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P.M. Tonight I wouldn’t make it to 8:30. Maturity can’t hold a candle to youthfulness. Unless, I considered, it’s a mental/ emotional thing. This endurance test would certainly go beyond physical. Mentally I needed to be stronger and wiser. Decisions were once based on gut reaction. I’d often made the right decision for the wrong reason. I’d done things purely from the strength of knowing that I could. Now maybe I would be more thoughtful with the realization of the possibility that perhaps I could not. I hoped that the past ten years had taught me something. I must be smarter now than I was when I’d last captained a swordboat. But what about quickness of mind? Would I react to emergencies fast enough? I had always prided myself on my mental reflexes in the face of danger or disaster. I had always been confident beyond reason. Maybe it was healthier to be wiser, more mature, and less confident.
    Then I wondered how old was too old. Although I couldn’t put my finger on it, I knew that I had gained something in seaworthiness that was more important than sea legs. The surest, most telling, indisputable sign of my age was the thought process I was now going through. I had never before wondered about nor doubted myself after the lines were cast and the boat was at sea.
    Hell, I’m not that old, I scoffed, snapping myself out of this reverie of neurosis. I mean, I still had my own teeth and everything, and was thankful for every one of them as Arch appeared with a plate of food for my dinner. He stayed and chatted and watched me eat for a few minutes. “Isn’t this great?” he asked. “Isn’t this a beautiful night?” I felt foolish for the time I’d wasted dwelling on my age. Here was a man old enough to be my father, happy as could be and thankful to be here. Arch wasn’t doubting his ability. I hadn’t even noticed the sunset.
    â€œEverything’s good in the engine room. Timmy has that under control. This boat is really comfortable. I’ll bet she’s a great sea boat,” Arch said as he squinted out the back window at the last of the colorful sky. I dove into the steak and Stove Top stuffing like it was the last meal I would see. It was all smothered in gravy. Nothing could have been more unhealthy and fattening. I never would have worried about that ten years ago either. But I didn’t complain, because I had appointed Archie to do the cooking. We hadn’t had to draw straws to see who was stuck with the chore of feeding the group. “I feel good. This feels right. You feel good?” Archie asked.
    â€œYes. This is great, Arch. I feel great,” I lied.

CHAPTER 3
    Outward Bound
    R ipe and one sliver shy of full, the cantaloupe moon shone a flashlight beam along our path as we steamed east through the Gulf of Maine. It was glassy calm, and running lights glowed dimly on the stabilizing birds at the ends of the booms, rounding their edges to appear like jet engines under wings, red on port and green on starboard. This breathless night allowed us to haul the birds out of the water and gain a full knot in speed, as they normally ride below the surface to retard the roll of the boat and they slow us down in the process. The steady drone of the diesel two decks below added a soothing hum to the slow, gentle rocking of mysterious origin. The last of the lime green landmass had crept from the edge of the radar screen as the faded umbrella of city lights closed over our wake. At sea—it’s more a feeling than it is a place.
    It was this feeling, the state of being at sea, that I hadn’t experienced in ten years. This sensation is the result of living the total contradiction of burden and freedom. I am the captain, I thought. The freedom to make all decisions, unquestioned and without input, was something that I had missed during my sabbatical. To be held ultimately, although not solely, responsible for the lives and