Last Updated on August 28, 2025
It was like a scene from a pirate movie.
My family was sailing a small, modern sailboat in the San Juan Islands in Washington state several years ago, a watery playground where graceful madrone trees cling to the rocky shores and forests march uphill from the water. Coming around a corner in the passage, we suddenly faced a ship more than triple the size of our vessel, dominating the channel between two islands.
Above a long, sleek white hull made for speed and adventure, the 160-foot schooner Zodiac‘s two towering masts stretched toward the sky, her sails catching the wind. She was resplendent in the afternoon sun — majestic, even — and made our modest sailboat seem about as glamorous as an old, wet sock.
If this had been a pirate movie, a battle and barrage of cannon fire would have ensued. Being puny and unarmed, we would have undoubtedly lost.
Instead, we waved, and the lucky souls aboard the schooner waved back. We watched as the nearly 100-year-old tall ship glided into a nearby bay, disappearing from sight.
To be clear, the Zodiac is not a pirate ship. She has no cannons and no poop deck. She was built for pleasure, not piracy. But like the Spanish galleons and ships favored by ruffians in the days of yore, the Zodiac is a traditionally rigged tall ship (“tall” because of the multiple masts). Sail on the Zodiac and you’re sailing like a pirate (without the looting).
Sailing Like a Pirate
“Sailing stations! Prepare to come about!”
My shipmates and I were in the galley, munching on a salad loaded with salmon, potatoes, chickpeas, green beans, and other goodies when the call came from Captain Calen Mehrer. We looked at each other for a moment, then dropped our forks and hustled up the stairs to the deck and our stations, ready to haul lines as the ship tacked.
Hours earlier, our three-day beer tasting cruise had begun with a briefing that covered essential information, including safety, water conservation, and various quirks of shipboard life, such as the fact that the generator, and hence the lights, turn off at 11 p.m. We were warned not to feed Abby, the ship’s cat, who is on a special diet and cranky about it. Then a crewmember assigned us each a number corresponding to both a berth and a Far Side coffee mug, which would be ours for the duration of the cruise.
The Zodiac, our floating home for the next few days, plies the waters of the San Juan Islands and British Columbia. Charters last a few hours or a few days.
Based in Bellingham, Washington, she boasts a long and storied past. The Zodiac launched on the East Coast in 1924 as a pleasure craft for the Johnson & Johnson family. Under various owners and names, she has raced across the Atlantic, provided medical supplies to Labrador, and guided ships to safety in San Francisco Bay.
Hands-on Tall Ship Sailing
The pirate movies fail to mention that sailing a traditionally rigged tall ship is a complicated endeavor. Lines — what nonsailors call ropes — are everywhere, and each one is essential to sailing the vessel. Screw up, say, the topping lift, and you risk the 1,500-pound boom (the thick log attached to the bottom of the sail) smashing (Boom!) onto the deck.
As the Zodiac motored out of Bellingham Bay, most of the 23 guests volunteered for various sailing stations, locations on deck where guests haul or release lines to help sail the boat. Together with my fellow shipmate Martin, I worked the topping lift lines on the port side under the watchful eye of a crewmember. Another duo worked the topping lift on the other side.
Tacking (what sailors call turning) and raising or lowering the four sails that power the Zodiac requires hauling and easing lines in a particular order. Sailing like a pirate takes muscle power, teamwork, and timing. Successfully tacking or hoisting the mainsail is quite an accomplishment.
Most of my shipmates admitted they’d chosen the Zodiac for the hands-on experience of sailing a tall ship. When the crew offered a rotation of additional tasks, we jumped at the chance. I learned about navigation in the chart house, then sat at the bow watching for logs, wayward boats, and crab pots. Being a messenger along the 127-foot deck proved uneventful.
The biggest thrill?
Taking the wheel and steering the ship.
The crew also assigned everyone duties each morning to keep the Zodiac shipshape.
Drink Up, Me Hearties: Beer Tasting Ashore
Since we embarked on a beer tasting cruise and not a pirate adventure, our “treasure chests” were large, white, insulated, and full of local craft beer. Jake, one of the beer sherpas from Kulshan Brewing Company in Bellingham, kept it well stocked.
He also led trips ashore in the afternoons, guiding us to Island Hoppin’ Brewery in Eastsound, on Orcas Island, and San Juan Island Brewing in Friday Harbor, on San Juan Island. Both received praise from the beer enthusiasts among my shipmates.
Nobody looted anything, but we did return from our expeditions on shore with another case or two of craft beer, and occasionally ice cream.
A Pirate’s Life for Me
After our excursions, inflatable dinghies brought us back to the ship in time for dinner. The Zodiac doesn’t mention food in its marketing materials, but it should. Throughout the day, the most tempting aromas wafted up through the skylight from the galley. The chef made everything from scratch, from barbecuing pork in a large grill hanging on the deck rail to baking flaky fruit Danish pastries.
After dinner, my shipmates and I made our own entertainment as the ship offers no television or WiFi. Some read books. Others tried to coax a purr out of Abby. Most of us filled the evenings with games in the salon (the living room of the ship) or on deck. Jake offered brewery swag to the winners of a make-shift version of corn hole and a highly competitive game of rock-paper-scissors.
At lights out, we scattered to our staterooms or berths, which are bunks built into the walls of the salon. Each berth is enclosed, like a shoebox turned sideways, with a curtain across the front for privacy. Snuggled into my sleeping bag with my earplugs in place, the gentle motion of the ship rocked me to sleep.
Zodiac Works its Magic
On our last night, the Zodiac anchored in Parks Bay on Shaw Island, a quiet cove across the San Juan Channel from Friday Harbor. Thickly forested shores sheltered the Zodiac and a handful of other boats. When the sun dropped below the horizon, we headed below deck to play games in the salon.
As the laughter and cheering from the game drew more shipmates and crew to the salon, I realized that our time aboard the Zodiac had changed us.
We had all come aboard as strangers — retired couples, newlyweds, good friends, a pair of brothers and a cousin, a pair of college graduates, a mom and her teenage daughters, and me. Thrown into close quarters, we’d lined up on deck and hoisted sails together. Side by side, we’d scrubbed decks, worked the sails, and sat down for meals. We shared adventures, stories, beer, and ice cream. Somehow, in the process, we’d become our own little community. And we weren’t strangers anymore.
The next day, as we waved to people on passing boats, I realized something else: It had been more than a decade since I’d first waved to the passengers on the Zodiac, as the ship glided through the cool, green waters of the islands. I’d finally become one of those lucky souls.
