Day 6 on QM2 – Final Day at Sea : Departure Preparations

“We sighted the shores of the Western World.”

Cunard Traveller May 14th, 1870

Early Morning on the Promenade

 
No matter how late the night before, no matter how tired he might be, Sean rises before dawn on a ship.

It is a habit I have come to expect and accept. Somewhere around 5:00 or 5:30 AM, long before most passengers stir, he slips out of bed and heads for the deck. He likes the predawn light - the quiet hour when the ship feels suspended between night and morning, dark and light. While I remain snug under the covers, sometimes resting, sometimes reading, he walks loops along the promenade regardless of wind or weather.

The only downside to this ritual is that before he leaves, he turns on the navigation channel to assess conditions and decide what jacket to wear or see if he needs a sweater on. There is nothing quite like being sound asleep when a bright blue navigation screen suddenly illuminates the cabin beside your side of the bed.

 With that said, this morning he noted (as I pulled the cover higher over my head) that it was expected to rain with lightning and that we were to experience moderate seas and conditions are noted as a 6 on the Beaufort scale. Outside it is 16 degrees with a sea temperature of 12 degrees Celsius. We are voyaging at a speed of 23 knots and look to be at the southern tip of Nova Scotia, just off the coast of Shelburne, NS - a position somewhat confirmed by the sight of several fishing boats beyond the railings of our sheltered balcony.

If it hadn’t been for the overcast conditions, Canada would almost literally be in sight.

Holding on, Letting Go

 
By the sixth day at sea, our transatlantic crossing had clearly arced toward its conclusion. Arrival in New York was no longer an abstract or a distant possibility, and with that realization came a subtle but unmistakable shift in tone on board.

After days of being carried across the Atlantic, the routines and rhythms of ship life had become so familiar that it was easy to forget how temporary they were. Yet on this morning, the sense of conclusion was unmistakable. The Atlantic no longer felt endless.

As such, today is about making the most of the time left on board. So our goals are to try to “slow everything down” and hold onto the moment. To indulge in those aspects of these voyages that for so many days we have taken for granted. It would be a day of wandering, keeping our schedule light and resisting the rush back to land and what comes next.

Birds, Boats and Breakfast

 
With Sean on deck, I eventually got dressed and set out to find him up on deck. Meandering through QM2, I passed through the Lido and picked up a coffee to take with me – both to wake up and to keep my hands warm. Stepping onto the promenade, I embraced the fresh air despite its coolness. Walking the length of the ship, the deck felt as though it rose and fell under my feet.

I soon found Sean at the stern of the vessel, watching the ship’s wake trailing behind us. A long line of white ripples. Joining him, standing at the salt-covered railings, I found myself scanning the horizon – not for land (which was still well beyond sight), but for signs of movement and signs of life.

Within a few minutes, a gull appeared and then another, then more.

The first couple did not linger long, circling briefly in the ship’s wake before veering off. But the sheer number of them was a clear indicator. Gulls tend to follow ships closer to coastlines, where fishing traffic and continental shelves create feeding opportunities. Seeing more and more undoubtedly meant that we were closer to land than we had been in some time.

Even the birds and whales were reminding us how close to the end of the voyage we were.

Hungry, we stepped inside and made our way to Britannia for breakfast. Seated, we ordered our usual morning meal, nodded to fellow passengers that we had come to know by sight if not by name, and enjoyed the grand space once more.

Notes from the Navigator and Daily Program Activities

 
As we sat waiting for our food, we read through the daily program – out of habit rather than interest.

Today marked International LGBT Day, commemorating the Stonewall Riots of 1969 and recognizing the ongoing struggles and achievements of the LGBT community. The acknowledgment felt fitting on a ship carrying people from multiple nations, backgrounds, and orientations across shared waters.

“From the Navigator : Queen Mary 2 will pass south of the Georges Banks. This is a large, submerged sandbank between Cape Cod and Cape Sable Island, which has been a long standing important fishing ground. We will then set a westerly course towards the New York Traffic Separation Scheme and the Nantucket Fairways. Passing to the south of Long Island at a minimum distance of 20 miles. In the early hours of tomorrow morning we will enter the Sandy Hook pilot station, making the traditional end of a transatlantic passage. From there we will pass under the Verrazano Bridge which our funnel will clear by approximately 4 metres, and then up to the Buttermilk Channel where we will berth at the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal.”

