At Sea
Dawn, as it always does in the tropics, abruptly broke free from the grip of another tranquil tropical night. The great Sun Ra unshackled himself from the watery depths, to which he had been cast the last twelve or so hours previous, and crowned the eastern horizon in the ambient, golden shades of a low-lit fire. The dawn was crisp, scrubbed of clouds by the previous day’s relatively strong southeasterly winds. The new day was sharpening up to be a stunner.
The initial itinerary reordering, planned days before and already set in stone, meant that this would be a day dedicated to travel over sea. Ergo, all entertainment and education would fall upon the resources of the National Geographic Endeavour’s staff, and upon nature’s unpredictable bent. To this end, the seemingly endless watery horizons, limitless blue-hot sky, and our own vessel’s internal cradle of salient natural-history dissemination, would checkmark our course towards Bora Bora, pearl of French Polynesia.
The skies were bright and clear, the seas the hue of cobalt – deep and clear – the realm of maritime legends and natural history hope. A few seabirds shepherded us along our morning’s course. By mid-morning our vessel’s decks had become alive with activity. Like weeds sprouting from a lawn, the outside areas became festooned with sun worshippers. Entertaining ourselves under such conditions would be no great task.
Education, however, would first fall to Gerald after breakfast. The man has spent years in the Cook Islands and French Polynesia researching nearly every aspect of the region’s natural history. This morning he showcased the aerial masters – seabirds. He paid particular attention to their natural history, and their history of exploitation by ancient and present-day islanders.
National Geographic expert Mark Eddowes followed with a talk on Ancient Tahiti. Drawing from his years of research in the region and a seemingly encyclopedic reservoir of facts, he painted a picture of the pre-European islands steeped in skilled seafaring, ancestor worship, and tribal kinship. He poignantly concluded with sobering statistics concerning the impact European settlers had on the region. Introduced diseases wiped out their numbers and effectively killed their ancient culture.
By mid-afternoon light clouds had moved into the region, coloring the sky in shades of light gray, though broken beams of sunlight still cast their warmth. This was a good time to return indoors to attend a disembarkation briefing, followed by the day’s final lecture presentation by Steve on the master mariner himself, Captain James Cook. For it was in his footsteps that we were traveling.
In the late afternoon and evening, the clouds parted, revealing a brilliant blue canvas once again. Our reality became that grand meeting of light and color – all water and pure sky. Our day was swept into the humid, tropical night as a nearly full moon, bold as a silver broach, was pinned to the darkening heavens.
Dawn, as it always does in the tropics, abruptly broke free from the grip of another tranquil tropical night. The great Sun Ra unshackled himself from the watery depths, to which he had been cast the last twelve or so hours previous, and crowned the eastern horizon in the ambient, golden shades of a low-lit fire. The dawn was crisp, scrubbed of clouds by the previous day’s relatively strong southeasterly winds. The new day was sharpening up to be a stunner.
The initial itinerary reordering, planned days before and already set in stone, meant that this would be a day dedicated to travel over sea. Ergo, all entertainment and education would fall upon the resources of the National Geographic Endeavour’s staff, and upon nature’s unpredictable bent. To this end, the seemingly endless watery horizons, limitless blue-hot sky, and our own vessel’s internal cradle of salient natural-history dissemination, would checkmark our course towards Bora Bora, pearl of French Polynesia.
The skies were bright and clear, the seas the hue of cobalt – deep and clear – the realm of maritime legends and natural history hope. A few seabirds shepherded us along our morning’s course. By mid-morning our vessel’s decks had become alive with activity. Like weeds sprouting from a lawn, the outside areas became festooned with sun worshippers. Entertaining ourselves under such conditions would be no great task.
Education, however, would first fall to Gerald after breakfast. The man has spent years in the Cook Islands and French Polynesia researching nearly every aspect of the region’s natural history. This morning he showcased the aerial masters – seabirds. He paid particular attention to their natural history, and their history of exploitation by ancient and present-day islanders.
National Geographic expert Mark Eddowes followed with a talk on Ancient Tahiti. Drawing from his years of research in the region and a seemingly encyclopedic reservoir of facts, he painted a picture of the pre-European islands steeped in skilled seafaring, ancestor worship, and tribal kinship. He poignantly concluded with sobering statistics concerning the impact European settlers had on the region. Introduced diseases wiped out their numbers and effectively killed their ancient culture.
By mid-afternoon light clouds had moved into the region, coloring the sky in shades of light gray, though broken beams of sunlight still cast their warmth. This was a good time to return indoors to attend a disembarkation briefing, followed by the day’s final lecture presentation by Steve on the master mariner himself, Captain James Cook. For it was in his footsteps that we were traveling.
In the late afternoon and evening, the clouds parted, revealing a brilliant blue canvas once again. Our reality became that grand meeting of light and color – all water and pure sky. Our day was swept into the humid, tropical night as a nearly full moon, bold as a silver broach, was pinned to the darkening heavens.
