Ease and Shelter

“At sea, I found not the answers I was looking for, but the quiet I needed to hear them.”

 

Wind Surf Passenger

 

Wind Surf Transatlantic Sailing Day 6

Sunrise and Sleeping In

 

After staying out on deck behind Compass Rose until midnight, we decided to sleep in a little this morning.  With that said, Sean still went up to photograph the sunrise, but then, to my surprise and delight, came back to bed. It was the first time in nearly a year that we had been able to sleep deeply and without interruption, without feeling driven to get up and work, write, sit at our computers, answer some email or request, or be chased out of bed by the incessant racket that begins in our condo building around four-thirty every morning.

 

It felt wonderful simply to lie there – cozy, under duvets, with the waves lapping against the hull. The engines rumbled softly beneath us, the ship moved with the rhythm of the waves, and the steady whoosh of water outside our cabin created a soundscape that felt more soothing than any silence we have known in a long time. Our room is close to the engines and low against the sea, and yet somehow it has become one of the most peaceful places we have ever slept. Perhaps that says something about what we needed. Not perfectly quiet, but the right kind of sound – natural sounds.  Not stillness, but motion that felt safe.

 

Outside, the skies were lit with subtle pinks and dotted with dark clouds. There was little drama in the morning, only calm and softness, which felt like a welcome change after so many months of stress. By now, we were approaching the midpoint of the voyage, and for the first time, I could feel the tension in us truly beginning to lower. The decisions waiting at home had not disappeared. The stresses of the world had not been solved. But they had receded far enough to stop pressing against every thought.  We could enjoy a moment, we could relax for a day, out here at sea.

 

Today, we were simply here. Not overthinking. Not bracing. Not constantly worrying. Not trying to convert every moment into something useful. The sea was beautiful, the breeze felt good, the room was peaceful, and the ship was moving steadily onward. It was undoubtedly the right voyage at the right time, and the journey we both very much needed.

 

Breakfast 

 

Around eight-thirty, we finally got up and headed to Veranda for breakfast. It was bright, sunny, and windy as we ate our muesli and yogurt and drank our coffee. Off the port side of the ship, a strong rainbow arched above the water, vivid against the moving sky.

 

Rainbows at sea always feel slightly miraculous. On land, they are anchored by familiar objects: rooftops, fields, hills, trees, and roads. At sea, they seem to exist between elements, suspended between water and air, created by the brief meeting of wind, rain, sunlight, and distance. This one felt like a beautiful reminder of where we were: somewhere between continents, between weather systems, between what we had left and what we had not yet reached.

 

It was an extraordinary way to begin a day that otherwise asked very little of us.

Whale Surveys and Flying Fish

After breakfast, we completed an hour-long ORCA survey for whales, dolphins, and porpoises. As usual, this year, we did not spot any marine mammals, and with the large swells and widespread whitecaps, it would have been difficult to detect them even if they had been nearby. The sea was active enough that every bright crest, shadow, and sudden movement demanded a second look.

 

What we did see again, however, were flying fish. A great many flying fish. During that hour alone, we counted 137, our highest tally yet. They seemed to burst from the waves in every direction, silver and quick, gliding low over the water before vanishing again. We also saw several long strings of Sargassum, which had been largely absent for the past few days, returning now like floating traces of the sea’s hidden structure. 

 

Out here, things come and go, and each day is its own.

 

After the survey, we simply stayed at the front of Wind Surf and enjoyed the weather. I love standing there, letting the wind blast directly into me, as though the sea air can reach places ordinary air cannot. The sails were up, the water was stunningly blue, and somewhere on the horizon a cargo ship passed by, a small reminder that even in the wide loneliness of the Atlantic, we were not entirely alone.

 

Enrichment Talk

 

At eleven-thirty, we headed inside to the Lounge for Dr. Ranelli’s talk on underwater robots. It was a fascinating presentation, tracing the development of manned, unmanned, and remotely operated underwater vehicles and showing how they have changed our relationship with the deep sea. These machines can map the ocean floor, inspect and cap deep-water oil wells, search for shipwrecks such as the Titanic and Endeavour, and extend human reach into environments where our bodies cannot survive.

