Programs Blog

The L Word (Land)

May 05, 2025

Gabi on lookout with Tahiti ahead!

Date: May 5, 2025

Time: 0830

Location: 17⁰38’S x 148⁰55’W

Weather: Wind force 1 out of the SE, calm seas, 22.9⁰C

Hi, Gabi here!

It’s now been a full month since we set sail from Lyttelton Harbor. It’s amazing how quickly we’ve formed our own little world on board — our own rituals and routines, our own sense of time (hazy), and even our own holidays (local apparent!). In this world, land faded quickly from reality to concept. But as they say (they being the Yogi teabag tags), change is the only constant. Long before our arrival to the final page of the program calendar, the signs of nearing land presented themselves in the water, detected through scientific sampling!

Scientific deployments happen mornings and evenings on the Bobby C., an undertaking that students are now practiced enough to lead ourselves. Twice daily, we tow nets made of a fine mesh that collects any solid matter in the water — animal, plant, or otherwise — and once daily, we deploy the carousel, a frame equipped with scientific instrumentation and automatically firing sample bottles, which gives us a vertical profile of parameters like salinity, temperature, chlorophyll content, and pH.

Weather permitting (which it certainly doesn’t always do) we’ve been able to take samples all along our cruise track, starting in the territorial waters of New Zealand, then on the high seas, and now in the territorial waters of French Polynesia. After weeks of open ocean sailing, we came to be familiar with what organisms we expected to find, what depth profiles we expected to see. Through the open-ocean net tows of weeks past, we got to know a diverse group of organisms ranging from copepods and chaetognaths to siphonophores and snails. The recent appearances of crabs, bugs, and sticks (read: land!!) in the nets inspired shock. Turns out, sailing works! We really were nearing Tahiti.

Then came the frigate birds circling overhead, sightings of plastic debris, the honeybee on the course yard, and on Saturday afternoon, our fishing line caught its very first fish — a skipjack tuna. It was beautiful, with skin that flashed iridescent on painted blues and a body evolved for incredible swimming power, down to the smallest fins of its tail (which now adorns the bowsprit, a token of good luck). It might be hard to imagine having any conflicted feelings about these omens of our arrival to paradise, but the past month has made the open ocean our home, and the thought of leaving it behind is bittersweet. A little scary, even.

Sunday morning, I was on dawn watch, 0100-0700. Bets were out on what time we would catch sight of land (which could either mean seeing lights or the land itself) and all signs pointed to it happening sometime in the window of watch. It was a clear and dark night, with stars so bright and numerous that our first mate Rocky turned off the compass light and we steered using the sky. Shooting stars rained down, just one after another — some quick flashes like lightning, some that lingered, trailing smudges as they fell.

The Milky Way was a bright streak that spanned the whole sky above us, and where it met the water, there was a faint haze — the light bloom of Papeete (not technically sighting land, yet!). I took forward lookout on the bow at 0200 and watched the horizon intently, knowing that we could encounter other vessels for the first time in weeks at any moment. Then, at 0249, the faintest blink of light in the bloom. Could it just be wishful thinking? I stared down the haze, my heart pounding, and when the glimmer stayed, I walked with the utmost alacrity to tell Rocky. The message I delivered to him: “I think I might be going crazy.” The message he told me to deliver to my watchmates: “Land ho!”

Over the following hours, the lights grew brighter, more numerous, and higher above the horizon until a whole glittering cluster was in view. And in the final hour of darkness before dawn, Henry rushed down from lookout — a pod of dolphins was playing in our wake, their shapes and movements illuminated only by the shimmering blue bioluminescence they stirred up in the water. We watched delightedly from the bow, the sight of it so magical it was almost too much.

As first pink glow of sunrise lit up the sky, what had seemed to be a strip of clouds along the horizon revealed itself to be a volcanic ridge, and we very suddenly became aware that we were no longer far away from land at all. We were right on the coast of Tahiti, its silhouette like a face in profile, framed by Moorea and Tahiti Iti.

With the sun rising behind the islands, C Watch began to speculate how different members of the ship’s company might react when they came up on deck, and not one person disappointed. It was an amazing and jarring sight, and crew streamed up to look as word and wakeups spread. A gathering formed on the quarterdeck of quiet awe and appreciation — some people bringing their watercolors, some people taking photos, and others taking photos of the people taking photos.

We even got to see our first passing vessel! A red-footed booby riding a log somehow evaded detection on the ship’s radar and AIS and sailed right up next to us. And just before C watch was relieved for breakfast, we hit another milestone — our 4,000th nautical mile traveled! A joyous egg dance ensued.

The whole night was so improbably magical, it was hard to believe any of it had really happened. And yet, Tahiti was right there! Land had become so unfamiliar to our bodies that we could smell it on the air, just faintly. Dirt. Like tangible proof that this experience has changed us.

In those first days on board, I remember feeling so in awe of the pro crew we were joining (as I still do). Every person here was so open and appreciative and present. This place undoubtedly attracts a special kind of person. But I think it also changes you, your way of relating with your surroundings. When your home is so small and remote and fragile, little things become miracles. Like looking under the microscope at the contents of a net tow and finding a science fiction novel. Sunsets off the stern. A guitar, a mandolin, people to sing with. A crossword. A cinnamon roll! And as scary as it seemed before it came, land.

Shoutouts!

To my family — I love you endlessly and cannot wait to call and catch up on everything I’ve missed! Thank you, Tata, for convincing me that this was something I needed to do. I’m so indebted to you, and you’re right, the food has been delicious!

Amelia Lang – I am just dying to tell you everything about the last month. My field notes journal is full of memories that I cannot wait to share, and your prompts make me (and buddies!) smile every day.

Sage – Two years!! I just can’t believe my cosmic good luck. Mary and Emily and Ocean have been wonderful company, but nothing can stand in for yours. See you on the backyard patio, and any day now. 🙂