There are whitecaps in the toilet bowl.
We are sailing south on a bright, sunny day into swells that vary from four to seven meters. We are going against a strong wind, which means that if you step out onto an open, exposed deck, God will rearrange your hair. We are a bit under nine hundred feet long, and we sway and yaw. I cannot imagine what this would be like were we in a small vessel such as Fitzroy, Drake, Magellan and the like commanded.
Somewhere beyond the horizon to port lie the islands just north of Antarctica. Somewhere beyond the horizon to starboard, we are approaching the tip of South America. We are in 300 feet of water. The area is spattered with shoals and islands, and one must weave amongst and past them. There are several possible ways to go; all of them are rough. Nature doesn’t think we should even be here.
Even after Pangea broke up (starting about 300 million years ago, plus or minus), Antarctica and South America were still joined. Ocean currents went up and around and warmed and cooled. But then South America broke away (Moaned Antarctica, “Was it something I said?”). The currents around Antarctica were no longer deflected north toward the equator, so they stayed south, racing around and around the South Pole continent untrammeled, and they stayed cold. This closed Antarctica away from warming waters, so its coldness built upon itself until today you have, well, Antarctica.
My friends and colleagues who sail will agree that out here, one has long, long stretches of time without incident, occasionally punctuated by something one can write about. So what does one write about when all you do is plow through swells, whatever size they be?
I don’t think Captain Fitzroy gets nearly enough credit. Not only did he negotiate these passages flailing up and down wildly, he did depth soundings and latitude and longitude determinations and drew the charts of the area. And then after dinner he’d sit around and argue with Charles Darwin. What a guy!
Between him and others, the place was mapped; that is, charted; and now we cruise the passage in luxury and safety. The food is great, the dress-up is fun, and I will finish both the Wild Horses and Pony Up manuscripts before we arrive in Fort Lauderdale. I had bogged on both books for a while, but the ideas are flowing freely now.
As are the Southern Ocean winds and currents.