Taking the Helm

“The goal is not to sail the boat, but rather to help the boat sail herself.”

 John Rousmaniere

 

Wind Surf Transatlantic Sailing Day 8

Slow Start to the Day

 

We had a slow start this morning, with Sean heading up on deck around seven-thirty to photograph the sunrise while I remained in the cabin a little longer. He reported that it was spectacular. Apparently, the sun moved from lighting the horizon in vibrant bands of orange and red to softer pinks and blues, while a sliver of clear blue opened above the clouds, making the sky look almost like a river weaving overhead.

 

When I looked out the porthole around eight, the sea was smooth and glassy. After the active waves, whitecaps, spray, and motion of earlier days, the Atlantic seemed to have settled into a polished surface. It looked as though we were not so much pushing through water as gliding over it.

 

At times, strange thoughts come into my mind at sea. When we set out, and my own mind felt chaotic, the seas were rougher. Now, just beyond the halfway point, the waters around us appeared smoother. I wondered whether we had simply become used to sailing again, or whether something in us really was beginning to fall into place. Or perhaps, as people so often do, I was searching for meaning and symbolism where none existed.

 

Still, I do think perspective matters. Time spent away from constant agitation and frustration can definitely make the world feel more manageable. Whether that calm can survive beyond this small oasis of care and quiet is another question entirely. For now, at least, the moment felt like a kindness that I had so desperately needed.

 

Breakfast and Whale Surveys

While we were enjoying our usual breakfast of muesli, fresh fruit, granola and yogurt, coffee, and orange juice, Donna came over to our table and invited us to join her for dinner at Stella’s that evening. Stella’s is Wind Surf’s other specialty restaurant, featuring French cuisine, and we had never tried it before. After so many days of familiar routines and relaxation, the invitation promised something new and exciting.

 

The morning was beautiful, though cooler than before, and after breakfast we returned to our room for sweaters. The changing air temperatures had become more noticeable now. We were no longer in Caribbean warmth. We were somewhere between ports and gradually nearing the Azores.

 

After breakfast, we completed a single half-hour ORCA cetacean survey from the front of Wind Surf.

 

The sea was almost pancake-flat, strangely solid-looking beneath the pale, cloudless blue sky. It should have been excellent water for spotting marine mammals, but once again, none appeared. We saw no seabirds during the survey either, and not a single flying fish. There was some Sargassum, though in smaller rounded clumps, with a few of them tinged reddish rather than the brighter greens and yellows we had seen earlier.

 

We decided to take things easy this morning, not doing much except hanging out on deck in the sunshine.  The first group of passengers who had signed up to steer the ship was already up on Deck 7, taking turns at the helm on the flying bridge.  It looked like fun, and I was excited that my turn would come later in the afternoon if all went according to plan.

 

Flying Bridge

When the first group was finished, captaining the ship, we climbed up to look at the steering wheel, which is usually covered up.  The view from there was 360° of unbroken, open horizon.  It is so refreshing to be in a place where the human footprint isn't the dominant feature of the scenery. No buildings, no roads, no signs, no traffic, no wires, no advertisements. Just sea and sky all around.

 

And yet even here, the human presence could not be entirely escaped. We noticed a steady stream of small plastic debris floating past the ship, a reminder that even hundreds of miles from the nearest landmass, human activity has reached the open ocean and created change.

We spent quite a long time looking for whales out on the flat, blue ocean and enjoying the peace and solitude.  There is something wonderful about feeling alone on the sea, although we did see another cargo ship slipping past ahead of us. These fleeting, chance meetings, where another ship slips by on the horizon, somehow feel like kindred spirits meeting in the midst of nowhere.

Nautical Update, Nearing the Azores

During the captain’s noon announcement, we learned that we were travelling at a stately 9.6 knots over ocean 3,000 metres deep. Wind Surf had travelled 1,889 nautical miles since leaving Sint Maarten, and we had only 412 nautical miles left before reaching Ponta Delgada in the Azores. Suddenly, it felt as though time was running out, even though we were only around halfway through the larger crossing to Lisbon.

 

The nautical fact of the day was about the Azores. The original capital was Vila Franca do Campo, on São Miguel, the island we hoped to visit. It was destroyed by an earthquake in 1522, after which the capital shifted to Ponta Delgada, already an important stopping point for sailors.

 

Since it seemed increasingly possible that we might actually make our port of call in the Azores this year, we had begun debating whether to book an excursion. We are not usually excursion people, preferring to wander on our own when possible, but we were tempted. One option included a pineapple plantation, lunch in Sete Cidades, and a drive to the lookout over the volcanic crater. Another offered a longer hike up to the crater itself. We had never been up a volcano before, and the idea of standing on one in the middle of the Atlantic was undeniably exciting.

