Today, as our tanker crosses this region that has claimed so many we find no tempests, no squalls; only steam curling from wave-crests and pooling in troughs as warm current mixes quietly with cold beneath our keel. This sea-smoke is one indicator of our arrival in these waters; there are others as well. Water drawn from the sea to cool our diesel engines is suddenly much warmer; our engineers must adjust the cooling systems in order to avoid burning-out delicate controls and damaging condensers. The helmsman reports that more rudder is required to keep the ship on-course; the powerful Gulf Stream is pushing us bodily northward. And the sea-birds, only occasionally visible 'til now, fill the skies as they circle and dive after fish that swarm beneath the surface.
This is the North Wall. At times a mystical realm of steaming seas and teeming wildlife, at others a screeching Hell of impossibly angular waves and tearing winds. Always different, beguiling or menacing depending on the sea's mood.
But always, always beautiful.