Long before I had seen any of the world’s oceans or even a modest sea, I felt the call to it, the magnetic power of it. Now in my older age (I wrote "old age" first but changed my mind), I live only a mile from the pounding Pacific surf, and I have sailed on all of the great oceans. The call of the sea is as demanding as ever.

I often ride out on my bicycle to the glider port behind UCSD to look down on the long stretch of surf that reaches from as far as I can see south and north. The call of the sea here is to surfers. Carrying their surfboards, they make their way down a treacherous path to finally reach one of the most wonderful beaches in the world. I’ve never done it, but I think I know what they feel. It’s what John Masefield felt.

SEA-FEVER
John Masefield

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 the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the fall of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear all 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.