By Emily Hart

On Thursday, our Summer Learning Project students learned about fossil fuels and went coal mining to explore the effects of mining on our environment.

We simulated coal mining by mining chocolate chip cookies (the “land”) for chocolate chips (the “coal”) with only toothpicks (“very high tech mining equipment”). It was great to see so many heads down in concentration! After carefully counting the total number of chocolate chips in two different kinds of cookies, I caved to the ongoing pleads to actually eat the cookies. But before they could eat them, I told the students they needed to put their cookies back together.

Stunned silence. “I can’t put my cookie back together!!”. This activity illustrated the effects of coal mining and other extractive industries---it’s difficult and sometimes impossible to restore the land to its original condition. What followed were conversations around energy use and other options, like solar and wind, which we had learned about the previous week.

I was reflecting on this activity during a meeting the follow day with Dave, (Courageous Executive Director), Chris (a board member), Kate (Director of Youth Programs) and Rebecca (Youth Program Outreach Coordinator). It was great to talk about the environmental education program this summer and to look towards the future together. There are so many opportunities to expand the Courageously Green Initiative, from seascape murals on the boathouse walls to air dryers in the bathrooms and the elimination of paper towel waste. There is a lot of potential with the Instructors in Training (IIT) program and with staff education, in addition to continuing to refine the student curriculum. I’m keeping track of our ideas and would love to know—how do you think we can continue to be Courageously Green?

in Green

By Alessia Hughes, Instructor in Training

The definition of a good sailor and a bad sailor are quite clear to practically anyone. A good sailor can sail fast even if the wind is not strong. A bad sailor gets stuck trying to maneuver in heavy winds. A good sailor is strong, bold, and able to succeed in any situation thrown at them. A bad sailor is the opposite.

            Or so it is told to us as we grow up learning to sail. But recently I’ve realized that distinguishing between a good and bad sailor is a whole lot more difficult and complex than we are made to believe.

On the first Tuesday in the second session, a group of IITs took five or six 420s out to race. I was in a 420 with another IIT, Eddie. I was skippering and Eddie was crewing at this point. We sailed into the nook between the inner Boston Harbor and the Mystic River and set up our pins and committee boat to create a port triangle race course. The wind was a little fickle, rather calm; sometimes there was no wind, other times there was an intense amount.

In the first race, Eddie and I won; quite surprised as we did not think nor focus on winning. In the second race, we ended up getting stuck around the pin and sailing backwards; not even finishing before the committee boat started blowing the whistle for the third race’s start sequence.

Then Eddie took the tiller and we won again. But our plans soon backfired, again not finishing the fourth race, as we ended up sailing too far away from the line to be able to cross it. We sat out the next race trying to raise our main sail up the few annoying, ridiculously tough inches left on the mast. We succeeded a little bit, causing our sail to rise up maybe an inch, maybe not even that far. We decided to let it go and join in on the next race-this time doing well.

A few more races went by with Eddie and me switching every two races from the roomy skipper spot to the tiny crew space, where a 6’2” guy can’t fit his legs or head. We continued to do pretty well, plateauing in the top of the middle of the pack.

Eventually it was time to go in, and after a few occasions of the both of us freaking out over the main sail’s top baton back winding or the 420 heeling too much for our liking, Eddie and I were content with our morning sail, but tired enough to gladly go in and enjoy our lunch.

After the day was over, I continued to think about the 420 races. I thought about how many times Eddie had me laughing and how many times we both freaked out, either silently or out loud. I felt pride thinking about our continuous good starts and our few wins. I felt amused thinking about the two times we did not even finish a race. But most prominently, I thought about all of the times you could have defined Eddie and I as good sailors and then all of the times as bad sailors.

How can the two of us start a race right at the line, but, at the same time, struggle to figure out how to start moving again? How could we win a race and then the next race not even finish and then repeat that sequence again? How do we avoid being protested time after time but still manage to completely miss or run over the mark?

Because we are just sailors. We have those moments when everyone is amazed at what we just did. But we also have those moments when all we can do is shake our heads and chuckle. I believe we are good sailors—though not the way I originally thought a good sailor was. We are good sailors because we make mistakes. Because we completely miss the start line, finish line, or mark. Because we sail backwards without meaning to. Because we heel too much and freak out before remembering to hike out and ease the main sail. Because, most importantly, we come away from those mistakes as better sailors and with a good joke to tell everyone when we get back to the dock.

You can call anyone a good or bad sailor. It just depends on when you look at them while they sail. You can find me sailing smoothly and swiftly winning, but then the next person to see me can look at me without wind and very quickly drifting towards the Coast Guard base.

I now see that a good sailor does not get discouraged, is determined, smart, and courageous. It does not matter if you know or understand sail theory or not. It does not matter if you cannot master anchoring or docking. It only matters that you try and try and try until you can eventually succeed at the task. It does not matter if you won every race or did not finish every race. It only matters that you take that experience and feel pride, saying to yourself, “I went out there and was courageous”. Because, after all, that is why we are named Courageous Sailing.

