Between 6 months and a lifetime
(by Soraia Costa)

So here we are, back in Amsterdam, with an empty cargo hold, preparing for the next trip.

Six months have passed since we first left Den Helder on that grey November day. I still remember the steady sound of the tugboat, like a frantic clock rushing us. Soon the time would not matter that much, but we didn’t know that yet. After 3 months of refit, a perfectly black hull and a whole new rigging, she was most definitely ready to go, and so were we. But we still needed our flag, and that bean soup and Jeroen had a few more teas and spices to give us, and from the lovely people standing by the quay, we still had herbs, potatoes, pumpkins and so many fair winds wishes to receive. I remember being hit by all kinds of unexpected emotions and also not having a second to process any of them. The last hugs were shared as the mooring lines were set loose. As she slowly moved away from the pier and the embraces were no longer possible, there came the handshakes and finally, only words and smiles could connect both worlds. There was a special atmosphere surrounding that moment; serious but not heavy. And as we disappeared around the corner, setting sails already, we had no idea what to expect. Then the North Sea and getting to know these 19 people with whom we were going to share part of this adventure came. 

We had a whole new world to learn about and master. Rope names and their functions, manoeuvre logistics, climbing, steering, even simple walking on a moving deck or sleeping on a rolling bunk is a skill that requires practice. Each one of us was pretty soon faced with his and her own battles. Seasickness for some, freezing wet feet for most, tiredness, sleep deprivation, feeling generally overwhelmed, you name it, it was a tough start especially for the ones sailing for the first time!

Then Biscay came and I realised we are more human when we are reminded of our vulnerabilities. A warm soup made by a trainee when I was too sick to work, a pat on the shoulder when bending over the railing, an understanding look that speaks for a thousand words, the relentless work from the experienced sailors on board, allowing the others to get back on their feet…all these were true expressions of love that I will never forget.

It took time for me to be friends with the rolling galley. She would not give in that easily, but I tend to fall for untamed spirits. I had to find out the hard way how to stand and hold my position. Feet were no longer enough since you need 3 points of balance; so butt, hips, knees and back were put to work. Mise en place was made obsolete. All the bowls with prepared veggies would just fly away with the first wave anyway.
You must chop as you go. Elbows, wrists, even the pinkie fingers are fully used daily to keep everything in place. Your senses become alert to any sounds and movements, but careful not to go crazy with the ever symphony of pots and pans hitting the walls. You learn pretty fast that if we are sailing full and by, you shouldn’t make lasagne; the entire top layer will slide out of the tray and burn on the bottom of your oven. You learn that making pasta on a heavy sailing day heightens the mood greatly, but you will need all your prayers to strain that boiling water safely.
You learn about each person’s specificities; how full the bowl should be for each one, who likes runny or hard eggs or who prefers forks over spoons.

Soon after we would be in Baiona rolling empty barrels by hand over the quay and partying with my parents on board and with a new captain we headed south direction La Palma. Some said sailing would be smoother from then on but the sea does what the sea wants. The reliable starry skies were always there though, reminding me of permanence while outside and inside everything was shaking. I didn’t know back then, but there was going to be the last time I would ask myself: can I actually do this? Because then came the Atlantic crossing and a love story were born.

We would be three and a half weeks at sea and, with 70kg of bananas and 30kg of avocados in the cargo hold, we were definitely going to manage. We aimed south until the butter started to melt and then hitchhiked with the good old trade winds all the way to the west.
Downwind sailing, blue skies and sunshine completely changed the mood of the crew. It was time to start living and enjoying life on board. We could finally dry all our damp clothes and have showers on deck. Guitars were taken out and songs were sung and written again. Without much sail handling to do, the days were spent doing maintenance work. Tarring, seizing, sanding, oiling, painting, tensioning, pitching, de-rusting, splicing, sewing; all this needs to be done regularly. It is a lot of work to keep such a ship in shape.

In the galley, life was much easier though. If in fact, life was great! I was feeling more and more synchronized with everything, my body had accepted the daily schedules, the sounds, the movement. And as each meal was served I felt more confident and soon cooking for the whole crew wouldn’t be any different than cooking for myself at home. The days onboard were simple. All actions were concrete and necessary for living; cooking, cleaning, fixing, sailing. And there was always time. It is mind-blowing how much space is left when you are not constantly bombarded with abstract nonsense. I was contented. I felt at peace with my place in the world, at least in this floating world. I remember lying on deck one night, under the most brilliant sky, looking up at the sails and the moon and Venus shining over them. I did not know whether to feel big or small. But I understood then that there is no scale for such feelings of meaningfulness.

