Sea Observations Part 2
1st January. I saw flying fish shimmering over the sea like giant dragonflies.
2nd January. On the bridge I look over the railing, straight down to the sea, 15 metres below. The deep blue is interrupted by clouds and eddies of white and turquoise, caused by the turbulence of the boat’s passage. Looking down I have a half-desire to jump, a half-fear of falling. It is vertiginous.
4th January. I watched the lifeboat drill: the sailors jumped in whilst the boson winched the boat down to the water. They tested the engine and ran a few checks before being winched back up again. As the boat levitated a few metres above the sea, a seal appeared underneath it, and turned belly-up before slithering away beneath the waves.
5th January. Still at anchor outside Walvis Bay. We have been sitting here waiting for two days. Being close to land, and still, the Sea is completely different. Calmer, more transparent, a patchwork of colours and currents. There’s a rich turquoise green and a muddy brown, clouds of pink-orange jelly fish and dark seaweed. There are seals and birds. And on the horizon is the hazy yellow desert – a series of colours and shapes that seem all the more foreign to eyes that have seen only sea for two weeks.
8th January. Ha! the sea says. Ha! you thought you were safe, that all I had left in me was calm-blue easy-riding. Oh fools, never underestimate me! I can still toss you awake at night and shake your brain, making you wobble around like a drunkard.
(I didn’t sleep much last night.)
Rebecca Beinart
