DeepSeaDan
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2013
- Messages
- 472
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- 945
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So there I was, cruising down-river, head on a swivel, hunting for treasures, when I noticed a cylindrical object to my left, resting amongst a small pile of rock, mostly camouflaged in zebra mussels. Aha, I said to myself - what have we here? A vigorous rub-down revealed it to be a large Master Ink. So there I paused, as in countless finds before, pondering how such an object ended up being, in this case, in the middle of a large river, in the middle of nowhere.
My mind's eye pictured an old passenger steamer, doggedly chugging along in the late October sun. Some passengers appear engaged in quiet conversation, their eyes studying the passing riverbank; still others are reading the newspaper, sipping sodas from gravitators or, somewhat later - hutchinson's. Then there's that studious-looking fellow, possibly a journalist, standing at the aft rail, looking somewhat bleary-eyed ( having been up most of the previous night writing up his report ). He reaches into his time-worn leather satchel to retrieve the empty Master Ink bottle he drained last evening, putting quill-pen to paper. He hangs the bottle over the edge of the rail and casually releases it into the churning waters below, hoping upon hope his editor will replace the vital liquid and not dock his pay...
So tell me - am I the only one who plays the " How'd it get here?" mind game, or do others enjoy this aspect of the hobby?
My mind's eye pictured an old passenger steamer, doggedly chugging along in the late October sun. Some passengers appear engaged in quiet conversation, their eyes studying the passing riverbank; still others are reading the newspaper, sipping sodas from gravitators or, somewhat later - hutchinson's. Then there's that studious-looking fellow, possibly a journalist, standing at the aft rail, looking somewhat bleary-eyed ( having been up most of the previous night writing up his report ). He reaches into his time-worn leather satchel to retrieve the empty Master Ink bottle he drained last evening, putting quill-pen to paper. He hangs the bottle over the edge of the rail and casually releases it into the churning waters below, hoping upon hope his editor will replace the vital liquid and not dock his pay...
So tell me - am I the only one who plays the " How'd it get here?" mind game, or do others enjoy this aspect of the hobby?