In which Morgan and Emily meet the crew of a traditional Hawaiian boat circumnavigating the globe without modern instrumentation; construct the frame for the hull of their Mississippi-bound vessel; get eaten by the unusually vicious coastal Maine mosquito; go for a brisk sail on the Atlantic; and are still generally welcomed by the generous and kind people of one of the oldest boat building schools in the country, despite a broken coffee cup.
This week we found ourselves looking up more than usual–at the moon, which was full, brighter and larger than the dock lights below; at the stars Arcturus and Sirius as the crew of the Hawaiian vessel Hokule’a led an informal lecture on the ways of navigation without a compass, a clock, or a sextant; at the jib on our first sail of the season as it luffed in preparation for a tack; at two of the Apprenticeshop’s apprentices late at night in the shop as they finished up work in the balcony above us as we made (poor) attempts to serenade them by singing off-key and shuffling our feet; and, more often than usual, at the sky, which seems to burst into a regatta of sailing clouds all its own every other evening here.
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