After watching the Labor Day weekend madness unfold from the safety of our slip, we figured Labor Day Monday would be the great exhale. The crowds would thin, the anchorages would clear, and the bay would return to its usual laid-back self. So we ditched the dock life and cast off late morning. No plan, no pressure. Just let the wind decide.

The breeze was coming in from the northeast, so south it was. I’d been eyeing the Rhode River for a while now. Looked promising on the charts, and the forecast gave us a thumbs-up for anchoring out there overnight. The plan was to point the bow toward the Bay Bridge, sail past Annapolis and tuck into the western side of the bay.

Wind was lively, blowing a steady 12 to 14 knots true, and the bay had a decent chop going. After a punchy beam reach to get us out into the bay, we settled into a broad reach, flirting with a run, trying to make the bridge without gybing. That’s always a bit of a dance, and one wrong wave can easily trigger an accidental gybe—the kind of surprise no sailor wants.

So I rigged up a poor-man’s preventer. For the non-sailors out there, a preventer is a line that keeps the boom from swinging across the boat in an accidental gybe, which can be very dangerous. An uncontrolled gybe can slam the boom across with enough force to break gear or worse, knock someone overboard. Not ideal when you’re trying to enjoy a peaceful sail.

I grabbed a spare rope, tied a bowline around the boom, ran it forward to the midship cleat, then back to the cockpit. Voilà, makeshift preventer. And it worked like charm. With that in place, we could relax a bit, push the boat closer to a run, and still make the bridge without white-knuckling the steering wheel every second.

Just as we were threading the needle between the bridge spans, dodging boats and barges, one of my former workmates rang me up. It was important, so I certainly wouldn’t just ignore it. Thanks to the preventer, I could chat, steer, dodge barges, and even snap a pretty cool photo under the bridges.

The wind gave us a solid ride until late afternoon, then it just packed up and left. We fired up the engine and motored up the Rhode River into Sellman Creek. And wow, what a gem! Secluded, scenic, wrapped in trees, with two little islands sitting pretty in the middle.

Our gamble paid off. The last of the weekend warriors were pulling out, and only one other sailboat joined us. Sailboats we don’t mind. They get it.

We had space, peace, and the kind of anchorage that makes you want to stay forever. Bettina whipped up spaghetti for dinner, one of my favorites, and somehow it tastes even better on a boat with a view like that.

The sun dipped behind the trees in a blaze of orange, and we kicked back in the cockpit, soaking it all in.

It got chilly though. Like, fleece-and-socks chilly. September’s here, no doubt about it. But hey, at least we weren’t sweating through the sheets.

And if you’re curious to see how it all unfolded on the water, here’s the track of our sail today: every tack, reach, and lazy drift mapped out.