Unforgettable Sunrise

Cleta McCormick                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

254 B Jefferson Court

Lakewood NJ 08701

201-956-7444

cmcmedlaw@gmail.com

  Unforgettable Sunrise

I’ve watched the sun rise in other parts of the world, and watched alone or with others. It’s something we take for granted—the sun will come up tomorrow.  But there is one sunrise I will never forget.

Four a.m. in the North Atlantic can be a dark, cold and lonely time, even if it is the end of June on the calendar.

           This is especially true if you are alone at the helm of a 36 foot boat and it is your responsibility to watch the compass to keep the boat on course, and watch the radar to avoid collision with any obstacle or other boat.

           The particular morning I remember was one such morning, and although it was officially “summer,” the chill in the air nipped my face and hands. I don’t like temperatures that are out of my comfort range, but one thing about me has always been true—if I’m on a boat, I don’t care about the weather, even if it’s raining or snowing, or there’s raging heat. So, just saying, I was uncomfortably cold.

           I thought back to how this trip had happened for me, and “happened” is the right word.

          I was still young enough to have lots of energy, and was busy running my law office and trying cases. My husband, sad to say, didn’t like anything about sailing, which was a major part of how I wanted to spend my spare time. We only discovered this after I impulsively bought a little 19 foot sailboat. From there, of course I went on to bigger boats, but sailing alone can get somewhat boring, at least it did for me. I wanted a different experience so I begin to scan the personal ads, and found one from a guy who had a boat. I wrote to him, saying that I could only sail on weekends, and I wasn’t looking for romance, only sailing, and that if he was interested he should get in touch with me. He did, and that began a friendship with many happy hours of sailing.

           We did that for a couple of summers, but I never saw him over the fall and winter. Thus, one spring day as I was walking down the street, by chance he was walking from the opposite direction, and as old friends, we were glad to see each other.

             He promptly said that he was planning a trip to Nova Scotia, had two crew members and needed another. Was I interested? “Of course,” I said, “If I can have my old bunk,” having no interest in sleeping in the V berth of a boat plowing through rough waters. He agreed, and the main saloon port berth was mine. (Good thing too, as the other two crew members were both men, and ones I had never met, at that). There is a cardinal rule on boats, however, the crew WILL get along and run the boat. We did just that, even finding each other’s company agreeable.  

           Four of us were sailing from New York to Nova Scotia which took several days so we had a schedule of four-hour watches around the clock. The captain’s watch plan provided for two people to be in the cockpit at all times. This meant, for example, that you started your watch at the same time each day, but the first two hours of your watch would be the last two hours of watch for the person before you. So presumably you were feeling fresh and awake. After the second hour of your watch another person came on for your last two hours, and thus someone with a fresh attention span and energy was always at the helm. At least that was the operating theory.

I was only about 20 minutes into my watch when the captain said “I am so cold, I just can’t get warm.”  “Well, go and make a cup of tea,” I said. I heard him light the cooker, and a few moments later, he was handing a mug of tea to me in the cockpit.

           He said that he would be up in just a few moments, but I told him not to bother, that I was fine and he should try to rest and get warm.

           He then asked me if I would like to hear some music.

                                          “Yes.”     

                                          “What?”

                                          “Whatever you want.”

                                          “How about Bach?”

                                          “Excellent.”

             From the speakers came the first strains of “Bach’s Mass in C Minor” I sailed on, and he went to sleep.

            Although I’ve been drawn to sailing and music all my life, I never could have envisioned an experience combining those elements in just the way it did on that trip. For example, one night when iridescent blue and green plankton were carried on waves beside the boat, it seemed as though we were sailing on a magical sea. And on another day, it was late afternoon when there was no wind, and the Atlantic was dead calm with only the smallest ripples on the water. The sunset had turned the sky and water pale blue with pink highlights. That would have been enough, but the captain had chosen to play a CD of Debussy’s “La Mer,” and without hoping for more, we soon saw six dolphins swimming alongside the bow of the boat! They swam with the boat for quite a while, and I wondered if they may have been attracted to the boat because of that  particular music.

             I sipped my hot, comforting tea, as I savored my memories,  but the cockpit, previously lighted softly from the galley, was in blackness. I could see nothing but the pale glow of light from the instruments, could hear only the music and lapping of the waves, and felt nothing but the chill in the night that enveloped me. The stars, usually standing out brilliantly against the darkness of the night sky, were not to be seen.

                The power of music to transcend any given experience in life, and to speak, across the centuries to people in modern times, continues to lift the spirits of those who hear it. And the beauty of music that night helped to dispel some of the anxiety I was feeling. After all, here I was, a 40 year old woman sailing a boat that wasn’t even mine, with three other people aboard whose lives were essentially in my hands. I couldn’t deny my feelings of anxiety. I just made sure my safety line was secure. and concentrated on sailing. After all, I told myself, I had experience and competence, and all would be well if I paid attention to the compass and the radar.  

                Perhaps there would be no appeal in this for anyone but a sailor who loves adventure and the sea, but the solitude and sharp, clean, salt smell of the North Atlantic chased my anxiety, and brought my focus back to the task at hand. I found that I was filled with peace and contentment.

                                                                                                                                       I admit that about the time 5:30 a.m. arrived I was starting to feel tired. It was then that the first small rays of daylight begin to appear. By 5:45 a.m. the orchestra and chorus were in full volume on the lively and triumphant “Et Resurrecit,” and the sun had risen. How I welcomed the warmth! The sky had lightened, the water was blue, not black, and the outline of the boat was clear. The waves danced in the reassuring light, and the beauty and power of the Bach cantata suffused my spirit with joy at being alive for this moment!

                Coincidence? Probably so, but a transporting experience of joy that I never expected to experience on that cold, dark night so long ago.

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