Adam Goodspeed's
Florida Keys Outward Bound Journal
February 15-23, 1990


Feb.15,

Feb.16,

Feb.17

Feb.18 -Sunday

Feb.19 -Monday
  • Today we rowed out of the place we were at and then navigated through 5 mile creek. We had to push ALOT today. My shoes turned to shit and I lost the pads to them. We rowed under two bridges. It was great we were singing and cheering everyone on along the way. My tan is better than Batey's only on my nose I have a burn thats leaking pretty bad. Everyone is starting to become really modest and the gruda's are really flowing. We're really getting tight. Bonding together. Last night we put on skits. Ours was the wicked bad Mainers and we ad-libbed everything. On watch i sang to myself to keep myself up. the shrimp that were beside the boat kept jumping on the water. the Mammas(Wendy and Ian) were the best but both student groups were great. It's time to eat we're in the Atlantic right now. Bye,me.
Feb.20-Tuesday
  • Today I was Captain. We started off in the Atlantic and at 6AM we set sail for Lou Key. It was great. There were so many fish and corals it was unreal and yet it was.From there we sailed on the Atlantic and 4 of us got sea sick. Personally I could have sailed there all day. I maneuvered the boat perfectly through two bridges while my crew was asleep on the sides of the boat. then we sailed onto Johnson Key were we swam 23 minutes and had corn chowder for supper. We sat around and gave everyone on the boat notes then talked about what we wanted to do first when we got back. Everyone said their own beds and take a shower.

Feb. 21-Wednesday

Feb. 22-Thursday

Feb.23-Friday

I must go down to the sea again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song
and the white sails shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face,
and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the sea again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day,
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the sea again,
to the vagrant Gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way
where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long tricks over.

--John Masefield


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