Day 3 on QM2 – Mid Atlantic : Storms, Dolphins and Petrels

“Yesterday I was on the bridge, watching the mountainous waves, and this ship – which is no pub – cutting through them and mocking their anger.”

Sir Winston Churchill on Queen Elizabeth, Jan 1946

Slow Morning, Room Service

When I first opened my eyes, the cabin was already filled with light, the curtains only half drawn and the sky beyond them brighter than expected. After a long Gala night, we had slept in, and for the first time on any voyage, we had ordered room service to have breakfast in our cabin.

We had placed the small order request card on our door last night. As such, this morning, just after 8 AM, there was a polite knock. Navigating the narrow doorway to both open the door and let the steward in while he carried stacked trays proved more complicated than anticipated. Despite these hurdles, the steward entered with the covered plates, glasses of orange juice and cups of coffee well balanced.

The table they were placed on was small, complicating things a little, but ultimately it all worked out.

There is something deeply luxurious about not having to step into the public of the main restaurant immediately - no navigating linen napkins or polished cutlery first thing in the morning. Some days at sea, you want elegance. On other days, you want coffee, to sit in coziness, and enjoy.

With our meal laid out, we opened the balcony door, and with the Atlantic passing by only metres away, we ate. While breakfast in our room was nowhere near as elegant as a meal in Britannia, it was wonderful nonetheless. Full and with our second cup of coffee in hand, we stood on the balcony in our loose hiking clothes and watch the waves of the sea break down the side of the ship.

Well away from us was a large cargo ship on the horizon, yet despite its size, it looked small in these vast waters. Out here amid the scale of the seascape around you, ego collapses. You quickly see that even a vessel as large as Queen Mary 2 is simply negotiating its passage.

Orientation from Navigation Channel

The flow of the morning and breakfast were only briefly disrupted when Sean put on the TV to check the navigation channel. The screen confirmed what we already knew – we were in the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean, well beyond the shores of either the UK or Europe.

Last night we again gained an hour of time. Today, weather conditions are expected to be cloudy, while we will experience slight seas with moderate swell. The winds are coming from a westerly direction and are noted as a 4 on the Beaufort scale. Outside, it is 15 degrees with a sea temperature of 14 degrees Celsius, and we are moving at a speed of 25 knots.

Notes from the Navigator and Daily Program Activities

As we continued to rest in our room, we checked today’s daily program.

“Today Queen Mary 2 will sail over the Mid-Atlantic ridge. This is a series of large undersea mountain ranges extending all the way from Iceland in the Northern Hemisphere down towards Antarctica in the Southern Hemisphere. Here, depths can shallow out to less than 1,000 metres (3,300 feet) before deepening again quickly to over 3,500 metres (11,500 feet). It generally runs equidistant between the continents either side of the Atlantic. The ridge is growing and is estimated to be spreading by between 2 - 5 cm per year in an east - west direction.”

What held our attention from these notes was the notion of sailing over the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. The fact that beneath the keel of QM2 lies a hidden mountain chain stretching from Iceland toward Antarctica. A seem were the earth’s tectonic plates were slowly pulling apart. Perhaps it was these details or perhaps it was the reorientation in our minds that the ocean floor is not flat, in fact, it is a fractured, volcanic and diverse realm that we know little about.

Beyond being distracted by the idea of Ocean topography, our schedule also noted the outstanding on-board activities offered today, some of which include:

11:00AM - Featured Speaker : Mensun Bound – Royal Court Theatre
1:15 PM - Cunard Insight Talk : Matthew Towler – Cold War Games and Espionage
3:30 PM - Afternoon Tea with Pianist Campbell Simpson – Queen’s Room
6:15 PM – Harmony String Trio – Commodore Club
9:00 PM – Through the Decades Music Trivia – Golden Lion Pub

Smell of the Sea, Shifting Perspectives

With breakfast done and as Sean cleaned up for the day, I again stepped out onto the balcony. The air felt slightly cooler than the day before, and the sea looked a bit darker and more textured. Low swells passed alongside the hull.

There is a particular quality to mid-Atlantic water. It is not the choppy grey of coastal shallows nor the glassy calm of sheltered bays. It moves in broader gestures. The horizon forms a perfect panorama, and the sky seems larger because there is nothing to interrupt it beyond a few clouds in the sky.

