June 15th: Equator Crossing Ceremony

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Volpaia Time: 22:00
Zulu Time: 04:00
03 05.14 S
136 01.30 W

Speed: 9.3 knots
Wind: 15.5 knots 098 T
Course: 218 T
Seas: 3-5 ft.

Comments:

Early this morning I stood on watch, under the silver halo of a full moon that carpeted the Pacific with its reflection in every degree. With one ear-bud in, I listened in repose as my ipod cycled through a 1974 Grateful Dead concert from the winterland auditorium in San Francisco, one of my favorites. As Jerry Garcia found the high line that dead-heads live for, I tried to find the summation of a day that encompasses everything a seasoned sailor lives for. While Volpaia glided over the chrome plated waves at 9+ knots with such peacefulness, I was reminded what we all had learned the previous day on our equatorial crossing. The day was as beautiful and serene as the following moonlit morning, with the seas finally finding their rhythm and the wind grooming the swells as we sliced our way to wards the equator. Cyrus, Liz and Shay were busy in the masters quarters arranging a ceremony by the Ancient Order of the Deep for us three virgin Pollywogs on our maiden voyage across the equator aboard a sailing vessel. Colby, Alix and I were all busy fixing our part of the highly guarded ceremony. Mid-day, everyone sat down for lunch in the center cockpit as our first sitdown meal together in over week. Our recently revitalized autopilot "Jimmy" was much appreciated in granting us this simple luxury.

Just as everyone began to feel the siesta effect, as blood from our bodys extremities started pumping digestion, the fishing reel alarm set off like a rocket on the 4th of July. "Wheee doggy! It's goona be a big boy!" exclaimed Shay, our tolken southern-flair Texan crew member. For one reason or another, he has a knack for dropping everything he is currently involved in and manning the reel first. I could be helming and he could be cleating something 60ft away on the port bow, and still be first to the reel mounted just behind me. "Marlin! Its a Marlin!" At the same moment his giddy cries ring through my ears I see a gorgeous blue marlin breach three times to our port side. The 5ft Marlin was running with the boat at twice our speed or maybe more. With each breech it flew higher and longer, until with its final torpedoing launch, the hook blasted from its bill. The incredible fighter took out almost 3/4 of our line and was on hook for only a few short minutes. It was a bittersweet situation to be part of, having the chance of a lifetime to land one of the Pacific's most prized fighting sport fish, but arguably one of the most over-fished. Moderation is such an important character to appreciate in such a fragile and threatened environment, and we were all gald not to lend a contributing hand to the prominent destruction. One of the few things I found comforting during our time in Cabo San Lucas was the presence of a sticker on many sport fishing boats in the harbor. It depicted a bill fish with the words, "Release Me" scribed right above it. In a place as over-run as Cabo, it is nice to know that not all dignity is lost. With the excitement and adrenaline wearing off, it was time to clean up and get ready for the equatorial crossing ceremony.

At 8pm, the full moon was already brightly visible above the hazy horizon. The sun was still high enough in the sky to offer nearly an hour of light. The fluffy clouds had begun to change from cotton white to a rich blue and pink. As we meandered freely atop the glassy sea, our ceremony was to begin. Its events we learned are not to be shared, but it involves multiple stages passage in which we are transformed from Pollywogs to Shellbacks. The idea behind the entire ritual is to realize that crossing the equator in such a vast body of water is something unique. The steps required to make the voyage test our abilities to make judgment, to trust the sea, and understand when to draw the line through trust. They say that the sea is male and female, in that it shows compassion, love and can console a wery and tired soul. But it also has a side congruent with masculinity and power of sorts, able to deceive and destroy even the most sure and confident of situations. In short we were taught to honor and respect the sea in all matters and ways, to trust, but only so far.

By this point we newly converted Pollywogs turned Shellbacks found ourselves sweaty and hot. With the conclusion of our passage and the golden rays shining down from behind a lone cloud on the horizon, more picturesque than Michelangelo could ever have imagined, we went for a bluewater swim to rinse off and enjoy the bosom of the equatorial region. A line off the stearn with a bowline tied to the end prompted a few of us to dive in, some with trunks on, some without. The equatorial sunset swim with a full moon on rise had the best of Colby and my self and it was said we looked like oreo's diving into the deep blue. We splashed and trolled and dove in the clear blue deep. Diving down with one hand on the line and the pull of Volpaia, I angled myself to get as deep as I could with my eyes open. The blue hull of the boat blending in with the eternal abyss as she slid along at a knots pace, just enough for us to have fun. And fun we had, becoming distracted from the very lessons which we had just learned. A one of a kind sunset, the giant powdery disc of a full moon rising, the glassy playful swells rolling in with 5 of us floundering and splashing, and making all that noise and commotion on the finally calm Pacific.

I called to Cyrus to get my camera and take a picture, as he had just climbed out to man the cockpit. He snapped a few shots, but they were blurry in the twilight before the sun set its rays behind the hazy horizon. Alix flashed a few shots and in a perfectly mechanized swan dive flew over the swim step and slipped through the waters surface without an ounce of splash. She reappeared next to Colby; "Lets go to the end of the line Colby!", she articulated, Swiss accent slightly gurgled by the water flowing by us. I held on the line and felt the warmth of the now South Pacific flow over my entire body uninhibited. It was a much different feeling than back home in the lovely gulf of Maine, who only dreamed of being so warm. I'm not sure why I looked back for Colby, perhaps to say something like, "Ay deh'r chummie, bit colda'h back home eh?". As I pulled my head up our of the water I could see him and Alix near the end of the rope, about 10ft from me. Being about 10ft from Volpaia myself, I had plenty of leverage on the line to plane on the waters surface with ease. In all my life I have never in inadvertently felt my head turn a double-take more noticeably. No more than 15ft behind Colby and Alix was 12 exposed inches of dark grey, uninterrupted dorsal fin, large enough to eat dinner off of. As it sliced through the water in a deliberate streak from right to left, my heart stopped and my blood went cold. As quickly as I had frozen, my body came back to life, burning with adrenaline. " Everyone out! Everyone get out of the water, fin!". I did not consciously say this, rather, I watched myself say it. In as organized of a way as possible, I helped Liz out of the water before I climbed up the side of the transom, where Shay and I began pulling the rope in as fast as we could. I dont remember seeing Shay climb out, I'm convinced he flew, as I recalled our conversation days earlier about this vary scenario. Colby was next in line and with a kick of his tail, was on the swim step. There we were, Colby and myself standing on the swim step, completely naked hauling in the last 5 or 6 feet of line with Shay to get Alix out of the water. In all our commotion, Alix was not moving or flailing, just letting us drag her to safety. Being the last one in the water, I have no idea how she stayed so calm. This whole transaction was probably only 30 seconds long but felt like it dragged out forever.

By this point everyone is on deck and safe, and Colby and I realize we are still in skin and clothed our selves. I wonder what Alixs' view was as we hauled her in? Surveying the water now all that could be seen was deep blue and nothing else. It was as if to solidify our learnings of the day, with one final lesson. As we gathered ourselves from such a wild experience, we readied the BBQ and had Burgers under the full moon. The topic of discussion at dinner included, what kind of shark we thought it was, and how big. The day that was our equatorial crossing covered all the bases in terms of ceremonial execution, excluding nothing. In the end we will never really know which guardian of the Ancient Order of the Deep gave us a visit, but we will remember what we learned from it. All said and done, I wouldn't want the day of crossing to have been any different.

Brett

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