The wounds to our person, our pride, and our Cape Dory 22 still run deep. Although they only occurred recently, they may last forever.

We were tacking into 20-plus-knot southwest winds on the east side of Bailey Island, just south of Wills Gut. We were on a port tack. The main was double reefed, and we were flying with just the storm jib up. It was actually fun Ð at first. We truly believed that we could make it to Boothbay Harbor Ð or, if not, seek easy refuge back down the bay in the Basin.

In fact, the debate that morning had been about whether to venture out at all. If onlyÉ

In any case, we readied for the starboard tack, with ledges apparently safely in the distance. As I turned the tiller, Mary-Ellen, my lovely wife of just one year, let the jib sheet fly.

It quickly became apparent that we did not have enough sail area up to turn into the wind and tack effectively. I decided to fall back, gain more power and try it again. The ledges were approaching Ð or were we approaching the ledges? No good again!

This time, I decided to let the sails out a bit and run downwind along shore, along the ledges, which were now opening their jaws in clear and close visibility. No go again!

I ran to the stern to start the outboard, only to find it totally entangled in a lobster pot.

"Drop the sail and stop the forward motion into the ledges," became my last thought and effort as I heard and jarringly felt the sound of fiberglass being chewed alive. The waves continued to pick up Poem and pound her down on the ledges over and over again. We began to list to starboard with serious doubt as to our future.

The only option: Get off the boat before going down with her. Mary-Ellen grabbed her pocketbook (later, I learned, to save the cell phone) and her life vest. She jumped off the bow and was able to make her way to the ledges, barnacle-covered and laden with seaweed.

As I jumped from the cockpit, I went under the hull, and seeing it ready to slap me miraculously swam away from its weight.

As Poem continued to bang and crash its way down the ledge, three lobstermen in a skiff approached and with the agility of men who respect and know the sea were able to hold her fast and slide her over the rocks as the tide came in.

She sat in a lagoon near Wills Gut until the tide came in further and the Coast Guard could tow her to a mooring in a nearby safe anchorage.

For a third of what we paid for her, we will be able to repair both the boat and the outboard, which had hung horizontally on its bracket overnight.

What did we learn? Well, as a sailor of 30 years I learned that no one ever really knows it all, that some risks are simply not worth taking and that when the sea challenges someone, there is no end to the help people are willing to extend.

Wes Murphy and his friends, all of whom are local lobstermen, saved our boat while risking themselves and their own boat. Chip Black, a local contractor and owner of the Bailey Island Motel, and his son Steve (a talented songwriter and minstrel who hauled our boat over to Potts Harbor in less than ideal conditions) were wonderful hosts and helpers during a most frightening experience. Mia Antognoni, initially seeing what was happening to us from her deck, called the Coast Guard before we hit and subsequently afforded us all manner of support and kindness.

We will sail again as soon as the repair work is done, but we will continue to learn from this experience for a long time. We will, I expect, become more cautious sailors, but we will also never forget how important it is to help those out there who may someday need the kind of help we needed and received.

We had never visited Bailey Island as "guests" before. I would expect that if they treat their guests this way, then it must be a wonderful place to live.

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