What happened next could only be described as magical, a word we teenagers rarely use to describe situations.  A black and glistening behemoth crested the surface, letting fly a massive spray of water.  The water shimmered and the body shined.  There it was!  My first real whale sighting!  And at night, a time when I could enjoy it in peace and quiet!  Selfishly, I chose not to get the rest of the watch, assuming they would see the colossus when it passed the helm.  As I gaped at the swirling water that had once been the whale, another blow sounded to my left, and I whirled to meet it.  There!  As second whale!  And a third!  Water sparkled in all directions and I finally understood.  We had sailed right into a pod.  This time I fumbled with my clip and sprinted to get the others.  Together we oohed and ahhed as the whale spouts rose in all directions.  For an enchanting half hour, the quiet night was intermittently broke by that peculiar sound, now marked with a familiarity by its closeness. 

That watch, on July 10^th 2008, I realized what I wanted to do.  I wanted to sail again.  I, a country-bumpkin Vermont boy, wanted to sail the great oceans once, maybe even dozens of times more.  That simple pod of whales going about its nightly business convinced me to continue reaching towards seemingly untouchable opportunities with the hope that they too can live up to my desire to sail once more.