This time of year – winter is safely behind us but summer has yet to blossom – my wife and I usually try to put some miles on our sailboat. The typically windy weather, uncrowded anchorages, lobster bouy-free channels and semi-warm temperatures create a good opportunity to stretch our sea legs before our weekend schedules fill up in July and August.
Besides, it’s a reminder that we live in a self-sustaining, economical, cozy 32-foot floating apartment, our own piece of real estate we can bring on vacation with us.
Despite predictions of rain and thunderstorms for most of Saturday and possibly Sunday, I convinced my wife we could get out to Cliff Island – the easternmost stop for Casco Bay ferry lines, just on the backside of Long Island, northeast of Peaks – on Friday evening, set the hook and return the following day. 
It was the first time in a year and a half we would leave the dock for more than a few hours; the last time we cast off we forgot to fill our water tanks – which went dry shortly after we set the anchor – I lost the halyard to raise the mainsail, our holding tank overflowed and the cat threw up in our berth. After spending all night in the cramped, odorous cabin to keep out of the torrential rain, we motored as fast as we could to the marina where the luxury of electricity, running water and calm seas awaited our return.
Last Friday, determined to circumvent all these disasters, I filled all of the water tanks, secured all the halyards, checked the valves in the head and stowed plenty of cat litter onboard. By the time my wife got home from work, the motor was running and our dock lines were singled up. A slight southerly breeze developed as I raised the mainsail and pushed us along with the motor while down below my wife crammed food and water into the icebox. We arrived at Cliff Island just before the sun went down.
That night an easterly swell rocked us to sleep as rain clouds gathered to the south.
We had to wait out a couple of small thunderstorms the next morning, but thanks to a sailor’s night sleep and a grand breakfast, we were in such good spirits we decided to keep going east. We spent Saturday night at anchor in a foggy, damp Harpswell Harbor before making a sunny, breezy passage back to Portland Harbor on Sunday. We pulled into the marina late in the day, burned by wind and sun, in desperate need of a shower, a washing machine and Internet access. After spending a little more than 48 hours at sea, we felt like world travelers.
I met one of our winter neighbors on the dock and proceeded to brag about our successful excursion. He nodded and smiled, then said he and his wife were planning on heading out the following day; not to any cove or island in Casco Bay, but first to Rockland, then Nova Scotia – their port of call – and probably “someplace warm” when winter began to set in.
I shook his hand with the envy of a weekend warrior, remembering how exhilarated I felt casting off for a 17-day sail to Hawaii nearly five years ago and wondering if I would ever again be bound for such distant, abstract destinations.
A few days ago I spotted their sailboat, a sloop similar to ours, slowly making its way out of the harbor as the sun peeked over the horizon. It was depressing to think we’d never see them or their boat again, and I may be starting to realize the importance a homeport can have for would-be world cruisers and even the most intrepid of voyagers.
                                                                      - Nate Jones