Well now that the boss has admitted that he ducked out of the company picnic to go fishing, I guess it's safe to admit that I didn't race right back to the office after my hot dogs and Diet Coke had settled. Instead, I decided to help out a new friend who recently purchased a sailboat similar to my own, and who desperately needed someone to show him the ropes, quite literally. We ended up spending the last half of the afternoon bobbing around Rockland Harbor, figuring out which jib sheet went where, what lever controlled the diesel's transmission, and exactly how one approaches a crowded wharf on a Friday evening (answer: slowly, and with plenty of bumpers at the ready).
While we were doing tacking drills out near the breakwater, even a jaded old salt like me couldn't help remarking that within the space of about ten minutes we'd been passed by five windjammers, each more than a hundred feet long and most far older than either I or my shipmates, as well as three ferries, a tug-and-barge, and a half-million-dollar Hinckley picnic boat. There's no denying that Rockland Harbor has changed over the years - but it's certainly no less interesting.
Hopefully the afternoon's lessons made my friend a bit more confident that he'd not just bought a huge hole into which he'll throw money forever, or at least that he'll enjoy throwing money into that hole. Perhaps more importantly, though, it served as a pleasant reminder of just why we all live in this very special corner of the world.

JOSHUA F. MOORE
Deputy Editor, seemingly unable to turn down an invitation to go sailing

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