Strangers in the Night

Somewhere of the coast of Argentina, in a middle of the night, I´m standing on a yacht, smothered in a thick fog.

Steve and I are doing alternating twenty minute stints standing outside the doghouse where we might have negligibly increased chance at seeing something through the fog. I expect that if there was a light coming at us through this fog, I´d barely have time to wet myself before we torn a new one. I can only make out the shadow of the mast, four metres ahead of me. It´s so thick, I´d not be surprised if Adrienne Barbeau called radioed in with news of ghost pirates.

We´re closing on Uruguay and the busy Rio de Plata channel and a few boats are starting to pass us, so far as I can see on radar. They´re close, but out in the dark, they'd be scraping Pelagic's paint before I´d see them.

What I can see, is the wash of the boat as we motor through the water. The wash is giving off luminous green sparks. Apparently it´s something to do with a phosphorescent bacteria or plankton or something. It might just be me, but it seems like there´s even a green hue to what little light we have in the doghouse.