Spirited Horses

In July 1992 I found myself peering through an infrared scope intently looking for any object, be it a steel container or an ice burg that might be floating in our pathway. It was one of those nights in the middle of the North Atlantic when there was too much wind for the steering vain so we were down to hand steering and one hour watches. The procedure was simple. Once atop a wave you would lean over the side and quickly study the water between you and the top of the next wave, then duck back in for the ride. The Alberg 30 my two friends and I had left Marblehead, Mass. in two weeks earlier, heading for the Azores, was a very stable vessel with a hull speed of seven knots. This night the knot meter was shaking violently off the scale as we became a five ton surf board sailing down these waves for a hundred feet or more to the bottom of the trough. Once you're seven hundred miles or so off shore you notice the air change and you can actually see the pollution in the sunsets hanging over the continent. Birds like seagulls and terns disappear and soon fish, even flying fish, are the only life you see. When the sailing was good and we approached hull speed some fish would swim large circles off the bow, racing us on every revolution. However, one species of bird stayed with us all the way. It was about the size of a chickadee and a dark grey in colour. During the day we'd see them flying in formation close enough to the moving surface to feed on plankton and if it was stormy they would fluff up and covey together, appearing to float on the surface tension. Imagine a flight pattern like a barn swallow crossed with a butterfly. Anyway, while on my last watch that night, when I retreated to the safety of the cockpit to check the compass heading and ride to the next crest, one of these little birds was sitting beside me. I did a double take as it shook water from wet feathers and then, wings out slightly, just sat there staring straight ahead. I was totally charmed by this beautiful creature to the point of almost missing the top of the next wave. When I finally ducked back in I half expected to see that it had flew off, but actually I was honoured by its presence beside me for several more waves. Eventually when I turned back it was gone. Of all the memories I have of that month at sea, what still remains vivid over the years is the company of that bird being. Myself, a full time climber at the time, had been struggling that third week to get any kind of workout going and was doing a lot of yoga on the bow deck during nice days. You might say my spirited horses were having trouble adapting to a somewhat limited environment and those delicate, yet resilient little guys were flourishing in such a hostile one.

Cheers. t

Spirited Horses was written and performed by Terry Christenson and Chris Hess who is also an experienced sailor. Produced and recorded by Chris Hess.