Location: The Atlantic Ocean
While underway, there is no night or day, there are just four hours on and an eight off; the sun rises then sets, and we keep sailing on to The Azores. The only resemblance of normality spans a short two hours of classes from 1 pm – 2 pm KST (Kris Standard Time). After classes, we all change into bathing suits and venture out on deck to brave the frigid Mid-Atlantic waters. With shrieks of fright and delight, we rinse the sweat of the past 24 hours off and prepare for the next round of shifts. After a brief study hall (for those not on watch), the crew gathers in the cockpit for a pre-dinner squeeze. At this time the skipper for the day (today it was me!) asks a question ranging from the funny, “What haircut would you have if you were a TV chef” to the emotionally gripping, “What was the darkest moment in your life and what was the brightest.” Despite knowing each other for less than a month, we all open up and share. After dinner and clean up, our shifts resume as “normal,” and the crew, foul weather gear donned, prepare for the nights watch.
When the sun is up, the sea and the sky are beautiful, but the night is when the real magic happens. As Argo flies through the ocean, the bow wave sparkles as if fireflies are playing in the surf. The moon and the stars paint a mosaic in the sky that looks fake to a city boy like me. Still, the real beauty of the night shifts is not the sky or the sea but the people on your watch team. Over 4 hours of nothing to do, but watch the horizon, the teams begin to open up and express who they really are to one another, intuitively knowing a kindred spirit is at the other end listening.
All in all, the trip so far is going well. We miss and love you all.
Sam A. and the crew of the Argo