 

Much of the research and development, he explained, has been driven by oil companies accustomed to working thousands of feet below the surface and drilling even farther beneath the seabed. It was another reminder of the contradictions that often shape ocean knowledge. Some of what we know about the deep has emerged from curiosity, exploration, and science. Some has come from industry and extraction. The same technologies that help us understand the ocean can also be tied to the forces that threaten it.

 

Still, the talk made the sea around us feel even deeper. From the deck, the Atlantic can seem simply like a blue surface, immense but visible. Ranelli’s lecture reminded us that beneath that surface lies a world of darkness, pressure, machinery, wrecks, life, and mystery - most of it beyond human sight.

 

Noon Announcement and the Halfway Point

 

The noon announcement, delivered by the third officer, placed us firmly within the crossing. We had now sailed 1,196 nautical miles since leaving Sint Maarten, and at eight o’clock that morning we had crossed the halfway point on our journey to the Azores.

 

I should have felt excited by that news. Instead, it made me unexpectedly sad. Reaching the halfway point meant that the voyage was no longer mostly ahead of us. A large portion of it had already passed into memory. I wished we could remain at sea for much longer, held in this strange suspended state between departure and arrival, with no errands, no sirens, no neighbours, no news cycle, and no immediate decisions pressing in.

 

The nautical fact of the day was familiar, being that less than ten percent of the world’s oceans have been mapped. The vast majority of our own planet remains unexplored, and some believe that millions of undiscovered species may still exist in those unknown waters. Once again, we were reminded that we may know more about parts of outer space than we understand about the deep ocean.

 

That thought stayed with me. Above us, astronauts were circling the moon. Beneath us, four thousand metres of ocean held worlds no one may have seen. Between those two unknowns, Wind Surf moved steadily onward, a small vessel with only a few people crossing the surface of mystery.

 

Lunch in Veranda

 

After the talk, we went out on deck and discovered that two of the sails were up. It was extremely windy, and the ship was bucking strongly through the waves while also rocking side to side. To my delight, waves slammed into the bow and erupted in huge salty plumes, reaching as high as the Deck Six lookout and sometimes shooting dramatically and loudly up through the anchor hole at the front of the ship.  There was something wonderfully theatrical about it, as though the Atlantic had decided to remind us that calm and ease did not mean that we were either still or quiet.

 

When we stepped into Veranda for lunch, however, we found it incredibly full. We decided to wait and let the crowd thin before attempting the buffet, but when we tried again a few minutes later, another wave of hungry passengers seemed to have arrived. Sean eventually gave up on the salad bar and cheese platters and ordered a veggie burger from the à la carte menu instead.

 

These are usually very good, but amid the lunch chaos, he was accidentally served an uncooked beef burger on a plate with lettuce. It was not even remotely the vegetarian lunch he had hoped for or ordered.

 

Sometimes things simply do not work the way one hopes, even on otherwise lovely days at sea.

Rather than letting the moment define the afternoon, we left the bustle of the upper decks behind and found a quieter place to rest.

 

Afternoon Enrichment

 

We spent the next hour lounging on the lower aft deck of Wind Surf, relaxing in the open air and letting the lunch crowd fade behind us. At two o’clock, we headed into the Lounge for another talk by Wayne White, this one titled “Cold: Three Winters at the South Pole,” after his book.

 

It was a fascinating glimpse into life at the South Pole research station, particularly after the last aircraft leaves and the crew is committed to the winter. He described how people are selected, transported, housed, and tested by months of isolation in one of the most extreme environments on Earth. I was especially struck to learn that the station sits at an elevation of 9,200 feet, and that some people must be evacuated due to altitude sickness. It is not only cold, dry, and windy, but also physically demanding in ways I had not fully considered.

 

Listening to him speak about the South Pole while we crossed the Atlantic created another kind of scale. Earlier in the day, Ranelli had taken us downward into the deep ocean. Wayne carried us outward to the ice, altitude, and darkness of Antarctica. Between the two talks, the ship seemed to become a classroom suspended between frontiers.

