#11 LOST ON YOUTH

R/V Knorr

Sunday, July 08, 2001

12'12"N

56'04"W

19:35 ship time (GMT-2)

It is an unfortunate calamity that often happens, when exquisite perfection is lost on ignorance. Youth on the youth, a neophyte rock climber witnessing Royal Robbin's first ascent of Half Dome, a tourist's admiration of a sparkling clear day in Seattle. 






























Granted there is a basic appreciation of the event, but lacking the knowledge, perspective, history, or experience of the uniqueness, comparative rareness, and value, one often lacks the discrimination required to truly judge an experiences' profound worth.   

Pic of Half Dome from a gal who lives atop Mt Hamilton
at the observatory and has some amazing photos of rare
Sierra views.

I remember a particular day shortly after moving to San Jose in 1972 when my father and I drove to Lick Observatory at the top of the coastal range on Mt Hamilton. We looked across the Sacramento Valley, across 60 miles to the snowcapped Sierra range. How were Pennsylvanian transplants to know how special the clarity of that day was. How were we to know that the cold front that had blown in that morning provided the low moisture air across the state of California, had condensed all view scattering water vapor, had resulted in a view never available to us again on our many revisits?

I remember noting, the reverence these cruise seasoned veterans used when commenting on the color of the water a week ago, surprised that they still maintained a sense of wonder about something so common as the color of the water.

We have left that special water.  It is no longer blue. It is no longer windless. It is no longer gentle. It is likely, I will not see that phenomenon again on this trip.  I guess that is what wisdom is, the ability to know the profound when revealed.  

I had an interesting two hours on the flying bridge last night as we rounded Barbados from the north and grazed the west coast on our approach to Bridgetown. We sat 4 stories high in our shorts and t-shirts in the dark moist sea air steaming south, a full moon rising over a low squat island. Ringed with lights, the pulse of civilization reached out to us across the water.  Car lights crawling along hidden roads, the pungent odor of land, third world air, smoky, trash fire, sweet with vegetation, laced with the ghetto grime. A foreign port on a foreign land.  Nothing was recognizable as familiar. We turned and slowed at the entrance to the port. A pilot boat approached with two medic's, 3 customs officials, and the relief 3rd engineer. The irrepressible gaiety and spark of the Caribbean Island language rose up to us on the fly bridge.  Words could not be made out above the throb of engines, but the flashing smiles on dark black faces told us we had arrived in the islands! Rumors were confirmed by the departure of our 3rd engineer, Cheryl, a humorless gal from Maine whose accent could clog a drain. The root of the medical emergency is still unknown  but sure to leak out in the next day or so.   

 

Within an hour, the pilot boat sped off back to port, our thrusters engaged, the ship spun and we headed back out to sea. We had been acclimatized to the ship's roll by the beam sea. We now head into the wind and the waves with a corresponding yawing fore and aft of the ship as opposed to the previous roll (side to side).  Never did I realize that my body would have to adjust to this new motion.  The big mistake today was starting off with the fried bacon & egg sandwich. I believe tomorrow,  I will have finally recovered.  I've spent most of the day in bed sleeping or on the aft fantail watching the horizon, the wind and the waves. Gladly skipped lunch and was hungry again by dinner. Gladly, we're steaming again to depart Barbadian waters, so we had no work activities.

Tomorrow we begin our sampling routines once again. 

   

Till then, heading into the wind 

David