Tropic Disorientation
20 June 2022
• 2 50n 82 15w
by Karl
For my whole life in the northern hemisphere, my sense of direction has been keenly conditioned on the direction shadows fall at midday. In the past few days while headed south the midday sun at our backs confuses our sense of direction. It feels like left should be west with the sun at my back, but it is not. With the sun at our back, it seems we should be headed pole-wards, but we are not, as we are still (just barely) north if the equator, The tropics are the zone between the latitude where the sun is overhead at the solstices - the Tropic of Cancer at the Tropic of Capricorn are the latitude lines where the sun is directly overhead on the solstices. One is north and the other is south, and I can't for the life of me remember which is which, and strangely, there is no book or chart on board with the answer to that mystery.
Due to this subtropical confusion zone, Robin and I have both been mixing up east and west at times, but we are getting better.
What I can tell you is that the sun will reach its peak northerly declination on Tuesday morning at 8 am EDT, at around 23 degrees 26.3 minutes - the northern summer solstice. Which, strangely, will be a non-event here in the equatorial region. Days and nights are about equal length, and the sun's zenith at about 70 degrees is actually a lower angle than the sun will be in New York City today (about 73 degrees).
At 0700 this morning I heard Robin say, âthere's a boat out here that is way too small to be all the way out here.â âMust be one of those long-line fishing boat line-tenders.â At about 730, âIt is a fishing boat but they are waving us off in a direction that I can't point.â I poke my head out - âlet's tack then, we can use some southing.â So we tacked as the three men in small open motorboat with a flared bow waved and pointed, and we left them behind approaching a tiny float buoy fashioned out of a water jug. The Sailing Directions said this would happen:
âThere will usually be a mother boat and one or two long dories, usually about 40 feet. If they see you, they will usually attempt to guide you around the end of the long line.â
An hour later, Robin announced that we were being headed southeast again, and tacked back to port tack.
Most of the day was pleasant sailing, beating into a steady force 4 breeze with gentle seas, mostly cloudy skies, and breaks of sun. For a Father's Day treat, we used some satellite phone minutes to have a family call with Justin and Beryl, familiar voices from far away.
The ghost birds are with us again tonight, at sunset we could see they are large, black headed terns of some sort with white wings and split tails. I am mesmerized watching two of them flicker in the beam of green light to starboard, seemingly drawn to the light, perhaps as it illuminates their prey.
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