We started a new phase in our watch-standing, having departed Port Antonio, Jamaica a little over twenty-four hours ago.  Now we begin what is called the shadow phase on board, in which a student is selected from the deck team to “shadow” the mate during the entire watch, listening closely to all of the information, as well as calling the set and strike of sails and other maneuvers (with some guidance). We switched the watches as well, so it is a big change on two fronts.

In the field of acoustics, a soundscape can be defined as the combination of all of the sounds that occur in, and make up, an environment. When we think of the ocean, we can categorize these sounds into three main groups: biological (such as whales or fish), abiotic (natural sounds such as wind or rain), and anthropogenic, or human-caused (such as vessel noise).

We departed Samana early this afternoon after our longest port stop thus far. Due to a departure delay, bonefish watch didn’t have a whole lot to do for the 0700-1300 watch so we hung out on the quarterdeck and drew things like the elegant pedestrian bridge that in its beauty and openness provided, perhaps, a metaphor for the warm welcome we received in Samana.

Today we got to loudly proclaim the super sailor-y words ‘land ho!’ as we spotted Raoul off our starboard bow. Raoul marks our turning point for the two-week trek to Napier via the Kermadecs and possibly the only time we’ll see land during that time. The feelings on board can only be described as mixed.

We’ve whipped our way out of Bermuda, wearing a little extra paint off of our starboard side from the steady port tack. After sailing for the last four days set for maximum sail area, the trip towards the coast has been pushing a zesty seven or eight knots. After taking our stop ashore and watching the little island of Bermuda fade into the distance, it has strange to take in how familiar and consistent the ocean can sometimes be.

This afternoon we continued sailing through the Virgin Passage as we passed St. Croix, St. Thomas, and St. John. It was a hot 80 degree day with light wind and we were finally able to put up an additional two sails, the fisherman and the jib topsail. Two playful dolphins passed the ship twice throughout the day that circled the ship.

We have spent the last couple of days sailing our way to Puerto Rico. Last night was our last dawn watch for C-watch and the last watch we will ever have on this boat L. Dawn watch is always difficult but we kept ourselves awake with puppy chow and just making each other laugh. After six hours of making up songs and just being loopy, all our dreams came true when at 0640 a bunch of dolphins came to play in our ship’s wake!

What a different way to wake up for the crew of the Corwith Cramer this morning. Drawn from its slumber by Rachel’s singing voice, the entire ship’s company got a wake up at once - something unheard of underway when an entire watch is awake and working at any given time. New sights and sounds greeted the early risers as they stepped onto deck: a risen sun behind a verdant hill dotted with houses, high frigates already soaring in the air, a barking dog, stately pelicans grazing the flat water surface with their wingtips.

Bon Voyage, land!

We started my day with breakfast then chores. My watch was in charge of scrubbing the deck (I’ve been calling it the poop deck until someone tells me that it is not the poop deck). After chores we were released to do our independent study. Caleb, Will, and my project for Sense of Place, are to observe and document the taskscape of Mount Eden, Auckland’s tallest dormant volcanoes.

Today was the first day we were able to set eyes on land after 10 days, and it was miraculous. Despite the incredible calculations and the spirit of B-watch, they were not the first to see New Zealand; Rather, it was C-watch, with Graeme giving the loudest “Land-Ho!!” he could as he was the first to see it.

It continued to be an exciting day as we got closer to land.