Then one day, many years later the old tome creaked open again. The pencil blinked at the sudden invasion of light into its former world of solitude and discovered that it had been moved sometime in the intervening years. Instead of the scientist's small study, the pencil now found itself in a great cavernous room with tall, narrow columns of shelves packed tightly with other books. The pencil had never seen so many books all together in the same room in all of its long life and was astounded by their variety. There were tall books and short books, skinny books and fat books, brightly colored happy books and dark, dusty dreary books. Some books the pencil even recognized as having helped to create in the hands of its previous masters.
But before the pencil could ponder this thought for too long, a scratchy pair of calloused hands reached down to lift it from the old book that had been its home for so long. The grizzled old explorer had been searching the stacks for some insight on new and better ways to take accurate measurements at sea and had stumbled onto the pencil while perusing the now long dead scientist's writings.
The explorer's keen eye weighed the pencil's value at a quick glance. Something about the pencil's unique form gave him pause and caused him to make a closer inspection. He noticed the perfectly flat side that ran along the length of the entire pencil. Intrigued by its unique shape, the explorer closed the book he had been reading and placed the pencil atop the book's flat cover. He slowly lifted the book up off the table and began to tilt it slowly, first to the right, then the left. The explorer tilted it away from himself, then toward himself. He rocked the book back and forth, up and down, and all around in wildly careening circles. Yet throughout all these turbulent motions, the pencil remained stuck firmly in its place, anchored to the book's cover by its perfectly flat side. Amazed at the rare ability of the pencil to steadfastly keep its place in the roughest of "seas", the explorer immediately snatched the pencil up and headed down to the docks to test out his new discovery.
The pencil was delighted at having found a new owner and was looking forward to the adventures that awaited it, when it was struck by the tang of the salt that suddenly permeated the air. There was a whole new world of sights, smells, and sounds which greeted the pencil in the hands of the ruddy faced explorer. Great sheets of white billowed atop tall masts. The smoky stench of fresh laid tar wafted between tightly packed berths. Long planks of pine creaked beneath the stout legs of weathered sailors. The pencil watched in awe as crowds of barefoot sailors ran furiously up and down the docks without missing a step; on and off of neighboring ships without losing balance; skirting left and right to avoid collisions with other sailors, passengers, and crate laden pack animals. While the pencil admired the chaotic waltz of the people, the explorer mounted his own ship and gave order to set sail.
All at once the air exploded with shouts from every direction as seasoned deckhands barked orders to unsteady young greenhorns. The old boat released a gut-wrenching groan before lurching free of its moorings and heading underway. The pencil churned sickly under this new sensation of incessant rocking, but soon settled into the rhythm of the craft's steady roll back and forth. The explorer kept a keen watch on his ship as they cleared the crowded docks and headed into the relative safety of the open waters. Satisfied that his ship was in good hands, the explorer headed below deck to put his new pencil to the test.
The explorer opened a large chest bolted to the floor of his stateroom and retrieved several of his instruments along with his latest work, a still unfinished chart of shifting sandbars surrounding the local barrier islands. He carefully gathered up his tools before heading back up to the poop deck that afforded him the best views from the ship. The explorer carefully laid out each of his instruments along the deck after unfolding his incomplete map. He placed the pencil down on top of his work and watched for a moment as the faithful pencil held its place despite the ship's constant swaying.
Grinning with pride, the salty old explorer pick up each of his instruments in turn. He stood for a moment, gaining his bearings with each before taking a careful measurement, marking his notes with the loyal pencil after each weighing. Soon his cracked and sunburned hands were able to find the dependable pencil locked reliably in the exact spot where he had left it just moments before, without the aid of his eyes.
Without realizing it, the explorer began to seamlessly move between each instrument without taking his eyes off the horizon. His hands found both pencil and map notes without thought or effort. He could take bearings faster than ever before and pushed his crew to increase the vessel's speed to its very limit to keep up with the progress of his work. Mile after mile of sandbar and coastline were mapped with greater accuracy than the explorer had ever achieved before. He worked past the waning dusk and late into the night: mapping the stars once his coastline drawings were done.
Finally, the moans from his exhausted deckhands broke through the explorer's trance. His eyes strained to focus on a nearby object for the first time in several hours. Squinting with the effort, the explorer looked down past the pencil in his hands at all the new maps it had created. He was amazed at the delicate details the steady tool had captured. And even more amazed to see dawn breaking on the grey seas. Feeling the weariness in his old bones for the first time in the entire voyage, the explorer gave order to return to port and trundled away to his cabin with volumes of his work carefully tucked under each arm. He held the steady pencil firmly in his meaty hands as he gently returned his newly minted maps to the sturdy trunk. His grip remained unwavering even as he passed out in his cot. He didn't even return to the deck until the ship was firmly docked in port, unnerving his entire crew. This was the first time in their memory that he had been absent during the final approach to any port.
Bleary eyed, the old explorer emerged from his cabin at midday and immediately set to work making preparations for the greatest voyage of his life. The explorer knew he could make his fortune documenting the geography of the new lands across the ocean. With his trusty pencil tucked safely under his wide belt, the bold explorer intended to do just that.
After many weeks of gathering stores and recruiting a brave set of experienced crewmen, the explorer was anxious to finally get underway with his new pencil. And the pencil was equally impatient to help the old explorer document new and wondrous lands. Each night during the long voyage to the new lands across the sea, the explorer would sneak the pencil atop deck and practice taking bearings from the stars; just for the sheer joy of feeling the pencil leap to his hands so effortlessly.
Until early one morning, "Land ahoy!", came the cry from the crow's nest far above deck. Delighted, every man on board raced to the bulwark to catch a glimpse of the far off new lands with the old explorer leading the way. His keen eye confirmed the initial call and certain of his fortunate future he ordered his men back to work so he could begin his map-making.
After taking an initial reading from a well known landmark, the explorer immediately set to work. Again he pushed his crew to drive the ship faster and faster to keep up with his well honed eyes and deft hands. On and on they sailed taking readings and recording mysterious new shores until darkness forced the explorer to finally quit for the evening. Each morning the explorer would awake anew well before dawn to start all over again. Day after day, the endless ritual repeated, until the ships stores grew thin and the crew began grumbling words of mutiny.
Finally, the old explorer relented and gave order to gave order to put in at the nearest port. Relieved, the crew worked with renewed vigor to gain dry land after so long at sea. But just as the lights of civilization appeared on the last night of their arduous journey, a terrible storm blew in from the east. With it came icy winds and sheets cold driving rain, soaking the once hearty sailors to the bone. The old explorer had resumed his nighttime recordings of the stars to pass the time and was caught unawares by the turbulent seas carried with the deadly storm.
Confident in the pencil's well earned sea-legs, the explorer set the pencil down in order to blast orders at his unsteady crew. But a rogue wave burst across the deck without warning, tossing the old explorer to his knees. It was from this prone position that he spied his trusty pencil lose its grip for the first time aboard the ship. All those long hours in the salty, humid air had finally warped the wood from its perfectly flat surface. The wild rocking from the storm broke the pencil's timid hold on the deck, and a second rogue wave washed it overboard with the rest of the unfastened flotsam. The old explorer howled futilely into the roaring winds, but his attention quickly returned to saving his ship and crew from the murderous storm.
As the pencil floated away with the tide, it thought back over its long life and of all the fantastic lands it had traveled. It knew that it was a very lucky pencil to have been chosen to record such wild and untamed coasts. And if it never got a chance to draw another foreign expanse, then it would consider itself to have lived a long and fruitful life.
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