The wind in your hair . . .

The cry of a bird . . .       

The cry of a bird? Perhaps land draws near.

Sure enough, when you break out of the reverie that your slow and gentle journey has lulled you into, you clearly see a silhouette on the horizon. You tack skillfully, and the wind takes you towards a large island. Following some instinct, you head for the eastern side of the island.

After a bit of nosing around, you come upon a beach, flat sand nestled up against a looming butte. You sail straight in, making for that distinct patch so clear against the darkness of the surrounding rock.