Making The Rounds Over Vast Distances
Pocomoke continued her vital services, taking on Marine Night Fighter Squadron 532 (VMF(N)-532) with planes, rolling stock and equipment and sailed via Pearl Harbor to Funafuti Atoll, anchoring there 11 January 1944. With USS Tisdale (DE-33) she steamed for Tarawa and returned to Hawaii 25 January. Another brief return to the West Coast was followed by a stopover at Pearl Harbor to take on troops and ammunition destined for Espiritu Santo. Shuttling cargo and fighting men between Espiritu Santo and Guadalcanal consumed Pocomoke’s efforts until she sailed 4 April among the islands of the Solomons group, dispensing needed services, and back to Espiritu Santo. She tended seaplanes at Kwajalein and Eniwetok before anchoring off Saipan 15 June to begin operations for Patrol Squadron 16 which were continued until 12 September. She departed for Kossol Passage, Palau Islands where she continued her repair and supply functions until 23 November. She finally sailed via Ulithi, Eniwetok, and Pearl Harbor for San Francisco, arriving 15 December.
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Famous quotes containing the words making, rounds, vast and/or distances:
“But I was trying to tell you about a strange thing
That happened to me, but this is no way to tell about it,
By making it truly happen. It drifts away in fragments.
And one is left sitting in the yard
To try to write poetry
Using what Wyatt and Surrey left around....”
—John Ashbery (b. 1927)
“Within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and mocking at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks.”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
“But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity:
And your quaint honor turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.”
—Andrew Marvell (1621–1678)
“We then entered another swamp, at a necessarily slow pace, where the walking was worse than ever, not only on account of the water, but the fallen timber, which often obliterated the indistinct trail entirely. The fallen trees were so numerous, that for long distances the route was through a succession of small yards, where we climbed over fences as high as our heads, down into water often up to our knees, and then over another fence into a second yard, and so on.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)