At Sea
“At sea” really means “on the surface of the sea”. It is something of a mysterious place, a kind of limbo, a near endless plain that encompasses the planet. Its moods and movements seem endless also: pure aquamarine, liquid glass, black, gray, torn with white foam. Today the sea is neither cruel nor kind, the waves that pass their movement to our ship are not gentle, but not ferocious.
At sea there is a strong tendency to look out across the surface and up into the depth of the sky. The surface that surrounds us, for all its restless motion, reflects our sight and turns us away from the secrets below. Usually. This morning our path crossed that of three humpback whales, near the end of their long migration to Antarctic feeding grounds where they will spend the summer. After a series of spectacular breaches, the whales approached our ship closely, lingering just below the bow for nearly an hour while we crowded to the rails and worked our cameras hard. In the clear blue early-spring waters of the Antarctic we could easily see the whales below the surface, their long pectoral flippers glowing blue white as they hung motionless beside us. For once we were not waiting for blows and backs but watching the whales as whole animals; the barrier between us had vanished.
In fact, it is easy to penetrate this illusory boundary. Put on a mask and snorkel and jump in! Or get into some scuba gear for a longer stay, or ramp up the technology another level or two and use an ROV or submersible to explore greater depths. Using these tools from the National Geographic Endeavour, we have broken the barrier and made the seas around Antarctica part of our experience. Dark kelp forests, brilliant pink sea stars, ice lit by sunlight lensed through the waves and granite bounders ground by ice, these once hidden scenes are now in our memories, not separate but a part of the place we have explored. As it should be.
“At sea” really means “on the surface of the sea”. It is something of a mysterious place, a kind of limbo, a near endless plain that encompasses the planet. Its moods and movements seem endless also: pure aquamarine, liquid glass, black, gray, torn with white foam. Today the sea is neither cruel nor kind, the waves that pass their movement to our ship are not gentle, but not ferocious.
At sea there is a strong tendency to look out across the surface and up into the depth of the sky. The surface that surrounds us, for all its restless motion, reflects our sight and turns us away from the secrets below. Usually. This morning our path crossed that of three humpback whales, near the end of their long migration to Antarctic feeding grounds where they will spend the summer. After a series of spectacular breaches, the whales approached our ship closely, lingering just below the bow for nearly an hour while we crowded to the rails and worked our cameras hard. In the clear blue early-spring waters of the Antarctic we could easily see the whales below the surface, their long pectoral flippers glowing blue white as they hung motionless beside us. For once we were not waiting for blows and backs but watching the whales as whole animals; the barrier between us had vanished.
In fact, it is easy to penetrate this illusory boundary. Put on a mask and snorkel and jump in! Or get into some scuba gear for a longer stay, or ramp up the technology another level or two and use an ROV or submersible to explore greater depths. Using these tools from the National Geographic Endeavour, we have broken the barrier and made the seas around Antarctica part of our experience. Dark kelp forests, brilliant pink sea stars, ice lit by sunlight lensed through the waves and granite bounders ground by ice, these once hidden scenes are now in our memories, not separate but a part of the place we have explored. As it should be.
