Mopelia and Maupihaa
Blue liquid, very blue, almost too blue to be water. It seems alive. It is alive. It moves and pulsates like flowing blood and breath. And us, on our decks and in our cabins and lounges, we live on the back of a gigantic creature that rides atop this magnificent miracle, this dream where we eat, sleep, and have engaging conversations with friends both new and old. Our ship slowly rolls back and forth, pitching a little, then a little bit more, she too is almost alive, more than metal and wood or heart and soul, the MS National Geographic Endeavour. It is strange, even to stand, weight moving from one leg then to the other in a syncopated rhythm, making it a bit tricky to move quickly in a straight line without practice, without your sea legs. Around us a few birds between the sea and the lightly clouded sky, drifting softly, searching and always hungry.
Then a puff over there, a mist of breath and brine, soon gone, evidence of an unexpected whale in this strange sea. They say it is a baleen whale of vague characteristics, a minke, a tropic, but what is a name when this is before you, all streamlined secrets and mysteries. All of our attention on her, then she is gone. Now delighted, then sad, as she disappears into the blue, into the shadows of refracted light, gone where we cannot go. Or can we?
Our Expedition Leader, Tim Soper and Captain Leif Skogg have a plan, divers in the blue, in the infinite water to film our home as she is seen by whale and shark, lantern fish and copepod. A good plan, but a little tense I am as our ship is not tame - you must respect her and be careful, for our propeller is relentlessly turning, our proud bow cutting her way. We drop into the water: Dive Master Martin, clever and bold, he made our rigging so we would not get lost, Assistant Expedition Leader Lisa, beautiful and adventurous, a good hand in any quest, and myself. In the water, beneath the waves, there is no distance, there is no horizon, there is just us and around us infinity, blue and endless. We wait, first in silence, then a throbbing roar begins to grow from nowhere, then everywhere, and then we see her, more like a whale than any man made object: our graceful and powerful ship, our home, our companion, and I feel better, no longer afraid, but still a little sad about the places I can not go, what I can not see, three miles below and a thousand mile around.
Blue liquid, very blue, almost too blue to be water. It seems alive. It is alive. It moves and pulsates like flowing blood and breath. And us, on our decks and in our cabins and lounges, we live on the back of a gigantic creature that rides atop this magnificent miracle, this dream where we eat, sleep, and have engaging conversations with friends both new and old. Our ship slowly rolls back and forth, pitching a little, then a little bit more, she too is almost alive, more than metal and wood or heart and soul, the MS National Geographic Endeavour. It is strange, even to stand, weight moving from one leg then to the other in a syncopated rhythm, making it a bit tricky to move quickly in a straight line without practice, without your sea legs. Around us a few birds between the sea and the lightly clouded sky, drifting softly, searching and always hungry.
Then a puff over there, a mist of breath and brine, soon gone, evidence of an unexpected whale in this strange sea. They say it is a baleen whale of vague characteristics, a minke, a tropic, but what is a name when this is before you, all streamlined secrets and mysteries. All of our attention on her, then she is gone. Now delighted, then sad, as she disappears into the blue, into the shadows of refracted light, gone where we cannot go. Or can we?
Our Expedition Leader, Tim Soper and Captain Leif Skogg have a plan, divers in the blue, in the infinite water to film our home as she is seen by whale and shark, lantern fish and copepod. A good plan, but a little tense I am as our ship is not tame - you must respect her and be careful, for our propeller is relentlessly turning, our proud bow cutting her way. We drop into the water: Dive Master Martin, clever and bold, he made our rigging so we would not get lost, Assistant Expedition Leader Lisa, beautiful and adventurous, a good hand in any quest, and myself. In the water, beneath the waves, there is no distance, there is no horizon, there is just us and around us infinity, blue and endless. We wait, first in silence, then a throbbing roar begins to grow from nowhere, then everywhere, and then we see her, more like a whale than any man made object: our graceful and powerful ship, our home, our companion, and I feel better, no longer afraid, but still a little sad about the places I can not go, what I can not see, three miles below and a thousand mile around.