One day, when the wind didn’t blow, we decided to put the tender overboard and do a few laps around the ship to take some pictures. That was the day we truly realised it: we are really crossing the Atlantic on a pirate ship. And just like going to space and looking back at Earth, we all stared at her from the distance in awe and reverence. She was everything we had and the only place we were safe within a radius of hundreds, maybe thousands of miles. That day we all came back on board with a renewed sense of care and responsibility, and I wondered how would the world be if more people were able to step out of their lives and take a look from a different perspective.

Anyway, the Caribbean was getting closer and, although I didn’t want the crossing to end, we would finally eat something else rather than pumpkin and bananas and I was also curious for what the West would bring. Barbados was our first stop. We dropped one of our anchors on the bay of Bridgetown and as it touched the ground our captain yelled, “Welcome in the Caribbean” and we all cheered, already imagining all the land pleasures we were going to feast on! But it would take us another 6 hours of hard-core teamwork until we could finally reach land since we soon realised that the anchor wasn’t holding!
With squalls in the horizon and other boats all around us, we had to be quick and pull that anchor up, so we could sail away from the bay and try again. But on a traditional ship like ours, without an engine or modern technology, bringing up an anchor means that the whole crew is taking turns sweating under the sun pulling like crazy. After two hours we were ready to try again. We chose another spot, let go of the anchor, crossed our fingers and waited in silence…damn, it wasn’t holding again! We dropped a few more shackles, nothing changed. We drop our second anchor and still not holding. Now we had two anchors to pull up! Make water bottles ready, we were going to be pulling non-stop for another hour or more. This time was going to be the last time we would try anchoring, since the crew was exhausted and starving after 6h of pulling, tacking, jibing, and running around hoisting and dousing sails. We approached the bay once more, the captain screams “Tres Hombres let go!” and for the third time, we hear the anchor dropping. With four and a half shackles in, she was definitely holding this time!

From then on a different life on board began. Land time became longer than sea time and that had its positive and negative sides. We could rest from the discipline and focus needed at sea but we were also vulnerable again to all land distractions, bureaucracies and stress. But we had a job to do and so we started our island hopping to collect the good cargo. In Martinique, we had a group of people swimming full rum barrels across the bay. We met the Gallant and moored side by side for a memorable barbeque on board. We could taste the French croissants and baguettes again and I discovered the magic of rum punch.

In Grenada, we roamed through spice markets, jumped in waterfalls and met other kindred spirits. We were also introduced to soca music and a bit more rum punch. Arriving in Colombia meant all hands on deck and surviving a storm for one full night. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger they say. In the Dominican Republic, I learned how to negotiate prices, bargain and push my way through the lawless systems. It is undeniable though that problems exist here and in other places we have been. But these issues, such as corruption, for example, derive from deep feelings of unfairness and, as long as there are social and economical disparities in the world, I believe this will be bound to happen. Investing in these countries, helping their internal economies and small-scale businesses, building bridges and connections, rather than just exploiting them for their beautiful nature is, in my view, a good start. And that is what we are doing, on a very small scale.

A friend of mine used to say sometimes that the brightest light casts the darkest shadows. I had to think about that expression when I was in the Dominican Republic because there I have also seen the best in people. I was helped by many strangers and witnessed beautiful and rare gestures of trust and solidarity that made a big impact on me. All hands all day were needed to load our last cargo. I could not believe it would ever fit when I saw it by the quay but it just did. There we would hear about the extension of the coronavirus effects, the border closures and quarantine measures for the first time.
We could not stay longer in the harbour but we also didn’t know where to sail to since the Azores were closing the borders as well as the rest of Europe. But a ship is made for sailing and after the loading was done we were losing our purpose on land. Thus we set sail on a Tuesday morning with a dry store filled with food meant to last for 6 weeks, direction uncertain.

Crossing back though was going to be a very different kind of love story. The trade winds were not going to be there to push us gently from the back. Instead, we would have to navigate our way through the highs and the lows, in an ever colder and wetter environment. I have also realised that the feeling of going back home together with the uncertainties brought by these special times made us less able to truly live and appreciate the present moment. Suddenly time was on our minds again.