 

Hot Tubs and Lounging

 

After the talk, we decided to go for another dip in the hot tub.  It felt very nice to soak in the warm salt water, bobbing about in the waves in the middle of the Atlantic.   Perhaps a little odd, to be floating in water on a boat that is floating in the ocean, but if humanity can design robots and gliders that dive to the bottom of the sea, this is not the craziest thing we could do.

The sky above us was a gorgeous blue, and there were very few people on deck. For a while, we simply soaked, talked, watched the water around the ship, and enjoyed the warmth. After days of wind, walking the decks, surveys, lectures, and late nights, there was something deeply restorative about being still without being indoors. The sea moved around us. The ship moved beneath us. We did almost nothing at all other than float.

 

BBQ on Board

 

Tonight was the much-anticipated signature Windstar Deck BBQ, but due to the very high wind and waves, we soon learned that it was being held inside of at Amphora on deck 6 under the sails.  Upon hearing this news, we decided to remain outside in the sunshine a while longer, rather than heading inside for the day’s trivia session on flags of the world. Once outside, we seem to have trouble deciding to go back indoors again.

Eventually, we had to get out of the nice warm water and go inside to change for dinner.  The wind was unpleasantly cold at that point, but thankfully, we soon warmed up in the sunshine.  After heading inside to change for dinner, we wandered back out to Compass Rose to watch the sunset and to listen to the very talented Danyi playing the violin.  It felt like a lovely way to end a wonderfully lazy afternoon.

 

At 6:30 PM, we headed inside for the BBQ.  As before, there was a cornucopia of delicious foods, presented with justifiably great pride and artistry. A favourite of mine was the huge apple pie! However, as we had feared, it was very tight to fit everything in, and the restaurant was packed with people, all milling about looking at the many offerings. In addition, because the food tables took up the front part of the restaurant, everyone had to find seats in the back half.  Surprisingly, this did work, but the crowds were a bit much for us and a bit of a surprise. 

In the end, we selected a number of different salads, BBQ veggie tofu skewers, and slices of fresh herbed bruschetta, all of which were absolutely delicious.  Rather than going back for dessert, which simply looked too crowded to be fun, we decided to escape back onto the deck, where a gorgeous sunset was ongoing.

 

Sometimes the best part of a crowded shipboard celebration is knowing when to slip away from it.

 

Line Dancing, Music and Trivia

 

Shortly after eight, we headed back inside to the Lounge for the crew line dance. This is one of those events that could easily feel staged, but aboard Wind Surf, it carries a genuine warmth. It offers passengers a chance to thank the crew for the enormous amount of work they do, while also giving the crew a rare opportunity to have fun together in front of the people they spend their days looking after.

 

Like last year, it was full of energy and joy. The audience was invited to join in, and as the songs progressed, the stage grew fuller and fuller. 

Watching everyone dance, laugh, cheer, and encourage one another, I found myself thinking about how difficult crew life must be. Many spend six to nine months away from family and friends, working long hours in demanding roles that require patience, stamina, and grace. I love that aboard Wind Surf, there are moments when their personalities, humour, and happiness are allowed to shine through.

After the line dancing, improbably, there was another trivia session.  This one – called “Trivia for 100” - was set up like Jeopardy, with different categories and dollar amounts possible depending on the difficulty of the question. As expected, we didn't do overly well, but much fun was had by all.

Night on Deck

After trivia, we went back outside to enjoy the warm night air. Venus shone brightly off the starboard side near the stern, and overhead the stars seemed to sway gently behind the glowing white outlines of the masts as the ship moved beneath them. We walked toward the front of Wind Surf, looking ahead into complete darkness except for the bright stars burning above.

 

It felt like an apt metaphor for where we were in life. Behind us were places we knew, choices we had made, and stresses we were trying to leave at a distance. Ahead, there was darkness. Not necessarily danger, not necessarily emptiness, but the simple truth of not being able to see very far. Overhead, though, there was still light.

 

After our walk, we returned to Compass Rose for a nightcap while Pure Soul Trio played. The music, the wind, the darkness, and the quiet glow of the ship made it difficult to leave, but another time change awaited us. After so much fresh air, sunshine, food, wind, and excitement, we finally decided to head for bed.

 

Another glorious day at sea had come to an end.

 

See you on board!

 

Nautical Term of the Day – Leeward - The sheltered side away from the wind.