Pink Valley: Don't sea captains retire to farms? I didn’t consider it a gift at the time, but few mortals get to experience standing the mid-night watch on the bridge of a World War II Navy oiler [a refueling ship, this one commandeered from civilian service with ESSO still stamped on her stern – AO 32 USS Guadalupe, last of her kind ….gone to the scrapyard now as have most of the men who called her home]. A moonless night, the ocean as flat as a mirror so as if one could shave in its reflection. Hushed, with only the sound of her bow peeling back the water:… coiling a wake bursting alight with phosphorescent plankton that trail the ship like a wisp of moon glow fading out of view. The sky a majestic canopy of stars from horizon to horizon, a gentle, warm 16 knot breeze tickles the hair [relative motion, don’t you know]… and as you approach the Philippines, the land alerts its presence with a fragrance of monkey pod, cooking fires and coconuts. Every port has its fragrance and it’s easy to see how being at sea can gain a strong hold on a man’s soul. I know Brandy [Looking Glass 1972] still tries to understand, but like everyone of that generation, guessing she’s now a lonely old hag dishing whiskey in some rum joint outside Sidney… Anyhow, it’s said sea captains retire to farms, so why not one in a rolling 'Pink Valley'….
Pink Valley: Don't sea captains retire to farms? I didn’t consider it a gift at the time, but few mortals get to experience standing the mid-night watch on the bridge of a World War II Navy oiler [a refueling ship, this one commandeered from civilian service with ESSO still stamped on her stern – AO 32 USS Guadalupe, last of her kind ….gone to the scrapyard now as have most of the men who called her home]. A moonless night, the ocean as flat as a mirror so as if one could shave in its reflection. Hushed, with only the sound of her bow peeling back the water:… coiling a wake bursting alight with phosphorescent plankton that trail the ship like a wisp of moon glow fading out of view. The sky a majestic canopy of stars from horizon to horizon, a gentle, warm 16 knot breeze tickles the hair [relative motion, don’t you know]… and as you approach the Philippines, the land alerts its presence with a fragrance of monkey pod, cooking fires and coconuts. Every port has its fragrance and it’s easy to see how being at sea can gain a strong hold on a man’s soul. I know Brandy [Looking Glass 1972] still tries to understand, but like everyone of that generation, guessing she’s now a lonely old hag dishing whiskey in some rum joint outside Sidney… Anyhow, it’s said sea captains retire to farms, so why not one in a rolling 'Pink Valley'….