I couldn't have asked for a more amazing first research cruise! As a young oceanographer just starting out in the field, the chance to sail aboard the Statsraad Lehmkuhl and learn about traditional sailing practices (thank you to the Norwegian/Danish crew for being so welcoming!), alongside participating in shipboard science (huge shoutout to Lucie our science coordinator!!), was a dream come true and will be a cornerstone in my career going forward. On top of the sailing experience, the chance to interact and speak with diverse folks from across the University of Washington, Maritime Blue, and also general ocean and sailing enthusiasts about current research, potential applications, and current industry start-ups, was an invaluable learning experience. Bonding together over shared exhaustion, late-night watches under a sky full of stars, seasickness, and childlike joy while learning how to be deckhands on a beautiful sailing vessel created a unique sense of camaraderie that broke down barriers and encouraged conversation between industry leaders, professors, and young students like me just beginning to find our way.

It was particularly notable to have so many conversations about the future of the blue economy aboard a piece of history preserving sailing tradition and culture. How surreal to have modern ocean innovation heralded by a ship of old; to me, that continuity underscores the power of the ocean to connect and inspire across generations, backgrounds, and cultures. I came off the boat chomping at the bit to share my insights and experience and new network with my research colleagues to get them involved and thinking about the blue economy. I would sail aboard Staatsrad Lehmkhul again in a heartbeat, and I am beyond excited to see where (and with whom!) she sails next!

Hand over hand, I climbed the slick, rope ladder of the starboard side rigging. The moon illuminated my way while fog blurred the line between sea and sky. The weather-roughened rope bit into my palms as I ascended, but I barely noticed. The Statstraad Lehmkuhl swayed back and forth as the Pacific Ocean swelled beneath the hull, causing me to tighten my grip. The thrill of my precarious perch high above the water drew an involuntary smile across my face. As I approached the royal yard, I paused to look down at the scene below, and my breath caught. The ocean shone like mercury, and the deck glowed with soft red lights. It felt like a painting from an old master—of a ship lost at sea or the calm before a storm. The ocean rose; the ship tipped again, and inertia pulled me outward from the rigging. I pressed myself tight against the ropes and looked up. Above me, the silhouette of my Norwegian crewmate waited to guide me along the yard. Everything about this night felt surreal, and yet I had never been so aware of being alive.

That climb was one of many highlights of my time aboard the Norwegian tall ship Statsraad Lehmkuhl, a 111-year-old training vessel. As an oceanographer, I’ve learned that life at sea offers moments that are both magical and miserable—sometimes within the same hour. I never anticipated the chance to learn to sail alongside expert mariners while conducting science with a remarkable crew. The experience deepened my appreciation for the skill, endurance, and coordination that both oceanography and traditional seamanship demand, and reminded me that the ocean rewards patience, humility, and presence. Crossing beneath the Golden Gate Bridge into my hometown of San Francisco was a full-circle moment: I had left San Francisco to become an oceanographer, and I returned to it by sea. Stepping off the ship, I carried renewed respect and wonder for the ocean, and deep gratitude for everyone who has buoyed me along my voyage.

Sailing aboard the Statsraad Lemkuhl from Seattle to San Francisco was unlike any research cruise I've taken as a graduate student. This wasn't a typical working vessel with fluorescent labs, computer screens, and tight scientific schedules. Instead, I found myself becoming part of the ship's rhythm and history. We slept in hammocks that we took down each morning so the banjer could return to being a cafeteria. We stood watch twice a day, steering the ship by hand, scanning the horizon from the bow, or making rounds below deck on fire watch. I learned to haul and ease lines surrounded by towering sails, and climbed the rigging where the wind pressed hard against the canvas and the ocean stretched endlessly around us. It felt like stepping into an older world where time moved with the sea rather than against it.

The days were not always calm or graceful. A passing storm left behind steep rolling swell that had the ship listing dramatically and sent many people straight to the designated seasickness 'puke chute'. Things slid, slammed, and clattered. But even then, dolphins appeared, leaping through the waves and tracing bright arcs of silver foam alongside us. When the seas finally settled, the ship returned to her steady rhythm and we found joy in small quiet moments. Hammock naps, shared meals, the soft hum of ropes under tension, and the glow of the water under moonlight during night watch all became part of the fabric of the experience. We even celebrated Halloween at sea, improvised costumes and all, a reminder that community grows easily when people live closely and intentionally together.

I am deeply grateful for what this crossing gave me. I learned far beyond navigation and sail handling. I learned a slower way of paying attention, a deeper patience, and an appreciation for how to exist with the ocean rather than simply work upon it. Research at sea often feels urgent, full of tasks and protocols, but here sailing and science had to share space, and that required flexibility, respect, and presence. Passing beneath the Golden Gate Bridge at the end of the voyage, with the ship polished and gleaming in the sun, we sang a farewell shanty together. In that moment I realized how much the experience had shaped me. I left with a renewed respect for the sea, gratitude for the community that formed on board, and a reminder that some of the most meaningful learning happens when we allow ourselves to be transformed by the experience.

It's a very heartwarming feeling to be able to put faces to so many names after just one week of being together. But it's not at all surprising that this occurred so seamlessly. At the end of the voyage the sense of community was strong enough to the point where I would do it all over again for triple the amount of time. As expected, the research done onboard, the watches (even the early AM ones), the meals we all ate together, the ship crew, and the ship itself were all so fun and engaging. I learned so much from the Science Director Lucie and the team of Norwegian deckhands.

What was not expected were the professional connections that I made during my time on board. The group of maritime industry professionals that I got to talk to and get to know were so open to giving me great advice in next steps for my career and happy to give me their contacts in the need of future support. I learned so much about how the ocean industry works that I've never learned in the classroom, which shows how important an immersive experience, let alone on the prestigious ship of the Statsraad Lehmkuhl, is so important. It was so cool to see everyone talk amongst each other nerding over technologies, career paths, and developing connections of their own. Overall I am very thankful for this once in a lifetime opportunity to sail on a ship of this caliber with people of even greater caliber.