Crewing across the Atlantic on a 60 footer I was sitting on
deck looking at the horizon with another crewmember when
he suddenly remarked “There’s nothing to see is there.
At least when you’re coastal cruising there’s things to look at,
but here there’s absolutely nothing, nothing to see.”
At this point we were only two days into a month long passage.
On my own boat on two occasions I’ve seen a whale right
alongside us. Both were up in Nova Scotia. Both in fog.
The first time we were becalmed, no wind, the sea was grey
and flat, and when the whale submerged it was like we’d
dreamt it.
The second whale we saw was minutes before all went dark.
In fog there’s no sky, night is so black you can’t see
beyond your headlamp beam (red to protect night vision.)
We had wind and were sailing. This whale dropped behind us
and for half an hour we could just hear it following.
Both encounters were a mixture of magical and intimidating.
The whales were larger than my boat.
Sometimes at sea and far from anywhere a land bird
will appear. This is one of the saddest things.
Lost and exhausted and after many attempts to land on
a moving target they find a spot to rest on the boat.
They sit with the wind buffeting their feathers and are so
depleted sometimes you can pick them up.
They refuse to eat or drink and usually fly away if you edge
forward to offer something.
This has them trying the whole landing thing again and you
feel bad for making their condition worse.
Eventually some fly below to escape the wind.
They usually die there.
Others leave the boat too tired to fly and drop lower and
lower until suddenly they’re beneath the waves.
Time to change the mood. Bring in the Dolphins.
They are a joy to watch, especially at night if lit with the green
bioluminescence that sprinkles in their wake like magic dust.
There are so many stories about these playful creatures

leading boats away from near disaster some must be true.
Recently we had two pilot whales alongside, they played
a few waves away from the boat, unlike Dolphins who like
to dart under and all around it.
Since the Marquesas I’ve been blessed with a French crew.
Basile from Nuka Hiva to Tahiti. Mathilde and Camille from
Tahiti to Fiji, and now Camille and Marjorie toward Australia.
Meals have become a special occasion regardless of weather.
I’ve been taught the imaginative combination of canned
foods is not cooking. That starts with an onion.
Alone on deck I find myself watching this and that,
catastrophizing what would happen if it were to fail in the
hope I will be better prepared if it does. As Olivier my friend
and neighbor in the Tahitian boatyard said “Everything on
your boat is broken. You just don’t know it yet.”
Since the Bahamas I have been in the trade winds.
This has meant the wind usually comes from the side or behind.
When it grows in strength sail must be reduced to slow the
boat down. With big following seas speed kills.
In conditions like this we float over mountains.
Long white streaks run down their back slopes and some
crumble along their peaks.
I watch as each one rolls toward us, amazed the boat will lift to
it, but up we go more gentle than an elevator, and then we surf
until in its wake we are left in awe of the one coming behind it.
Friends ask me if I get bored at sea but I’m mesmerized by waves
like flames in a fireplace.
There are things to see and things to watch for on an ocean.
At night we keep watch.
When we are two on the boat we divide it into 3 hours
on and 3 hours off for sleeping. Since Tahiti though we’ve been
three onboard which has made a big difference. Watches are
3 hours on, 6 hours off. Apart from each person getting more
sleep this system rotates so everyone sees a sunrise.
Some say the darkest hour is just before dawn and I’ve
experienced this. With few stars left to light the sky clouds can
seem black and threatening. Then as sunlight trickles along the
horizon those same clouds become just fluffy pink things.
“More often than not” I say to myself in that darkest hour.
On watch we are looking out for other vessels that might be on
a collision course. Worst are the fishing boats lit so bright you
can’t tell which way they are heading. Some also have their
automatic position indicators switched off (called AIS) so other
boats don’t know where they’re fishing.

Particularly if they are illegal.
On watch we must also pay attention to wind shifts that might
affect our sail settings or our own direction.
At night I love to stand in the cockpit and watch the boat cleaving
our path towards tomorrow.
I look up at the stars, too bright to be ignored, and I talk to
departed family and friends whose presence I feel amongst them.
I tell them I am grateful to be here, in this moment, on this ocean.
Somewhere on land flowers are coming into bloom while leaves
are falling. With this wonder all around us isn’t this why we
cling to life?