Panorama in calmer water

When crossing the Equator for the first time, sailors have traditionally undergone a “line-crossing ceremony” which often includes being dunked in the ocean three times. Recently, on my first northern line crossing, I inadvertently presided over my own unexpected dunking, a baptism of sorts in the early morning hours, just as we were crossing Latitude 66.56 N, the Arctic Circle. 

My wife and I were on the Panorama, a 173′ motor sailing cruise ship, on a week-long trip on the west coast of Iceland, from Akureyri to Reykjavik, making five port calls along the way. Like most cruise ships, the Panorama did most of her sailing at night so the 34 passengers aboard would wake up at a different port every morning.

The first leg outside of sheltered waters, sailing from Siglufjordur to Holmavik was a bit rough. The ship rolled, pitched and heaved most of the night so that many of our fellow passengers looked somewhat the worse for a lack of sleep the next morning.  The worst was yet to come. 

We were advised that taking Dramamine might be a good idea for the next leg of the voyage, from Holmavik to Isafjordur. Not only would it be the longest passage of the cruise but we would be briefly crossing the Arctic Circle as we rounded the northern tip of the Hornstrandir peninsula. 

All things considered, the motion that night wasn’t all that bad. I managed to fall asleep in all the rocking and rolling. My biggest concern was that my wife who has a harder time sleeping in the motion might get so annoyed at my slumber that she might try to smother me with a pillow. 

Around 3AM, the motion got noticeably more violent. Unfortunately, this coincided with my need to go to the bathroom. When I could ignore my bladder no longer I made my way to the head, (which on a cruise ship can probably be called a bathroom.) I moved from one handhold to another until I covered the short distance to the door and was pleased to have made it without stubbing a toe or closing the door on my fingers. 

Once I used the toilet, I turned to get a drink of water from a water bottle. To hold the bottle and turn the cap, I had to use both hands, which was a mistake.

The ship took a deep roll and I was thrown across the bathroom, through the shower curtain, and into the shower. As I careened by, I knocked the shower lever with my arm.

Suddenly, I was drenched in a torrent of cold water from the showerhead. Now fully awake, pelted by cold water, my first thought was to see if I had been hurt. Apparently, I escaped without broken bones or even bruises. For a moment I just sat there on my backside in my pajamas in the shower with the cold water flowing down on my head. Then I started to laugh. It was just too absurd not to. I shut off the water, untangled myself from the shower curtain, stripped off my sodden pajamas and made my way back to the berth. 

The next morning, I checked the approximate time at which the ship had crossed the Arctic Circle and found that it was roughly the same time when I had my unexpected cold water baptism in the shower.  My early morning cold water rinse may not have been a proper line-crossing ceremony, but as far as I am concerned, it was close enough.