When will we arrive? Where will we arrive? Will we have enough food, water, gas? What world will we encounter?

Future sabotaged the present. I also had my own private questions. What will I do next? Where will I go next? When I started this journey I chose to leave everything behind. I left my job, my house, sold my car and most of my belongings. Setting sail with no personal mooring lines was the greatest of feelings but I knew that coming back was going to be confusing, to say the least.

The thing is that after you’ve done one season on Tres Hombres many things you thought were great now seem boring, many things you thought you wanted you don’t want them anymore, and sometimes you meet somebody, they steal your heart and with it all the plans you might have made before. But being confused is good; it is an active state of mind. And being alive is to accept change and flow with it like an autumn leaf in the wind. And if the wind is fair it will get you there.

Now that we have completed our mission, and looking back at what we have done, there are two ways of going about it. In practical terms, we have sailed a ship to the Caribbean to collect cargo and we have sailed it back to Europe to deliver cargo. In total, around 40 tons of cacao, coffee, rum and sugar have been traded. This is what anyway will forever be registered in the paperwork, invoices, logbooks and so on.

But in reality, this was a journey of a lifetime for each individual that stepped on this ship, more so for the ones doing the full round trip. It was confronting, exciting, provocative, awe-inspiring. It stirred all kinds of thoughts and feelings. It opened up different paths and possibilities. It ignited new questions and dreams.

And I can’t help to wonder what the real cargo is in the end, the goods or the people. After all, the fox is right: what is essential is invisible to the eye. So in some ways, I think that the rum we carry is just a necessary mean to make it viable for this vessel to keep sailing and inspiring people. Investing in products with such a story and human beings behind it, is allowing for personal growth and deep life changes, making the world a little bit happier and a little bit healthier a journey at the time. Therefore I must thank everybody that is supporting Fairtransport by buying our products or giving their time and skills to the project. It really got under my skin in ways I am still to process. There is a unique quality given only to things that take time and effort.

So after 200kg of porridge and 176 days of pura vida, if later someone asks me how long my journey was, I’ll say somewhere between 6 months and a lifetime.

 

Surfing in the channel (by Wiebe Radstake)

The 28th of April I woke up the Fo’c’sle at 5 o’clock in the morning.

Good Morning everyone: time to pump up some anchor! Half an hour later the anchor was up and with a very small wind we moved up and down in the bay of Douarnenez. We stopped over here because we were already 5 weeks at sea and the wind in the channel was not that good (tacking with light winds) and we were running out of food. Our good friends Remi and Liz did the provisioning for us (thanks!) and the Tres Hombres crew could sleep for a few days.

A few hours after pumping up the anchor the current was going out of the bay and the wind started to increase slowly. Also, the rains were getting heavier and heavier. Eight hours later we were out of the bay tacking with a Westerly wind up and down Cap du Raz and Ile d’Ouessant. Heavy currents made it very special navigation. Another 10 hours later the wind increased and backed from West to South West. With this wind, we could reach the south side of Ile D’Ouessant but the currents were coming from North to South so we could not get around. This night around 4 o’clock the tidal current changed and we could get around the island open the sails and finally sail into the channel .

I knew this was the perfect timing because a small low was just coming over one watch later. Rain, Rain, Rain and 30 knots of wind backing from one to the other moment. So we had to brace around and wear ship (Gybe).

Now we are sailing or better surfing in the channel, doing in between 6.5 and 10 knots (depending on current again) in the right direction. As we say in the Netherlands: Het paard ruikt de stal! (The horse smells the stable!)
We are looking so much forward to see our families and friends even we have to act differently with the 1.5 m rule.

Still a few days at sea, all the best.

Wiebe Radstake

One month at sea (By Wiebe Radstake)

You’re not the only one with mixed emotions, you’re not the only ship adrift in the ocean.

I remember this was the Rolling Stones song we listened to on the first crossing I did with Tres Hombres seven years ago. And I’m listening to it again now. Fighting our way to the Channel entrance. The last days were cold days, winds from the North East and sailing full-on by. It seems we may not be allowed to sail back home, but do we really want to sail back home? How are we gonna find Europe? Mixed Emotions.