I've come to think that the ocean is interesting. When you are on land and come close, you believe you can “smell the sea” – this sense includes the odour of salt in the air, or the smell of wet sand, or the pungent odour of seaweed. On land that is the sea. Because of this, I assumed that if you were out in the middle of the ocean, these same scents would be the smell of the voyage. But the fact is, that they aren’t.

The smell we associate with the ocean is not the open ocean at all – it is the shoreline. Unromantically, it is rotting seaweed, tidal flats, and microscopic life breaking down in the coastal shallows. The smell is the scent of the transition zone between land and sea.

Here in the mid-Atlantic, that familiar odour disappears. The ocean smells saltier but cleaner.

And yet, around us and beneath us, life is everywhere. Blooms of phytoplankton - invisible to the naked eye - drift full of nutrients, forming the foundation of the entire Atlantic ecosystem. The abundance that feeds whales and seabirds begins in layers we will never see. Standing on deck, breathing in what seems like emptiness, we are in fact suspended above one of the most dynamic living systems on earth.

To stand on deck (or on your balcony) amid the North Atlantic Ocean is a wonderful experience, and one that utterly reorients your sense of the world.

What is there to see on a Transatlantic Crossing?

Given that I keep reiterating that so much of the ocean is unseen – whether it be ocean topography of underwater ecosystems – it naturally gives way to what is there to see and do on a Transatlantic crossing? After all, there are no ports of call, few passing coastlines and almost no visible features to mark our progress.

We’ve had friends and family ask similar questions – Seven days at sea? With nothing but water? What do you do?

Well, I suppose the most honest answer is that it depends entirely on what one believes “seeing” means. If you are expecting landmarks or visible mountain ranges, you might be disappointed. Even other ships are rare, appearing rarely as faint smudges on the waterline before they are gone.

But if seeing means paying attention and catching the nuances of the water or the feel of the ship or catching sight of the spout of a whale or a variety of bird species, then on board, there is more than enough.

Out here, no two hours are ever alike. The texture of the water changes with wind strength. The colour of the waters shifts with the lighting and weather conditions. Swells lengthen and shorten, altering the feel of the vessel, and the weather can alternate between violent storms and warm summer days.

There are days when the horizon appears impossibly vast and times when the sea and sky merge into a single sheet of grey. Some sunrises and sunsets cover the sky in a spectrum of colours, and each is unique to that moment. Sometimes the sea sparkles or the skies are dappled with clouds, changing the entire view from the deck.

There is also the life beyond the railings – seabirds, gulls, dolphins, and whales.

We have watched for hours as petrels skip inches above the surface, and shearwaters bank in long arcs between swells. We have seen the quick flash of dolphins as they play and watched as pods of whales spout not far off from us. Most of these sightings require the patience to wait and watch for them but they are there.

And then there is the ship itself. Watching how she responds to changing conditions, sighting the angle of spray along the bow, and feeling the vessel shift as it moves through swells. The way the crew adjust the doors and decks in anticipation of weather.

The fact is that on Queen Mary 2, a transatlantic crossing has lots to see.

Illuminations and Insight Talks

On board, seeing at sea is not confined to what can be spotted at the railings, sometimes it happens indoors. This morning, we made our way to Illuminations, the planetarium and lecture theatre tucked into the forward section of the ship. Cunard’s Insight and education program are key parts to the voyage.

One of today’s Insight talks was by Matthew Towler on Cold War Games and Espionage. It was one of what is likely to be a series of lectures on the history of spying. The topic was interesting enough to fill the room, the speaker and his own mysteriousness made it even more engaging.

The theatre’s curved seating and large stage made it easy to forget you were at sea, but even inside, the ocean made its presence known. Through the high windows in the corridor outside, waves were visible rising and falling against the hull. It is a peculiar experience to sit inside a formal auditorium while the Atlantic rolls steadily beyond the wall – the vibrations of which can be felt throughout the room.

Walking the Decks

By late morning, we found ourselves outside walking along the promenade deck. The sky had shifted since earlier in the day, and thin clouds were moving in from the west. The sea took on a slightly steelier tone. One of those constant variations in light at sea was underway, wherein the colours never quite settle.

We walked again, not to exercise but simply to feel the movement beneath our feet. The rhythm of long-distance walking remains in the body even when you stop. The promenade, circling the ship, offers a contained version of that familiar cadence.

At one point, a gannet appeared briefly, riding the air currents along the ship’s wake before veering off. It was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived, a reminder that even here, far from land, life moves through these spaces with intention.

High Winds and Atlantic Storms

"Confronting a storm is like fighting God. All the powers in the universe seem to be against you and, in an extraordinary way, your irrelevance is at the same time both humbling and exalting."

