Abstract
[Extract] The afternoon of August 25, 2001, is the closest I've come to full filling the dreams of my boyhood, when I would lie in bed looking up at the mosquito net and imagine I was Captain Hornblower, sailing a square-rigger to exotic places. And now here I am, sitting on a small beach of scuffed white sand that curves to meet the vast Pacific Ocean. Tamed by the shoulders of the Great Barrier Reef just over the horizon, it kicks up little white breakers that streak toward shore. In the distance bobs a three-masted bark, the HMS Endeavour-a replica, admittedly, but real enough for me.
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