Today is the beginning of the end for S-283; we began the last leg of our voyage from Napier to Auckland. It is simultaneously bittersweet and exciting to think about how far we’ve come. This morning, all hands were on deck to help us get underway.

So many times I think that I have reached the peak of an experience and then an opportunity arises that surpasses all expectations. Today, after an early wake up for another delicious breakfast (shout out to Sabrina, our fabulous steward), we headed into Napier once more, and after some brief but much appreciated free time in the morning to grab coffee and pastries and otherwise explore, we were bused to visit the gannet colony out at Cape Kidnappers.

Today was the first day of planned activity in Napier and things on land are already becoming familiar again. When we arrived in port, Captain Rappaport used an analogy during one of our first musters to warn us against falling back in to old habits while we are here.

During a cruise with SEA Semester, there are many truly amazing things that happen and (for some reason) they always get all the attention on the blog. So this blog post is about a mundane comfort on the ship that is hardly ever mentioned. The title requires an explanation.

The wait is over folks, here it is, Mia’s account of the time she licked a man-of-war:

“Biovolume the sample.” I read the question maybe ten times before I start trying to answer it. In front of me there is only a graduated cylinder and a small metal lab spatula. I look around the crowded wet lab, too aware of the two minute timer ticking away somewhere out of sight, knowing that if I don’t biovolume something soon, I’ll have to skip the question entirely.

When I was a young girl, I used to feel lonely when I woke up in the middle of the night.  Night was a time to be sleeping, and I would spend hours trying to force sleep to come even when it couldn’t - counting the minutes and hours impatiently.  But here on the boat, we are asked to be up at odd hours.

Although I hate to be the next person to talk about a sun rise, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

The sun rose at around 0600 this morning; however, I wasn’t watching it closely. I was on the helm steering a course of 185.

Compared to a typical college classroom, teaching maritime studies at sea presents some unique challenges. Time is particularly precious aboard the

Corwith Cramer: while she is underway, one third of students are standing watch at any given moment.

A myriad of emotions are flying around the ship right now. We are nearing the end of our two-week transit to and from the Kermadecs, coming closer and closer to sighting land and soon, stepping foot on it. There are feelings of mourning for life out on the open ocean as well as excitement for this next leg. I’ve found that life at sea is comprised of these fluctuating thoughts and emotions. When on lookout, gazing out at nothing but blue, rolling water, you pass your time daydreaming of land.

I really can’t believe it is December. Growing up in Wisconsin I got used to snow and negative temperatures in the winter. Going to school in Oregon I got used to chilly rain. But I have never experienced a December with clear blue skies (minus the squalls) and temperatures fit for shorts and tank tops.