OK, so, in reality this patch of ocean looks, not surprisingly, exactly like the patch of ocean before it.
For the non-boaters, there is a maritime tradition that until you cross the equator (in a boat) you are a pollywog/tadpole who is dirty and not worthy of Neptune and must be cleansed (read: hazed) in some manner prior to crossing after which you become a shellback.
Carol was already a shellback having crossed in a motor vessel many times. He also crossed many times while piloting an aircraft which, although cool, doesn't count for the maritime tradition.
I was a pollywog and as we approached the equator, Davy Jones boarded our vessel. You might be surprised to learn that Davy Jones looks suspiciously like my husband with a tropical print shirt on his head and an eye patch. Who knew?
The ceremony, with parts redacted for National Security, went something like this:
1) ----------------- (redacted because of pact with Neptune)
2) ----------------- (redacted because not PG-13)
3) We climbed down the swim ladder steps, with a rope tied to our wrist, and took turns letting the movement of our boat drag us through the water as we held onto the swim ladder, racing back on deck when our fear of shark bites overcame us.
4) Finally, we opened a bottle of Driftwood Ale we have carried with us from Victoria, some canned smoked salmon that was caught and canned by our friends aboard SV Shannon, a celebratory email from SV Eagle, and opened an extremely touching care package created by my parents which included a certificate for our equator crossing to be filled out, tasty treats and notes from my family.
The equator is just over 2/3 of the way between Baja Mexico and the Marquesas. All is well aboard.