Postcard the fifty-eighth: Banana boat

Everyone say it with me: "Hello sailor!"

And, much as in the old Zork text adventures, nothing happens here.

Fortunately we do have quite a bit of information to read on the back of the card!

Our ever patient friend -- let's just call him Ishmael -- writes:
"Dear friend,
Went out again on the lake this morning. Drifted the boat out among the reeds and waited for my old friend to show his face. One day he'll come out of the depths and the much and batle me like I deserve to be fought. But until those days come, the lake is good for me. For whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off -- then, I account it high time to get to the lake. Come join me sometime in your peach."

First, Ish (or first-ish), I shall have to find the lake in question. It is not down in any map; true places never are. But as you have tasked me, so shall I do. Thanks for writing!