Wearing my oceans on my sleeves.

As we swept along through the trade winds, we became fond of remarking in high spirits about ?riding the bus.? The bus being the 12 to 15 foot swell with massive long troughs that lovingly lifted us along at a couple extra knots. That with the consistent 18 knots of breeze and we sat back carefree and watched the ocean fly by. The whipping sea and foam mesmerized us. Time, too, was swept faster by the swell and our states of mind took on the pacifying undulation of riding the bus.

When we hit the doldrums, there was an equal but opposite effect on our perceptions and, in turn, time began to wear. The seas became steadier; before there was swell and wave and wavelet and ripple but now we were in a single order sea. No longer was the mesmerizing motion, the feeling of lift in every bone on every puff or crest; no longer did the sea whip by so quickly that the attention could not become fixed. In the doldrums, our gaze met a stationary sea and we stared with glazed eyes and could feel time slow and stick to our skins unhurried by progress. We were at the start of several days of decaying progress that left us on each day to conclude that we were about ten days from landfall- I chuckled ironically to be living Xeno's paradox (I'm in the middle of the ocean- I'll get philosophical if I want to, dammit). By this point in our voyage, it had become clear that we were part of the boat and the boat part of us. More than our fates were intertwined- our very moods had become linked.

We've all had to accept the fact our mental state is continuously influenced by the state of ship and sea. It's impossible not to know what's going on. Every sense is stimulated in ways that vary proportionately with wind and swell. The clanking rigging and thrashing sails of a becalmed ship cannot be mistaken for the rush of water along a moving hull, which, it cannot be ignored, is sometimes accompanied by the crash of waves and the whistle of wind through shrouds as conditions improve (or deteriorate, depending on your perspective, i.e., how long you've been becalmed). Similarly, the body is constantly shifted, sometimes contorted, in a manner befitting the conditions. Often the feeling is quite relaxing; sometimes, though, it is hardly tolerable, either due to physical discomfort or otherwise to the emotional fatigue that accompanies a motion that says, ?We're definitely not going forward. We may actually be going backwards.?

We aren't entirely at the whim of mother nature, but she and this little boat are part of our constant, unavoidable reality. When the reality becomes slow or frustrating, though we've remain quite even-tempered regardless, the air on the boat carries a quiet, introspective, sullen feeling. One quickly learns the futility of being angry about the conditions, for one has no control over the nature or duration of these things, but the mood will inevitably be effected for as long as a Ardea remains an ever-present extension of our bodies. Needless to say, our crawl through the doldrums got the better of what should be a state of content indifference to the passage of time. In short, we became incredibly antsy.

The squalls were for the most part disappointing. We managed to chase down a few like Dennis Quaid and Helen Hunt but it was mainly just rainy. We never got more than 12 or 15 knots of breeze in the squalls and otherwise had anywhere from 2 to 8 knots. On the other hand, we were never completely and utterly becalmed like we had been on crossing the Sea of Cortez.

Sometime toward the end of our second day in the ITCZ, things went from moderately annoying to utterly contemptible. We had entered an East-setting current of about a knot and a half, approximately matching our velocity-made-good under sail at the time. That put a damper on our little jaunt through the quiet blue wilderness. We crossed the 129th meridian several times only to slowly drift back over; eventually it became unbearable. Even though the ITCZ weather had cleared, we were still praying for any little zephyr that Neptune might send to fill our sails. None received, we motored straight South, planning to be rid of that current forever.

We sailed some and motored some more and finally after what seemed a lifetime, we approached the equator. We were starting to see signs of improving weather: cumulus clouds, not too dense, steady barometer, a more uniform swell and an improving easterly breeze. Under sail in about 10 knots, we crossed Earth's middle about an hour after sunrise on May 4th. We had a good breeze for the first time in days, but we didn't care. We celebrated jubilantly. After we crossed, we turned back and hove to on the equator. We dropped the main sail down and drank rye whiskey and swung on the halyard, flipping or flopping into the sea, praising sweet Neptune. Under the surface in that place on the planet is an amazing abyss of the clearest, bluest, saltiest sea. To swim down even just a little bit seemed a most daring and bold maneuver. It seemed like it would be so easy to get lost in that great yonder, but at the same time we were compelled to hold our breath and swim down and out into the nothingness like kids daring themselves into the dark doorway of a haunted house. It was fascinating to be there.

Eventually, we trimmed the sails and set a course South again; the wind held and has still held since then, though it is only around 10 knots and, in due course, our moods are similarly moderated. A day later, around a minute and a half South, we broke free of the easterly current and set our course for the great circle bearing, straight to Hiva Oa.

We're still anxious and will remain so as the quality of our meals deteriorates and the itch for dry land and all the niceties it brings increases. Having ruled out cryogenically freezing ourselves for a week, we've decided to go with good old fashioned patience. If we can manage to hold 4.5 knots boat speed, we will be there next Saturday morning; word on the radio net has it that a bigger swell lies ahead, so we may even break the old 5 knot mark for a while. Who knows- maybe we'll hop back on that bus, where spirits soar and time slips away unnoticed. Either way, we'll soon be arrived, whatever that means.