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September 8th, 2009 – At Sea, Labrador Sea, 55 30N, 054 27W
by Herb McCormick
(Sept. 8): One of the great bits from the old days of Saturday Night Live was a piece called “Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey,” where the narrator summed up the foibles of existence in neat, pithy pronouncements, none which made much sense at all. Today’s log is dedicated to the brilliance that was and is Jack Handey.
For example: Life, of course, is a matter of perspective. The breeze blowing trash across one fellow’s lawn could be the very wind beneath the wings of his next-door neighbor. You just never know.
It was in this spirit of self-revelatory examination that the crew aboard Ocean Watch posed a straightforward question to themselves this morning: Really, what would’ve been so awful about spending a winter stuck in ice in the Arctic? Really?
Let’s make a list of the plusses and minuses.
First, the minus side:
- 1) Endless dark nights with severe possible side effects including deep and lasting bouts of depression.
- 2) Prolonged exposure to a place proven through history to drive outside explorers insane and prone to possible murderous acts.
- 3) Total isolation from all the people, places and things we love for an indeterminate time period, and…
- 4) No guarantee stay in Arctic would be limited to one year.
And on the plus side:
1-999) We would never have to sail through the Labrador Sea.
So, that makes it unanimous. Ice, everyone?!
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| Ocean Watch forges south in breezes of 25 knots. Fast sailing it is. Pleasant sailing it is not. |
Today, Ocean Watch continues to forge south on the wings of a staunch northerly breeze, beam reaching through brutal moguls of blue ocean in breezes of 25-knots and more. Fast sailing it is. Pleasant sailing it is not. Forgive us if we move on.
It’s all led to plenty of time to harbor Deep Thoughts. And I’m not the only one grappling with them, as the following anecdote will attest:
A clause in the contract of every member in good standing of the International Watch Standers Union (Editor’s note: not a real organization) states that a sailor, spending long hours in the company of another sailor – and especially when circumstances are dire and getting worse – must do all in one’s power to keep his mate amused or distracted at all times. This is a Law of the Sea.
My fellow watch-stander, Dave Logan, is a fine fellow and sailor, one with whom I’d sail to the ends of the earth (as this summer well attests). And at first, I attributed his behavior in the wee hours of this morning as proof that he was following the pledge on my behalf. For in my perch in the aft section of our enclosed powerhouse, as the hours dragged on and on, I had an excellent view of Dave, seated just forward by the chart-plotter and steering controls. He was, as they say, animated.
Actually, he appeared to be in the midst of a vivid (if one-sided) argument, punctuated with pointed fingers and related hand gesticulations. What a riot, thought I, while watching the entire committee of Dave’s unfold before me: Funny Dave, Serious Dave, Peeved Dave, Sarcastic Dave, and everyone’s comforting, perennial favorite, Wise and Gentle Dave. I was about to both congratulate and thank him for his wonderful act of self-parody when I realized, startled, that he not only wasn’t kidding, but that he was in a rather deep, alarmed and poignant conversation…with himself. I believe I actually heard a snippet:
“It’s not the Labrador Sea, dammit! It’s a real Labrador, see?!”
As Jack Handey reminds us, it’s always darkest, my friends, before the dawn.
Of course, I wasn’t the only crewman experiencing Deep Thoughts aboard Ocean Watch. Skipper Mark Schrader’s were of a more culinary bent, with a tad of personal hygiene thrown in. But we’ll let him explain:
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| As soon as the pot of water began to boil, the stove started moving a little too enthusiastically on its gimbels. |
“Happily, the 35-knot southwesterly winds forecast for last night and this morning went somewhere else. The west/northwesterly 20-30 knot breeze stayed with us through the night and into this morning, so far only interrupted by a few squalls packing gusts over 30 with some horizontal rain. Seas are about half the size they were two days ago. We’re able to lay a good course to St. John’s, now just under 500 nautical miles down the track. OW is carrying a triple-reefed main and full staysail on a beam reach with seas generally on the beam – lively is a word that readily comes to mind when trying to describe what this feels like.
“The inconsiderate placement of a mirror above the sink in the aft head makes it hard not to at least glance at yourself from time to time. This morning I’ll admit to being a little startled by the image confronting me. When I mentioned to my watch-mates that mirrors on a boat probably aren’t a good thing, Harry quickly responded in the affirmative, saying he can see himself well enough in his cup! After the short encounter viewing my decidedly shaggy and grizzled self I looked at the others a little more closely to see if I’d just suddenly aged poorly in the past few weeks or if something else was happening to all of us. After the conditions of the past few days I think they won’t be offended if I say we all look a little askew, some of us more than others.
“About dinnertime last night the seas seemed to smooth a bit and the wind was steady. For reasons I’ve yet to understand I volunteered to cook a quick ‘comfort’ dinner of macaroni and cheese with sausage added to make it slightly more interesting; the sausage was in the freezer; the mac and cheese filed, thanks to Bryan, under ‘prepared food – mac and cheese,’ located in the upper #1 storage area; the cheese in the icebox above the freezer. You know where this is going.
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| Scientist Harry Stern enjoys a diet of two burnt pieces of toast in rough Labrador seas. |
“As soon as the pot of water on the stove was beginning to boil, the stove started moving a little too enthusiastically on its gimbals – thanks to a sudden gust of wind and a big set of beam-on waves. Just as I lurched to secure the pot of now boiling water the refrigerator door bounced open on its own, spilling among other things a large and full plastic juice container that broke on impact. Next, the utensil/knife drawer shot out of its cabinet, contents and all, along with most of the dishes in the dish drainer. An opened package of English muffins and the last loaf of bread rolled off the counter and joined the party on the floor. I couldn’t think of an expletive worthy of the moment, so I just stood there and let the crash of it all punctuate the occasion.
“Thoreson peered around the corner in time to see me awash in orange juice, soggy bread, dishes forks and knives. He quickly understood this wasn’t another odd experience I’d designed to test my own resolve at dealing with mildly trying circumstances. Logan came by, gave me a friendly pat on the back and said ‘Oh dear!’ All then pitched in to clean up the mess and were rewarded with some not-very-interesting but hot macaroni and cheese. So there you have it, a quick peek at what it’s really like in ‘lively’ conditions onboard the good ship Ocean Watch.
“As to our other noted aging and grooming issues I can only say what’s the point of arriving in St John’s looking fresh and pressed like we’ve been out for an afternoon of yachting. We’ve sailed just over 7,000 nautical miles from Seattle, been away at sea for 100 days, crossed the Arctic Circle – twice, and made it through the Northwest Passage in one season – and have had our hats handed to us in the Labrador Sea. And, now we now look like it!”
With that, we’ll close today’s edition of Deep Thoughts, with just one final reflection, perhaps inspired by present circumstance: If a wave crashed in the forest, and you were there with cell-phone coverage, could you actually call a cab to take you home?
- Herb McCormick and Mark Schrader with photographs by David Thoreson
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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