At 03:00 sharp, the mooring ball decided to audition for a percussion solo, loudly banging against Koko’s hull. So much for a peaceful night. I climbed outside and shuffled forward in my pyjamas, wind slapping me awake better than any espresso. I found Koko jammed straight against her mooring lines like a dancer caught mid-spin. The current had shifted and instead of letting her swing gracefully, it shoved her straight into the line like a grumpy toddler pushing a toy. That caused the mooring ball to be stuck right to port-side of the bowsprit.

I gave the lines a tug, hoping for a quick fix. No luck. Koko was stuck. So I stood there, wind howling, and had a little chat with my inner physics nerd. Somewhere between Newton and a half-remembered vector diagram, it clicked. If I could just give the current something to push against, Koko would turn herself. Rudder to port, just a smidge. And there it was. Koko swung around as if she’d been waiting for the cue. Five minutes later, we were back in proper position, no more banging, no more drama. Thank you, high school. You finally paid off.

By 07:50, we were up again, this time for a much better reason. The innkeeper had left a thermos of coffee and a few sweets for us on the picnic table ashore. No note, just kindness. We dropped “Tipsy”, our dinghy, into the water and rowed over.

There it sat. A cheerful little picnic basket packed with a thermos of hot coffee, a few creamers tucked in like they belonged, two shortbread cookies, and two protein bars wedged between them like they’d been invited to breakfast.

The only hiccup: no mugs. So I rowed back to Koko…

… grabbed two cups, and returned victorious. All that time on the rowing erg at home finally had its moment.

We sat there with warm coffee, watching the river wake up, and admired an absolutely gorgeous Island Packet bobbing on a mooring ball in the river.

Around 10:00, we cast off. The plan was to motor for two hours until we hit the bay and would turn north. Normally, motoring feels like a chore. Loud, smelly, and just not sailing. But today it had a different flavour. The river was calm, the sun was warm, and maybe it was still the grin that the surprise coffee had planted on our faces, but we actually enjoyed the slow roll downstream. It felt like the boat was gliding more than grinding, and we didn’t mind one bit.

The wind was supposed to pick up around midday, and for once, the forecast didn’t lie. Ten knots from behind, just as promised.

We unfurled the Yankee and let the main sail nap. I toyed with the idea of wing-on-wing, but the staysail and its Hoyt boom gave me a better idea. Poor man’s whisker pole, anyone? We rigged a preventer, unfurled the staysail, and boom—one extra knot. Autopilot on, set to wind, which means the system steers the boat to keep a steady angle to the wind instead of following a compass heading or aiming for a specific waypoint.

The sail was smooth, steady, and just plain lovely. No gybes, no tacks, just a clean run up the Bay and into Rhode River. We clocked about 4.5 knots SOG with an apparent wind of the same, which should mean 9 to 10 knots true. Not bad for a lazy October afternoon. We skipped Sellman Creek this time, since the forecast called for a stiff breeze from the south. Instead, we tucked in behind a bluff with trees that looked like they meant business. Four boats were already anchored, all spaced out like polite dinner guests. We dropped the hook, did our usual high five and hug, and settled into the cockpit.

By evening, the anchorage had grown to eleven sailboats and one lone motorboat, all lined up like they’d rehearsed it. No fuss, no crowding, just a quiet flotilla enjoying the same breeze and the same peace. And as the daylight started packing up, the moon showed up. A waxing gibbous and nearly full,

The moon threw a silver streak across the water like it knew exactly when to arrive. Not just bright, but properly bold, hanging over the river like someone lit a lantern just for us. It’ll hit full tomorrow, but tonight it was close enough to count. We watched it rise while the boats swayed gently in sync. Not a bad way to spend a Monday.

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