There's forty six passengers, nineteen Russian crew, three
international expedition staff and three international hotel and
catering staff. It was stormy last night. The Gregory Mikheev, all two
hundred and ten feet of her, tilted and bobbed like a jack- in-a-box.
At twelve and an half knots she crashed through the night sky, a shadow
cutting through a shadow, lighthouse spills midnight truths from the
ragged coast. Morning breaks through and there's no sea sickness, only
wonder.