Open the below photos in a full-screen slideshow in Flickr
November 27th, 2009 – At Sea, 01 28N, 043 34
by Zeta Strickland and Mark Schrader
There’s a perpetual fly walking across the screen of the Raymarine chart plotters installed at the respective helm and navigation stations aboard Ocean Watch. Well, that’s not true. What looks like a fly – the same approximate size, shape and color – is actually the icon of a boat that represents Ocean Watch’s position on the watery realm at any given time. Usually, over the course of any given day, that fly-like image makes reasonable progress on its ongoing passage from Point A to Point B. But these are turning into days unlike any other. The fly has been swatted.
Not so very long ago, the view from the decks of Ocean Watch was of grand glaciers north of Baffin Island. On this ongoing passage around the coast of Brazil, sadly, today Ocean Watch itself brings to mind those massive formations of ice, for at this juncture in our travels, our trusty, beloved yacht is moving at glacial speed.
 |
| The crew is receiving quite an education on the renlentless. sweeping, nasty, northbound Brazilian Current. |
We are receiving quite a first-hand education on the relentless, sweeping, nasty, northbound Brazilian Current, and frankly, we’ve become bored with this education, as imposing as it may be. We’re going nowhere, fast. Actually, that’s not true, either. We’re just going nowhere, at least not south, where we desperately want to go.
Drastic times call for drastic measures. Typing here in the main cabin, the skipper, who’s been in consultation at the nav station with first-mate Dave Logan for quite a while, just walked by and stated, “We’re going on a new adventure.” He might also have said, we’ve tried Plan A, B and C, and they didn’t work. Let’s go to Plan D.
Cryptic? We’ll let him explain in his ongoing series of skipper’s logs:
“Most of the Thanksgiving Day morning and afternoon hours on OW were pretty uncomfortable. The wind increased steadily, the seas built accordingly and by the time the stuffed Turkey made it into the oven it looked like we were in for a rough afternoon and evening. None of that dampened the enthusiasm of those working away in our hot, bouncy and crowded little galley. And then, a couple of very nice things happened.
“We’ve been dragging a fishing line for a good part of our 13,215 nm voyage with very little to show for the effort. The Ocean Watch catch and release program had worked 100% of the time, sometimes on purpose. Rick and Dave have been the most diligent in tending the two lines. They’ve been setting them in the morning, bringing them in at dusk, checking and replacing lures, saying the right things and deflecting some good-natured ribbing regarding their success from the rest of us. Just as Rick had gone below to check the turkey ‘his’ line started playing out at a very fast rate. Jen was first to grab the pole, Rick then took over and eventually, with Logan’s netting work, a 15-20# tuna was brought onboard. (See main photo above.) Within minutes our first keeper was being filleted, bagged and loaded in the refrigerator. It will be our dinner this evening.
“With all of that excitement it took awhile to notice that during the fish landing the wind had shifted to a more favorable direction and was dying away. The seas quickly lost their enthusiasm and soon, instead of pounding into steep waves, we were enjoying a nice comfortable rolling motion. The cockpit was quickly converted into backyard porch mode and we drifted along enjoying cocktails and a magnificent Thanksgiving dinner. We offered a toast to friends and families, acknowledged our good fortune to experience this holiday at sea and thoroughly enjoyed the moment.
“And then, as quickly as the wind and seas went down in the afternoon, they came back during the late evening and early morning. Soon we were once again motorsailing into a steep three to four foot sea with 20-knots of wind on the nose and 2-knots of current handicapping our progress. Other than the wind building slightly through today and the seas becoming more determined to wash everything and everyone off the deck, nothing has changed-except our plans.
“Fortaleza is 429 nm from our current position, Natal 690 nm. If the wind doesn’t change we might just make Fortaleza but with our remaining fuel reserves Natal is now out of reach. If we hold our current tack all the way to the coast (240 nm) we’ll be very close to the small shipping port of Itaqui just a short distance up the Rio Gurupi from the small fishing community of Sao Luis. We will either call into Itaqui for fuel or, if the current running right along the coast cooperates (some of our charts show a favorable counter current close to the coast) we’ll take the boost and run the coast to Fortaleza.
“We expected this stretch along the Brazilian coast to be difficult and it seems to be fulfilling expectations. Then again, with fresh tuna on the menu you’ll hear no complaints.”
In the meantime, it’s always nice whilst riding the horns of a dilemma to hearken back to sunnier, happier days, like when onboard educator Zeta Strickland was aboard and we were in the throes of ice in the Northwest Passage. What gay times those were! These days, Zeta is back in Seattle, “re-entering” her own daily routines. She’s written about those changes in fine fashion in the accompanying piece, entitled:
Education of an Educator by Zeta Strickland
I knew that there would be adjustments to be made when I joined Ocean Watch for its journey through the Arctic this summer. What I didn’t realize was that coming back home to Seattle would have its own adjustment, and a few surprises. Now that I’ve been home for several weeks, I can now say with some certainty: my home in Seattle is quite different from Ocean Watch.
