We slept well and were surprised that the outward bound boat anchored near us was so courteous, and wondered how 13 girls on a 30 foot upen boat could be so quiet. We also wondered how they slept in the makeshift tent of a sailcloth dropped over a boom.
We bid a temporary farewell to Nick, his son Ben and Ben’s daughters who had anchored on the other side. The next crossing from Muscle Ridge to Crain was rainy and blustery and we were happy to have found a beautiful spot between small islands before dense fog set in, transforming our surroundings into soft, silvery images easing into and out of view. I started writing a new tune.