May 3 is another fine day, and with a brisk breeze from the west, the Sean Seamour II is now traveling north-northeast, riding the current of the Gulf Stream. Rudy is surprised by the change in the ocean’s color, from a greenish-gray hue to a brilliant aquamarine, and he marvels at the sun’s ability to shine right through the top of small waves. He also notes that the ocean’s temperature has climbed from the previous day’s 73 degrees Fahrenheit to 78 today.
The warm waters of the Gulf Stream are a result of its origination in the Gulf of Mexico. Its current shoots through the fifty-mile-wide Florida Straits, passing between the tip of Florida and Cuba, sending the flow northward along Florida’s eastern seaboard. Here the Gulf Stream is narrow, deep, and quick-moving, just like a high-speed river in a well-defined path, with only an occasional eddy forming at its margins. Approximately forty miles wide, a quarter mile deep, and traveling at a clip of four to five knots, this beginning section of the Gulf Stream carries a volume of water more than twenty-five times greater than all the rivers in the world combined. When it reaches Cape Hatteras, it curves to the northeast, losing a bit of its power as more warm-water eddies detach and re-form, while the Stream itself broadens and slows. Most of the warm-water eddies spin north out of the core of the Gulf Stream, rotating in a clockwise current, and some of these separate completely, spinning off on their own meandering path. Farther north, the Stream flows eastward, forming the North Atlantic Drift, slowly heading across the Atlantic and ultimately traveling past the British Isles. Although its temperatures are not as warm here as they are off Florida, the Gulf Stream still moderates the climate off Western Europe and is said to be the reason why palm trees grow on the southern end of Great Britain.
Author William MacLeish points out that the moving mass of water in the Gulf Stream is not a highway just for sailboats but for fish and turtles as well, carrying them from the tropics to far-off shores such as New England. “Caribbean fish show up in the autumnal sea off Martha’s Vineyard. Southern turtles ride past New England like sleeping commuters gone way beyond their stop. . . . It is clear that many organisms in the Stream are not there by choice and that many of those will eventually drift north to their deaths.” MacLeish also points out that there are species that can live in the Sargasso Sea, the Gulf Stream, and even the cold waters to the north and west. “Some, the opportunists, seem to thrive where warm water and cold wrap around each other.”
In the section of the Gulf Stream north of Cape Hatteras, its warm waters are in stark contrast to the cold ocean along the continental shelf to its north and west. On the Stream’s eastern side is the Sargasso Sea, with its huge mats of free-floating brown seaweed called sargassum. Unlike the Gulf Stream, the Sargasso Sea is largely stationary and is known for a stable air mass that causes sailing vessels to become becalmed in its doldrums. Consequently, most sailors like those on the Sean Seamour II, who are traveling from the U.S. to Europe, avoid going directly through the Sargasso Sea and instead hitch a ride on the Stream and sail just north of Bermuda before heading due east.
The Gulf Stream presents its own set of challenges. Its waters warm the air directly above it, helping to produce a microclimate. Sailors can often see the location of this saltwater river long before they arrive. Low clouds may hover above the Gulf Stream due to rising warm air and water vapor. If the warm air collides with a cold front, violent thunderstorms erupt, with severe localized wind, rain, lightning, and even the occasional waterspout. Yet forecasting when these thunderstorms will occur is difficult, due to the quickness of their formation.
Even worse than the thunderstorms are existing weather systems that intensify above the Gulf Stream when they feed off the warm ocean below. Tropical storms passing over the Stream can explode into full-fledged hurricanes, and sailors are especially wary during the height of hurricane season, in late August and September. In addition, the Gulf Stream is not the place to be caught in a storm, due to the size of the waves that occur there. When winds come out of the northeast, they produce waves surging toward the southwest, and these waves become larger and steeper when they run into the Gulf Stream’s current flowing in the opposite direction. Steep waves suggest breaking waves, and these avalanching combers can cause havoc to boats. Some sailors would rather face a swell twice as big as a cresting wave simply because the swell slides under the boat, while the breaking part of a wave can push the boat down its face and engulf it in the churning water. And if a wave spins a boat completely around so that it comes down the face of a wave bow-first, the ultimate disaster can occur. The vessel can “pitch-pole.” This happens when the bow is buried in the trough and the stern is picked up by the surging sea and hurled over the bow, capsizing the boat in the process.
JP is aware of the advantages and potential dangers of voyaging along the Gulf Stream, which is yet another reason he chose the beginning of May to set sail. He knows he will be well beyond Bermuda by June 1, the start of hurricane season. Several other sailboats are also in the Gulf Stream, making their annual voyage from the Southern U.S. and Caribbean toward the cooler climates of ports from Maryland to Maine.
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That afternoon Ben surprises his crew members with an English custom by serving them tea. A little later, dinner is prepared by Rudy (the men will take turns), and as on the previous day, they take advantage of the fine weather by eating in the open air of the cockpit, which is quite comfortable. It features a seat for the helmsman behind the wheel and cushioned benches for passengers. The hard dodger protects the front of the cockpit from spray. To the rear of the cockpit is a stainless steel arch, home to most of the Sean Seamour II’s passive and active sensors from radar to GPS and NAVTEX, as well as the wind generator used to produce electricity to sustain the electronic system aboard. Just beyond the arch is the canister that contains the six-person Zodiac Bombard offshore life raft. Two lifelines surround the entire perimeter of the boat. The interior of the boat is as comfortable as the cockpit, and elegant, with the gleaming cherrywood that JP selected for the cabin’s trim. From the cockpit, there are three steps down the companionway that lead to the main salon. The chart table and communications center is to starboard, while on the port side is the dining table and wraparound settee. Just aft of the chart table is the galley on the starboard side, followed by the main cabin and the head (bathroom), boasting a bathtub to port.
As the men eat dinner, JP mentions that the latest weather report continues to call for favorable conditions. Rudy can’t remember when he last felt so relaxed. No phone calls, no television, and no schedules. Even the sunset looks as stunning as any he’s ever seen, with shades of pink, red, and orange shining over the dark sea below. A bit later, when it is completely dark, he sees his first phosphorescence. The strange light is caused by the chemical reactions in bioluminescent plankton. Because earlier mariners incorrectly thought the shimmering light was the mineral phosphorus, the term “phosphorescence” is sometimes used for the strange phenomenon of the glowing plankton. Its beauty is enhanced by the waves, moving the plankton and causing its light to be bright one minute and less so the next. Some sailors think the radiant light looks like millions of stars or an aurora borealis; others think it resembles the twinkling lights of a city seen from an airplane. Rudy just thinks it’s beautiful.
The entire trip so far has been magical for Rudy: the dolphins, the changes provided by the Gulf Stream, and now the shimmering sea. Ben and JP have seen these marvels on their prior trips, but observing Rudy’s astonishment makes them feel the wonder anew. The Sean Seamour II is sailing smartly, and in the distance they see the lights of a large ship passing by and the light from a nearby weather buoy.
As the men enjoy the night, Rudy asks JP how he came to own the Sean Seamour II. JP smiles and thinks, Where to begin? He explains that after he crossed the Atlantic in his first boat, the Lou Pantai, he devoted the next couple of years to actively managing his inn in France while increasing its size by six additional guest rooms. It was during this period that he met Mayke, and their relationship blossomed during trips on the Lou Pantai. They eventually replaced the Lou Pantai with the Sean Seamour I, soon to be followed by the larger Sean Seamour II. JP had learned much on his earlier Atlantic crossing and felt the Sean Seamour II—a heavier boat with a center cockpit— would be ideal for his ultimate goal of circumnavigating the globe. The name of the last two vessels was chosen by Mayke and is a play on Jean Pierre’s first name and his love of the sea: “sea” and amour (which means “love” in French).
In 2002 JP and Mayke decided to move the Sean Seamour II from France to the eastern seaboard of America, where they were considering settling down. The couple took the vessel on the first leg of the journey westward through the Mediterranean, then past the Canary Islands, continuing to Cape Verde. Because JP was needed back at the inn, he hired a charter captain to take the vessel the rest of the way to Florida. Later, when time allowed, the couple flew to Florida, where the vessel was moored in Tampa, and they took an extended sail, first voyaging southward through the Florida Keys, then northward through the Intercoastal Waterway to Chesapeake Bay.
On a different trip in 2003, they visited Oriental, North Carolina, and found a house they liked so much they made an offer on it. Mayke, however, was not a U.S. citizen, and to buy a house together would involve loads of paperwork, expense, and time. JP had a plan to solve the problem: They would marry. While Mayke was getting ready for a day of sailing, JP scouted around for a justice of the peace and found one at the Oriental Town Hall. Then he rushed back to Mayke, who was in the shower. “Hurry up and get dressed!” JP hollered. “Come on, we’re getting married.” Mayke liked the idea, and an hour later, in a brief ceremony at the town hall, the two made it official.
Although the house in Oriental was a dream come true, the couple was unable to sell the inn quickly, and as months dragged on without a buyer, they were forced to sell their newly bought North Carolina home.
When the inn finally did sell in 2006, JP and Mayke relocated to a remote hillside hamlet thirty miles north of Saint-Tropez, where they purchased another home. The only thing left to do was to sail the Sean Seamour II back across the Atlantic to its new home in a harbor not far from Saint-Tropez. Both JP and the vessel would then be back at the very place where he first fell in love with the sea.
JP wasn’t sure what he would do next. He had not yet given up his dream of circumnavigation inspired by Robin Lee Graham’s voyage on Dove. He felt a kinship with Graham, a fellow free spirit and nonconformist who wasn’t afraid of hard work or risk. But Graham had done his voyage when he was quite young, and now JP was fifty-seven with a wife and a home that needed much work. He resolved to keep an open mind and let life take its course. Whether or not he made his around-the-world voyage, JP had finally found true happiness with Mayke in their hillside home, and for the first time in his life felt truly content.