A continuation of the journey that began on January 1, 2010, recorded in "a year of getting up to meet the day." After 365 consecutive sunrise outings in that year, I couldn't bear to give up the dawn. This blog (no longer daily) will be informed and inspired by the rising light of the morning sun.


Monday, February 28, 2011

Caribbean sunrise - the Wanderbird

J and I just returned from a truly unique experience.  We were invited to join a group aboard a refurbished North Sea fishing vessel, renovated and transformed into a recreational ship.  It sleeps up to 12 guests, 8 crew, and the captains - Rick and Karen Miles.

I have never been a sea-faring person.  I am in my element in fresh water, but the ocean has always intimidated me.  I love to watch it from the shore, but when I am on it or in it, I have always experienced a perpetual state of tension.

After 6 days on the Wanderbird - this one-of-a-kind vessel filled with history, sea lore, and absolute devotion to detail - I discovered for the first time the natural rhythms of the sea.  It became so ingrained in my being that even now, three days off the boat, I have moments of feeling the floor rise and fall as though I am back on the water.  I miss it.

I was up for the sunrise four times.  Here is the first - with the sun coming up behind the tiny island of Culebrita, next to the slightly larger island, Culebra, which sits just off the eastern shore of Puerto Rico.  They were taken on Feb. 20, 2011.  In the photo above, you can see an old lighthouse on top of the hill.  The views from there were purported to be "some of the best in the entire Caribbean region."

Here are some views of the lighthouse, which looks like it may not last long.  It was an old Spanish outpost a couple of centuries ago, and until very recently was maintained by the US Coast Guard.  Unfortunately, it appears to have been abandoned.

The brass cap from the cupola of the building is lying on the ground.  The solar powered light rests on a frame whose metal supports have worn to nearly nothing.  The old, rusting spiral staircase may not be safe for climbing before long.  But we were lucky enough to get up to the top for the commanding view.

It is a very different palette of color from the one I came home to.  I do love winter in Maine, but it's hard not to feel as though someone drained all the color out of the world today!

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