Travelling by Compasses, Not Clocks

“I can see the future coming

And man it's such a sight

But time will waste me if I don't stop wasting time.”

 

Clouds and Thorns, Everything is Possible Now

 

Wind Surf Transatlantic Sailing Day 7

Stepping Back from Modernity

 

Modern tourism often promises nature as though it can be scheduled into a daily itinerary. Sunrise at this time. Whales between these hours. Scenic cruising after lunch. Sunset before dinner. Wildlife encounter, weather permitting.   Planned excursions. Yet nature does not behave that way, and neither does the ocean. The sea is not a performance arranged for our convenience. It reveals itself, or it does not. It gives flying fish one morning, rainbows another, whales perhaps on occasion, and a sunset so beautiful it rearranges the whole evening.

 

To sail across an ocean is to live inside those moments.  The ship has a schedule, of course. There are meals, talks, trivia sessions, music sets, themed parties, and time changes. But beyond the vessel’s human order lies a vastness that answers to no itinerary. Long stretches of open water pass without spectacle, and then, without warning, a bird appears,  a ship passes on the horizon, or the sea changes colour in a way that makes you stop mid-sentence.

 

That may be part of what makes an ocean crossing so restorative. It places us back into the natural world. We are not consumers watching nature happen from a safe distance, but bodies moving through wind, swell, weather, sunlight, cold, and night. The sea reminds us that we are not separate from the world, and that not everything worth experiencing can be planned.

 

Perhaps this is also why the crossing has begun to feel less governed by clocks and more by compasses. A clock measures time. A compass offers direction. One tells us how late we are, how much has been lost, how little remains. The other points toward a heading, even when the distance ahead is unclear.

 

At this point in our lives, we are not sure exactly where we are going, but we are beginning to understand that direction matters more than constant calculation.

 

Wonder in the World

 

For the first time this crossing, the morning began with overcast skies.  The sea was almost flat, and it appeared to be a lovely shade of slightly opaque greyish-blue.  There were almost no whitecaps at all, and the ship was rocking ever so gently. 

 

We had our third time change last night, which served to reaffirm my general dislike of clocks and time changes.   When I first woke, my body was not enthusiastic about getting out of bed to see another sunrise. It wanted sleep, or at least to stay under the covers. But I also know how quickly these voyages pass, and I did not want to miss a moment of this one.

 

There seems to be so little wonder built into ordinary life anymore. At home, days can become crowded with obligation, irritation, headlines, and the frustrations of modern living. Wonder has to be sought out and protected when you find moments of it. On a voyage like this, wonder is everywhere, but it still asks something of us. It asks us to get out of bed, step into the wind, and pay attention.  Even at 5:30 AM.

 

Not long after, we were showered and on deck with coffee in hand. Dark banks of cloud surrounded the ship. We could not see the sun directly ahead of us to the east, but the clouds off our starboard side and astern were coloured pink, as though sunrise had lit the morning from behind. The air felt distinctly colder as well. We were no longer in the warm southern waters near Sint Maarten. We were in the middle of the Atlantic now, gradually getting closer to Europe.

 

There were container ships both ahead and behind us, visible on the horizon. Their presence reminded us that we were not wandering empty water, but moving through one of the great working spaces of the world. Even out here, where the voyage often feels solitary, routes and commerce and human movement continue across the sea.

 

We saw a few flying fish that morning, though it was hard to know whether there were truly fewer or whether the lower light simply made them harder to see. On bright mornings, they flash silver as they leap, catching the sun and briefly revealing themselves. Under cloud cover, perhaps they still fly unseen.

 

Overhead, soft clouds were streaked with pale yellow and pink from the hidden sun. It was not a dramatic morning, but it was beautiful in a subtler way.

