There’s something ungodly beautiful in transitions. Several people have recently commented, “This trip is going to change your life.” It’s an odd thing to be aware of the change that is occurring. I think this notion sunk in best when I first noticed that land was out of sight.
The disappearance of land from line of sight isn’t all that unusual or exceptional. However, when it happens for the first time and one is intending to sail a good part, if not entirely, around the globe, loosing sight of land is a rather large moment. For me, it wasn’t a memorable moment immediately. I wasn’t sitting on deck staring out with a hand shielding my eyes from the sun, watching wistfully as land morphed from a blob to a dot. Somehow, in between setting the sails and discussing the weather, the coast of the United States had faded below the horizon and the planet’s curvature now refused to display anything but a clean, endless parade of waves and sky.
It’s funny how you can’t actually participate in these moments until they have passed. When we cast of the lines at the dock in New York City, the momentous theatrical feeling one might expect was not present. We were just us, the Aldebaran crew, going for a sail…around the world. Goodbye, parents, goodbye friends. We love you, but we’ll see one another soon.
My moment came later, on watch alone. We were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and I could nearly feel my brain wrinkling with new emotions. And yet, people do this trip all the time. Once a year, it’s a competition: The Newport to Bermuda Race. But no, this time was different, this particular piece of ocean in the middle of the vast blue landscape, was a wide-open, wonderfully lonely world. It was like finding oneself suddenly naked in an empty auditorium. Something feels odd, but something bigger feels beautifully at ease. I’m going to dance on the stage now, spin and leap like a fool. Because there is no show, there is no audience.
I’m on watch alone and there’s no one for miles. At least, no one we could reach via VHF radio because that works on line of sight, as I recently learned from the ‘Why SSB?’ Section of the obtuse SSB manual… Waves. Wind. I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life. No one ever thinks, “I’m going to forget this experience immediately,” but nevertheless, I’m holding on to this, my first true experience of falling in love with the ocean. Lakes and day-sails are small tastes. This, this is going to make me cry. This, this is it.
We’ll see how I feel after the 26 day passage to the Marquesas.
We’re leaving Bermuda tomorrow. I’ll get back to that later.
The disappearance of land from line of sight isn’t all that unusual or exceptional. However, when it happens for the first time and one is intending to sail a good part, if not entirely, around the globe, loosing sight of land is a rather large moment. For me, it wasn’t a memorable moment immediately. I wasn’t sitting on deck staring out with a hand shielding my eyes from the sun, watching wistfully as land morphed from a blob to a dot. Somehow, in between setting the sails and discussing the weather, the coast of the United States had faded below the horizon and the planet’s curvature now refused to display anything but a clean, endless parade of waves and sky.
It’s funny how you can’t actually participate in these moments until they have passed. When we cast of the lines at the dock in New York City, the momentous theatrical feeling one might expect was not present. We were just us, the Aldebaran crew, going for a sail…around the world. Goodbye, parents, goodbye friends. We love you, but we’ll see one another soon.
My moment came later, on watch alone. We were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and I could nearly feel my brain wrinkling with new emotions. And yet, people do this trip all the time. Once a year, it’s a competition: The Newport to Bermuda Race. But no, this time was different, this particular piece of ocean in the middle of the vast blue landscape, was a wide-open, wonderfully lonely world. It was like finding oneself suddenly naked in an empty auditorium. Something feels odd, but something bigger feels beautifully at ease. I’m going to dance on the stage now, spin and leap like a fool. Because there is no show, there is no audience.
I’m on watch alone and there’s no one for miles. At least, no one we could reach via VHF radio because that works on line of sight, as I recently learned from the ‘Why SSB?’ Section of the obtuse SSB manual… Waves. Wind. I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life. No one ever thinks, “I’m going to forget this experience immediately,” but nevertheless, I’m holding on to this, my first true experience of falling in love with the ocean. Lakes and day-sails are small tastes. This, this is going to make me cry. This, this is it.
We’ll see how I feel after the 26 day passage to the Marquesas.
We’re leaving Bermuda tomorrow. I’ll get back to that later.
