The sun drops into the sea, a red orb in a quickly darkening sky. The glow of the Canary Islands recede with the last lazy flashes of a distant lighthouse. We’re alone on the Sea Dragon with nothing but ocean around us. A thousand miles to Dakar.
The familiar flutter of anticipation as I take the helm. The unfamiliar grip of the wheel. I line her up with two stars low on the horizon. Sea Dragon bobs like a cork while the ocean swell rolls through. I try to hold course. The night feels surreal.
Work shifts merge and days blur. Crew ties and sea legs strengthen. Someone hears the blow of a dolphin. A rapid exhaling breath not too dissimilar from our own. The sea is a black canvas broken only by the waves white caps and I peer down. A filament of light flashes below the surface, followed by another. Streaks of phosphorescence flare as silver-grey creatures ride the bow. Iridescent lines cross and tumble. The pod grows, into the dozens now. They hunt flying fish, they surf and they play. Then they are gone.
The night settles back around us.
by Joshua Mark Williams –ย travel writing at placeoforigin.co.uk