 

Breakfast and Whale Surveys

 

Amazed by the colours in the sky, we soon headed to Veranda for our usual breakfast, once again stunned to be almost alone out on deck.  And so we were among the few eating outside, as the light of the morning began to break through the clouds and illuminate the waters around us

 

Admittedly, the air feels slightly cooler this morning, especially in the wind.  In fact, the chill is enough to put on a sweater, even though it is still supposed to be 22 °C.  Perhaps it is the cloudy skies, our mid-Atlantic position, or the influence of Europe.

After breakfast, we stood at the rails on the port side of Wind Surf for our daily ORCA whale survey.  Sea conditions were perfect for surveying, but no whales or seabirds made themselves known to us.  Unlike yesterday, we only counted two flying fish during the half-hour survey. 

However, we couldn't tell if this was because the fish were less active in the calmer seas, or we simply couldn't see them because the sun wasn't turning them silver as they jumped, or if there were fewer of them in this part of the ocean.  The survey seemed to produce more questions than answers.

 

We did notice large strings and rafts of Sargassum once again, as well as two more cargo ships in the distance.

 

Sea Shanties and Noon Announcement

 

At eleven, we went inside to the Lounge for our final practice session, singing sea shanties with Elaine Eagle. We went through all five songs we had been learning and chose three to sing at the Pirate Party tonight. The final selections were “Bully Boys,” “Leave Her Johnny,” and “Drunken Sailor,” all of which were great fun to sing.

 

There was something charmingly absurd about rehearsing sea shanties on a luxury sailing ship in the middle of the Atlantic. We were not hauling ropes, reefing sails, or coordinating hard labour in rough conditions. We were passengers with coffee, sunscreen, and dinner reservations. And yet the songs still seemed to belong here more than they would almost anywhere else.

 

Shortly after practice ended, the noon announcement was delivered by Fourth Officer Ravi. We learned that Wind Surf had sailed 1,463 nautical miles since leaving Sint Maarten, with just over 800 nautical miles remaining before reaching the Azores. We were travelling at a leisurely 10.5 knots over around 6,500 feet of ocean, and tomorrow promised another beautiful day, with winds of 16 to 20 knots, two-metre swells, and temperatures around twenty-one degrees.

 

The nautical fact of the day noted that RMS Titanic left England on her maiden voyage on this date in 1912. It was a sobering detail to receive while standing aboard another ship crossing the Atlantic, even under very different circumstances. Ocean travel always carries memory with it. The sea does not hold only romance, beauty, and adventure; it also holds wrecks, losses, warnings, and stories that still shape how we imagine crossing.

 

Lunch and Relaxation

 

We spent some time relaxing on deck before heading up to Veranda for lunch. There was a delicious selection of salads, along with small hors d’oeuvres of tomato, basil, and bocconcini that were especially good. I also enjoyed a bite-sized chocolate pudding for dessert, which was small enough to justify.

 

After lunch, we returned to our room to drop off our sweaters and found a reminder on the door that we had dinner reservations at Candles that evening, one of our favourite venues aboard Wind Surf, where you can enjoy dinner outside on deck.

 

For the next couple of hours, until the afternoon lecture, we sat near the aft pool reading and relaxing. There was no real objective to the time. We were not trying to spot wildlife, complete a survey, or produce anything. We simply sat, read, watched the water, and let the day pass by around us.

 

Afternoon Enrichment Talk

At 2 PM, we headed inside for another talk by Peter Ranelli.  As we waited for the lecture to begin, which was titled 'Ship of Gold' the James Bond song 'Goldfinger' was playing on the sound system.  The talk told the story of the SS Central America, a ship that sank in a hurricane off the coast of the Carolinas in 1848 while carrying over 400 passengers and $1.6 million dollars in gold coins. 

The gold had been found in California by the 49'ers as part of the Gold Rush, and it had been intended to help the New York Stock Exchange avoid a crash.  It wasn't possible to recover the lost cargo for over a 100 years, but in the 1980s Tommy Thompson put his mind to it, becoming an engineer so he could invent the equipment he would need to locate the wreck and bring up the treasure. 

