10:11.111N 078:10.980W - The Ocean Orchestra the Sea Symphony
Irene IV - World Adventure
Louis Goor
Mon 31 Jan 2022 23:26
James, Kevin and I sat on the bow this morning mesmerized by the dancing
dolphins pirouetting with such joyful abandon. The waves crashed against the
hull with a cacophonous cadence. We watched, legs dangling, in captivated
silence. The dolphins darted back and forth like the violins in a symphony
orchestra, ascending and descending the crests and troughs of a Vivaldi
concerto. Their music the squeaks and gentle popping splash as sleek bodies
glided effortlessly, in a perfect arc, in and out of the water. Dolphins,
like cats and dogs, bring out a tender maternal instinct in men and women
alike. We hope our excitement when the call of "Pod of dolphins on the bow!"
is sounded will never wane. This leg (Grenada to the San Blas Islands) has
not provided a plentiful supply of wildlife - two pods of Pantropical
Spotted Dolphins and one pod of Pantropical Striped Dolphins, endless very
tiny flying fish, some weevils in the oats, the occasional lonely
unidentified bird, not to mention the Mahi-Mahi that we caught. After dark
the banana that Louis thought had been thrown at him by James turned out to
be a particularly athletic flying fish that landed on his stomach.
Our environment, though peaceful, especially during the napping hour, is
filled with a symphony of sounds, often deafening. Above decks the mighty
waves roar and growl, the boat, booms and bangs, the wind whistles and
buzzes as it swirls from bow to stern, causing sails to fill and flap and
rigging to tinkle and clang. The percussion section of our Ocean Orchestra
rarely has a measure's rest. The refined hum of the woodwinds and the drone
of the bass is our harmony below decks. As the boat rolls from port to
starboard and pitches fore to aft, plates jingle on their shelves,
floorboards moan and creak and the wind whooshes through any open hatches.
James adds, those on lower bunks hear the water surge along the hull
gurgling as it goes. We bow in reverence to the masterful composition of the
waves. Occasionally, in the dead of night, Louis and I add a few Irish tunes
to accompany the crackle of the plastic bags hanging out to dry for reuse.
Stuart intones, with the wind weakening in strength, a more silent sound
surrounds us now - only the small white horses breaking on our stern, while
a rush of breeze fills the cockpit.
Kevin finds that sounds echo and repeat as if mirroring and mimicking each
other; the mast housing, which runs through the saloon outside his and
James' berth, produces a repetitive metallic tapping that sounds like
scissors cutting through plastic, a task that is done daily in the cockpit
to reduce the volume of our recycling waste.
For Louis, the sounds of Irene IV moving through the ocean is a matter of
feeling as much as it is hearing. To an experienced sailor all is input,
data, simultaneously aurally and physically processed. A healthy boat, much
like a finely tuned orchestra, requires that the conductor listen and feel
what is both there and not there; sometimes the absence of sensory input is
as, or more significant, than what is being heard or felt.
We, the audience, at the seascape concert performance, call, "Bravi, Bravi!
Encore! Encore!"