Pleasant Bay
I see the kids are out today splashing about in their dories and capsizing them, sometimes for the fun of it and sometimes not, while their older siblings race about the bay in their Boston Whalers, trying to look cool and succeeding. It’s the same body of water where my father taught me to sail. We’d start the day gunkholing the bay’s many coves and inlets before venturing into deeper water where I could practice my tacking and jibbing. He’d tell me of the many currents aswirl beneath the boat and always warn me of staying within the barrier beach.
“She’s real ocean out there,” he’d say, pointing a crooked finger at the frothing North Atlantic trying to fight its way into the bay. “And She don’t care how young or old ya’ are. She just wants her ante. If you’re ever in the ‘
