I woke to bright, golden sunlight pouring into the main cabin, warming everything it touched. I had slept through the night between watches on the settee. Our main cabin is open and bright, thanks to the large windows that have been a huge bonus on this trip. To feel warm and cozy while still watching the vast ocean stretch endlessly beyond—what a gift.
I lit the propane stove and set a kettle on for coffee. The air already felt warmer. Mark announced we had crossed out of the 40-degree latitudes and into the 30s. The sweater I’d just bought in Puerto Montt suddenly felt like overkill—though I wasn’t about to take it off. Cozy is cozy.
I stepped outside with our compost and noticed movement far off the port side—something bubbling beneath the surface. Out on the horizon, a rainbow touched the sea. The swell was still large, but it had softened into long, rolling curves. Gone was yesterday’s washing-machine chaos; these waves felt calmer, more rhythmic, almost gentle.
It was glorious out there as I emptied the compost into the vast gray below. Then the bubbling came to life—dorsal fins breaking the surface. Suddenly, as if on cue, they turned toward One Ocean.
Dolphins.
They leapt from the water, racing toward us, slicing through the swell with effortless grace. For mornings at sea, this one ranks among the most beautiful. Good morning, world. Happy Earth Week. Click here for the full morning video
They stayed with us, as they often do—guiding, playing, dancing along the bow. It never, ever gets old. I could see them clearly now beneath the surface, their sleek bodies weaving through the water.
Behind us, the once-frenzied surface drew in albatrosses. They circled with quiet mastery, their long wings barely touching the water as they dipped and turned.
I went below, grateful again for those wide windows that let me keep watch on the life outside. One Ocean cruised steadily along at about eight knots. We were in the Humboldt Current now, and the sea felt alive. What I could see was only the faintest glimpse of a vast, hidden world. My eyes strained to take in more, my mind alive with curiosity about the ecosystem 6,000 feet below.
I found myself wondering about my place in it—my impact, and what I can do to help keep it healthy.
This world is one of wonder and connection. You don’t have to be a sailor, diver, or swimmer to feel it. So why do we continue down paths we know will harm it? We are humans—brilliant problem solvers. Why do we let ourselves get consumed by politics, noise, and negativity, instead of focusing on what truly matters?
Moments like this—connection with other species, the quiet magic of a living ocean—feel like a gift. No matter your beliefs, it’s impossible not to feel inspired, even spellbound, on a morning like this.
If we can stay focused on creating—on building the kind of world we want for ourselves and the next generation—I believe we have to protect this extraordinary place we call Earth. It is the one vessel we all share. We breathe the same air, depend on the same water, rely on the same living systems.
We can learn to use our resources without destroying them.
As the dolphins play at our bow—sometimes even guiding us toward calmer waters—I’m reminded that we can do the same for one another. We can choose to move with care, to reduce our impact, to respect the ocean that sustains us.
Together, we can do this.