As gale force winds pounded the ship, ripped at the sails, and sent the sea into an angry froth, on the captain’s orders I scrambled 23 metres up the ratlines to the crow’s nest high above the deck, all the while avoiding the cannon balls and musket fire from the attacking Corsican pirates. At least that is how my mind fancifully played it out. Truthfully, we were moored in a sheltered port, the winds were calm, and the only unfriendly fire came from the heckling of my fellow shipmates. Still, the opportunity to climb the web of ropes to the lofty viewing perch was a wonderful adventure, and a measure of bravery was needed to clamour so precariously skyward. Okay, I was harnessed in.