Wonders in the Deep

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. – King James Bible, Psalm 107: 23-24

24 hours into our two-day crossing from Nova Scotia it was my turn on watch again. The winds in the Gulf of Maine were a steady 15 knots out of the northeast, while the waves were coming out of the north thanks to the previous day’s weatherly excitement up in the Bay of Fundy. In the uncertain conditions I had put a reef in the main and was adjusting our speed with the furling jib. Our course put the wind just abaft the beam and the waves just forward giving us seven and a half knots whenever we weren’t bashing into a wave. Kind of perfect.

Grey green and translucent, the waves picked up in tufts and fell away under Aleta. Occasionally a breaker would meet Aleta’s bow wave and they’d high five each other two feet off the rail. Timing between troughs was very irregular and fairly short. Aleta would climb a wave, dip down before the next one and usually ride that one, too. Once in a while she’d dive into a swell that would break time and shower her bow and cabin top with a flume of water. Nestled behind the dodger, the spray would pass overhead harmlessly, spattering noisily as it went.

In one of our more rhythmic phases, I saw a sharp contrast in the flow, a distinct shape out of the corner of my eye. Seconds later, a small slate grey dolphin with a cream coloured belly, broke the surface and dipped down again. A second one did the same and followed his cohort. Then they both appeared, side by side, rising, arching, and diving synchronously. Together, they swam forward, playing at Aleta’s bow, crossing back and forth in a game of tag. Then the larger of the two held back, came around the stern and accelerated back to Aleta’s starboard side, as I leaned over the rail, enraptured. He broached, dipped and then swam alongside underwater, rolling slightly to his right so he could examine me through a patch of clear, glassy sea. Then he scooted off and joined his companion at the bow. Together they disappeared, until three hours later when they (or a couple of dolphins like them) returned for an encore.

As attractive and playful as they were, the dolphins hung around for all of five minutes. Great Shearwaters glided around Aleta for hours. With short tails and long wings these beautiful birds effortlessly ride the breezes, sometimes flying so low they skim in and out of sight between the waves, the tips of their wings rippling the surface of the water. Gulls can hang in the air when they want to, but Shearwaters are so completely efficient they barely flap their wings while covering great distances at speed. With brown, speckled heads and bodies, they have white necks and tummies, giving them a comfortably well fed appearance. Graceful and entirely at home a hundred miles from shore, I think if I come back in the next life I want to be a Great Shearwater. At least for a time.

For most of the day we were under clouds, but I could see a long parabola of clear blue sky just to our north. Rarely have I seen a frontal high so plainly delineated. That evening, the sun ignited the clouds along the front’s low pressure edge, highlighting ridges that had appeared as a flat mush all day. A furnace of reds and oranges brushed fire across the clouded half of the sky, while the clear side mutated from light blues to pale greens and finally to indigoes. It was a spectacular show that lasted the better part of an hour, only to be outshone the following morning by a sunrise that inspired this blog.

The weather report said winds would increase to 20 knots while hazardous seas would reach six feet or more after 1:00AM. Around midnight Carol called down and said the wind had suddenly picked up to 23 knots and we were flying along at 8.5 knots. The waves were only a couple of feet high at this point, but we decided to put a second reef in the main in any case. Our goal was to reach Portland in the early morning light and we didn’t want to arrive too soon. Shortening sail dropped our speed by a knot and settled Aleta down.

At 4:00AM I relieved Tai for my watch and ninety minutes later the sun began its climb over the horizon. It was simply jaw dropping. The long arc of the high’s parabola hadn’t shifted much during the night and the full spectrum from deep red at the horizon to dark purple behind my shoulders swept across the sky. It was as if a painter was working and reworking their vision for this masterpiece of nature. Highlighting in pinks, then yellows, and orange. Evoking golds and expanding the canvas until the entire sky was lit up. It was nothing short of an awesome gift – a reward for making the journey and for having been present at the moment this short, incredibly rich visual symphony was complete.

If you’re King James, then this truly was one of the Lord’s wonders. And if you’re not King James? It was humbling on a cosmic scale. Here then, along with the joys of all the creatures that fly and swim miles and miles from land, is why I go down to the sea in Aleta.