Yestarday evening a strong north-west wind was sending in a big swell. Before bed, I nervoiusly checked the Windrider. The boat seemed to be handling whatever was thrown at it quite well, working a bit on its rack, but otherwise fine. And I was able to convince myself that the wind would moderate and back to the west as it usually does. So, good night sweet boat, and flights of wavelets rock thee to thy rest.

At 1:15, however, I awoke to the roar of a wind that had veered to the north (and actually built in strength) and to a huge and pounding surf.

What to do seemed to be the question. Going out into a malestrom in the inky black, and trying to get the boat off its rack, turned into the wind, and on course to the marina seemed a poor, if not lethal, option. So I went with option two.

Option two consisted of taking one of my seldom used "Don't worry, be happy," sleeping pills, going back to bed, and hoping for the best.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Windrider is the sun.
Arise fair sun...and show me that the boat is still where it is supposed to be.

Coulds obscured the sky, however, and the Windrider was not in its wonted place. In fact, the rack was tipped on its side and the boat was about 10 yards downstream, bobbing in the waves, held a few feet off the rocks by the water-line and the little stern anchor I now habitually attach.

Sue helped me heave the boat around into the wind. She held the pitching bow as I got the motor running and clambered aboard. She stepped back to give me room, with waves coming over her shoulders, and I was off on a fast and fantastic ride to the marina.

So, this is now the third or fourth such escapade in my limited memory. But it will be the last.

For the rest of the day we turned our attention to more lubberly persuits: