Ambience Day 13 - Quiet Moments at Sea

 “…great things happen in the quiet moments in between....”

Passenger on the back deck of Ambience

 

Natural Wonders and Being in the Moment

 
This morning began amid a spectacle of colour and wonder. From the stern of the ship, we stood watching the world begin again for another day. Layers of light spread across sea and sky as Ambience carried us steadily southward.

 
Yet standing there under another morning's amazing visual performance, other passengers came out onto the deck and, as often as not, asked similar questions.  The same as we are asked each morning.

“Have you seen anything?”, “Seen anything good today?” or “Is it worthwhile to come outside today?”
 
Interestingly, however, whenever we note the stunning colours of a sunrise, or the wonder of nearby landscapes, or the sheer diversity of bird species, the first responses we receive often drip with derision.  People seem stunned, replying: “What, you’re only looking at mountains?”,  or “oh yes, yes, a sunrise...sure, sure ...but anything really great?”, or  “they are just gulls I thought you were looking at something interesting”.
 

Subtle Beauty at Sea

 
To these critiques, I never quite know how to respond. Clearly, what we think of as worthwhile is not what others think of as having value …and that is ok.

 
I mean, what could I say - that I think that a sunrise is enough? That the curve of a mountain is worth your time and attention. That gulls, those ordinary, adaptable little survivors of the coastal world, are every bit as fascinating as any whale? That the movement of the waves is amazing and that the waters are never the same colour twice?  

What we value in this world and in nature is deeply personal, shaped by experience and expectation. For some, only spectacular moments count. For others, the quiet, unrepeatable details of a morning at sea have their own importance.

 
For my part, these small moments invite questions that are both scientific and deeply human: What colour is that exactly?  Does it have a name? How far away does a ship’s engine echo beneath the water? Why do certain birds follow us one day and not the next?
 
But more than any answer, these sorts of moments and the questions they give way to encourage presence. In a world that increasingly rewards what can be captured, counted, and posted, a sunrise without spectacle and a day without drama seem to confuse people.  As if its worth depends on how many likes it might get online.

I don’t fault anyone for what they hope to see; wonder, and the capacity for curiosity are a wide spectrum. Yet I can’t help but wonder, in return: If not this moment, then what are you waiting for? Nature’s wonders are gifts of a particular moment that will never occur again in quite the same way. How do we move past the dismissiveness that blinds us to such things? How do we get people to see the beauty in the ordinary, to hold a sunrise with the same reverence they reserve for the “big” moments?

 
To all of these questions, I don’t know the answer.  Perhaps sometimes all you can do is stand outside in the cold, looking at the light, hoping that someone else will notice and pause long enough to see that the moment is already more than enough.

“Do stuff. be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration's shove or society's kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It's all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.”

Susan Sontag

 

Cruising the Lofoten Islands

 
In the early hours of the morning today, we stood on the jogging track as Ambience slipped past the long chain of land known as the Lofoten Islands. The sky was washed in soft, shifting colours - pale pinks, muted blues, and lingering greys.  The light and shadows across the panorama changed almost imperceptibly from moment to moment. 

 
This long peninsula of small, lush pieces of land, comprised of a series of islands, was, today, silhouetted along the horizon.
 
The results, even at a distance, were that Lofoten felt almost impossibly dramatic: sheer granite walls plunging into deep waters, wave-washed shorelines, and long ribbons of cloud drifting across peaks and lighting up the waters around them.

 
Once again, both words and photographs felt inadequate. Some landscapes resist capture and can only be witnessed - briefly before being carried forward as memory.
 
From our vantage point on deck, seabirds skimmed low over the waves. Fulmars and kittiwakes traced quick, confident lines above the water, while the occasional gannet rode the wind with practiced ease, folding effortlessly into the rhythm of sea and sky.

 
Watching as we moved past Lofoten, its peaks shifted shape with the changing light.  It was very easy to understand why artists, fishermen, explorers, and sailors have long been drawn to this magnificent chain of islands for centuries. Each day and each visit here must be entirely different!
 
After several hours outdoors during a protracted number of golden hours, entranced by the interplay of the rugged islands, colours of the skies and action of the waves, we stepped inside to warm up and to have breakfast.
 

ORCA Presentation

 
Following our morning repast, we returned outdoors to stand in the fresh air once more. The grey skies still lingered, but the temperature was rising, and the sea had settled completely. With the waves smoothed away, the seas were still. Amid it all, only two or three gulls passed the ship, and there were no whale sightings to mark the morning.
 
Even so, it was a pleasant way to start the day.
 
At 11 AM, we joined an onboard talk hosted by ORCA. Steven, one of the researchers, opened candidly by acknowledging that there hadn’t been much visible activity so far.  However, he quipped, “It wouldn’t be special if it were easy.”  The remark resonated, serving as a reminder that wildlife observation, like so many meaningful pursuits, required patience rather than giving guarantees.

 
Throughout this presentation, he explained that we were currently sailing through known sperm whale territory and used the opportunity to broaden the discussion toward responsible marine stewardship. The focus was not on awareness: understanding how growing shipping routes intersect with critical marine habitats. He referenced regions such as the Inside Passage, the British Columbia coastline, and transatlantic corridors as areas where thoughtful monitoring and mitigation matter deeply.
 
