As we get closer to the Suez Canal the air has gotten... lighter. Not a
lot, but I can tell the damp, heavy low pressure along the equator is
meeting less damp, slightly less low pressure air and the sweat-fest will
soon be over. Apparently, as soon as we leave the Suez Canal. Once we're
in the Med the long pants come out. Once we pass Gibraltar the jackets come
out. Once we get on the other side of the Gulf Stream, the
mind-blowing-cold arctic air that pummels northeastern Canada and the United
States will hit us "like a wall," according to everyone aboard who has made
this run in the past. I will have transported the chemically reactive
hand-warmers that Clay bought me last time I was in Savannah (an entire
case!) halfway around the world and back before they get used... but boy
howdy! Am I glad knowing I have these things! I owe him more than the
money they cost, that's for sure!
As we travel northwest up the Red Sea I am slowly but surely losing my view
of Corvus, which, unless I am mistaken (a likely event), is the
constellation known as the "Southern Cross." I have been looking at it for
over a month now, saying to myself "hmmm.... I don't know you....." but even
the stars I know I doubt. I think it's because of a Mark Twain quote which,
according to my leaking brain and lack of Google, I am forced to paraphrase
as "It isn't the things I don't know that cause me problems, but rather the
things I know for certain."
Having said that, last night the second mate pulled out the 2012 Nautical
Almanac which has tables for celestial navigation and there were, much to my
delight, two pages showing the northern, southern, and equatorial stars.
There are no named clusters (ie. The Big Dipper is really part of Ursa Major
and isn't a constellation, and therefore, isn't named), but when you wish on
a falling star and it gets answered you'll take what you can get... so
remember- make those wishes count, kids! Anyway, I photocopied it and took
it to my watch and, with the exception of Gemini and Canis Major, 14 years
in the Pacific Northwest hasn't totally eroded my knowledge of the night sky
- but damn! It has taken a little while to recall it!
I am embarrassed to admit- but I do so willingly for your entertainment-
that it has taken me two weeks to realize what I have off-handedly been
calling Aldebaran (brightest star in Taurus) is actually Jupiter transiting
through the middle of the constellation above the actual star of Aldebaran.
Oops! At least I remembered the frikkin' star... I will be putting fish
heads into the hub caps of anyone who recommends crossword puzzles as a way
of "exercising the memory," too, so be forewarned.
Today we did more drills- lifeboat, galley fire, and missing person. I
called Laura with the sat phone and we finally got to connect- only 12 hours
difference, but we retard clocks again tonight so it will soon be 11 (and
counting).
The ocean is a rose covered slate right now as the sun falls behind the
Sudanese side of the Red Sea, but all day it has been tarnished silver over
deep navy out to the horizon. The water itself has been squid ink that
churns baby blue. Visibility at the least was 4.4 miles, but it had
increased to 18 miles by the time my watch was done and I was happy to see
the horizon for the first time in over a week- it becomes a bit cloying and
claustrophobic when it's less than 10 miles, believe it or not... when it's
like that I spend a lot of time dialing in the radar I use (there are 3
total) and consulting the AIS data (anti collision reporting system,
basically) on the ECDIS (really fancy chartplotter with AIS and radar
overlays).
All in all, not a bad day in the life of the Extraordinary Ordinary. Yes,
you can call me that- for a couple more months, anyway.
lot, but I can tell the damp, heavy low pressure along the equator is
meeting less damp, slightly less low pressure air and the sweat-fest will
soon be over. Apparently, as soon as we leave the Suez Canal. Once we're
in the Med the long pants come out. Once we pass Gibraltar the jackets come
out. Once we get on the other side of the Gulf Stream, the
mind-blowing-cold arctic air that pummels northeastern Canada and the United
States will hit us "like a wall," according to everyone aboard who has made
this run in the past. I will have transported the chemically reactive
hand-warmers that Clay bought me last time I was in Savannah (an entire
case!) halfway around the world and back before they get used... but boy
howdy! Am I glad knowing I have these things! I owe him more than the
money they cost, that's for sure!
As we travel northwest up the Red Sea I am slowly but surely losing my view
of Corvus, which, unless I am mistaken (a likely event), is the
constellation known as the "Southern Cross." I have been looking at it for
over a month now, saying to myself "hmmm.... I don't know you....." but even
the stars I know I doubt. I think it's because of a Mark Twain quote which,
according to my leaking brain and lack of Google, I am forced to paraphrase
as "It isn't the things I don't know that cause me problems, but rather the
things I know for certain."
Having said that, last night the second mate pulled out the 2012 Nautical
Almanac which has tables for celestial navigation and there were, much to my
delight, two pages showing the northern, southern, and equatorial stars.
There are no named clusters (ie. The Big Dipper is really part of Ursa Major
and isn't a constellation, and therefore, isn't named), but when you wish on
a falling star and it gets answered you'll take what you can get... so
remember- make those wishes count, kids! Anyway, I photocopied it and took
it to my watch and, with the exception of Gemini and Canis Major, 14 years
in the Pacific Northwest hasn't totally eroded my knowledge of the night sky
- but damn! It has taken a little while to recall it!
I am embarrassed to admit- but I do so willingly for your entertainment-
that it has taken me two weeks to realize what I have off-handedly been
calling Aldebaran (brightest star in Taurus) is actually Jupiter transiting
through the middle of the constellation above the actual star of Aldebaran.
Oops! At least I remembered the frikkin' star... I will be putting fish
heads into the hub caps of anyone who recommends crossword puzzles as a way
of "exercising the memory," too, so be forewarned.
Today we did more drills- lifeboat, galley fire, and missing person. I
called Laura with the sat phone and we finally got to connect- only 12 hours
difference, but we retard clocks again tonight so it will soon be 11 (and
counting).
The ocean is a rose covered slate right now as the sun falls behind the
Sudanese side of the Red Sea, but all day it has been tarnished silver over
deep navy out to the horizon. The water itself has been squid ink that
churns baby blue. Visibility at the least was 4.4 miles, but it had
increased to 18 miles by the time my watch was done and I was happy to see
the horizon for the first time in over a week- it becomes a bit cloying and
claustrophobic when it's less than 10 miles, believe it or not... when it's
like that I spend a lot of time dialing in the radar I use (there are 3
total) and consulting the AIS data (anti collision reporting system,
basically) on the ECDIS (really fancy chartplotter with AIS and radar
overlays).
All in all, not a bad day in the life of the Extraordinary Ordinary. Yes,
you can call me that- for a couple more months, anyway.
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