Six years of sailing around the Atlantic and nearly home again. This time for the first time being captain. All the different captains I was sailing with coming up in my head when I stare over the ocean. What did I learn from who and what do I do with this now?
Some things come up: first sailing together on a Tjalk with Jaap in the Zeeland delta: Always try to keep the ship as close to the wind as possible, falling off you can always do later. After hoisting the leeboards hundreds of times it was time for countless hours behind the helm. Learning how to sail on strong currents in the Oosterschelde.

Later when I first stepped on board on the Tres Hombres in Portugal my first skipper was Lammert: The ocean has many ways to show her size (sometimes it’s hell, sometimes it’s paradise). The love for the ocean was born in the very first week of this Atlantic round trip.

After that year I was sailing with Andreas: how to keep the ship in perfect shape, a good combination of hard work and having parties in the harbours.

Next thing I remember: sitting with Francois a few years later in Boca Chica looking at the weather forecast above the North Atlantic: Depression after depression made our computer screen red. The only thing he said: That will go fast.

From Harry on the Morgenster: you can talk forever about the weather but in the end, you can not change anything about it.

Later I learned from Fosse on the Wylde Swan how to sail proudly backwards in a parade, and remember: a life full of adventure gets also boring after a while (altijd avontuur wordt ook maar een sleur).

Just some things from years and years sailing around. And now I have to do it on my own. Now Bob Dylan’s singing: Jeah How does it feel, like a Rolling Stone?
But not without a home: we are sailing home and even the eastern winds will not prevent us to come back.

Wiebe

Moving towards the North (By Logan Mc Manus)

I see grey skies looming in all directions. It’s becoming ever more clear that we are moving towards the North as the temperature drops, and the seas start to lose their blue.

The first response of my shipmates and I is to reflect the state of our surroundings in attitude and emotion; See grey, feel grey.  This is not the complete process of the experience however, as golden hearts shine through the clouds, always to the Sun as we head East.
Every day I am more convinced that the human body is nothing if not adaptable. I’ve learned that it is the sheer power of will that keeps the body warm and immune, not the obvious comforts we so easily depend on externally. This same power is what keeps the ship moving forward, taking just another form of focus, and determination. If the skies can so directly influence our inner states of being, why then, do we feel so incapable of doing the same, in turn, to the skies? Are they not extensions of our own experience? Do they not hail from the same infinite universe?

Aye, I believe humans have indeed caught a glimpse of eternity’s sunrise and stopped to drink from the fountains of Zion, but we remain human still, blissfully mortal. It is our duty to undergo that which unsettles, and disturbs the world. It is discomfort that makes someone move for more, just as harsh winds fill a sail, and push a ship such as ours through oceans.

Sometimes we forget to reconnect with ourselves, and think past our coldness, but even still, as the ever changing seasons of nature would have it, there is always another stimulant that comes forward to lighten the mood, things as simple as hot food at the end of a watch, clean water to drink, or the sight of whales and dolphins dancing for us, welcoming us home. These things set in motion again, the cycle of that human potential, to overcome, and create our own experience, through laughter and teamwork. Long Live those Men and Women who see an adventure in a storm, or an opportunity to sow in barren ground.

You gonna find it! (By Karsten Babucke)

We are now a week on the eastward crossing. We are heading to Europe. Sailing across the Atlantic. From Boca Chica we were heading straight into the Mona passage with huge waves, which made us a wet welcome on the great ocean. The boat was healing deep into the water at the realign. Our socks were soaked and the boots felt like little lakes.

But we kept going. We were motivated to solve this difficult area and were looking forward to the wide ocean. For a few days, we are now surrounded by miles of water – the Atlantic ocean. The weather cleared up and we can finally dry our clothes. Life is nice but sometimes every little thing is a competition on board. If your environment is shrunk by some cargo.  I just came out of the foxhole. It is noon and time for lunch. Today our cook serves a quiche with vegetables and a nice salad. But suddenly everything changed.
I was on the way to the aft for the watch change, as the captain shouted “man over board”!
The mood on board suddenly switched from smiles in the faces of our crew to concentrated focused views in their mime. The MOB shout is the nightmare of every sails-man. Each officer is getting a shock of adrenalin with a little heart attack.

 

Who is it?

