When you are surrounded on all sides by water--it's easy to lose track of the hours. Have we been out 3 days? 4 days? When we changed time zones did the clock go forward or back? There's a timelessness to passages that last more than 3-4 days. Days are divided into meals, watches, naps, sunsets, moonrises and dawn. It reminds me in some ways of having a newborn. The rest of the world recedes; small things catch my eye. The colour of the water for instance--close to the coast it was a nutrient rich murky green. And it was cold. We slept under big blankets and drank litres of hot tea. Now the water is a brilliant tropical blue--but the sea birds are gone. There are no more albatross, kites and terns. We haven't looked out to see seals floating head down with only their flippers reaching to the sky. Surprising seals and making them leap is remarkably entertaining in our small, ocean-bound world. Visits by dolphins have also dropped off making the ocean seem vast, empty and endless.
Even the stars seem bewitched. The Milkyway is bright enough to illuminate our decks. The seas light themselves with bioluminescence. Each day seems like the one before--expect for these small moments.
If it weren't for the charts showing our steady march of progress toward a tiny speck in the sea it would be easy to imagine that we're not actually going anywhere.
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