I realize this seems like a fairly obvious statement. In fact, it seemed so clearly obvious in my mind I even started a list: “The Top 10 Ways My Home is Better Than Ocean Watch.” The list went great at first: 10) My home is rather motionless, and I can easily walk through it without the need for regularly placed handholds. 9) I’m not sharing my room with 5 other people.” However, I got a little muddled around Number 5: There’s not an endless stream of people peeking into my windows and hoping for a tour.” I realized I actually liked this part of living on Ocean Watch; I liked that my home, and this whole expedition, was something that made people wonder, question, and think; how often on our way home from work do we find something totally different than the usual, and makes us want to stop and explore?
So I shifted my perspective and started work on the “Top 10 Ways Ocean Watch is Better Than My Home”: 10) New scenery outside the windows each way. 9) Five other people to share the cooking. 
It’s the ultimate in travel convenience, since your home travels with you there’s no packing and unpacking required.” But after a while, this list diverged as well. Take Number 4: On Ocean Watch, cooking dinner first starts with a scavenger hunt by consulting the list of food stores and continues by digging into the settee cushions to actually find the ingredients.” At home I do enjoy having all my food in the kitchen, and I will NEVER eat food I may find buried in my couch; but I did actually enjoy the on-board hunt of searching food out from a variety of hidden locations.
All these partially completed lists have helped me realize, of course, that comparing my home to Ocean Watch isn’t a “better than” or “worse than” exercise. But in this process I did realize that there are some striking differences that have really got me thinking about how I (and maybe all of us) choose to live our lives. Some of the “Hmmmm?” moments for me so far include:
- The other day I saw a sunset. Onboard a sunset means most everyone appears on deck to watch the changing colors, cameras in hand. For this particular sunset in Seattle everyone kept driving, walking, reading, working. While I’m not saying in a city it’s possible (or even advisable) to stop wherever you are to watch a sunset for 2 hours, I did like the ability to do this while traveling. (Bonus: in the Arctic, when the sun did finally start to set, it was a 2-hour sunset that blended seamlessly into a 2-hour sunrise. Sunsets in the winter in Seattle are much shorter and cloudier, and sunrise is a looong ways away.)
- On board we have to run a water maker to get our water to use. It’s noisy. Then, when a faucet is turned on, within a few seconds a loud pump kicks in. This is also noisy, and this was always the moment I would cringe and hurriedly turn off the faucet before it woke everyone up. Oddly, this became a sport for me: how little water do I need to brush my teeth? At home, there are none of these loud reminders that make me think about my water usage. Such generators, water plants and all this background “industry” is conveniently hidden from me, and most people in cities; as a result, I hardly ever think about what is involved in creating these resources. How would my water (and electricity) use change if I heard the necessary generators and pumps each day?
- On board, any garbage created is stored until we reach land. Would I be more conscious and more careful if instead of taking a trash bag to the dumpster whenever I wanted, I instead had to keep my garbage in my home for a couple weeks? Yes, I think I probably would.
- After this summer, I find myself occasionally overwhelmed by the variety of clothes in my closet; no longer do I wear the same outfit for 4 straight days, go a week without washing my hair, or find unrestrained joy in changing my socks. Six hours of straight sleep on the boat was a rare gift; six hours of sleep tonight would feel inadequately short. At home, my TV is often on and my cell phone always works. All these things have their advantages; I am simultaneously thankful for the abundance I have at home, and miss the “scarcity” on the boat. I find this dichotomy hard to explain.
I had been struggling a little the first weeks at home trying to find the words to describe these transitions, and what was feeling like “excess” at home: excess in resources, in clothing, food, entertainment, and choices of what to do. I finally found the words in a book I was reading, The Log of Bob Bartlett. Bartlett was born in Brigus, Newfoundland in 1875. He captained his first fishing vessel when we was 17, and during his life at sea he was a sealer, fisherman, whaler, and made 28 (yes, 28!) excursions into the Arctic. He also wrote several books describing his life and voyages, and a set of his books was a gift from our wonderful hosts and new friends at the Marine Institute when we were visiting St. John’s, Newfoundland, this fall.
 |
| Educator Zeta Strickland is gradually making the adjustment to dry land after her summer on Ocean Watch. |
Reading Bartlett’s works made me, once again, appreciate Ocean Watch. Life on these sealing ships is nearly beyond description: cold, incredibly hard, dangerous work. Bartlett himself was shipwrecked on twelve occasions, and many times when watching his boat sink he was far from other boats and the chance of rescue. Yet he contributes his lifelong good health to this “boat life.” His description of life at sea also provided me with just the words I had been looking for:
“If I had it all to do over again I should be a sailor just the same. There is nothing so satisfying as the sea. On a shore a man is always worried because he hasn’t twice as much as he has already got. It’s not like that on board a ship. You can only have so much… Once you have warm dry clothes there is no use having any more. You can only eat so much food. As a result of this you are contented with your life simply because you are living. The sheer joy of being alive and working hard is your reward.”
I’m far from ready to sell my possessions and run away for a life at sea, but this summer has allowed me a new look not only into the Arctic, but into my own life in Seattle. (And thank you to my friends, co-workers, and my boss for their patience when on occasion, they find me staring out the window. I’m just trying to guess the wind speed.) I’m still working on understanding it all, and in the meantime, I’m working on bringing a little of my Ocean Watch experiences into “regular life.”
- Zeta Strickland and Mark Schrader with photographs by David Thorenson
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct your messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.
