Programs Blog

Author: Ruth Metcalf, Pomona College

Ship’s Log

Date: Thursday, October 12, 2023
Time: 3:57 PM
Location: Funafuti Atoll, Tuvalu
Weather: Cloudy, humid, hot

Hello!

Ruthie here, I’m a junior at Pomona College from Maine and am excited to
share with you a snapshot into what life has been aboard the Robby C. This
morning we got to Tuvalu, an atoll island that a SEA vessel has never been
to before! Lots of first, for SEA, the crew, and me. This is the first time
I’ve visited an atoll. I wrote out a bit of a narrative this morning when we
were coming in, as follows, with additions of thought as I go.

9:17 am

We are currently entering the lagoon of Tuvalu. The clouds are grey and
layered with slate blues and patterns of light. Soleil is at the helm,
chatting with Satya who’s holding a cup of coffee. There are many
green-topped islands passing us by in most directions, we’re ringing the
bell now.  Grace muses with others in conversation about life on this
island—the fourth smallest nation in the world—“they must have limited
forms of birth control too,” she says. Even at sea, my mind is brought back
to issues of reproduction and I think about the state of abortion law in the
U.S., where a case about Mifepristone is now in the hands of the Supreme
Court. It probably will not get decided until I arrive back on land for a
while. I’ve found myself, here, in contemplation over what I’m interested in
and studying at school. Here, I am drawn to thinking about art-making and
advocacy, of social issues like reproductive freedom and justice, and my
interests in political thought. As Captain affirmed for me as I chatted
about my college and my uncertainties in what to study as we watched the
evening CTD deployment—that I will figure it out. Eventually, life goes on.
I’ve been learning, on this trip, to be where I am and trust that I am where
I’m meant to be.

That was a tangent—back to the morning narrative.

It’s been quiet this morning—careful tension as we navigated the small
opening into the circular atoll. Fredi was aloft, looking out for the
lighter green water that meant reefs. We had to be careful, navigating our
big boat through a certain channel.

I learned this morning what an atoll really means. It’s a piece of land-a
volcanic mountain—formed from a hotspot in the ocean floor millions of
years ago. As the mountain volcano rests in the sea, corals grow along the
perimeter. Tectonic plates move the land away from the deeper asthenosphere
and so the island no longer hovers above a hotspot. Weathering from rains
break down the mountain, and slowly, the inside if the mountain mass
descends into the sea. A perimeter of coral remains, which, via
sedimentation and the reshaping of the planet over glacial-interglacial
cycles, has formed the islands we now motor by. Layer by layer, over cycles
of change, this nation grew. It’s reminiscent of our lives, that are
weathered by time and experiences that collect, like small sand particles.
Instead of course shards of silicon and basalt, we are islands of particles,
embodied collections of knowing and memory shaped by the places and people
we meet. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to come next for me, and
have found peace in knowing that I never will truly know, but that new
wonders are constantly being flooded to me, like the particles that ride in
the flooding of currents from sea to sea. Like corals that transport and
grow where or they land, we transform to where we are. We find, we build,
community. Through breakage and love, connection and movement, I grow on.

Green-topped, the islands stand stoic and mystical. Sand and dark brown
bottomed, the land we pass is alive with moody slate-blue-grey waves and
bright-foam-white breaks. Jan, our head scientist, let me borrow his
binoculars and I could see plumes of birds and ocean spray hovering above
the interspersed blips of land.

In the lagoon, the ocean is more warm-toned than the sky which is a cooler
light blue. Nate, our second mate, told us this morning that sailors used to
look at the clouds and see the reflection of the lagoon’s green water in
them, guiding them where an atoll lied. Connecting what causes the ocean’s
color to plankton and to sailors in times pasy is an example of the ways
this program has woven the earth, my senses, science, and history in a
wondering array. 

Cap is looking for a white three story building with binoculars. Grace is
laughing as I write that in my journal, playing with my hair. Grant eats
oatmeal—Sophie swings her foot—sitting on top of the dog house (aka, the
chart room).

This trip has been a whirlwind of experience: of beauty and long hours on
watch and new people who join me in conversations soft and easy and true.
It’s raining slowly; we’ve had squalls the last few days. My most recent
watches, dawn and evening, were marked by diagonal rain fall and
temperatures that made it comfortable to wear a raincoat only, shorts and
sandals letting the rain reach me. Dark blackness obscuring the
stars—squall clouds that make their own winds that daunt sailors across
the seas. Lightening that lit the entire sky, showing us the movement of the
ocean for just a second. Or far away, a lighted flash in a faraway cloud,
purple or yellow, a far off explosion shrouded in the clothes of the cloud
it emanated from.

Last night on dawn watch I saw the most beautiful shooting star. It had a
trailing white line of energy—drew into the sky like a single pen glide on
paper—fading after a moment of glowing in the sky. I had looked up, alone,
in the dark, on the helm. It was the first time I’ve seen a shooting star
like that, one that shows me its path in the universe beyond. Wishing,
thinking, dreaming and trying to remember the dreams: the ones from sleep
and those forming in my imagination. One day in Fiji in Levunka we walked
into the mountains and I came across a waterfall I feel was from on old
dream of mine. Kind people have guided us and I can feel the openness they
extend. Fiji is a beautiful place with many kind people. It’s where I was
gifted mangos, found garden-buildings and pink flowers padding the ground,
was welcomed into someone’s backyard beach and welcomed to sit when walking
back. ‘Vinaka’ is thank you in Fijian. Here in Tuvalu, hello is ‘Talofa’. We
will explore Tuvalu tomorrow, a new place for me. I’m trying to be open and
not worry about plans to make, and let the universe guide me to what is
right, as it has been.

On this trip I’ve been both introspective and in community. Looking at my
own self and to the people around me. Time reading, breathing, looking at
the pink and purple and blues in the sky. I was expecting time to consider
myself and the world on this trip but, as life goes, could never have
imagined the tactile wonders and tires of life here. Sore feet and sweaty
face, new friends and music, and concoctions of words and ideas that inspire
me for today and tomorrow. If I could only show you how it all feels, to be
in this world. But our experiences are only ever our own while we live them,
and the lessons pass on like seeds in the wind. With time to root and grow
within the self before sharing soft scents or shaded protection, I am
excited to see what will grow in me.

Now we’re passing the universal wave of hello, as Nate puts it, to a person
in a small red motor boat, zooming by, “checking us out.”

SHOUTOUTS

To mom and dad and Charlie, I love you all so much and can’t wait to share
with you this adventure. If one of you reads this, send to the others 🙂
Charlie, I hope Spain has been awesome and have a feeling it has been.

Friends at school, Sarah, Taylor, Isa, Alex, I hope you are all having a
blast and have been finding love and satisfaction in your wonderful selves.
I am so excited to see you soon, if not in the Spring, after your adventures
abroad. Crazy as it sounds I’m actually really excited to return to
Claremont. Porter and Rebecca I miss you both SO much and cannot wait to
hear about your adventures. Know you’re the best and lights of my life.
Rebecca, I’m so excited to see you in the spring.

If any of you read this, please share this with the above mentioned people
because I forgot to send the link out.
My people, Mae, Fia, Kate, Hattie Rose, I love you all dearly but assume you
probably won’t get a chance to read this (yet) because you’re caught up in
your lives, naturally.

Stand tall and know I love you!

Be well,
Ruthie