I’ve passed through fifteen states in the last month and come across many travelers far from home, brushing off a year of stir-crazy with late summer exploits. It’s a strange time to be out on the road, with varying pandemic protocols, differing levels of fear and engagement, but fellow travelers have been quite respectful, largely friendly, and clearly happy to be sticking a tentative toe back into the big game of hokey-pokey.

Last Saturday, I was sitting on the bow of my in-laws’ thirty-four foot sailboat motoring through heavy fog off the coast of Maine. We were returning to Northeast Harbor from the island of North Haven, where we’d spent the night on a mooring under a crimson moon. We awoke to the mist and an undesirable north wind, and we set out tentatively, inching into Jericho Bay toward Mount Desert Island. “Is this pea soup?” Julia asked her dad. “Not quite, but nearly,” was the answer. She and I were stationed up front, scanning the wall of fog ahead for emerging vessels, and calling back to Captain Chuck: “Sailboat on your port!” or “Lobster boat to starboard!”

All boats on the water that day were working hard to stay in the channel and avoid collision, and the fog played tricks on our eyes, eliminating our depth perception. Lobster buoys appeared as distant boats until we drew closer, and we’d hear the channel buoys’ clang before we saw them, if we saw them at all. Each time we thought the sun was burning through, the fog would thicken, and we’d continue to strain our eyes and ears for other crafts, markers, and motors.

As we pulled safely into Northeast Harbor, our greatly relieved captain revealed that his radar was on the fritz all day, and our collective wits and sailing charts had been our only guides. So many aspects of life seem uncharted these days, and we’ve grasped at guidance, staving off despondence and fear, and just when the fog seems to be lifting, it sets in again, heavy as ever. But as my friend Margi likes to say: “We can do hard things!” Safe travels to all; stay alert and hopeful, and do drop in for a glass or a bottle when you return home to our beloved port of Oakland.

Cheers,
Max