The scared trainees gathered on the aft. Our fearless cook climbed on the galley roof and pointed towards the one together with Anna, a courageous trainee.  The course got clewed up and we tacked the boat around. While the starboard deckhand made the dinghy ready. I ran to some live rings to throw them. Wiebe, the captain, stood on the helm and gave the commands to each one. We braced around.
Soon the dinghy was dowsed into the ocean. First Mate Paul jumped straight to the engine and started it. His strong arms pulled the starter so good, that it started straight away. With Martin on-board they paced over the waves towards where the spotters where pointing. The captain shouted commands through the VHF. Everyone can hear what is going on. On board everything got prepared for the arriving of the missing one. Blankets and towels have been brought on deck.

They found it!

Soon the dinghy drivers were replying “we have it”! The lost one was a fender and everyone’s fear was released. Nobody was missed today. It was a drill. The most important one. We are training the Man over board, the Flooding, the Fire and the Abandon Ship Case. But this drill reminds us all on rule number one: “stay on board”! Which means both feet stay on deck. No running and if the weather is rough like at the Mona Passage we keep on hooked in, on our safety lines and stays. It reminds us all how difficult it is in hard weather conditions to find a person in the water and bring her back.
For this day everything went well and we learned a lot from this situation. After we continued with our watch-system.

Vogelvrij terug op de oceaan (By Wiebe Radstake)

We zijn weer terug op de oceaan, na meer dan drie maanden, vier eilanden, een continent tientallen tonnen Cacao en koffie, vaten vol rum laden, gedag zeggen tegen bemanning, vrienden, hallo zeggen tegen nieuwe vrienden, na niet kunnen slapen van de hitte, onstuimige winden in Colombia, windstilte achter St. Vincent, ontmoetingen met oude smokkelzeilkapiteinen, tientallen keren zeil zetten en weer weghalen, na wandelingen over verlaten stranden, een weg zoekende door overvolle toeristische plekken, na bellen met thuis, na veel heimwee maar ook een intens geluk gecombineerd, was het tijd de oceaan op weer over te steken. Het ruim, de bemanningsverblijven, alles aan boord van de Tres Hombres ligt vol met vracht voor Amsterdam.
Na hoog aan de wind onder de Dominicaanse Republiek weggekomen te zijn, kruisend door de Monapassage waren we vanochtend weer op de oceaan. Weer 5000 meter onder de kiel. De oceaan swell van drie meter op de kop, elke paar minuten een automatische dekwas!
We voelen ons vogelvrij, eindelijk weten we wat het is vogelvrij te zijn. We hebben aan alle kanten van het schip water zo ver je kijkt, we kunnen alle kanten op maar weten ook weer niet waar we kunnen aanleggen. De vrijheid van een vogelvrij verklaarde: met het virus rondspokende in Europa weten we niet waar we straks binnen kunnen varen. We zijn de oceaan op gegaan, gezond en vol goede moed al kan ik erbij zeggen dat het vreemd is niet precies te weten waar we aan zullen komen. Met een motorloos vrachtschip is de tijd al moeilijk in te schatten die je over een oceaanoversteek gaat doen. En nu komt daar nog bij dat de eerste haven ook moeilijk is in te schatten. We varen verder, eerste doel: Horta zoals alle voorgaande jaren. Kunnen we daar over drie a vier weken niet in dan varen we rechtstreeks door naar Europa. Extra water en proviand is gebunkerd, we kunnen desnoods zes weken op zee blijven. Niet dat we dat willen: het liefst zou ik nu bij mijn zwangere vrouw thuis zijn maar als dit het lot is, zullen we niet langer klagen want wat mot, ja dat mot.
Tot nog toe is de oceaan prachtig, gisteren in de Mona Passage hadden we elke wacht zo’n 3 squalls met windshifts en veel regen over. Nu een mooie Noordooster bries (5bft) en zonnig weer, de Tres steigert en rolt er prachtig tegenin. We willen naar het Noorden, ter hoogte van Bermuda hopen we de Westerlies tegen te komen en daarmee naar het Oost Noord Oosten te rollen. Ondertussen is zelfs de ergste zeezieke weer op de been en is iedereen aardig in het ritme. We genieten, de zon, de golven over dek, Galley en zelfs over de roerganger heen; ik lees boeken van Slauerhof en Nescio. Twee oerhollandse schrijvers die mooi over het water en Holland kunnen vertellen. Het water daar zitten we op, holland daar verlang ik naar, al zal ik ook blijven geloven in het leven in het nu: in een wereld die in crisis is zitten we misschien wel op de beste plek. Voor het eerst in jaren is deze manier van transport de snelste manier om van de eilanden naar Nederland te komen (sinds er bijna niet meer gevlogen wordt tussen Carib en Europa). In plaats van te piekeren over virussen kijk ik op het kompas, kan de roerganger nog wat hoger, nog wat meer snelheid uit het schip halen? We zijn op de terugweg en ik heb, hoe mooi dit ook is, haast om begrijpelijke redenen!
Ahoy!
Wiebe

