So long and thanks for all the fish. by Charlie Triggs – Deckhand aboard Sea Dragon. For Shannon and I three months as deckhands on Sea Dragon are drawing to a close. We have sailed from Mexico to Hawaii, then onward to Kiribati, completed a circuit of the Phoenix Islands […]
Read MoreThe first one landed on board just after three in the morning. Its gossamer wings beating frantically against the rubber stucco deck, its eyes spinning crazily in their sockets. Gasping wetly at nothing. Its scales dripping with sea slime in our headlamps, shining dully in the baleful red shadows in the leaden night.
Read MoreAt tonight’s workshop Elizabeth read a eulogy to the Caribbean monk seal, then tore the pages from her notebook, folded them and tossed them to the sea.
As night falls and the moon rises we are at sea in good hands. Elizabeth made a wonderful dinner, and we are all looking toward continued fair winds.
But the best part? The flamingos. We saw several flocks standing in the salt ponds, probably eating the shrimp that gave them their pink color. Colin stopped the truck several yards away so Stephen and I could see the birds without spooking them. But eventually the flamingos did take off, and I marveled at the way their long necks stretched into the wind like awkward ballerinas.
Read MoreWhat does one write about when there’s only sea and sky?
Strokes and dots of whites and greys to distinguish the horizon. Miniature crests peak and disappear just as the fleeting flying fish do, while we quietly invade their infinite schools below the surface, gliding along above and through.
As we listen to the watch handover by the watch leader, we hand over some smiles to the tired crew about to crawl into their dry and cosy places below. And we get some back. The energy among us is one of companionship and care, as we move deeper into the moody Atlantic. One thing we are all learning or re-learning is that sailing is really about being present in the moment and dealing with change as it comes along.
Read MoreThat night, by now so used to falling asleep in motion, our berths surging and swaying through the waves, the sudden lack of movement felt unnatural and abrupt, as if someone had slammed on the brakes. These are truly strange transitions, I’m finding, from ocean and motion to stationary land; from the mini-world of our boat, at once small and yet travelling through an immensity of ocean and sky, to the endless-but-limited options of land-life.
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Last night at about 7:30 pm, when we most needed a boost, the whales heard our plea and we were joined by a pod of over 25 pilot whales and a group of dolphins. For about an hour, they followed alongside the boat, coming right up next to us and swimming around the bow. When we finally sped up at the end, they steamed after us jumping through the waves trying to catch up. For me, and for many others on the crew, it was totally magical. I had expected it to be amazing, but not quite to the extent that it was.
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It’s humbling when you have the opportunity, like we all do on this boat, to learn a little more about such highly intelligent creatures, occupying a space completely uninhabitable to us.
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