LAT 38.26 N LON 35.48 W       

 

Today has been, by most accounts, a slow day. We have seen next to no wildlife, the weather has been consistently lovely, the routine has ticked by quietly. We’ve sat around reading and chatting and eating. Emma has been doing some carving. I had a knots lesson and I can now tie a few, which is great.

 

Strangely, this is not a standard day. It is, for us, a quiet day. Of which, I believe, this is the first of this exact calibre. Obviously all of the days are different. The sun moves slightly that way, we receive different visitors, the constellations are in different places according to your watch shift. Today, though, has had its own aspect, its own feeling. No one has felt compelled to write up a blog post, so I’m here, jabbering on again.

 

Emma said to me near the beginning of this trip, and Mauritz echoed her sentiments last night:

 

“You cannot tell that we’re moving forward. All you can see is the horizon. Two miles or so in every direction. The waves are moving quicker than us. There’s no way to tell how much we’re really moving. There are no physical way markers.”

 

And a conversation with Simon rounded it off nicely:

Me: “Is it true that you can smell the flowers of the Azores from a way out?”

 

Simon: “Some people say you can smell land. Certainly things change. There are more birds, it’s more humid. But, when you have all of this electrical equipment telling you how far off you are, it’s debatable whether or not you really notice. Maybe once we know we’re a couple of days away we should just set our course and not check the navigational electronics for a while, and see if we notice.”

 

I like that idea a lot! Whether we do it or not, I’m excited to smell and/or see land. And it’s getting closer, every moment. We’re making good progress on this particular day, whether we notice it or not.

 

Cheers,

 

Anthony