At Sea
The Atlantic Ocean has a surface area of 32 million square miles. Its deepest point is somewhere close to 12,000 feet. It touches North, Central, and South America, as well as Europe and Africa, freezing in the Polar Regions as the Arctic and bordering Antarctica as sea ice in winter. It is a mass of water rounded off, effectively curved by the Earth’s shape; mixing and churning with currents and upwelling, occasionally providing food near the surface. Winds blow over the seascape and create waves in some areas, while in other places, it is as calm as the eye of the wildest storm. Horse latitudes, trade winds, tropical breezes, and imaginary lines such as the Tropic of Cancer sweep across its plains of salty water, and little can be seen from the surface as we play along, rolling and pitching ever so slightly aboard the National Geographic Endeavour. Occasionally a migratory song bird or an open-ocean (pelagic) sea bird passes by but not too often. Just enough to keep us on the lookout. Today, six species of birds are spotted, and only a few more total individuals, but they are nevertheless out here. Far from land, far from their homes, their mates and their kin, yet they are far from lost. They cruise these waves and winds, much as we do searching for oases of food, water, or a resting place, specks of sustenance in a virtual desert of water. We sail onward and southward, somewhere between the Canary Islands and the Cape Verde Islands, out here, all alone, with only a few seabirds to pass by and say hello. Perhaps they wonder what we are doing way out here, far away from the hustle and bustle of big cities, far from cell phones and endless advertisements. It is comforting and exciting all at once as we begin to feel the rhythms of this Atlantic Passage. Perhaps we are more similar to the Cory’s shearwater (pictured here) after all. What stories we will tell when we reach our homes again. Sail on.
The Atlantic Ocean has a surface area of 32 million square miles. Its deepest point is somewhere close to 12,000 feet. It touches North, Central, and South America, as well as Europe and Africa, freezing in the Polar Regions as the Arctic and bordering Antarctica as sea ice in winter. It is a mass of water rounded off, effectively curved by the Earth’s shape; mixing and churning with currents and upwelling, occasionally providing food near the surface. Winds blow over the seascape and create waves in some areas, while in other places, it is as calm as the eye of the wildest storm. Horse latitudes, trade winds, tropical breezes, and imaginary lines such as the Tropic of Cancer sweep across its plains of salty water, and little can be seen from the surface as we play along, rolling and pitching ever so slightly aboard the National Geographic Endeavour. Occasionally a migratory song bird or an open-ocean (pelagic) sea bird passes by but not too often. Just enough to keep us on the lookout. Today, six species of birds are spotted, and only a few more total individuals, but they are nevertheless out here. Far from land, far from their homes, their mates and their kin, yet they are far from lost. They cruise these waves and winds, much as we do searching for oases of food, water, or a resting place, specks of sustenance in a virtual desert of water. We sail onward and southward, somewhere between the Canary Islands and the Cape Verde Islands, out here, all alone, with only a few seabirds to pass by and say hello. Perhaps they wonder what we are doing way out here, far away from the hustle and bustle of big cities, far from cell phones and endless advertisements. It is comforting and exciting all at once as we begin to feel the rhythms of this Atlantic Passage. Perhaps we are more similar to the Cory’s shearwater (pictured here) after all. What stories we will tell when we reach our homes again. Sail on.
