Sailor's Log

Journey Day 21:
Today the sea was still and quiet, but the wind was volatile and crisp. I felt the chill on my neck when I stood on the deck, watching the shore from a day away. We took a sharp turn through the Adriatic sea, and will direct back to shore when the wind settles.

Our food supply is running down, as expected: thirty four cans of sardines, seventeen cans of peas, three one pound bags of rice and flour and water for months. In my calculations, we have roughly about two weeks supply for sufficient nutrition. The stock of whiskey bottles from the pirate ship back in Fresville Isles is winding down as well. I suspect we have about a week of supply left, since the captain is particularly fond of whiskey. 

The sailors quarters are well maintained and the captain's den as well as the deck and wings are due for a thorough cleaning on the next shore stop. I've been insisting on the hallway to be kept free of any personal belonging to prevent any case of flood, but it seems my warnings have been totally ignored.

The rumor of the siren's call started again. The sailors speak of a soft high pitched voice that sings to them at night, calling them to come down to the waters in the neck of night. Who's to say if it is truth or the stories we have heard at shore are waking up imagination among the crew. It is particularly rumored among the young sailors, the first timers who deeply miss a woman's company. I, among them.

Ole' sailor Oolag has declared this to be his last tour at sea. He made a request to be retired on the cliffs of Berensi and the captain nodded in agreement. The two have toured the world several times over and I foresee a festive drunken night in honor of Oolag's departure. 

Five birds landed on the deck today, and we passed a dozen dolphins early in the morning. Must be due to the warmer waters as we near the shore area.  Or must be due to the boredom, urging me to notice the wildlife above and the wildlife below the deck. 

The life of a sailor is full of loggings. Is full of observation. Is full of lists. Is full of sardines and peas; dinner for a Popeye wannabe.

Hark!
I hear the sound of siren from the depth below. I must observe. I must investigate. I must listen. I must log.
​Such are the days of a lonely sailor at the open sea.