“The ocean is a curious thing. For each bleak winterswept night, there are just as many pretty sunrises; and with each moment of frothing rage or furious driving wind, there are some of indolent stillness, rolling slowly under a blazing sun, the sea a mirror, with not a drop of rain or even shade for miles. The ocean has a certain irresistible magic to it, even as it often drives us mad; we walk away and at once are drawn back to it. Sometimes it engulfs us- only to spit us out, surprised, in a different time and place, with a different mindset. For me, it was something like this.
With a winter’s sailing voyage for experience and a keen desire to experience more, I turned up in Lunenburg surprisingly fresh faced and still draped in the cobwebs of a failed attempt at artistry, ready for something different. This could have been anyone – I was neither particularly skilled nor particularly driven; and though I had worked a sailing ship before it would have been just as well, perhaps better in some cases, if I had no preconceived notions whatsoever. In any case the prologue was done; and it was in Nova Scotia that I took the true first steps down the well travelled path of the traditional sailor, the marlinspike sailor, the sailing ship mariner. 
My motivations at the time were simple: I had sailed with Class Afloat, and I was terrified of the thought that my voyage with them be the singular event of my life. Determined to have more adventures and on my own terms, I enrolled for skills training on Picton Castle while she was wintering in Canada after a long time abroad. I knew nothing of her, had done no research, didn’t care; In truth word of her fell into my lap, and I was lucky: for she was precisely the kind of ship and crew from which to learn the trade; a training ship of the finest kind, one of the few that remain to teach the traditional arts, in an era where not all are so concerned with conservation.
After the training was concluded I stayed behind, and was put to work riveting and caulking a pair of wooden boats in the snow. These were new skills, and I endeavoured to absorb all I could from my new work place, thinking little of the spars and rigging that loomed overhead. Come spring, when the great ship was gearing up at last, and the impressive-looking sailors were rollicking about the docks and carrying on their sailor-work, the captain came to me and gave me the choice: Still more unpaid labour aboard the training ship, or an paid opportunity to overhaul and crew up a cargo ship bound for the Pacific, which would be my first bit of experience since getting my Ordinary papers. I had been so absorbed in the boatbuilder’s work, that I had barely considered any other option- but as I stood on the pier watching the sailors work spars aboard the barque, and the to-be-converted trawler that lay across from it, the sure training seemed the obvious choice. Being paid in experience is a recurring theme for neophyte tall ship sailors; and I would never have made it further if I had not been prepared to take this opportunity. The way forward for me was the way of the pauper; surrounded by paid sailors of superior skill and virtue, I knew at all times just where I stood, and with their experience to draw upon there was never a shortage of new things to learn.
Again I was lucky. When finally I made my way to the foc’s’le it was full of earnest, charismatic spirits, all ambitious types with a mind to discuss the big questions that plague all sailing ships: what their purposes should be, how their futures might play out, how their operations could be managed. I listened intently and resolved to follow along, and the idea grew in my mind that I should either outlast or outshine these sailors eventually, if either were possible. Striving for excellence, I made great progress.
By comparison the licensing seemed an afterthought. Years later I had arrived to a point of moderate understanding; and could go no further without classwork. Many go to school to receive this theoretical training, but for me taking three years to do it seemed too slow an option, and quite besides having spent years at sea with little pay I completely lacked the funds to take even the accelerated route, which was open on account of my several years of sailing experience. Instead I called on some allies, and armed with their learning materials studied and challenged all the exams in between sailing contracts. I barely scraped by but obtained the license in the end and managed a modest captain’s license on the side. Holding the papers is well and good, yet as all sailors know it is a paltry comfort when you are pulled from all corners with unfamiliar problems, with only the sky above to judge you for your failings. I was not ready for my first command when it came, but I had learned enough to manage, and I think that is always the way.
There is a difference between captain and Captain. It is a painful difference, but necessary. And now, having paid that price and others, and come out of my almost decade-long quest humbled, surprised and more than a little bit amazed at my own achievements, I can say with some confidence that mine is the career of a sailing ship mariner. I believe it is no more arduous a path than any other, but it comes with its unique perks, challenges and setbacks. Others I have met have gone about it completely differently; but what I have seen and learned has become such a core part of my character, and informed so much about my understanding of the world, that nothing could persuade me to give it up. If there is one thing I would remind my fresh faced, art-cobwebbed younger self, it would be to live furiously in the present, alert and aware to surrounding currents. Doors flew opened for me because I was fortunate, but I capitalized on that luck by virtue of throwing myself wholeheartedly into new situations with self improvement always in mind. I have earned my place; but there is work for me yet and new heights to reach – ever forwards.”
-Captain Gabriel St-Denis