As part of that wider perspective, he also pointed to www.ourworldindata.org as a valuable resource for tracking environmental trends and marine data - a reminder that what we witness and report from the deck of a ship is always part of a much larger citizen science project.  Cool!
 

Leaving the Arctic Circle

 
We paused for the captain’s noon announcement, and with it came one of the day’s understated milestones. We had left the Arctic Circle, which even now was slipping behind us, after days spent sailing within it. 

Rather than heading inside for lunch, we chose to remain outdoors. We made our way to Deck 9 at the aft of the ship, which, for us, was a favourite spot that offered a balance of shelter and panoramic views. It was a place that was slightly protected from the wind yet open to the sea. It provided expansive views of the wake and waters.  In addition, large vents along the deck released steady currents of warm air, making it possible to linger comfortably even as the temperature hovered on the edge of being chilly.

 
From there, we watched the ocean stretch away behind us - grey coloured, reflecting the cloudy skies above.  Then, at some point, the light began to change. The cloud cover thinned, then parted, and suddenly the sun broke through, sending long fingers of light dancing across the sky.

 

The sea caught and reflected the glow, shifting from muted grey to layered silver and gold in a matter of moments. Ultimately, we remained here longer than we had expected …simply enjoying the moment and display. 
 

Afternoon of Enrichment

 
Our afternoon consisted of attending a series of enrichment sessions that drew steady crowds and underscored just how central learning and curiosity were to life on board.
 
At 1 PM, the members of ORCA were back out on deck, scanning the water and answering questions. The turnout was impressive. Passengers gathered eagerly along the railings, proof that wildlife observation and citizen science had become a genuine attraction rather than a niche interest on this voyage. (This meant that we definitely were not the only ones!)

 
At 2 PM, we headed to a presentation by Martin Lunn, titled A Ramble Through the Solar System. It was an engaging and wide-ranging talk that explored the contents of our solar neighbourhood with clarity and enthusiasm. Martin’s delivery was characteristically energetic, and by the end of the session, we both found ourselves wanting to learn more about space and our solar system!

 
The afternoon continued at 3 PM, with a whale identification session held in the Partnership Lounge. We joined a small group of interested passengers gathered in a cozy seating area, where Steven from ORCA walked us through the fundamentals of identifying marine mammals at sea. He explained the key distinctions between whales, dolphins, and porpoises, focusing on observable traits such as overall size, group numbers, the shape and height of exhaled spouts, fin placement and colour, and behavioural patterns.

 
One of the most interesting points he raised was the challenge of judging size on open water. Without fixed reference points, scale can be deceptive, and many identifications rely on indirect clues. In that context, seabirds often become surprisingly useful markers - their relative size and behaviour offering subtle comparisons that help narrow down what might otherwise remain uncertain shapes on the horizon.
 

Sunset, Drinks and Dinner

 
After a fascinating afternoon, we stepped back out onto the top deck to watch another striking sunset unfold. As we continued our gradual journey south, dusk arrived a little later each day, the light lingering longer on the horizon before finally giving way to evening. The sky softened into layers of colour, and for a while we simply stood and watched, letting the day close at its own pace.

 
With the arrival of evening, we gradually settled into a familiar routine – one filled with the small, necessary tasks that quietly anchor life on board. With the ship moving steadily beneath us, we divided up responsibilities. It was my turn to tackle the laundry, while Sean found a quiet corner to write in his travel journal, capturing the day while it was still fresh.
 
Once everything was back in order, we freshened up, changed into slightly more formal clothes and met for a drink in the Botanical Lounge, a welcoming space that had quickly become a favourite of ours. 

 
Later on, between 6:00 and 7:30 PM, we sat down for dinner in the Buckingham Restaurant. I enjoyed a  comforting main of cauliflower and cheese, and finished with a strawberry and ginger tart for dessert. Sean kept things simple, opting for a house salad. 

While it might not sound like much, it was, in fact, a filling and satisfying meal.  The sort that felt just right after a long day.
 

Evening Entertainment on Ambience

 
After dinner, we settled into the central well of the ship at SW19, books in hand, content to let the evening continue on quietly around us. Although there was plenty happening elsewhere, a musical performance of the Brothers Blue in the Palladium Theatre and a lively karaoke party underway in the Observatory - neither called to us tonight.

 
Instead, eventually, we drifted toward the Raffles Lounge, where classical piano music filled the room. It was the kind of setting that encourages relaxation, and we were happy to sit, listen, and read as the notes slipped easily into the background.
 
With the day drawing to a close, the clocks were again set back an hour.  It is always a small but welcome gift when one is given some extra time. 

 
When we finally returned to our room, we were greeted by an unexpected and charming surprise: a beautifully folded swan towel animal perched neatly on the bed. We couldn’t help but smile. In all our years of travelling by ship - across oceans and along coastlines - this was the first time we’d encountered one.
 
As we later learned, towel animals are something of a long-standing cruise tradition, a playful expression of hospitality by cabin stewards meant to delight guests in small, unexpected ways. That it appeared here, late in the voyage, felt oddly fitting.  It seemed a gentle reminder that even amid long journeys and exploration, there is always room for simple joy.
 
See you on deck!
 
Nautical Term for the Day: Flotsam and Jetsam - “Flotsam” denotes floating wreckage; “jetsam,” goods deliberately jettisoned. Together they now describe scattered debris - or metaphorically, life’s accumulated odds and ends.