Roaring 40s, South Pacific 16 April 2011 position at 5:15 p.m. Tahiti Time 40S52 154W11
These little prions (a.k.a. whalebirds) following us are a sight in the morning. They are a tiny 8 inches each wingtip to wingtip. I think their flock grows each night as we get new joiners. At first there were a few hundred, yesterday I would have put the number at 500, this morning there must be thousands. I tried to count a small section between two stanchions, but they move too fast. We must be the only whale in town.
They perform amazing aeronautic displays, in loosely synchronized groups. Sometimes the groups come together and as the flock grows denser, they become more synchronized. Today they become so dense at moments, that the swarm acts like a particle enhancer, allowing me to visualize the air currents over the waves. When their backs are turned toward us they almost blend in with the rain clouds south of us. If their timing is right, as they bank their turn, presenting their bellies to the rising sun, the flock shimmers as the contrasting white under feathers light up on each bird against the dark sky behind.
They are perfectly color coordinated with today’s steely blue-gray sea and pale blue-gray seafoam. Their own blue-gray backs are accented by a dark line of feathers that runs from both wingtips, along the leading edge of their wings, across their shoulders and down their back. The line meets in a ‘V’ just before their tale feathers. It’s a perfect pinstripe that accentuates their aeronautic form. When they fly in close to the boat, a dark line of mascara appears to underline their black eyes. Their cheeks are framed by blue-gray sideburns.
Every rare once in awhile, one will dip close to the water, but they don’t seem to really be eating. Maybe they’re just using the more complex currents created by our sails and wake, to work up a morning appetite, or burn off their night-time meal. Whales probably scare up lots of krill; I hope they’re not starving themselves, expecting us to do the same.
We have about 20 knots of apparent wind on our beam, or just aft. We climb up these following seas at about 8 knots then surf down the backs of each wave at 9 plus knots (sometimes lots of plus). The dodger gets doused every 5-10 minutes by an enthusiastic whitecap. Amazing sailing, it’s as if Silver Lining knows that the fast approaching low west of us, would not be as much fun as this. Can we outrun it?
My biscuits are smelling good, I wonder what Frank is dreaming up for yesterday’s catch. I saw his napping eyes twitching in the aft cabin; It must be something good.
xoxomo