"Those trawlers are headed into New Bedford. We're following them in while we still have daylight."

Mitchell turned the sloop onto a northeast heading to follow the fishing boats. Andy trimmed the sails. Then he took the chart to the cabin top and stood in the hatch opening to compare the chart with the coast. He wasn’t convinced he had miscalculated.

The wind dropped. "We need the genoa," Mitchell said.

"I don't want to deal with it." Andy kept his eyes on the chart.

"Then start the vents. Give me that chart. Let's go."

The sun was a crimson fireball dragging daylight under the horizon. Mitchell studied the chart while Andy dropped the jib and then throttled the engine. "Take the chart and get us in here." Mitchell rubbed his thumb across a bay illustration.

Silent and angry with himself, Andy took the chart. He increased the throttle and they raced past the gongs and bells that marked the ledges around the entrance to the four-mile channel into New Bedford. After a mile Mitchell steered out of the channel and they motored east into restless black waters near a jagged neck of barren land. Andy lowered the anchor into the sea. Twilight closed to cobalt then disappeared into the indigo of a clear night as the earth turned into its shadow. Stars sparkled like silver dust thrown across the heavens. The sloop tugged at the rode. Far off a dome of pale yellow light pulsed above New Bedford.

"That's it," Andy said and stepped down into the cockpit. "We can go out and play some more tomorrow."