The final part of the story, which Peter likened to a Shakespearean play, ended in tragedy.  Thompson was successful in locating the wreck and bringing up the treasure, but as soon as he did so, he faced claims from multiple groups, including the firm that ensured the cargo in 1848, governments, rival treasure hunters, and others.  His legal bills mounted to around $50 million dollars, and for reasons unknown, he engaged in some shady activities that landed him in jail for over a decade while accruing a further $3 million bill.  Apparently, there is a National Geographic documentary called 'Cursed Gold' that tells the tragic tale in full. 

 

Reading and Relaxing

 

After the talk, we went back out on deck and continued to read and relax, the gentle motion of the ocean nearly rocking us to sleep. It felt like a day governed more by compasses than clocks, a day not for accomplishing much, but for enjoying where we were and how it felt to be alive in that moment.

 

There were several things we had intended to do later in the afternoon: a bridge talk on navigating by stars, trivia, music in the Lounge, and the usual shipboard offerings that make the daily schedule appealing. Yet somehow we ended up sitting outside for nearly three hours, until almost six o’clock, doing very little at all.

 

The fullest extent of my activity was taking time to examine the colourful coils of rope tied to the mast, wondering how best to photograph their patterns. I loved the colours and textures: the neat circles, the practical beauty, the evidence of work and order made visually pleasing without trying to be decorative. Even that moment felt like part of the day’s lesson. Attention does not require excitement to be satisfying. Sometimes it only requires staying still long enough to notice rope.

 

By the late afternoon, we still had every intention of going inside to hear the bridge crew talk about how ancient mariners used the stars to navigate. Predictably, however, once the sun came out and Pure Soul Trio began playing live music at Compass Rose, we simply could not make ourselves leave. Instead, we stayed put with a glass of wine and the afternoon sunshine.

     

 

For hours, we looked at the sea. Some people might call that wasted time. We saw no whales, no seabirds, nothing dramatic enough to report. Just water. Yet there were no distractions, no demands, no reason to move.

 

It may have been one of the best afternoons we had had in a very long time.

 

Dinner at Candles

 

We had dinner reservations at Candles tonight, the open-air specialty restaurant outside Veranda.  This dining experience is included in the base cruise fare, but reservations are required, and the restaurant's specialty is steak and seafood.  

Thankfully, however, they also offer a vegetarian chef's special, as well as a romantic evening on deck.  We were looking forward to it, although we expected it to be a humorous transition to go from deck romance to a pirate party – tonight’s theme.

When we headed up to our 6:45 PM reservation in Candles, the sun was still well above the horizon.  It was a beautiful evening, but perhaps half the other diners chose to stay inside due to the cool breeze blowing across the covered deck area.  Not us, though, half the charm of Candles is the opportunity to eat outside under the stars. 

The meal began with the delicious focaccia-type cheesy herb bread that we remembered so fondly from last crossing, and it was followed by tomato, watermelon, and feta salad.  For the main course, I had the black pepper tofu while Sean had hickory wood-roasted kohlrabi. 

 

We ended the meal with a lovely lemon tart.  The food was absolutely delicious, and we felt incredibly full.

Sunset on Deck

Strangely, by the time we finished dinner, the sun was just beginning to set.  The way we remember it, we finished both meals at Candles under the stars last year, but we aren't sure if that was because we were sailing farther south, our previous crossing was a week earlier, or we dined on deck during a different point in the on-board time change cycle.

Every second night, the ship's clocks are set forward by one hour so that by the time we arrive in Lisbon, we should be operating on the correct local time.  While this should mean that we arrive in Europe without jetlag, somehow we've never felt entirely acclimatized, but perhaps we are just tired from the long days, short nights, and excitement we subject ourselves to during the crossings.

