1) The Passage, day 6.

Day 6,

I am alone.

It’s almost a week that I’ve spent on the sea and I’m starting to miss human contact.

I miss the pleasant warmth of the varied humanity of Titran’s fishermen. The smell of salted and smoked meat, and the heat after a nice sip of Akevitt. The dazzling smile of the tavern’s owner.

Now there is only the water; an endless expanse of dark water.

For days now, not even the white light of the Sletringen lighthouse has peeked out in the distance.

I am alone.

The cold is intense here, and the vast blackness of the eternal polar night is unbearable. Like an eternal twilight.

But I deserve that. It is right that I should suffer.

The Nordlys is a wonderful boat; the nicest fishing boat I’ve ever seen. It was designed for a crew of six men, but I haven’t asked anyone to join me. I have to serve my punishment. Lys cleaves the darkness in silence, almost as if she is floating, gracefully. She is my only friend at the moment.

Now after a week aboard, I know all her twenty meters by six better than I know myself.

From here the sea seems eternal, wild, immutable. Almost magic. Like a reflection of my soul. Tormented. Anguished.

If only you were also here with me.

I started this diary because my days are pure waiting.

By now the Lys’s batteries are almost empty, and with this darkness the solar panels require a long time to recharge.

And maybe I pushed myself too far from the coast. It’s been days since I’ve seen it in any direction. 

Not even the seagulls are out.

It's just me, Lys and the sea.

A dark and unpredictable sea.

Lately, the hydrophones under the boat sometimes catch the song of a fin whale in the distance.

The first time, it was almost like an angel's song. As I listened to it, cold, salty tears slid down my rough cheeks into my beard.

You would have loved this song.

I confess that I found myself praying that one of these wonders of nature would visit me again.

Every now and then I can capture some cod or wolfish in my nets, sometimes some halibut, and just yesterday a school of mackerel swam right into my net. At least I kept myself busy all day, and in the evening, I enjoyed a nice hot fish soup.

When everything is calm and flat, I walk along the balustrade, abandon myself to my thoughts, and let the frigid spray of the sea keep me lucid.

And above all, I try to ignore the deafening call of the waves, asking me to surrender to their darkness.

The weather is unpredictable and labile. It can pass from calm to storm in the blink of an eye. The first few days I found myself struggling when high and furious waves and howling and scornful winds appeared from nothing.

Honestly, I have no idea how I got through it.

Now, I have to go. The hydrophone is singing again.

See you.

Artist: Ilaria M., "Continua il Viaggio"(2018)