Francis LeGrande

At one point, as we walked the decks, the sky began to shift. What had been rough but manageable swells took on a different tone. The light dimmed. A fine mist of rain swept across the decks, barely noticeable at first. Most passengers did what people instinctively do when the weather turns - we retreated inside.

Soon, the wind strengthened and its intensity built up. Then all at once, it began to roar along the superstructure, making the exterior doors whistle and rattle in their frames. What had been a steady roll then became a deeper and more noticeable motion.

Given the conditions, it was not long before crew members closed access to the observation deck, lookout area, promenade and the upper decks. Retractable cloth barriers were put across doors, and signs were put out warning that the outside decks were now closed due to high winds.

Outside, everything loose was stowed. Inside the ship, glassware in the lido chimed as the hull rose and settled through the long Atlantic swells.

It was a powerful reminder: Queen Mary 2 is not a resort or simple cruise ship drifting through engineered calm. She is an ocean liner, built for this corridor of the North Atlantic where the weather can be unpredictable. Unlike cruise ships designed around circular itineraries where roughness can often be avoided, this route cannot simply be detoured. Conditions can be minimized - but not eliminated. The Atlantic remains in charge.

And yet, beyond the whistle of wind and the tremor that occasionally could be felt through the ship, much on board remained composed and unaffected. We found ourselves seated along one of the large windows outside of Illuminations, watching the waves strike the hull. At times, the water and waves rose high enough to wash across the windows. There is something extraordinary about witnessing such force from within safety.

As the storm intensified, indoor venues understandably grew busier. The lido and Golden Lion filled up, and the presentation in Illuminations was well attended. Unfortunately, some passengers began to feel ill with the motion of the ship. We have always counted ourselves fortunate. Despite being prepared for sea sickness with ginger mints and medicine, we have never felt unwell at sea.

While not necessarily a pleasant period, being stuck inside it felt like a necessary experience.  How QM2 moved and negotiated the violence and might of the Atlantic felt like a reminder of both why and how she is unique. Throughout it all, what was clear was that Queen Mary 2 was not striving to escape the storm – she was moving through it with purpose and without delay.

Afternoon Snack

As the storm’s intensity continued and the outside decks remained closed, we drifted toward the Corinthia Lounge. Having slept late and indulged in room service this morning, we had opted to skip lunch. But seated here with a selection of small snacks nearby, we soon found ourselves getting a serving of breaded macaroni and cheese.

Two small bowls and a slice of garlic bread. Nothing elaborate, just some simple comfort food to enjoy. We carried our bowls to a seat near the windows and ate slowly.

We have had this small snack before, and for whatever reason, I have always loved it on board. It is wildly addictive, and if it was all they served, I would be more than happy to have it again and again throughout the crossing.

Clear Afternoon Bird watching

What a difference an hour or two can make at sea. Where, not long ago, grey skies, high winds, and whitecaps had predominated the conditions outside, now there was light. By mid-afternoon, the storm had passed, and blue skies could be seen. Soon after the decks were reopened, and we, along with many others, stepped out.

Everything felt clean and fresh. The air was wonderful, and the wet decks glistened in the sun. The staff were also soon outside, putting deck chairs and their comfortable blue Cunard cushions out along the promenade.

Having done little today, we set off to walk a few circuits of the promenade. As always, this deck seems to possess two distinct personalities. With one side of the ship being perpetually cooler and more wind-exposed, while the other is warmer, especially in the sun. Regardless, for those getting some exercise, the cooler side put a bit of kick into your step to keep moving as much as the sunnier side made one want to stretch out, sit with a good book and take a nap.

It was good to simply be outside again.

With the decks getting fuller of passengers, we made our way up to Deck 11, the observation area that sits beneath the bridge. From here, you can peer over the edge and look down the full length of the vessel or over the front of the ship. It is one of the best vantage points on board. Though admittedly, there are times here that wind and cold can be so extreme that the briskness of it can bring a tear to your eye.

Almost immediately after stepping out, and bracing against the wind on the starboard side my binoculars fogged up slightly, the result of moving from the warmth inside to the cooler breezes outside. So while we scanned the waters for shearwaters and fulmars as they dove between troughs and swells, I had to wait for my binoculars to clear up.

Bird sightings were sporadic and fleeting. Occasionally, something would pass through our field of view, serving as brief reminders that even here, far from land, life continued on its own terms.

