Sailing through Maine for the past 12 years has been relatively easy, in fact almost boring. But hey, boring is way better than when I was moored in Washington, D.C. for 30 years and had to carry a baseball bat when I walked my dog at night. Oh right, I'm in a boat. Well, the boat is just a metaphor.
Early days on the river are a distant memory, and since my parents were at the helm it barely mattered what I did. I was just a member of the crew. I did what I was told and they fed me. If there were crocodiles in the water, I never knew about them.
As the Captain of my own ship for quite some time, I've successfully avoided trouble spots without capsizing. But you never know when you'll enter a falling rock zone, or when bad people lurking on the river banks with bows and arrows aimed right at you are ready to strike. (I never got over seeing Deliverance.)
Today looks like another easy sail, but you never know. An iceberg could be just around the next bend. (Also Titanic.) Or a sea monster, or just a rowdy party boat full of Deadheads on LSD. Despite calm waters, attention must be paid.
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