Some of the activities planned for the final sea day included:

10:15 AM - Line Dancing with Eden & Jacob – Queen’s Room
12:30 PM – Lunchtime Melodies with Pianist Javier Vasconcellos – Carinthia Lounge
5:15 PM - Harmony String Trio – Commodore Club
8:45 PM - Made in Britain Dancing – Queen’s Room

Much of the language of the daily program felt, to us, like a procedural countdown. Sandy Hook. Pilot station. Verrazano Bridge. All markers of the traditional end of a transatlantic passage.

Wandering Once Again

While we intend to enjoy a few of the on-board activities, we mostly intend to wander.

As we have on other days, there were moments when (it felt like) we walked every staircase on board without intending to go anywhere, simply tracing the ship’s length and returning to the same view of open water. Simply trying to be here and hold on.

Today we did just that. We walked up staircases without a destination. Traversed decks only to return to where we began. We ended up outside at the railing, just looking outward.

On the promenade, the Atlantic felt as though it had subtly changed. There were more ships that appeared more frequently on the horizon (when it wasn't foggy). More gulls followed the vessel for longer stretches (again when not fogged in). Each felt as though they were connections between us and others, between the ship and shore.

Captain’s Noon Announcement

For the first time on any of our crossings, we entirely missed the Captain’s Noon Announcement. There was no deliberate choice in it. We were somewhere in the midst of wandering the ship…perhaps along the promenade, or on the top deck or maybe even passing through the Lido, grabbing a cookie.

Wherever we were, it was well after 12 by the time we realized that the announcement had come and gone. We were shocked, it was the first time we had ever missed the captain’s update. The ringing of the bell, the navigational report, and daily anecdotes were part of our daily routines that we looked forward to.

Yet today, so caught up in the fact that our spring hikes and this journey are coming to an end, neither of us even heard it.

Departure Preparations

 
In the afternoon, the small practicalities of departure preparations began.

The morning refresh of our room meant that the luggage mats had been set out on the beds to protect the sheets. Information about our disembarkation time had been left on the desk, placed alongside the ignored colour-coded luggage tags we received last night.

I set off and did laundry so that we could pack our clothes freshly washed. At the same time, Sean began sorting everything we had. Different piles began to be appear throughout our cabin.

What we needed to wear tonight.
What we needed to wear to disembark.
What we needed to get through customs and security.
Hiking and Camping Gear.
Photography equipment.
What we wanted to hand over to the porter tonight.
What we wanted to carry off ourselves.

Oddly, whether because we were tired after a long series of hikes and voyages, or because the whole process felt a little despairing, these decisions took longer than expected. These types of logistics are not our strong suit.

In the end, our laundry was also sorted. Our camping gear was returned to our backpacks. Our formal clothes were carefully folded and placed into our rolling luggage bags. Cameras were backed up, voyage photographs were transferred and duplicated.

High Tea

Ready to escape our room and pack by mid-afternoon, we set off to the Queen’s Room for High Tea.

But even here, the focus was on arrival. Talk of onward travel predominated. Trains, flights, connections and “everything that had to be done at home”.

Amid the elegance and ceremony of scones, clotted cream and tea the realities of life on shore resurfaced.

Considering our Future

Though we didn’t want to think about what comes next, as the day progressed, even our thoughts began returning more insistently to the Trans Canada Trail and the Arctic trek waiting for us. The scale of that undertaking, momentarily softened by the crossing and gentle hikes in the UK, came back into focus.

If all went well (and it rarely does), it would take us from late spring through to fall to hike almost 2500 km from Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta, to Whitehorse, Yukon. It would be a trek through remote sections, tough topography, and unpredictable weather, along with the daily need to cover the required and regular long distances necessary.

At home, everything is ready to go – supplies, resupply boxes, and our itinerary. All logistics that would fall squarely on our shoulders.

There was no dread in this realization, but there was weight. The Arctic portion of the trail had always carried a different reality - not because it promised difficulty alone, but because it demanded sustained commitment and attention. Once on it, there would be limited help and few ways to get off until the end. Hiking to the Arctic was always going to be tougher than the 14,000 km walk from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

Strolling in Circles

Inside the ship, we lingered in our favourite lounges. On deck, we walked simply to move, to absorb the last of the voyage. At the aft, standing at the railings, we watched as waves and wake spread outward behind us.

