Location: Roseau, Dominica

Friends, those living vicariously through us, Blog Stalkers, and Paranoid Parents:


As you read yesterday, we were greeted on this side of the sea by a slight breeze. Okay, fine, gale-force winds. Anyway. It was a dark and [squally] night. I believe most of us spent more of our time off watch pretending to be rolly-polies in our beds than actually sleeping. Despite our lack of rest, my watch team’s day began at 0330h, and we wandered on deck to find that the worst of the squalls had passed.
The rest of the day was filled with clouds and occasional rain showers, and it seemed much like any other day on the passage, just with a shifting 25-degree tilt on our floor. We’d just finished Marine Biology for the day when rumors of land spread like wildfire through the saloon. Everyone bolted for their PFD’s and cameras, and we peered out of the hatches like meerkats dotted along the deck. The rain had slowed enough that we could see the distant, glorious mountains of Dominica looming just off our starboard side.
My watch team was on the 1400-1800 watches, and we saw the land come slowly into focus through the drizzle. The weather cleared enough for us to finally be able to have dinner on deck again (apparently it’s only been 24 hours…time is clearly very relative around here), and we did “squeeze” with a rainbow in the background and the lights of Dominica turning on one by one. This was proof that, incredibly, humans other than ourselves still exist in the world, which has been quite questionable for the past few weeks.
Though the unperturbed views of a million stars and our daily deck showers (which essentially power wash humans with high pressured ocean water) are behind us, many of the shipmates are eager to be back in the land of civilization, internet, and most importantly, readily available junk food. Side note: always load up on sodas and biscuits when crossing an ocean; they may be sold at obscenely high prices on the high seas.
For those like myself, however, it is fortunate that we have two weeks left to remain at least partially removed from society. I’m afraid readjusting to “normal” life will be a challenge, especially since we don’t know what day of the week it is, how to walk on solid ground or in shoes, and we smell like kelp (probably, that is; I can’t confirm because I surely reek of it as well).
With such little time left aboard Argo, I must regretfully inform my fans that I will not hold the noble title of skipper – AKA blog author – again before it is all over. Until I return to the homeland, I hope you all stay warm and wonderful. Meanwhile, we’ll be soaking up some Caribbean rays. Yes, Mom, I promise I’ll wear lots of sunscreens.
Anchor Down,