I sailed across the Atlantic last year.
I was part of the crew on another boat.
We were a week away from the Azores. Sailing had been tough for a little over a day. There had been 30 to 35 knots of wind for about 36 hours. The waves were between 9 and 12 feet from behind. They lifted the boat, and we surfed down. The waves were messing with the autopilot, so we had to steer by hand. It really meant watching a cloud on the horizon and keeping the boat headed toward that cloud.
Throughout the day we rotated who was at the helm to make sure that everyone stayed in the best condition possible. It got tiresome hand steering in those conditions.
I rolled out of bed and could tell it was better, but I was still skipping coffee. It just wasn’t a good day to make some coffee. Coffee was becoming less of my wake up. Sitting in the cockpit was much colder than I ever thought it would be.
The water turning up behind the boat and salt in the air was what was beginning to wake me each day. Not the hot aroma of my land life.
The autopilot was engaged again and so, the other crew members were trying to recover some rest. But no one was ready for sleep. It was only 8 in the morning.
Watching the waves go by, I noticed something that was unusual. I didn’t know what it was. It was large. It was black. Looking more closely, I could see it was dorsal fin, but clearly not a shark fin, nor a sailfish. I couldn’t tell what it was.
“Guys, comen sie hier!”
Everyone came out quickly. I pointed out to the dorsal fin. We all just stood there.
No one knew what it was.
Suddenly out of nowhere, the fin tipped back and then the head of an orca emerged out of the water. The huge white patch on the side was visible and then it gradually disappeared.
We just stood there. The body disappeared and the dorsal fin remained apparent for a while longer. It could have been 90 seconds it could’ve been 90 minutes. I had no idea.
Everyone else in the crew had already had one Atlantic crossing under their belt, it was the first Orca for all of us. Standing there, no one said anything for a minute. Excitement spilled over. Everyone was talking over each other.
After a couple of minutes, I sat back down. Katy returned to the helm. Michael and Jacob hung out. No one was eager to go back in.
Sitting there in the newfound quiet, Katy started some excited exclamations in German. I had no idea what she was saying, but the way she was pointing, it was important. Running to the lifelines, there was another whale swimming toward us. Then it stopped.
It turned parallel to the boat, and if I had been on the sugar scoop, I could’ve reached over and touched it.
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