Swell II

The weather being better on the return across the Drake, I stand outside on the side decks and stern (I avoid the bow mostly) much more than on the way south. The seas are still high on the first day – I estimate 4 meter swells. The waves are sometimes on our beam, and sometimes more directly on our bow. On the beam, the boat rolls a lot, as before. On the bow, we periodically slam down and experience a second or two of free-fall when the timing of the waves is right. This is both scary, and from the looks on the faces of my fellow passengers, sickening.

I’m still not sea-sick, and I don’t know if it’s because I don’t get sea-sick, or because I’m so effectively drugged.

I’m not as afraid as I once was. If I really think about where I am, and look at the water for a long time, I can spook myself. But, now my fear is more like being on an airplane: most of the time you take for granted the fact that you’re 10 kilometers above the Earth, but if you concentrate on what it would mean to for the plane to fall, or for you to fall out of it, you can scare yourself.

Still, I get lost sometimes when I stare into the sea, thinking of how it would feel to be out in it. I hold the white iron rail tightly, imagining how it would feel to fall overboard and watch the Professor Molchanov steam away, no one on Earth knowing that I was bobbing alone in the icy grey rolls of forever.