It’s almost time to go. In the morning the Melonseed will get stuffed with gear, leaving a little room to skootch back and forth, tacking upwind all the way back. The tide will be out. Lots of short tacking. Another front is coming through, bringing rain. I’ll try to slip out ahead of it.
Most will wait another day to squeeze out the last few hours they can before heading back. A few plan to leave soon after I do. Beating my way out into the headwind, I see Wesley in his skiff on his way to the island to pick them up. He nods approval as he goes by.
But that’s tomorrow. Tonight is clear and quiet. Again there are Rails calling in the marsh. A fisherman and his son motor into the inlet in the almost dark, then feel their way through the creeks.
Geese fly overhead. Somewhere on the mainland a pack of hunting dogs pick up the refrain, and for a while geese and hounds echo each other, honking and howling in unison.
As I finish up this last post it’s 0°F, and it’s the wind that’s howling. Spring seems a long way off.