We are headed for Halifax, Nova Scotia.
In the pre-dawn hour, the Silver Whisper is cutting through the swell at knots, despite the thick fogbank and darkness. We are not far from the area where the Titanic met the iceberg 101 years ago.
Inquisitively, I step out of my cabin on to the shuddering deck in nought but a nightshirt and bare feet. The ship’s lights along the deck dim to a grey glow in the thick fog, and I can taste salt in the air. The wind is blowing wildly through the grommet in my left ear and right into my head producing an ache. My gonads shrink with the cold. But I stay out there, for a minute, taking it all in.
Aren’t these the moments of what going to sea is all about?