We wandered from Candles toward the back of the ship, where we joined a handful of people to watch one of the most spectacular sunsets we've seen so far on this voyage.  There were a few clouds, which added drama to the spectacle, and the colours intensified into a brilliant array of yellows, oranges, pinks, and golds as the disc of the sun sank below the horizon.  Ahead of us the sky showed soft pinks, purples, and blues.

 

A day that had been slow-paced, quiet and overcast ended in vibrant colours.

 

Pirate Party

We sat at Compass Rose until the light had faded completely and the stars were beginning to appear in the soft evening sky.  Then, around 8:30 PM, we headed back inside to the Lounge for the Pirate Party. The crew were distributing cocktails with rum, lemon juice, and creamy almond liquor that added to the festive atmosphere, even if it is unlikely any real pirates consumed them.

 

The taste grew on me as the night wore on.

There was also a table of washable tattoos, red scarves, hats, and foam scabbards that lit up and blinked with rainbow colours. These were being distributed with great enthusiasm and good humour to the guests and crew alike.

Elaine took to the stage and sang a set of sea shanties.  She has a phenomenal voice, with the range and power to do Adele's songs full justice.  Many people sang along, and fun was had by all, even if we lacked some of the rough, gritty, and raw energy that likely went into the shanties of old. 

Around 9:00 PM, the group of us who have been learning sea shanties took to the stage and sang our selections.  What we may have lacked in talent, I think we made up for in enthusiasm and volume.  It was a bit of silly fun.

The night unfolded from there with the Pure Soul Trio playing dance music.  Lots of pirates joined in, and the staff seemed to really enjoy it as well.  While the whole thing may seem a bit silly, it was a few hours of playing, which I think is something adults rarely do these days.  

Recreation now too often involves drinking to excess, engaging in some extreme sport, or doing a directed or organized activity that involves some kind of competition (or at least could).  Playing just for the sake of being silly and having fun is rare and necessary, and we chose to look at this party as yet another of the many gifts of this voyage.

 

Evening at Compass Rose

 

Eventually, we made our way back outside to Compass Rose. Even on a vessel as beautiful as Wind Surf, we tend to prefer being outdoors whenever possible. The Lounge may be warm, lively, and full of music, but the deck has wind, stars and views of the ocean.

 

We spent more time chatting with the Newfoundlanders we had met on board. These conversations have become one of the unexpected threads of the voyage. Newfoundland keeps appearing in our conversations as though it is not merely a province we once walked across, but a possibility waiting to be reconsidered as home.

 

Reflecting on Blessings and Signs

 

Have you ever been wrestling with a decision, turning it over from every angle, only to have someone appear and seem to point directly toward the answer? For a while tonight, that is how it felt. As we spoke with our new friends from Newfoundland, the message seemed almost comically clear: go to Newfoundland. The wildness, the friendliness, the humour, the community, the sea, and coastlines at the edge of the continent.  All of it seemed to rise up in the conversation and present itself as the obvious solution.

 

For an hour, it felt as though we were being gently bludgeoned with an answer.

 

Then, just when Newfoundland seemed to have won the argument entirely, one of them mentioned London, Ontario. “You’re from London?” she asked Sean, with genuine warmth. She had gone to Western, loved the city, had a daughter there now, and said she would live there herself if she could.  And just like that, the universe complicated its own sign – pointing us back to a city we have lived in the past.

 

One person had passionately affirmed the virtues of one possible future. Another had unexpectedly affirmed the virtues of the place we were uncertain about returning to. Both spoke sincerely. Both were believable. Both answers, apparently, at this moment are valid.

 

So we ended the night with more insight, but not necessarily more certainty. Perhaps that is the difficulty of looking for signs. We want them to arrive like compass needles, pointing clearly in one direction. Instead, they often arrive like stars: beautiful, meaningful, and requiring interpretation.

 

For now, though, perhaps that is enough.

 

See you on board!

 

Nautical Term of the Day – Heading - The ship’s direction of travel.