This is as far west as you can get on the African continent. Beyond the horizon floats a lot of glassy-eyed souls who would give their left nut to be on my side of things.

I got some shit for saying that I wanted to go back to sea, and all of it was wholly justified and actually appreciated. I mean, of course I recognize that once you are detached from any sort of drifting responsibility you only remember the good parts about the experience. Indeed, I have plenty of less than “accelerate-your-life” memories stored away in my sub-conscious that will percolate over the next two years in this landscape of sauna perfection:

My feet still feel a sympathetic ache when I think about the endless hours spent on the bridge at seven in the morning, my relief late from breakfast -or is he/she still asleep?

As soon as the whistle blew and we were underway, I swear it was a constant battle to stop my steel-toed boots from responding to the magnetic pull of my rack.

And what about the time I walked up to the bridge to relieve the watch and the off-going officer of the deck was literally in tears and started the turnover process with “I hate the Captain”?

Oh yeah, I remember the Good Ole Days.

But still, I find myself wanting to go back to sea for other reasons.  I will have to thank the Cairo scholar (another fine SWO) for directing my attention to the quote below. It’s courtesy of Melville, which for nautical reasons is an obvious selection- but even moreso for myself it is fitting, if you know anything about the Pequod’s home port, and my current frame of mind:

You can see here that Pequod blew right past Dakar and didn’t look back.

“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.”