So long, and thanks for all the fish
~~~
NOTE: The following was written on Wednesday, the 12th of December. We had dicey sat phone service and have been unable to upload it until now. Today (Saturday the 15th) we are sitting in a crappy French café in Martinique, sipping pepsi and slurping wifi. In a moment, I will get in a taxi bound for Fort De France airport.
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I am sitting at the wheel under a sky so pale gray that it's almost white, and I am looking at a slightly darker gray shadow on the horizon. This is land. I saw it at 12:10 local time, but said nothing for a full two minutes in order to be sure it wasn't a low hanging rain cloud. After the cloud remained stationary, I took a long deep breath, turned my head to the deck below, and gave it my very best, "LAAAAAAAAAAAND HO!!!!!" What a glory hound.
Barry came up top and looked through the binocs, "It isn't land, is it? Oh hang on, yes ... yes it is. Damn." Tom and Barry and I had something of an unspoken competition going. Even with St. Lucia in sight, we still have another three hours or so before we step on to terra firma. We must pass just north of the island, then turn from westerly to south-easterly to get into Rodney Bay. The bay is located near nine-o'clock, if the island were a giant Mickey Mouse watch. Our plans are to secure a berth in the bay, be greeted by the same welcoming committee that greets all ARC boats, submit our papers, and then eat. We will dine at Buzz, an open-air restaurant that boasts a vegetarian menu as large as the meat and seafood menu. Although no formal poll has been taken, I would be willing to bet any takers that absolutely no fish will be ordered. Even if we had an appetite for it, there's no chance a restaurant could match the mahi-mahi and tuna we've been feasting on while at sea.
Eighteen days. Eighteen days at sea with these fine men. We have worked together with each one doing a more than their share. I don't want to get all sloshy here. Tom said it well, "this is very special." We will sail from St. Lucia to Martinique tomorrow morning. The crew will spend the weekend on the French island, and I will embark from there to Washington DC, and Home.
Many thanks to all who have followed our run. Extra special thanks to my Ellen for taking the time and effort to post these entries onto Nationals Post for me. I miss you all, and can't wait to SEE YOU SOON.
~~~
2 comments:
Your creekside screen house awaits, and Rose's hens, your hillside garden, circular drive.
Some forlorn love letters from the land:
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
Welcome home, Sailor. Eat your spinach.
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