On deck, Eleanor was afraid. She looked into the darkness and absolutely did not want to get into the dinghy. We had our reference points, a course to follow, and a place to come back to but to put away into the blackness was still hard to do. Alison talked Eleanor through what would happen, how we’d keep ourselves safe and eventually our girl was ready to go with us. Eleanor climbed down the stern of The Smooch then we pointed away from the steel ocean-going pilothouse and (hopefully, we thought at the time) towards our Caprica.
I stood in the back of the Express looking for a path through the jumble of boulders. Above us a gaggle of families snapping pictures watched intently, trying to catch that special moment when we run the dinghy aground on rocks. They were disappointed. The current from the old harbor pushed against the inflatable hull, and we pumped up the jam. “Faster Dad!” Eleanor yelled as I goosed the throttle and we slid into the quiet confines of the old harbor.
In Rockland before departure, we watched heavy fog hang across the harbor. Visibility was just under a mile with the occasional encroachment to a few hundred feet. We hauled in 160 feet of chain and our number 1 anchor, hoisted sail and cruised out of the harbor. The fog enveloped us, and we watched pensively as a large cursing catamaran a few boat lengths off of our bow then the land to starboard vanished.