Leaving Wake

Lionfish

It's amazing how fast an island the size of Wake sinks below the horizon. Seven miles of land and nothing taller than a tree certainly can't be seen from very far away. We started transiting during dinner and by the time I checked outside, all signs of Wake had vanished. Except for the tan on my face and hands, some pictures and many bumps and bruises of unknown origin, you wouldn't know that we've spent the last five days diving at one of the most remote reefs in the Pacific (by the way, I never know what roll or bounce into the ocean floor or into a bit of pointy stainless steel causes what mallady, so the bruises are no big deal). It's been a hectic 120 hours filled with pounding steel stakes into the ocean bottom, counting corals, carrying SCUBA tanks, counting algae, moving tanks after people don't put them where there supposed to be, moving them again with a few well placed moans and groans and trying to coordinate 7 different scientists on one small boat that rolls through the waves like a pig wallowing in jello - and as for coordinating with scientists, think herding 7 pissy, wet cats (sorry for the terminology, but really, the word just fits).

Now I'm exhausted, sore in too many places, looking forward to my bed and I'm sorry to say that all you get for the evening is one pretty picture and these few lines to confirm that although salty and soggy, we're safe. I promise I'll post more photos tomorrow after I blissfully sleep through a morning without an alarm clock ringing at 5:45.

So good night for now, where ever you may be,

Cristi