I stand upon her decks and view her great white sails, as they rock slowly from side to side; with a pale blue sky as a background and soft white clouds sliding over the horizon.
Eyes closed; I hear the gentle rush of waves cast off her graceful bows, slipping, sliding in an endless voyage across the Pacific as she crests each swell; caressing the endless sea.
The incredible freshness of the salt rich sea air fills my lungs and stirs my very soul, oh that I could sail her around the Horn, to take the wheel and guide this agile Lady just once more.
But alas my days are gone forever; for destiny has taken my hand to the shore. Ships of wood and sails of cotton are for young men with hearts of fire and sinew of steel.
So I bid thee farewell old Mistress of mine, may you find smooth seas to sail, fair winds at your back, and clear skies above your masts. Sail on, my old friend, sail on.
hmmm… i say a sailor oughtn’t stop sailing.
Time is the enemy of any Salor’s lot,
the shore will become your home if
the sea does not become a grave,
Richard Saare
it would be a hell of a way to go.
I have nearly been killed four times at sea, and averted the clutches of Davy Jones each time. The worst was January 25, 1975, I was at a small boat station in Maine and we sunk a 40 ft boat in a severe storm. The water was about 18 deg. and we swam for the boat we were trying to rescue until a larger Coast Guard boat arrived to rescue us. Push your luck enough times and you will become acquainted with the frigid north Atlantic. Richard Saare
cool story.