«Je peux commencer par raconter un événement qui est arrivé en 1972 alors que nous quittions le port de Skagway en Alaska et que nous allions naviguer en direction du Japon. C’était ma première traversée comme capitaine du North Pacific et j’étais indécis quant à la route à choisir. J’ai d’abord opté pour une route du Sud mais, entre-temps, j’ai rencontré un vétéran de la navigation sur l’océan Pacifique qui m’a donné des conseils. Il m’a dit, “va directement au Aléoutiennes — aux îles Aléoutiennes “, et, “là tu peux” — qu’il me dit de manière familière — “tu peux slalomer entre les îles, que le vent vienne du Nord ou du Sud”.

Ça semblait ingénieux. Alors nous sommes partis de Skagway, vers bâbord, en direction des Aléoutiennes. La température était relativement clémente, mais alors que nous nous approchions du Sud des îles, une dépression s’est formée. Comme elles le font habituellement, les basses pressions se déplacent vers le Nord-Ouest, et nous avons dû nous diriger vers le Nord des îles et trouver, là, une route.

Nous sommes allés vers là, vers le Nord, et avons trouvé une route entre deux îles. Mais, à la merci de la température, nous avons arrêté les machines en conservant tout juste une vitesse nécessaire pour maintenir la proue face aux vents.

Et habituellement ce qui arrive, c’est que la basse pression, quand elle passe, fait tourner le vent à 180 degrés. Ça nous est arrivé alors que nous étions placés sur le côté Nord, et elle avait une énorme vitesse. La mer s’est soulevée et la vitesse du vent augmentait encore, et toujours.

On a attendu là, que la température change, et quand c’est arrivé, comme j’ai dit déjà, le vent a changé de direction à 180 degrés.

Évidemment, ce que nous aurions dû faire plus tôt, c’est aller vers le Sud des îles et trouver le côté sous le vent.

Mais au moment de décider, il était déjà trop tard.

Alors on était coincé, dans ce climat, pendant presque deux jours, n’osant pas virer de bord, parce qu’on était certain de briser en deux.

Et ce qui arrive alors, quand le bateau est à la merci de la température comme ça, c’est qu’il monte sur la crête des vagues, puis plonge dans le creux des vagues, et toute la mer engloutit le pont.

Et puis, le bateau reste pris sous l’eau, et vous savez, le bateau travaille et travaille et travaille pour rejaillir de cette mer violente. Alors enfin, le bateau sort et toute l’eau déferle, libérant le pont.

Je n’avais jamais imaginé que la mer pouvait être un tel cauchemar, comme à ce moment-là, et j’étais certain que c’était ma dernière heure sur mer.

… puis enfin ils ont disparu.»

From a narrative listening position Trade Winds’ macrostructure consists of two halves: the first exploring culture, the second exploring nature. A central pivot is marked by a section inspired by the chapter “Mobilis in Mobili” from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (Vingt mille lieues sous les mers)by Jules Verne (1828-1905). Professor Aronnax and his companions are rescued (captured?) by the Nautilus. After being submerged in pitch blackness “… a sliding sound became audible. You could tell that some panels were shifting over the Nautilus's sides.” revealing a sight that no pen could describe. Throughout Trade Winds the reference to Captain Nemo is evident in various manifestations of organ recordings. From a pure music position, the listener will hear a paradox: on one hand there are two clearly cyclical halves, while on the other hand the linear unfolding of less referential material reveals a complex counterpoint of tiny details in spectra, articulation and morphology. Woven throughout are physical, conceptual, and musical spatial relationships that form climax and release in counterpoint to both cyclical and linear listening positions. These narrative and musical comments are the surface. Beneath, the music yields an increasingly richer experience on repeated listening.

The original concert format is a 16-channel source comprising second-order ambisonics and conventional spatialization techniques. To set the concert musical-drama video material has been created by Marianne Selsjord. Unlike a conventional video, this material is not intended for direct viewing. It is designed to create lighting effects and imagery drawing on the listeners’ conscious and subconscious connection to sound imagery.

“I can begin with an episode that happened to us in 1972 when we left port from Skagway in Alaska and were to sail over to Japan. It was my first trip as captain in the North Pacific and I was undecided as to which route I should choose. As a starting point I chose a Southerly route. In the meantime I met a “veteran” of Pacific Ocean shipping, who gave some advice. He said, “go directly to the Aleutians — to the Aleutian Islands,” and, “there you can” — to say it colloquially — “can you sail slalom between the islands, whether there is a Northerly wind, or a Southerly wind.”

This sounded wise. So we sailed from Skagway, left Lotion, and set a course for the Aleutians. To being with there was relatively good weather, but when we were near the south of the islands there came a low pressure. As low pressures normally do, they go in a North Westerly direction, and we found we had to go to the north of the Islands to find a route there.

We got there, to the North, and found a route between two islands. But there we sat, “laying on the weather,” with just the ‘steering speed’ to hold the bow up against the wind.

And what happens, with a low pressure, when it passes, that is that the wind shifts 180 degrees, and how fast it shifts is a factor of the low pressure. This happened while we were lying on the north side, and it had an enormous speed. The sea dug itself up and the wind speed just increased and increased.

We waited there, for the weather, and while that happened, as I said, the wind changed direction 180 degrees.

And what we should have done, at an earlier time, obviously, was to go to the south of the islands, and find lee.

But when that decision was made, it was already too late.

So we were stuck, in that weather, for nearly two days, and dared not turn the boat for we were sure of breaking in two.

And what happens when the boat is ‘lying on the weather’, is that the boat rises up on the wave crest, then stoops down in the wave trough and then the whole sea smashes down on the deck.

So the boat lies underwater, and you know the boat is working and working and working to cascades from the violent sea. Then the boat finally comes up and the whole sea just cascades away from the deck. I had never thought that the sea could be such a nightmare, as it was then, and I was sure that it was may last hour at sea.

… and they vanished.”