I am stuck in a week of very, very light wind. Too little wind is almost worse than too much. I’ve been bobbing around for 36 hours now, moving very, very slowly. At this rate, I’ll be in Panama next year. I’m glad I took so much food and water since I may need it.
On the other hand, there are amazing aspects of all this. Last night I ghosted along in just a knot or two of wind. For those of you who don’t sail, a knot or two is about as much wind as the breath of a lover on your neck. The moon had not risen. The sky was clear and covered by thousands of stars. The spinnaker was barely visible, full and swaying, rising as the boat rolled. It was as if I could see “Ventura” breathing.
In the darkness, the ocean is often bioluminescent. When the water is disturbed, as it in when a boat passes through it, it lights up in a soft greenish glow. It seems to light from within, as if the water itself were trying to show that it can be something else. Behind the boat, silent save for a faint gurgling and an occasional sigh of a small wave, tresses of living water flow into the night. And even more amazing, diamonds are sprinkled in the tresses. Hundreds of small sparkles, lasting only a second, mix with the faint glow. It really does look like someone were constantly throwing handfuls of diamonds around the boat.
I don’t know what causes this bioluminescent beauty — plankton or some such thing, perhaps — but I have stared at it for hours and hours over the years. I have my own explanation. I believe that when people die their souls form the sea. That’s why the sea IS alive, moving, trying always to be something else. Those of us who have had the privilege of passing through the sea on a quiet, dark night, are seeing the souls of all those people who have touched us and formed us but who are no longer incarnate. Some of those souls are of those who loved us, or whom we loved. But some of those souls are of people we never met, some who lived long ago, and yet are the ones who formed us. They light up for a moment so we will recognize them and be grateful. So as I write this it is night again, and I am about to go up on deck and hang my head over the rail and smile at people whom I never thought I would see again.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get more beautiful last night, a dolphin appeared, swimming quickly under and around the boat. I couldn’t see it directly, but as it swam it disturbed the water and left a trail of sinuous phosphorescence. I could also hear it as it came up now and then and took a breath. Whoosh and then splash and then a woven tapestry of diamonds. It stayed for only a few minutes, but I’ll remember it forever.
Being far out at sea alone is an ordeal, but nights like this make it worthwhile.
From a drifting “Ventura” I wish you a calm and peaceful night.
David