Something would appear low over a swell - a dark line slicing between wave crests - and then vanish again. Petrels in particular seem almost unreal in their movements. They would arrive, skim, tilt, and then disappear over the shoulder of a wave or into a fold of air beyond our sightline.

Today, there was not much to see in terms of bird life, or at the very least not much that we saw of the birds here. As the ship had moved further from land and deeper into Atlantic waters, it was our sense that the number of birds had begun to thin out. First, the gulls disappeared, then the gannets and eventually we were left with only the occasional shearwater in the ship’s wake or above the waves.

For birders, these changes in species and bird numbers were like navigational markers. Watching coastal birds fade and pelagic birds dominate, served as a reliable measure of our distance from land.

Great Circle Seabird Corridors

Ocean liners crossing between Europe and North America follow the Great Circle route - an arc that curves northward across the Atlantic, tracing the earth’s curvature rather than a straight line on a flat map. That arc, chosen for efficiency, also intersects some of the richest pelagic zones in the North Atlantic.

Shearwaters, petrels, and gannets also move along these same marine corridors, guided not by charts but by wind systems and productive waters that have shaped their migrations for millennia. Seen this way, we are simply the newest participants following a pathway across the ocean that has long been used.

Pods of Dolphins

The birds were only the visible edge of it. We were still scanning the water’s swells when a new pattern emerged. The Birds shifted direction, banked and dove at the water. The recent storm had clearly churned the Atlantic, pushing nutrients upward. The fish had clearly then responded. And where fish gather, larger hunters are never far behind. We had been watching the sky, but it was marine life that would make the next appearance.

And so it was that sometime in the clearing afternoon, nearly a dozen dolphins appeared off the aft of the ship.  What began as a few quick splashes resolved into multiple sleek bodies surfacing in quicksilver arcs, weaving along the hull and slipping effortlessly through the pressure wave in our wake.

Most (we think) were common dolphins, identifiable by the pale hourglass wash along their flanks when they rolled just beneath the surface. They moved with buoyant confidence, often surfacing in loose synchrony - inhale, arc, dive - before reappearing several metres away, adjusting subtly to both each other’s and the ship’s movement.

Among them were a smaller cluster of five or six darker-backed and more sharply defined, possibly long-beaked commons (unlikely) or striped dolphins (more likely). Their rostrums appearing slightly more elongated when they broke cleanly through the water. These individuals travelled more tightly together, surfacing in coordinated rhythm, less prone to high leaps and more inclined to pace the hull in bursts.

At times, they crossed beneath one another, trading positions within the pod, their movements suggestive not of random play but of opportunistic feeding behaviour - fish likely drawn toward the disturbed water of the liner’s passage. For nearly half an hour, they remained with us, pacing, veering, returning again as though assessing this immense steel presence moving through their territory. Then, without ceremony, they peeled away toward deeper blue, leaving only the steady churn of wake behind.

Afterwards, with the winds getting chilly, we retreated to some of the more sheltered sections along the promenade deck

Evening

Excited by the sheer number of dolphin sightings, the afternoon slipped past quickly. As the light shifted, the Atlantic reflected deeper colours, and the ship’s wake traced a long, steady line behind us as the evening began.

Eventually, we wandered back inside to change – not into something entirely formal but something slightly more than we wore on deck. Refreshed and having spent time in our cabin trying to ID the dolphins that we had just seen, we opted to skip dinner.

Instead, we made our way to the Commodore Club at the forward end of the ship. From here, you can watch the Atlantic waters part ahead of the bow and enjoy the sunset. We found a seat near the large forward windows, ordered drinks and nibbled quietly at bar snacks while the day’s light faded along the western horizon ahead.

As the sun finally slipped away and the last glow faded from the western sky, crew members began closing the forward windows. It is a small ritual but a necessary one, reducing interior light to aid the bridge in night navigation. The effect is immediate: the room dims, reflections disappear, and conversation becomes more subdued.

Tonight we didn’t stay long, and soon we said our goodnights to the couples we had chatted with and to our gracious server who had tended to us throughout the evening. Back in our room, we stepped out onto the balcony once more before bed. The clear conditions that we had enjoyed throughout the afternoon had given way to clear skies at night. Above us, constellations of stars lit up the skies.

Outside, the ocean continued its steady motion, vast and unconcerned. Queen Mary 2 held her westward course.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day – Batten Down the Hatches - Wooden battens were used to secure hatch covers before heavy weather. The modern usage - prepare for trouble - still carries the same bracing urgency.