Today is day four of our longest sea stretch of the trip, which will last eleven days total. I can’t decide if that seems like a short trip or an eternity. It feels as if the days at sea are nebulous at best and nonexistent at worst. Time is entirely defined by purpose here, which is a big shift from life on land.

I’ve always been drawn to the sea. Ever since I can remember, the ocean is where I’ve felt the happiest- and the most at home. Days spent building enormous sandcastles with my dad and brother on the bustling beaches of Narragansett, summers full of freckles and laughter at sailing school, roadside clam strips with my mom on our way to the Cape, and bone-chilling sunrise plunges into Copenhagen harbor last semester with friends.

Ocean life has treated us to a new lifestyle, new friendships, and most importantly, new guides in this strange world. The professional crew of the Robert C. Seamans is the force that has taught us everything from how to eat on a gimbaled table, to proper wake-up etiquette, to sail trimming and setting

Food is a big part of our life on the Robert Seamans: we eat three meals (each with two sittings), and three scheduled snack times directly in-between meals every day. With six scheduled food times and extra snack freely available, it kind of feels like we are eating and cooking like Hobbits from JRR Tolkien’s realm of Middle Earth. Each day our ship’s steward makes breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies snack, “lunchin”, second “lunchin”, afternoon snack, supper, dinner, and midnight snack.

Why do we become so excited when we see whale spouts? Or when a pod of dolphins can be seen swimming along the bowsprit? Or when the occasional Mola mola floats on by? As I peer off into the vastness of the open ocean, I see a beautiful desert; dynamic and fluid, yet, on the surface, practically devoid of life.

The nature of our adventure means we don’t always get to experience every moment of every day on the ship. I woke up to stillness the day we arrived at Aotea Great Barrier Island having slept through our anchoring in Kaiarara Bay. After hoisting myself out of my bunk and making my way on deck, I found myself completely surrounded by lush, green, jagged hills, and calm water in every direction.

As most students, my shipmates, aboard this research vessel would tell you, stepping foot onto the Robert C. Seamans was like walking into a whole new world. Stealing glances at the ship as we loaded our luggage onto it was intimidatin: the ropes (now dubbed “lines”) seemed tangled together and unmanageable; the crew members clamored their way onto the net at the bow of the boat (the bowsprit) like they didn’t have a fear in the world; Spring, one staff member, stood with bare feet on one of the yards about 20 feet above the boat, bending over upside-down to check the rigging.

This past Friday night may have marked one of my favorite nights aboard the Robert C. Seamans thus far. Yes - I really mean that, and we’ve had some pretty good times, so there’s definitely some strong competition. The class members of “Sense of Place” - a seminar-based +SEA elective that ponders the complexity of place-related connectedness through relevant literature, often specific to New Zealand and coastal/oceanic environments - put on a visual reading of “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” on the quarter deck.

Though I would not consider myself a negative person, I would be lying if I said the label hadn’t been slapped upon me from time to time.  Believe me when I say that I have made significant attempts to improve my “negative aura,” which is why I have—to this day—filled out every single page of the daily positivity journal my mother gifted me for the New Year.

It has been a little over two weeks and those of us aboard the Robert C. Seamans have become accustomed to life at sea. We have docked in harbors, sailed along coastlines, and explored out in the deep ocean. We have experienced calm waters and twelve-foot swells