February 7, 2007: Good news for retired sailors, who were unable to obtain a retirement home by the sea. Scientists have isolated the key element used to produce that bracing "smell of the sea." ...more...

Isn't science wonderful?!

Huh?

What exactly is it you want to converse about casually?

Is there some deep dark secret only you know?

Oh, I get it. As Lawrence Welk used to say, "Wunderfula, wunderfula turn off a the bubble machnine." That's just got to be it.

...more...


i.e., read the link.

I did read the link. On a serious note, what is it you want to talk about?

Sorry BD I fail too see what rotting seaweed (the thing that makes that indefinable seaside smell. Living on an island has it's advantages - you end up knowing this sort of stuff) has to do with your link to a report on continued strong recruiting into the US military.

I'll assume the link went stale. Happens all the time on the Web.

There are two times I like the smells of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans: from a distance and while on a ferry boat, or the amazing Chesapeake Bay Bridge while riding an '89 Virago. Great scooter, fantastic voyage.

If the beach is clean, it's okay. Rotting sea lions and horseshoe crabs add too much spice. The sound of the surf is more interesting, especially if camped or motelling within earshot. I'm not a fan of dry sand, so that's why I'm up here and not down there. Cliffs. I really like cliffs, you know from the top or bottom, or distance. Alongside isn't so great, don't care how that's put (screaming while descending with aforementioned Virago or hanging onto a little tree and scissoring legs).

Lake Superior is the next closest thing. Love the North Shore route, have taken it many times in both summer and winter, good weather and bad.

Yep, I like my big water from a distance. Hate getting wet. Surfing, like the music, has never had an appeal. Forget about swimming in that stuff, I don't want to be part of the food chain nor do I want a free trip to Hawaii or Europe. Bears and lions and shelf roads are plenty for me.

Was jamming along the Washington coast, circa 1971, with a buddy on two Honda 450s. We stopped to camp, got out the beans and tried to make a fire with wet wood and gas. After a few flameouts, this retired guy from a neighboring camp invited us over for fresh king chinook salmon and Walla-Walla sweets. We got to sleep in a spare cabin tent and on cots! It was Easy Rider without the shotgun. And it wasn't a hippy camp. We weren't on choppers. My buddy's name was Dave, not Billy, and I was no Captain America. Okay, it wasn't anything like Easy Rider, but it sure was a good time.

Ah well, the smell of the ocean . . .