When I was a teenager in the 1970s, my peers who were a few years older seemed to be having the time of their lives protesting, dropping out, joining communes, and saving the world. By the time I graduated from High School, popular culture had moved on. I was crestfallen, and looking for alternatives, I found the Clearwater. At the time I was working at a survival school on an island off the coast of Maine, sailing in small open boats, and I heard that there was going to be a big anti-nuclear protest in Seabrook, New Hampshire, and that the Clearwater was going to be there. At the protest, I was passing out anti-nuclear flyers when I saw this big beautiful sailboat sailing by. I got myself on board and there was Pete Seeger!
Clearwater welcomed me. I volunteered to be an apprentice for a month in October 1978, and I just stayed. That was 46 years ago, and Clearwater has been my main community ever since. For those of us lucky enough to be on the crew, Clearwater is a way to learn about living in a group, living outside and using the weather, wind, and tides, engaging the public, and teaching little kids. It was a great place to grow up, and actually to fall in love – because that’s where I met my partner whom I was with for thirty-three years.
Pete and Toshi were a huge part of that. They were mentors and teachers -welcoming and encouraging to everybody. The philosophy that the Seegers had, their worldview, ethics, and all the projects they put their heart and soul into were great teachers for me, and examples in leadership, community involvement and activism, and working together to get things done. I love to sing, and the Clearwater provided an outlet to sing in a group with my friends, to learn how to perform, how to be onstage, and be a folksinger, which is one of my great pleasures in life.
I spent my first month onboard in October 1978 – my journal entries below mark journey aboard getting to know Clearwater, and finding my community there:
September 28
I now know all about belaying pins and even understand the topping lifts and the sister hooks! My duffel bag weighs about a hundred pounds. By tomorrow night I should be in New York City, and the next day I’ll get up at 6:00 am and get myself to Nyack and get on board. And let this newest fantasy wrap its arms around me.
Oct 4
Boat living. Been too busy to write. Salty decks, blisters, halyards, tiredness, talking, eating, raining. I love it. I’m lonely, jealous, insecure. Tomorrow is the new moon.
Oct 6
Sitting in the main cabin listening to the cacophony of a mandolin, fiddle, harmonica, recorder, and flute tuning up and attempting to play an anti-nuclear protest song. Muscles tired, belly full after a beautiful night sail from West Point to Con Hook. I’m feeling more at ease here, falling into a role, insecure sometimes too. Trying to work hard. Not as motivated as some of the people I see around me. Ignorant and learning. The captain is a tough nut to crack. Never sure what he thinks of me, but I haven’t screwed up too badly yet. The people are all friendly and fine. Even the dog isn’t too obnoxious. And I’m learning.
Oct 18 
We are in Saugerties. The moon is almost full and we’ve seen it every night in this clear weather. Pumpkins abound all over the deck. Good music, pretty women, pumpkin pies in ridiculous quantities. River living.
Two guitar-playing women with long dark braids are singing and strumming lovely, soothing music on the quarterdeck. First mate Patrick is rasping, lovingly, some new chafing gear for the bowline. Johnny-O, the cook, is making soup on the wood stove. Bosun Louise and some others are practicing juggling ashore. The Coast Guard, our hosts, watch us out of the corners of their eyes.
Honey, the pretty white dog wearing a yellow collar and bright pink bandana, curls up at her master’s feet. The musicians play the John Prine song “Newlinburg County” and it brings back memories of learning, hearing, singing, and teaching that song.
Oct 25
Spent a very pleasant night last night sailing on the Woody Guthrie from Verplanck down to the Tappan Zee bridge. Pete Seeger was aboard, with four other crew besides myself. It was fun! We sailed until after midnight, then anchored near the Clearwater and slept on deck in the open air. Now I’m back home on Mama Duck. It does feel like home. We’re anchored off of Dobbs Ferry and will visit Piermont later on today. We’re almost back in the claws of the city.
October 27
Last night was a very happy, golden night. Running around in my apron cooking beef stew and
pumpkin cheesecake, the boat filling up with Seeger groupies and the man himself. Lots of friendliness, wantedness, and family-ness among us crew, and then, since I had cooked, Seeger asked me what song I’d like to hear. I asked for the ballad “A Rich Irish Lady” which I used to listen to on a Seeger Family record as a kid. And he said. “Oh, I’ve forgotten the words” but I said I knew them. So he played and I sang. It was magic. A moment to be remembered. And then, after he went back out to the “Woody Guthrie, the rest of us sang until midnight.
Today, hair-raising navigation amongst all the bridges of the Harlem River, selling and giving pumpkins to a million kids, city children, thin, wise, and fragile. Here comes the weekend, maybe my last one on board. Days are getting fewer and fewer before this craft is bedded down for the winter.
Oct. 31
We did some heavy transporting of gear between the office and the boat.
Then the mate in a fit of mock fury threw a roll of oakum, which he claimed to be of inferior quality, into the Hudson. He and Johnny-O had a wrestling match in the main cabin, and Johnny threw a temper tantrum during which he vented his rage on the rubber chicken. Utter insanity in this mild undeserved weather. It’s beyond fun to be a part of all the antics here, the playfulness of a carefree society’s children. Our little fantasy world, our one small stronghold in which we hold off the twin perils of Winter and the Rat Race, both of which are lying in wait for us ashore. Water laps greedily at the transom. There is a quietness among us as we realize, and savor reluctantly, the nearness of our dispersal. Why can’t this go on forever? This is the way in which people are supposed to live, leaning on each other, strengthening each other, feeding and laughing and arguing with each other. The family, the tribe, the crew. The way it’s supposed to be.
It seems like a long time since I have felt this happy. It’s wild, like a fairy tale. I am a member of a small community of crazy, energetic, supportive people living in a demanding, beautiful, diverse environment. All these people are my friends. I deal with them openly, and directly. We accept and revel in each other. Our crazy, colorful, haphazard lives converge on this home, this vessel. And I am a part of it all.
Sarah Underhill is a long-time Clearwater volunteer and board member who first sailed aboard the Cleawater in 1978. A singer and song collector, her love of music and the arts combines with her dedication to community building.
For three generations, Clearwater has nurtured a deep and abiding love for the Hudson River because of the generosity of donors like you. Help us keep the Clearwater magic alive and the sloop sailing for the next generation.