 

Lunch and Relaxation

We headed to Veranda for some lunch and sat in the shade, keeping an eye open for whales and enjoying the sunshine and a delicious selection of salads.  The ship felt oddly empty again today, making us wonder where everyone had disappeared to. None of the public spaces is full, suggesting everyone has stayed in their cabins.  Since the ship is only half full to begin with, we already enjoy a lot of space in the public areas.   Yet today the decks felt emptier somehow.

We continued our trend of general inactivity throughout the afternoon, choosing to stay outside in the fresh air rather than head in to the Lounge for the afternoon enrichment talk.  We felt a little guilty about this, like we were missing an opportunity to learn something new, but in the end we opted to stay on deck nonetheless. I think this journey for us is more about feeding the soul than the mind, and there is nothing like fresh air, sunshine, and immersion in salty sea air to heal the spirit of a city dweller.

As we were enjoying the afternoon sunshine, a sudden shout alerted us to the presence of a whale.  After all the time we spent looking, we managed to miss the telltale blow, but the passenger's enthusiastic report gave us renewed energy and determination in our searches.

At the Helm of Wind Surf

At three o’clock, we had the chance to experience something truly special: our turn to take the helm and steer Wind Surf from the flying bridge on Deck 7. We headed to the top of the ship with a small group of other passengers, where control was transferred from the main bridge to the flying bridge. The captain came up with a deck officer and a cadet to supervise, advise, and make sure none of us accidentally sent the ship wandering too dramatically across the Atlantic.

 

I was the fourth passenger called for a turn. Sabrina, one of the wonderful deckhands on board, patiently showed each of us how to steer and stood close by while we took the wheel. For five minutes, I actually sailed Wind Surf in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

 

I will admit that memories of learning to ride a bike and steering directly into garbage cans and fence posts briefly flashed through my mind. Thankfully, the mid-Atlantic is distinctly emptier, at least in terms of immediate obstacles. Even so, I found myself concentrating hard.

 

What surprised me most was how responsive the helm felt. I had imagined that a ship of this size would be slow to answer, but even small movements mattered. I turned the wheel a few degrees one way and then back again, trying to keep the vessel steady while feeling the wind and waves tugging her off course. The steering felt slightly backward to my land-trained brain, and it quickly became clear that maintaining a constant heading before modern automation must have required steady attention and a great deal of skill.

 

Today, much of that work is handled by systems, but standing there with my hands on the wheel gave me a new respect for the labour behind traditional forms of sailing. A course is not held once. It is held continuously. The ship responds, drifts, corrects, and responds again.

 

The experience was both interesting and fun. Afterward, champagne was served to those who had taken a turn, which made the whole thing feel even more celebratory. Looking back at the ship’s wake, which usually stretched behind us in a ruler-straight line, we could see it snaking in a more uncertain pattern. Clearly, the bridge crew had some correcting to do after the passengers finished “helping.”

 

Still, what an extraordinary opportunity. It is difficult to imagine such an experience aboard a large cruise ship. On Wind Surf, it felt consistent with the whole nature of the vessel: intimate, participatory, and close enough to the workings of travel that you remember a ship is not simply a hotel moving across water.

 

Protected Marine Areas in the Azores

 

With more skilled hands and minds directing us as we sailed through the afternoon, Wind Surf began passing between important protected marine areas associated with the Azores. The archipelago has become a major leader in ocean conservation, with the Autonomous Region of the Azores approving what is described as the largest marine protected area network in the North Atlantic. The network covers roughly 287,000 square kilometres, about 30 percent of Azorean waters, with half fully protected from extraction and the other half highly protected with only limited sustainable use.

Knowing this changed the way I looked out over the water. We were moving through a seascape increasingly recognized for its ecological importance. The Azores’ protected waters include deep-sea habitats, seamounts, hydrothermal vents, cold-water corals, whale and dolphin habitat, and important areas for sharks and other marine species.

 

Knowing this made the emptiness feel less empty. The surface of the sea remained deceptively plain: blue water, low swell, occasional Sargassum, and the passage of ships. But below and around us were migration routes, feeding grounds, underwater mountains, and marine habitats most of us will never see. The fact that we had not yet spotted whales did not mean we were travelling through an absence of life. It meant we were crossing a living system whose richness is often hidden from human view.