„Ready about!… Helm’s Alee!!“ (by Lenno Visser, 2nd Mate)

Now, normally I would only echo these commands to help make sure everyone on position knew exactly what was happening and that the ship now was committed to the upcoming tack but now it happens to be me standing at that helm that is going Alee and I am not the echo but the instigator as I quickly spin the wheel.

„Ease the foresails!“

As the helm comes to a stop I turn to grab the Main sheet and haul away to bring the main into the middle to give more pressure onto the aft to make sure the bow will pass through the wind. A quick glance over my shoulder before I make fast to look at the flag, make fast and then that moment.
As everything goes quiet, Will she pass through with her big belly full of rum?…

There it is, that tell tail in her sails and that first gentle sway to the other bow.
„Let go and Haul!“ „Tack the Fore Sails!“ Spin the helm to the middle and I’m easing out the main on the new tack as on deck the deckhand starts calling out which brace is fast and for the opposite side to „Slack out make fast“.
Someone is already changing the topping lifts and the mid stays also get tacked by whoever is finished with his or her station first.
And as I correct my oversteer the Tres is slowly making speed again and setting herself into the motion of the sea and the energy level that comes with tacking a square rig sailing vessel with only 6 people is slowly easing off as her deck get squared.
Damn this is cool.

Two years ago I would have never thought I would be in this position on the helm in charge of my own watch steering the ship towards Boca Chica where this particular adventure of mine all started.
Two years ago when I first stepped onto this fine and taught vessel to sail with my friend Jorne as an interesting way to go back to Europe after having been hiking for quite some time in the wilderness of New Zealand and the States.
Two years ago something rekindled that what initially only had been intended as a fun way to revisit the old passion for traditional sailing with the man that had started that for me 20 years earlier.
Two awesome years of adventure, stories, beautiful pictures, new friends, amazing opportunities and new places to visit.

And I am very aware of the opportunities I have been given in this company, from volunteer to deckhand and from deckhand to mate (with a little extreme crash course re-education in the middle, Thank you Enkhuizen :])
I am very grateful for the chance to work on these fine ships and the trust I feel from the people already having been involved many years before I came around.

I’m going back on deck now so we can set more sails, so I’ll finish with this…

Two years have gone by since I fell in love with an amazing woman with salty blood that lights up my life, 2 black-hulled beauties, a company, a mission and I guess a career… and that’s way more than I had ever hoped to dream for when I first stepped onto these planks.

Can’t wait to find out what’s next.

Lenno Visser, 2nd Mate.

12.oo in the morning (by Logan McManus)

It’s 12:00 in the morning. The stars are out once again with unbelievable expression, and the Moon has returned after her trip under the horizon. We are 130 miles from the coast of Haiti, enjoying calm seas and steady winds from the east. It is quite a challenge to even remember any troubles that used to govern my day today, as everything here is so remote, and the endless open waters constantly offer the sense of a new life. Even sleep feels new, as we rock, and the waves toss our boat around like children playing innocently.
The sea has a real talent for playing with one’s thoughts, and as the eyes adjust to the starlight, strange, and beautiful figures dance in the shadows. Glowing trails of defensive algae mark our path through the water, and it feels as though we are sailing over galaxies.
I sit with my watch crew, and we dive into the concepts of Man, and Evolution, bewildering theories of what can be achieved, and what it means to exist as creators. Some days it feels as though all the answers are already known to us collectively, but I think we all get a thrill from the sense of mystery, and I believe its this mystery that makes the pursuit of knowledge worth anyone’s attention.
It isn’t always a dream state though, and when reality kicks in, it doesn’t hold anything back. I find myself having to focus more than ever lately, climbing up onto the Royal Yard, or under the Bowsprit, tossed around with incredible speeds as I grab for ropes and sails, finding my limits, and then leaping over them every day. I live for the high-pressure moments, where the mind is completely silent, and the heart and body guide my movements. When one can really let go, and BE the result, instead of always trying to DO, that is when life can be felt in each breath, and the soul can be seen through ones work.
When the sun rises later today, I’ll wake up again to meet him for another day of this fantastic adventure.

