In The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, a sailor was cursed for killing an albatross. Fortunately, there is no penalty for merely startling one.
In fact, I’m not sure which of us was more startled. I was half asleep at the helm, alone on deck a thousand miles from shore. The light was failing. (Twilight comes quickly to the tropics.) A long, greasy swell was running after days of storm. The wind had followed the storm and we were becalmed, watch on watch, drifting without steerageway for days.
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The existence of rogue waves has been common knowledge among sailors for centuries but the staggering size of the waves reported by mariners didn’t fit the statistical models endorsed by oceanographers. Scientists scoffed at sea stories of mountainous waves until satellites began sweeping the open ocean with radar. Now it seems waves of uncommon size are more common than the statistical models anticipated. According to several Brazilian scientists, they may not even be rare at all. And they are sinking ships at an alarming rate.
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An amazing series of still photos capturing the mechanics of a boat capsizing. The sailboat is making for the passage between the south tower of the Golden Gate Bridge and Fort Point, a place notorious for standing waves and tide rips. The surf is breaking ten feet or higher. Once committed, there is no possibility of escape.
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Traditionally Pacific Islanders have sailed vast distances without compass or instruments, steering by the stars, the flight of seabirds, the shivering air of thermals rising above islands, the green hue of a lagoon cast on the belly of a cloud, or the feel of the swell generated by familiar winds.
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