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March 1, 2010 – At Sea, 19º 53’S, 075º 41’W
By Herb McCormick
At almost the precise moment in time early last evening, the two primary celestial bodies in the lives of we Earthlings were in balance and synchronicity. That is, as the plump orange sun set in the west, the full beaming moon rose to the east. Smack between the two, Ocean Watch was at the midpoint of the teeter-totter; the kids at either end were looking one another directly in the eye. One could even say the scales of heavenly justice were even.
Up on the foredeck of the boat, lounging around on a summer eve just before the mast, we were like spectators at a tennis match, looking left, looking right, looking left, looking right, fearful of missing the winner. I used to have a football coach whose sage advice against getting blindsided into next week was to “keep your heads on a swivel.”
Our heads were on a swivel.
As it happened, there was a money shot, it came from the west, and none of us missed it. Just when the top of the sun kissed the razor-sharp horizon, there it was, the always-popular (and increasingly evident) green flash. David Thoreson pressed the shutter of his Nikon, and the satisfying “click” bid adieu to the descending orb at the nick of the colorful instant.
“I got it,” he said.
On the pleasant voyage between Valparaiso, Chile, and Lima, Peru, it was the highlight of another day at sea.
Today on Ocean Watch, it’s yet one more, but with a host of special milestones. It’s exactly nine months since we left Seattle, with just over 21,000 nautical miles behind us; we’ve just crossed the 20th parallel of latitude on our northward jaunt towards the equator; we’re less than 500 miles and almost exactly 72-hours from our arrival in Lima. The wind is out of the west at about 10 knots, we’re motor-sailing with a full genoa and mainsail with the diesel kicking over at 1200 fuel-efficient RPMs, and we’re making just over 7 knots. Between the open sky and the wide Pacific, it’s impossible that the world could be bluer.
Sunrise yesterday was just before 8 a.m.; today, just before 7 a.m.; tomorrow, just before 6 a.m. Let me explain. Over the last couple days, we’ve changed the clock an hour each day, to adjust for the proper time zone. If one doesn’t think too hard about it, it’s easy to consider the continents of North and South America as a pair of Lego pieces stacked atop one another. Not true. Though we’ve been wandering up the West Coast of the southern continent for a few weeks now, the corresponding West Coast of the United States is, well, west. Like, real west. Until you study a globe, it’s hard to comprehend. How disparate is the perceived disconnection? Today, Ocean Watch is more or less due south of New York City, and now that we’ve adjusted the clocks, we’re actually in the same time zone.
Other than shifting the watch schedule slightly to get the clocks in order, the day has rolled on rather typically. David Thoreson has been busy with cameras, both still and video. Dave Logan has been tending to the thousands of chores necessary on a daily basis to keep Ocean Watch a going concern. Skipper Mark Schrader has spent a few hours at the navigation station, poring over charts and getting up to speed on Peruvian immigration procedures and other ship’s business. Sam Treadway is filling the role of onboard scientist for this leg, and has been busy taking cloud observations for our ongoing NASA project. Aside from some low ribbons of stratus and a little bouquet of cumulus buds way off on the horizon, there isn’t a bloody cloud in the sky. Sam’s surely got the day’s easiest job.
Well, except for me. I’m just typing.
I had a saltwater bucket bath up on the bow yesterday, followed by a freshwater rinse down below in the shower. Before that, Logan got out his barber tools and hacked off my mullet. I wasn’t actually trying to grow a mullet, but there aren’t many barbers at Cape Horn or in Patagonia. As the ocean is now a tepid 76º, I may pour a few more buckets of ocean over my head later on. The icy Horn seems a million miles away.
I’m on dinner duty tonight, and as the guys know, that means some sort of pasta is likely to be involved. We all have our specialties. Last night, Sam prepared some killer burritos. The night before, David T prepared his staple dish, beloved by all, a spicy Thai peanut chicken over rice. The night before that, Logan employed his favorite ingredient, a versatile pork shoulder with fresh vegetables. The skipper’s fare generally consists of beans, rice or soup, usually enhanced by some variety of, well, tube steak.
For this evening, I’m thawing out a big tub of frozen crab we picked up in Patagonia, and I plan on using a bunch of gorgeous, ripe tomatoes from Chile, lightly stirred with sautéed onions, garlic and seasonings, over some bow-tie pasta tossed with pesto. My mates are a generous lot; they’ll say it’s great, even if it isn’t.
The moon will rise, just a sliver smaller than yesterday. The sun will set, and we’ll cross our fingers for another splash of green. Ocean Watch will continue to guide us through the waters, another day logged in on the voyage Around the Americas.
-Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson
*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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