Newbie to sailing (by Doreen Görß/Trainee) (by Doreen Görß/Trainee)

I was starting my trip with the Tres Hombres in Santa Marta, Columbia. I am a newbie to sailing and in fact, never have been on a ship before so I thought the Caribbean Sea would be a good start. When I arrived at the marina and had a first glance at Tres Hombres, I was really excited. The appearance of this historical beauty impressed me a lot, even she was not in action and all sails were dowsed. I felt the urgent need to get on to it and get known to the crew that was already honoured to call Tres Hombres their home. I can describe my first contact as you can read it in sailing fairy tales. I was invited to sit down with the lovely crew during picturesque sundown in perfect weather. Then I got a small tour around the deck and was introduced to my place in the „foxhole“. Even that the air quality dropped immediately in this 8 people sleeping room, I knew I would feel comfortable here and the bed was actually larger and better than expected. When we left the marina and set sails to get to the cargo harbour of Santa Marta, my heart made a jump and I could see and feel what sailing looks like. Later I realized, that this was just the light version of sailing. But since I am adventurous and love to be outside and in nature, my personal happiness tank was filled up more and more, the more days I spent on board and the more experiences I acquired. I can’t tell, what I like the most. To learn about rigging, ropes, knots and navigation as well as practising manoeuvres, climbing up the mast or maintain the ship. Or if it is the confrontation with mother nature that inspires me and also make me think about the impact that we all have. There are only a few chances to watch stars like this in the real world. Being on the ship day and night creates a deep sense of consciousness and you get one with the ship and your surrounding. When all sails are hoisted and the wind is strongly blowing into it, and the waves are shaking this small piece of wood with a couple of human beings attached to it in the middle of the ocean, it does not just feel like riding rodeo. It shows you the power and beauty of nature in all facets.
It is almost ironic, that we are on this mission to transport cargo worldwide emission-free and therefore show the world that there are alternatives to established systems. And while doing it, you will be totally reassured to do so and take your share in saving our planet. So if you want to have a once in a lifetime experience, I can recommend a trip with Tres Hombres or if you are not that brave, just buy Fair transport rum, chocolate or coffee, because it is really good 🙂

Beating against the trades up to Isla Beata! (By Wiebe Radstake)

The last 54 hours we were beating against the trades. In the morning the winds are East and we steer North, North North East. As soon as the sea wind effect in the afternoon makes that the wind is North East we tack with all hands and steer for 12 hours South East (around 120* overground). This full-on by/closed hauled sailing made us win around 100 miles in the East direction in nearly 3 days. That sounds maybe not so much but can be the big difference to reach Boca Chica/Dominican Republic. At the moment the wind picked up 22 knots and Tres Hombres is jumping against the increasing waves. We have a course of 130* and the ship is heading toward Cabo de la Veda, the most eastern point of Colombia. Tonight when the land wind effect will stop the evening breeze we will tack again and try to get a ground course of 15*. I hope we can make the 350 miles to the Dominican Republic in 3 days full on by starting tonight. I think we will arrive around Thursday night a little east of Isla Beata at the border of Haiti and Dominican Republic. To get into the bay of Santo Domingo we will use the land/sea effect again.
The atmosphere on board is very very good, the crew is really into it, the tacks are going faster and faster: Douse the outer jib, douse the gaff top, clew up the course, everybody in position, helm’s a lee! Ease the jibs, tack the stay sail’s and let’s go and haul!  Set gaff top, outer jib and make speed again.
It’s so nice to have so many people from different sailing cargo ships on board. Marine and Lenno, come from the Nordlys, they know how it is to sail on a Fairtransport ship, Anna who sailed on the Greyhound, Luuk and Logan coming from the Ceiba project in Costa Rica, Lars from the Hawila in Copenhagen. And then off course the people of Tres Hombres already sailing here on board since the Netherlands: Paul/Martin/Soraia/Karsten and Daniel. It’s a fight but the spirit on the Tres Hombres is high!
Wiebe Radstake