Although it might be hard to imagine that any clear night out here at sea could be more spectacular than another, I do in fact think that we were given some of the clearest field of stars I've ever seen in my life over the span of a couple of consecutive nights in early May off the coast of Mexico. I was on the helm one of those nights and noted that up to my right was the first cloud I'd seen in the sky all night. Upon further observation, however, I saw that it was no cloud. It was the section of the Milky Way around Scorpius so bright and clear that it looked like a cloud.
Almost every time I see the Milky Way, I recall the time my uncle George (who was there in Santa Cruz) told me about how, when he once took some inner city kids from L.A. out into the desert for an overnight trip, they were all awestruck to see the Milky Way for the first time in their lives, something many of us take for granted.
All around me that night in May perhaps a collection of five dolphins popped to the surface now and then, tracing their glowing wakes in the sea that we often see in the dark, taking audible breaths that sounded like the gasps they are. They seem so human when you listen to their breaths that analytically.
Yesterday we saw the largest collection of dolphins ever during this voyage. As all of us on deck stood dumbfounded by the sight we were witnessing, I asked the skipper if he'd agree with my estimation of fully 1000 dolphins around us, whipping the water up in deep play. He said, "Easily."
I've just finished reading Jacques Cousteau's first book, 'The Silent World,' about his early adventures in and under the sea. He estimates that there are more dolphins in the oceans than there are humans on earth. Considering the relation of water to land (maybe 4:1), it's quite conceivable.
Every hour one of us enters a string of data into the ship's log; heading, wind, barometer, etc. One of the data inputs is the water temperature, and it's been delightful to note how warm the water became as we headed south. Leaving Santa Cruz, it was 15C (59F). When it reached 30C (86F) a few days out of Panama, I grabbed a bucket out of storage and tied it’s rope to the railing before tossing it over. This is a standard precaution since it’s easy to underestimate the force the water flowing past the boat at 7 or 8 kts will exert on the bucket once it flips and catches water. What I failed to consider, however, was that the knot attaching the line to the bucket might have worked loose. I tossed the bucket over, it caught water, tore loose, and sat there floating as we sailed away with it's rope dangling from our guardrail.
I’ve yet to take a saltwater bucket shower.
Below is a video I made during this leg about working on top of the mast while at sea.
