Pacem was to be hauled out for the season on the Friday before Columbus Day and I had to get her ready Ð take off sails and booms, disconnect mast wiring, change engine oil and filter, and winterize the engine and the water and head systems. I took Thursday and Friday off from work and left Wednesday after lunch to get to the boat to start the end-of-the-season work.

	Photo courtesy Ansley Sawyer
	The author at the helm of Pacem.

When I got aboard at about 3 p.m., the sun was shining and there was a southwest wind blowing about 10 to 15 knots. It was cool, as an October day on Penobscot Bay is likely to be, but it was one of those beautiful fall days that says to you that this is not the time to take your boat apart.

I just couldn't resist one more sail, so I set the mizzen, main, and jib and sailed across the bay alone. I was alone with Pacem, our 46-foot Camper Nicholson ketch, and we were alone on the bay. There was not another boat out until I saw the North Haven ferry coming back toward Rockland.

All serious sailors know of the wonderful feeling that we get when we are sailing. Whether you are a cruiser or a racer, you know the feeling of the wind in your face, the peace of the sea, and you know the special feeling that you get just moving on the water using only the forces of nature. This day I felt all of that, as well as a feeling of escape and mischief knowing that I was sailing when I was supposed to be taking the boat apart. Glee may be a decent description, but you know it was more than that.

The wind started to slacken as I headed into the Fox Island Thorofare and we were running in toward North Haven against the outgoing tide. There were no pleasure boats on moorings along the Thorofare, and most of the dock floats and ramps had been removed. Soon Pacem and I were only doing a couple of knots and the sun was getting low in the west. I ducked below for a jacket and a libation to warm me up and turn on the navigation lights as Sinbad, the automatic pilot, steered. As we slowly sailed past downtown North Haven, the sun set behind me, while dead ahead a full moon was rising straight up the Thorofare. The moon was a huge orange ball that slowly came out of the water and lit up a path for us directly ahead. The effect of the diffraction of the atmosphere can be understood intellectually, but emotionally the size and the color of the rising moon was overwhelming.

My earlier feeling of glee turned to awe as I sailed along a moonlit course, with the sunset behind me and the moon showing the way. I felt very alone and very much one with the world, and I was reluctant to end this with the inevitable dousing of the sails. It was a clear night and of course it was getting colder, so I started taking down sails past North Haven and figured that I would go into Perry's Creek for the night.

Perry's Creek has a 4-foot spot at the entrance, and after I got the engine started and was heading in I thought to myself that it would be just about right for me to be out all by myself with no other boats around at night and to run aground and get stuck. So very slowly and very carefully I worked my way into the creek and picked up the first mooring that I came to.

I shut down the engine and was cleaning up the deck when I noticed in the moonlight a long string of dock floats attached to a mooring nearby. I looked at the length of the string and thought that when the tide turned in the middle of the night and the floats turned around that they might hit Pacem. I thought that I should probably move, but I decided that the chance of getting into trouble moving around the narrow creek at low tide was probably greater than the problem that I might have with the string of floats.

I went below as it got colder, closed the hatches, lit the stove, had dinner, and went to bed. The next morning the floats and Pacem were facing the other direction. They had moved without the slightest bump. I sailed back to Rockland that day to begin the delayed process of taking the boat apart for the winter.

As I dismantled the rig, I reflected on the beautiful experience that I had had and thought that the world is a beautiful place if we just take the time to experience it. So the next time you have the opportunity to slack off and sail by yourself rather than working, take the chance and goof off.

Ansley Sawyer lives in Augusta, Maine and sails Pacem out of Rockland with his intrepid crew of Janet, Ben, and Brad.