I recently returned to Australia and visited the ship where traditional sailing began for me.
I expected nostalgia. I expected familiar streets, familiar faces, and probably a few stories about the old days.
What I didn’t expect was how quickly I would be reminded why this project matters to me in the first place.
I Didn’t Go to Australia Looking for a Tall Ship
When I first moved to Australia, I had recently graduated as an engineer and was going through a difficult period in my personal life.
I packed my bags, arrived with very little money, and started again.
I lived in my car. I surfed in the mornings. I cleaned Airbnbs, worked in a hotel, and took whatever temporary jobs I could find. After spending so much time focused on engineering, I needed some distance from it.
Then someone I met at a backpackers hostel tagged me in a Facebook post. A tall ship was looking for volunteers.
I had sailed small boats back home on weekends, so I thought: sailing is sailing. How different could it be?
Quite different, as it turned out.
What was supposed to be a few weeks of volunteering, doing odd jobs and learning the basics of square-rig sailing, became roughly a year aboard the ship.
That vessel became my first love in the tall-ship world. It also helped me fall in love with engineering again.
I Went Back for Coffee and Ended Up Working
When I returned, the ship looked smaller than I remembered. Somehow, that only made her more endearing.
She still needed work, as traditional vessels always do, but she was still sailing. Some of the people I had worked with had moved on. Others still returned occasionally to volunteer and help prepare her for coastal and offshore voyages.
I arrived expecting coffee, hugs, and stories.
Then came the familiar question: “Since you’re here, would you mind helping with something?”
A short visit turned into two full days of preparing the ship for another voyage.
Honestly, it felt completely natural.
We worked, laughed at the same ridiculous things, and slipped back into the rhythm we had shared years earlier. There were also new people I had only just met, but the connection formed quickly.
That happens often on traditional ships. You may arrive for different reasons, but very soon you’re working toward the same thing: doing what is best for the ship and looking after the people beside you.
The People Make or Break a Ship
A vessel can be beautiful. She can have a remarkable history, elegant lines, and a rig that stops people on the dock.
But the people aboard determine what life on that ship actually feels like.
They determine whether the work is safe, whether knowledge is passed on, whether difficult days become manageable, and whether people support one another when something goes wrong.
Returning to this ship reminded me how much I value that kind of community.
It isn’t always comfortable. Traditional vessels require constant work, and sometimes the budget, equipment, or time available isn’t what you would ideally want.
But if the ship is cared for, the people aboard are supported, and everyone works together properly, the vessel can keep sailing.
That matters.
The Reminder I Needed
The visit came at the right time.
My Sail Cargo Journey isn’t moving as quickly as I sometimes wish it would. When progress feels slow, it’s easy to ask why I’m putting so much time, money, and effort into this when I could be doing something simpler.
Going back reminded me of the answer.
This is the work I enjoy. These are the people I want to work alongside. This is the culture I want to protect and carry into the company I’m building.
The project isn’t only about moving cargo without relying on fossil fuels. It’s also about the quality of the work, the way people are treated, the care given to the vessel, and the knowledge that survives because somebody chooses to keep practising it.
Preserving More Than a Vessel
Many traditional ships require more time, labour, and money than most people realize. Wooden vessels, in particular, demand constant attention.
As owners retire and businesses change hands, preserving these ships becomes more urgent. But preservation can’t mean keeping a vessel tied to a dock as a static object.
A working ship needs people. It needs knowledge, maintenance, voyages, and a reason to keep operating.
That is part of what traditional sailing still offers. It teaches cooperation, responsibility, patience, and respect for the vessel carrying you.
Those qualities belong at the centre of the sail-cargo company I want to build.
The Bottom Line
Returning to where my traditional-sailing career began reminded me how far I’ve come, but it also brought me back to the foundations of the project.
Community matters. The vessel matters. How we work matters.
If the ship is cared for, the people aboard are safe and supported, and the work has a real purpose, traditional sailing still has a place in the future.
That is what I want to preserve, and it’s one of the reasons I’m still building My Sail Cargo Journey.
From the podcast: This article was adapted from Episode 64, “Back to My First Love: Why Traditional Sailing Still Matters,” from the My Sail Cargo Journey podcast. [Listen to the full episode on Spotify.]
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