The Voyage of Pytheas
Pytheas was a Greek who journeyed to Britain in the Fourth Century BC and
discovered the link between the tides and the phases of the moon.
At first I followed the setting sun
To the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea,
Turned past Iberia, northerly,
And set my course for Albion,
That fabled, misty land.
Through rolling breakers off Gaul’s west coast,
Full of sea monsters and floating weed,
We sailed, but what amazed me most
Were the tides that fell – the sea’s retreat,
The vast expanse of sand,
Which twice a day the waves laid bare,
Then covered with rolling surf again,
Fierce enough to scupper a light corsair
When the skipper’s a lad from the blue Aegean,
And used to a flat calm ocean.
Still north we sailed into cold and gloom,
Hit ferocious gales off Finisterre,
But as we sailed I became aware
That the tides were linked with the riding moon,
And planetary motion,
And the waters wild would increase their pace,
To be greatest when she was at the full,
Lighting our path with her round white face,
Exerting her gravitational pull,
From her silent, starry realm,
Or after the monthly, moonless dark,
When that slender sliver first appears,
Slipping so tenderly out of the clouds,
To guide a lonely Aegean barque,
With a frightened boy at the helm.
We docked at Zennor late that year,
To trade for tin with the Cornish Celts,
And I asked if there was a temple near,
To honour the moon that had brought me here,
So safely across the sea.
They knew about tides, those Cornish Celts,
Who lived their lives by the pounding waves,
But they thought they were caused by the Great God Lugh,
The Shining One who rules the days,
So they wouldn’t listen
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