Outside, the sky alternated between clear blues and fast-moving banks of fog or low-lying clouds.  Amid this gulls and gannets were increasingly frequent. 

The high point of the afternoon came when we spotted several tails breaking the surface in quick succession - dolphins, unmistakably. A pod pacing the ship. We watched, thrilled and frustrated in equal measure. The sightings were too brief to identify the species. It was exciting and frustrating at the same time.

There is something about the final sea day that seems to heighten your awareness. You look longer. You try to listen more closely. You strive to fix certain sensations and moments in memory - the sound of wind through railing, the low, constant thrum of engines, the snap of the ship’s flag at the aft, the faint scent of salt on fabric or under your hand along the ship’s railings. These little things are defining aspects of the journey, and I often worry that when I step away on shore, they will be the first to be forgotten.

I don’t want these details to fade.

The Authority of Nature

As we stood on deck striving to hold onto the moment, the ship’s public announcement system crackled on – and we were thrown a lifeline.

The captain’s voice filled the interior of QM2 and her outside decks. Due to tidal timing, our entry into New York would be delayed by approximately four hours. Instead of passing into the harbour at 3 or 4 AM, it would be after 8 AM that we passed under the Verrazano Bridge.

Again, we are mindful that despite the genius of Queen Mary 2’s design and modern technology, rivers and tides still rule. Modern schedules must still bend to the ancient forces of nature.

Beyond these realities, however, we had been given exactly what we most wanted – more time on board!

Sunsets and a Gust of Wind

Elated at the news of gaining even a few more hours, we returned to our cabin, freshened up and dressed for the evening. Setting out, we walked the promenade to enjoy the stunning sunset that had begun to light up the skies.

Here I should say that I am far more comfortable in convertible hiking pants on a trail than in a formal dress on deck. There are reasons for this - reasons my mother understood when she made me wear jeans or leggings under dresses in elementary school.

Tonight proved her wisdom.

While watching the sunset on our final evening aboard Queen Mary 2, a sudden gust of wind caught my dress and flipped it entirely over my head. For one mortifying second, I was entirely at the mercy of Atlantic airflow – and NOT with a pair of jeans or leggings on underneath.

Thankfully, the deck was nearly empty. Hopefully no one noticed - beyond Sean, who took a teenager’s delight in the moment and, of course, a photograph.

Sigh. This is my life, and the person I travel through it with. Wonderful most of the time, childish at others.

We retreated inside shortly thereafter, more than slightly wary of further random gusts of wind.

Dinner Reflections on QM2

As had many of the venues throughout the day, dinner in Britannia was full of reflective conversations. And so, under the soft lighting of the dining room, talk around the room focused on practicalities – disembarkation times, luggage pickups, onward travel plans, and getting home. Thus shift happens near the end of every hike, every pilgrimage, and every voyage.

Afterwards, we made our way to the Commodore Club. The musicians read the room perfectly, adjusting tempo and song choice to those present. It felt wonderful.

By 9:30 PM, we made a final practical decision. We returned to the cabin, changed out of formal clothes, attached luggage tags, and placed our bags in the hallway for collection.

Not wanting to sit in a now almost empty room, we stayed up until after 2 AM in the Chart Room, talking with others who seemed equally reluctant to let the crossing end.

Final Night on Queen Mary 2

Later, walking through the corridors, around us, stewards and porters were efficiently gathering luggage. When we noticed that ours had been taken as well, it felt as though the crossing was complete in all but name.

Back in our room, our final invoice had been slipped under the door. We placed it in our backpack without reviewing it. The charges would settle automatically anyway.

In just a few hours, New York will appear. We will have one final sunrise at sea. The ship would slow, procedures would replace routines, and the luxury of the crossing would resolve into the realities of life once again.

Beyond Brooklyn’s harbour, the long pathway of the Trans Canada Trail – this time toward the north and the Arctic – waited once more.

See you on board!

Nautical Term for the Day - “Time and Tides Wait for No One” - is a proverb reminding us that both time and natural forces move forward relentlessly, and no person can stop or delay them - so we must act while we can.