Sailing on the Bluenose II: And Memories of a Former Deckhand

There are some experiences that quietly become part of who you are.

For me, one of those experiences was spending part of the summer of 2000 working aboard the Bluenose II as a deckhand. At the time, I was simply excited for the opportunity. I couldn’t believe I’d have the chance to work on one of Canada’s most recognizable landmarks. Looking back now, I realize I was also becoming part of a long tradition that stretches back through generations of sailors, shipbuilders, and coastal communities.

When most people think of the Bluenose II, they picture the famous silhouette against the sky. They think of the image on the Canadian dime or the postcards and paintings found in gift shops across the province. They think of a beautiful ship that visits harbours, welcomes visitors aboard, and reminds us of our maritime history.

I was fortunate enough to see a different side of it.

Working as a deckhand meant learning the routines that keep the ship running smoothly. There were lines to handle, decks to keep tidy, and countless small jobs that visitors rarely notice but are essential to life aboard. Every task had a purpose, and over time those routines became familiar. I learned to appreciate the teamwork involved and the understanding that develops among a crew working toward the same goal.

There were moments of hard work, of course, but there were also moments I’ll never forget. Standing on deck as we sailed along the coast of Nova Scotia. Watching the sunlight dance across the water. Feeling the steady movement of the ship beneath my feet. Looking up at the rigging stretching high overhead and realizing just how small I was in comparison. And then climbing that rigging…

It’s funny how memories like that stay tucked away until something brings them back to the surface.

Even now, more than twenty-five years later, I still find myself perking up when I hear the foghorn of the Bluenose as they head out or return from a sail. I can walk the few minutes to the water to watch it arrive. I still look up at the masts with the same sense of wonder I had all those years ago, though now it’s mixed with gratitude for having been part of the ship’s story, even for a short season.

I don’t step aboard without remembering those days as a deckhand. I notice the coils of rope neatly laid out on the deck. I watch the crew moving through their routines. I catch the familiar scent of salt water and sun-warmed wood, and for a moment, it’s easy to imagine that not much has changed at all.

Enjoy the story written below, or listen to the audio version.

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This story is called Sailing on the Bluenose, and it’s about reaching the sky, a quiet crew, and a colourful waterfront.

I’ve walked down to the harbour this morning, and I can feel a kind of electricity in the air as something iconic is about to arrive in the village.

People gather, talking in low tones. Some locals would have timed their daily stroll to arrive just about now. Others stand still with their cameras and wide-eyed grins.

I’m in the middle of it all, unable to feign casual interest while my heart swells at the sight of the masts reaching high into the sky.

This grand replica—the Bluenose II—isn’t sailing for fishing or racing, but for heritage, memory, and beauty. It’s a floating monument, living on the salt water, tethered to history. I see her in pictures, on our dime, in murals, and in books, but to see her here, in person, tied up to the main wharf along our own familiar waterfront, never gets old.

I stay for a little while, watching the crew prepare the ship for the day ahead. Ropes are coiled neatly along the deck. Someone carries supplies aboard while another checks something high above. The whole process feels calm and unhurried.

A few seagulls circle overhead, hoping for an easy meal from the fishing boats nearby. I notice the scent of salt water and weathered wood touched by the morning sun.

Eventually, I wander home, but it isn’t easy to leave. I glance back more than once to make sure I don’t miss anything.

I pass the hours with small jobs around the house, but my thoughts keep returning to the waterfront. Every so often, I peek out the window towards the harbour. The masts are just visible above the rooftops.

By early afternoon, it’s finally time to head back.

It’s busier now. People sit on benches eating ice cream while others lean against the railings watching boats come and go. The Bluenose waits at the main wharf, the white details bright against the water.

I join the line to board and am reminded that, up close, it’s even more impressive. The rigging stretches so high that I have to tilt my head back to see the top.

Stepping aboard feels different from stepping onto any other boat.

I find a place along the side and take a look around while everyone settles in. More coils of rope rest neatly where they’ve been placed. The deck shines, and everything looks well cared for.

Soon, the crew begins preparing to leave.

The ropes holding us are brought aboard, and little by little we drift away from the wharf. Those folks still on shore wave their goodbyes, and many of us wave back, as though we’re heading off on a long journey to far-off places.

A breeze moves across the harbour.

Once we’re out far enough, the sails are raised one by one. They climb higher and higher until they catch the wind. There’s a soft snapping sound before the canvas billows out, and the ship begins to move differently now.

I’m surprised by how quiet it is out here once the engine fades away, leaving only the sounds of the water and the wind carrying us forward.

The village slowly grows smaller behind us. The waterfront becomes a row of tiny buildings. The people on the dock are little more than moving dots.

I lean against the side and watch the water slide past. Sunlight dances across the surface, changing every second so that it sparkles. The bow cuts through the tiny waves, leaving white foam curling away behind us.

A breeze lifts my hair and cools my face.

I can understand why people keep coming back for this sail. The size and strength of the ship, along with its steady movement, make me feel safe as the coastline drifts by.

The crew moves quietly around us, adjusting ropes here and there. They work together without much need for words. It’s easy to watch them, knowing they’ve done these same jobs many times before. They’re happy to answer questions about their work and where they’ve come from to crew on this ship.

I find a seat near the middle of the deck and let the warmth of the sun settle across my shoulders.

The coastline stretches away in one direction while open water reaches out in the other. A few seabirds skim low over the waves before lifting back into the air.

I simply watch as the water changes colour as the clouds pass overhead. Deep blue becomes green before turning blue again.

The ship leans gently as the wind shifts.

At first, I hold on, but after a few moments I relax and let the movement carry me. It’s a pleasant feeling, almost like being rocked in a chair.

I think about how many people have stood on this deck over the years. Families making memories together. Visitors seeing the coast from the water for the first time. Locals who never quite grow tired of coming back.

I think that’s part of the reason this ship means so much.

It isn’t only the history.

It’s the way people feel when they see her towering above the other masts and buildings. Then, to step aboard and sail on this famous ship only adds to the magic.

The afternoon slips by, and before long, the sails begin to come down. The harbour slowly comes back into view, along with the familiar colourful buildings waiting for us.

We glide towards the main wharf.

People stop what they’re doing to watch us arrive, just as we had watched earlier this morning. Cameras come out again. Children point up at the tall masts.

The great ship is expertly docked, and the crew ties her securely before welcoming us back onto solid ground.

I pause before leaving.

The Bluenose rests quietly beside the wharf, rising and falling gently with the swells. The sails are put away now, but after a short rest, she and her crew will be ready to head back out to deeper waters.

I wish you sweet dreams.

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