining room, then more drinks of choice, from coffee to rum and coke, served up by Oxford Toussent, a bear-like bartender and shore-excursion leader. Jimmy Buffett, Caribbean steel-drum music and the Eagles play well into the night.

The Yankee Clipper crowd is like a big cruise human manifest in miniature. There are socialites, wallflowers, jokers, drinkers, romantics, adventurers, grumps and the people who seem to be counting time until the next chance to eat. Finally each night, I head off to bed. That's the part that creates most of the grousing I hear on board.

The Yankee Clipper began life as a millionaire's party boat. But when Windjammer bought the ship in the early 1960s, the interior was sliced up. Today it can accommodate 64 passengers and 30 crew. The luckier (wealthier) passengers have larger cabins on the top deck, with windows to look out. The rest of us are below, in standard cabins with sealed portholes that are minimalist in comforts.

My 12-by-12-foot room has worn polished dark wood walls, a beat-up carpet and an open closet. Bunk beds press against the hull. Fluorescent lighting gives a harsh glow. A small bathroom with very old tiles has a sink and a toilet. My aft cabin is so small the bathroom door cannot swing open without hitting the toilet. The third night, the sink springs a leak and floods the cabin, the crew racing to help me throw my belongings out the door and onto a dry cabinet. I move to a cabin near the bow.

Despite the impromptu gusher, I find the cabins to be perfectly serviceable for a single traveler. I sometimes retreat for the solitude that is hard to find on a small ship. But if I had to share the space for a week, it might be different. In fact, after the first night, Jack and Jackie Cole of Washington, D.C., swing a deal for an upgrade, threatening to cancel the second of back-to-back trips on the Yankee Clipper. "We weren't going to stay in that small cabin for two weeks," Jackie says. "Wasn't going to happen." Many Jammer veterans prefer to forgo their cabins altogether, sleeping on the deck.

Before we know it, we are in Bequia, the northernmost point of our trip. The village cascades down the green hillsides around the harbor. It's become a popular retirement spot for Americans, French and Italians. Lobster is plentiful. You can have the monster-sized crustacean broiled at one of the bayside cafes.

Turning back south, the silly times aboard become more frequent. We are no longer strangers. A game called the Sea Hunt is organized one night, with passengers divided into teams and assigned outrageous tasks. Winners get a piece of Windjammer gold -- extra chits for the bar.

The next morning, the crew dresses in full pirate garb as we sail into Mayreau and slide up to Club Med 2, a hulking French-operated cruise ship. Capt. Julian, in a long, flowing red coat, short breeches, with a flintlock pistol in his hand, gets out a bullhorn. "Hand over your Grey Poupon or prepare to be attacked!" he bellows.

That night, we have a barbecue dinner on the beach followed by a pub crawl across the island led by Oxford, who lives on Mayreau when not at sea.

The morning of the sixth day we have Grenada in sight. By noon, we are moored next to a visiting British warship at a foul-smelling St. George's dock. The early return seems to be for the benefit of the crew. For those of us still entranced by Tobago Cays and Bequia, a night on the backside of St. George's is a letdown.

Killing time in Grenada gives me a chance to talk with Jammers about their least favorite subject: new international maritime safety rules that endanger their beloved fleet of four old sailing ships. The laws that go into force in 2010 are designed for modern cruise ships. They're almost impossible for older sailing vessels to meet.

"We don't know what is going to happen," says Yankee Clipper purser Joanne Dalaklis of Boston. "My advice is if you want to try this, do it soon."

The next morning, we all split up, some to the airport, some to resort hotels on Grenada, and a lucky few leaving with the Yankee Clipper on another loop to Bequia.

"A week has been great; you really get to unwind," says Bill Weick of Toronto as he heads down the gangplank. "Two weeks and they would have to scrape me off the deck, I'd be so relaxed."