As there was little hope of a change in the weather, Algy decided that the next best thing was a change of scene, so he flew out to the lighthouse rocks to contemplate the wide expanse of ocean. The wind was bitterly cold and the day was overcast, but the view in the silvery light was fine. Looking west from the rocks, Algy could see nothing but sea and sky, and the slim shadow of an island or two on the horizon – plus a tiny sailboat racing headlong down the wind. Algy was inevitably reminded of Masefield’s popular poem:
I must go down to the seas 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 sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas 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 sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas 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 trick’s over.
[Algy is quoting the poem Sea-Fever by the early 20th century English poet John Masefield.]