By Kayla McLaughlin, SwimSailScience and Summer Learning Project Head Sailing Instructor

 

“Teachers of young children do one of the best things that there is to do in life: bring joy and beauty, mystery and mischievous delight into the hearts of little people in their years of greatest curiosity”  -Jonathan Kozol

For the past three years I have had the pleasure of working with children from the Boston Public Schools, through the SLP and SSS programs. In that time, I have seen just how fitting the above quote is. It has been inspiring to watch 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders from some of the most difficult neighborhoods of Boston, conquer their fears, discover their passions, and accomplish their goals while sailing on the harbor.

After going sailing everyday, I usually gather my students, and talk with them about how their sail went. Everyone typically shares something they learned, something they are curious about, or a fear they had while out on the water. A few weeks ago, I was talking to Tyrese and Kathia about how their mornings went. Tyrese, a student from the Sarah Greenwood School, was having difficulty overcoming his fear of windy days. When I called on Kathia, a student at the Harvard Kent School, to tell the group what she learned on the water, she explained “Today, I learned that overcoming your fears makes you stronger”. When I asked, she elaborated, stating, “We were tipping over so much today, we got water in the boat! I knew Tyrese was scared, so I held his hand. I really liked how we worked as a team to overcome our fears. I also felt really brave, because I picked up the jelly fish that was in our boat, and put it in the water”. After her beautiful explanation, I asked Tyrese and Kathia if they felt like sailors, to which they both smiled and responded, “yes!”

Every day, I watch my staff kindle “mystery and mischievous delight” into the hearts of our students, and the students have done the same for us. My instructors and I celebrate amazing victories, such as the one I described above, and I consider it an honor to use sailing as a way to build confidence, conquer fears, and establish camaraderie and a sense of community for the young people of Boston. 

By Emily Hart

This week we had our first group of Step 1 students in the sailing school. As the youngest learners, we hope to keep them coming back for years and it’s important to get them excited about Boston Harbor! We had a great discussion about the animals they see in the harbor and played a Web of Life game to create a visual food web. We had so much fun! In our ending discussion, we talked about how all of us can help to protect the animals in the harbor. “Don’t eat the creatures!” was one of our favorite suggestions, along with picking up trash and remembering that the things we do at home can still affect the oceans.

For the next group, I’ll be adding a Boston Harbor species matching game to help students identify the species living in the harbor and a few in the northeast. Check out a great interactive website and follow us in our learning: http://www.umb.edu/academics/environment/boston_harbor_marine_ecosystem

One more thing… I recently learned that there are only about 500 North Atlantic Right Whales left in the world. These whales don’t usually join us in Boston Harbor, but they feed off of Massachusetts in the spring. North Atlantic Right Whales were plentiful here before whaling, but populations have been failing to recover because of ship strikes and entanglement with fishing nets. This year, the calf count is up to 11 in 2014—great news! Check out the New England Aquarium’s Right Whale Research Blog to learn more about local conservation efforts: http://rightwhales.neaq.org/

in Green

Written by Step 4 Assistant Leader, Ian Hay

Today I regained my faith in adolescents’ possession of common sense. The day was intolerably muggy and boat assignments seemed dubious as I watched my students tack deep close reach to deep close reach up out of the Mystic. We had already narrowly escaped a minor uprising after I instructed the student at the helm to bear off sharply while passing under the Tobin so as to not cross beneath the falling stream of an ironworker mid-relief in the netting above. The plan for the day was to race PHRF-style out to G13 around R10 back to G13 and finish at the Tobin. 42.10:52 read my stopwatch as we passed G13 for the first time. Awesome.

“Who wants to learn how to heave-to?”

Lobstah swayed idly along as we waited for the J-22 to round the first mark. We finally spotted them off of Piers Park and decided to de-heave ourselves and go have a chat.

 “So guys what side of this harbor are green marks on?”  “We were trying to find our lay line.” “I take it you’re still looking for it?” “……When are we going in for lunch?”

The chat wasn’t having quite the effect I had hoped for so I instructed the other boat to at least round 13 and then we could head in together for an anchored lunch in the nook. Suddenly the wind came up and I watched something that looked oddly similar to a mainsheet block erupt out of the cockpit of the 22 heading straight for its mate at the boom.

“IAAANNNN! The mainsheet thing is broookeennnn!”

Funny that, maybe they (the blocks) got lonely being so far apart on an upwind leg. I instructed the student at the helm to go into safety and search for the missing pin and ringding. Hailing the Foredeck I prayed my kids would be able to fix it on their own. Sure enough, seconds after my fingers released from the VHF call button I saw the 22 ripping along at an over-trimmed broad reach, the blocks were chatting up a storm but from a kosher distance.

They (the students) had fixed their mainsheet before I even had to think about getting onto their boat. It may seem a small victory for step 4 cruising but it was a victory nonetheless. Today my students showed me that though they may act more like sea cucumbers during chalk talks than human children they can step up and fix a problem during stressful situations without being taught how to fix it in advance. And that put a smile on my face.