At Close Quarters: Confessions before the mast.

In which a fouled anchor results in four friends getting more from a vacation than they imagined.

In which I took our little Santana on the estuary — and only had to answer to myself.

In which the only thing stronger than friendship, is the awful seagrass of Point Reyes.

In which happiness can be found, long before perfection.

In which I diligently log the books I’ve read, and those I want to read.

In which there are few more beautiful places on earth… To run aground.