The Bar
With the surrounding landmass shrinking behind me and the endless seascape expanding before the bow, I haul in and come about to take an easterly tack, away from shore. A hatchery of silver darbies leaps before the pulpit as I sail from the bay, either for the fun of it or to escape the game fish pursuing beneath. I point the bow into the wind and walk the length of my boat to check the lines, Gramp’s mantra forever ringing in my ears, “No amount of preparation is uncalled for when sailing into the Realm,” and many have gone to the ‘Locker’ for doing less. Testing the lines, I find them as tight and taut as when I first set out. Sailing over the emerald green waters of the inlet, I push the tiller to port and set the bow chuck over the deeper and darker waters of the North Atlanti
