We got the anchor set at 5pm, with the sun four finger-widths above the horizon. We’d just pulled in to White House Bay after the sail south from St. Barths. Right on time. We’ve got a nightly tradition, or maybe just an excuse, in which we mix a couple of cocktails and watch the sun plunge in to the sea. Tonight was no exception and we had a fantastic sail and a new island to toast.
White House Bay is open to the west, offering a view of the better part of half the horizon. Not entirely unusual, as a majority of Caribbean anchorages are on west sides of the islands, providing protection from the easterly trades. Still though, the western view from White House seemed better than most. Maybe it was just the elation of being out of the clutches of St. Martin.
One aspect of this evenings sunset that was unusual, even if the view perhaps was not, was that the sky was almost entirely devoid of clouds all the way to the ends of the horizon. I’ve spent hundreds of nights at anchor, always watching out for good sunsets, and have rarely been able to watch it sink completely unobstructed in to the sea. The odds are small of having zero cloud cover within the tens, or maybe hundreds, of miles from one’s eye to the horizon. I can’t recount the number of times I’ve had clear skies and thought to myself “tonight the night!” only to have a thin line of clouds illuminate right as the sun is about to touch down. I was optomistic about this evening, though, so I brought out my 7×50 Steiner binoculars in preparation.
Now, I should preface what happened next by stating that I am a skeptic, particularly when it comes to anything with even vaguely mythical connotations, which is just about everything to do with the lore of the sea. I don’t believe in a damn thing unless I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Such was my feeling about The Green Flash. I’ve been watching the sun set at sea for years and haven’t seen shit, yet everyone that’s taken an evening booze cruise on their one-week vacation in Maui claims to have seen the flash. BS. You just drank too many Mai Tais.
So there I sat, as the sun started melting into the sea, with binoculars pressed against my eyes with what I only hoped to be a clear view of the end of a fine day. The sun touched down, no clouds in the way, already this is a rare event. As it sunk deeper, I kept my eyes focused, taking pleasure in the scene. A few more seconds, she was down to the last crescent, then it happened. Starting on the left side, small but unmistakable, the sun went green. First just a miniscule patch, then spreading to the right until the entire rim of the sun was vivid green for a single fleeting moment. As quick as it came, it was gone with the sun. Nothing but the golden hue on a now empty horizon.
There wasn’t a flash, but the sun was green, and that’s good enough for me.
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