By Ted Scull.
Seated in the forward-facing lounge aboard the Queen Mary 2 bound from Britain to Brooklyn, I begin recalling favorite moments at sea. The ocean is typically North Atlantic gray, intermittently streaked with white caps. The fog of early morning has lifted and the booming fog horn, erupting every two minutes, is silenced for now.
Looling out to sea in Mid-Atlantic. * Photo: Ted Scull
Captain Christopher Wells informs us that we are taking a more southerly course because this spring more ice than usual has been breaking off Greenland’s ice cap, and that which sank the Titanic is to be avoided at all costs. We are presently just 40 miles north of the ship’s grave.
It makes me think about deliberately navigating the National Geographic Explorer through the icy waters of Svalbard looking for polar bears. But then it was not at high speed during the dark of night or before the aid of radar and ice pilots.
A tiny speck of a polar bear is sighted about a mile away, so the ship gingerly breaks the ice to get a closer look and perhaps interest the bear to come our way. He or she does just that, and while the passengers gathered at the bow remain silent soon the bear is sniffing the air just below the bow.
A curious polar bear comes across the ice to have a look. * Photo: Ted Scull
Sailing amongst a sea of ice bergs in Antarctica aboard the Hanseatic was even more of a thrill. There was time to take in the amazing shapes, jagged and smooth, towering and linear, exhibiting many shades of blues and greens. Any sense of danger never even came to mind.
Hapag Lloyd’s Hanseatic amidst the ice in Antarctica. * Photo: Hapag Lloyd
Serenity is another effect of being on a ship at sea, and in a swift change of course, it also can happen on a river and one as seemingly mundane as the Ohio — with apologies to the fortunate folks who live along its banks.
When I suggested a cruise aboard the American Queen, my wife’s reaction was — we have done that. I persevered and soon we were on a train to Pittsburgh to join the steamboat at the junction where the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers meet to form the Ohio.
Two evenings later while we were enjoying a barbecue dinner three decks above the thrashing red paddlewheel, the full moon appeared from behind one of the West Virginia hills. Soon its light reflected in the river’s waters directly ahead as if leading the way, though the riverbanks were quite sufficient to keep us sailing on course. This serene scene was repeated the next two nights, if later in the evening.
Moon over the Ohio from the steamboat American Queen. * Photo: Ted Scull
A dramatic two-day ship passage leads from the Lower 48 States in the Pacific Northwest to the 49th state. If reasonably well versed in local history, these waters provided the hope to be the road to riches following a gold strike in the Yukon Territory.
Sailing aboard the SS Legacy, a replica turn-of-the-19th-century steamboat, provided the perfect conveyance to recall the era. In the month of May, the narrow waterway was not yet choked with massive cruise ships crowding out the natural scene of fringing mountains, their winter snow cap providing raging torrents of water cascading down the steep cliff faces just a hundred feet from the railing. Changing course and entering one narrow inlet, the captain edged ever closer to a plunging chute of water until the spray peppered the bow close to where we were standing.
Edging up to a waterfall en route to Alaska. * Photo: Ted Scull
An entirely different sense of place occurred aboard the Royal Clipper, the world’s largest sailing ship, during a passage approaching the Pillars of Hercules, as the Ancient Greeks referred to today’s designation, Strait of Gibraltar. The mighty five master, bound for the West Indies, was leaving the confines of the Roman Lake, a Roman Empire designation, sailing between the towering rock face of Gibraltar to starboard and the African continent to port to then enter the vast Western Ocean and once, the unknown beyond. Many believed daring fate and staying the course would end in certain death as the ship would simply fall off the edge of an earth believed to be flat.
The majesty of a sailing ship. * Photo: Heidi Sarna
In almost completely opposite circumstances, following a crossing of the notoriously tempestuous Tasman Strait between New Zealand and Australia, the Oceanic Discoverer rode the heaving swells between the North and South Heads into Sydney Harbor. It was not until fully protected by the South Head that we were proceeding over truly calm waters toward the gleaming white opera house to tie up at Circular Quay. The buzz of the city quickly erased recent memories of holding on for dear life during the 48-hour passage.
Approaching the Sydney Opera House. * Photo: Ted Scull
Additional thoughts of being at sea in memorable settings keep flowing through the Queen Mary 2’s forward-facing window — sailing through the Maldive Islands at sunset, tasting sand in my mouth during a strong wind storm in the Gulf of Suez, and edging close to two islands that rose from the sea along the south coast of Iceland.
Sunset in the Indian Ocean passing through the Maldive Islands. * Photo: Ted Scull
It’s still two more sea days to New York, and now over sparkling seas my eyes follow a flock of storm petrels swooping in wide circles off the bow hundreds of miles from shore. The sea is endlessly fascinating and ever changing.
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