 

For us, after days of ORCA surveys and patient watching, there was something hopeful about nearing a region where ocean protection has been taken so seriously. It felt like a reminder that human beings are capable not only of leaving plastic in the water, but also of protecting and caring for places that sustain life.

 

Nautical Knots and Trivia

After the steering session, we headed back inside for a presentation on knot tying by Allyson, the other cadet serving on the ship. This was part of the officer-led nautical series, which has been one of the unexpected pleasures of the crossing. The session was informative, practical, and entertaining, and each of us received a piece of rope to practise with.

 

Allyson taught us the names, uses, and configurations of several knots. I could tie them while she was standing there explaining each step, but I am sorry to admit that I probably could not reproduce most of them without help now. Still, there was something satisfying about being given a small piece of practical seamanship, even briefly. After days of talking about navigation, sails, whales, wind, and ocean depth, it felt good to do something with our hands.

 

Right after the knot-tying class, we stayed for a general knowledge trivia session. We scored fifteen out of twenty, nowhere near winning but considerably better than in some of our earlier attempts. After our previous humblings, this felt like a small intellectual recovery.

 

Dinner at Stella’s

After trivia, we went downstairs to freshen up and change for dinner at Stella’s with Donna. The restaurant has a quieter, more intimate atmosphere than Amphora, with a slightly more formal feeling and the warmth one expects from a French-inspired dining room. Nearby, the captain’s table was set with members of the bridge crew and invited guests, giving the evening a sense of occasion. 

 

Our own table was relaxed and full of good conversation. As usual, the meal was delicious. I began with a warm goat cheese salad and then had a roasted vegetable ragout for my main course.

 

For dessert, I chose a chocolate mousse creation, while Donna had crêpes Suzette. Both were excellent.

 

It was a wonderful meal, not only because of the food but because of the company. There is a particular pleasure in sharing dinner with someone you have met through travel.  Good food, wonderful company, and a ship sailing across the Atlantic - who could ask for more?

 

Rock the Sea 

After dinner, we drifted through the ship, following the sound of live music. Danyi performed his “Rock the Sea” show, playing rock music on the violin with extraordinary skill, passion, and energy. He is a tremendously talented musician, and there is something exhilarating about hearing familiar rock songs transformed through violin in a shipboard lounge.

 

As last year, though, I found the background visuals at times too bright and fast-moving, somewhat distracting from the strength of his performance.

 

He does not need a visual spectacle behind him. His playing has more than enough force and charisma to hold the room on its own.  Still, the show was impressive, and we thoroughly enjoyed listening.

 

Evening at Compass Rose

Afterward, we slowly made our way up to Compass Rose, where Pure Soul Trio were playing. They, too, are outstanding musicians, and we stayed on the back deck until quite late, chatting with others and enjoying the fresh night air.

 

Just before we went to bed, we spotted a group of seabirds following and circling the ship. It was too dark to identify them, but after the reported whale sighting earlier and now seabirds moving around us at night, we felt newly optimistic. Perhaps approaching the Azores and sailing through the nearby protected waters tomorrow would bring more wildlife after all.

 

Another time change awaited us at two in the morning, our fourth of the voyage.  Regardless, we went to bed grateful for another lovely day at sea.

 

Evening Reflections

 

It would be too easy to turn taking the helm into a tidy metaphor, but perhaps some metaphors become obvious because they are true. Standing at the wheel of Wind Surf, feeling the ship respond to the smallest adjustments, I was struck by how much attention it takes to hold a course. You do not simply choose a direction once and then stop participating. Wind pushes. Waves tug. The world distracts. The vessel moves. Corrections are constant just to stay the course.

 

That feels true of life as well.

 

For too long, we have allowed the events, attitudes, demands, and disruptions of others to determine the course of our days. Condo politics, neighbour noise, public anger, news cycles, other people’s expectations, and the general drift of modern life have all pulled at us, sometimes subtly and sometimes with force. It is easy to end up off course without ever making a single clear decision of your own.

 

Taking the helm did not mean controlling everything. If anything, it showed me the opposite. The ship is affected by wind, water, weight, movement, and systems larger than the person holding the wheel. But the person at the helm is not irrelevant either. Direction is made through attention, response, and correction.

 

Perhaps that is what we need now. Not total certainty. Not a perfect chart. Not the illusion that we can control every condition around us. But the willingness to take the helm again, to choose a heading, and to keep adjusting to stay the course.

 

All of which is easier said than done, of course. But somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, with my hands on the wheel of Wind Surf, it began to feel possible once more.

 

See you on board!

 

Nautical Term of the Day – Trim - Adjusting sails or balance.