My log for May 31, 1979 reads…”Woke at 5am with the wind coming brisk out of the N.N.E down by Nichols Hills. Pulled the gear (8 kings) and fought the wind back to Clark’s Point to avoid being blown out on the ebb. Headed into Clark’s Slough @ 10:30 and went aground. Wind very strong out of the north. To 60 knots….7:35 pm still aground…”. What the log does not convey is the wretched anguish and chagrin I suffered at going aground yet again…victim of my feckless fathometer and lack of nautical savvy. What made the whole affair particularly painful was the public nature of my humiliation. The slough is a favorite hidey hole for the fleet in a blow….dozens of boats ran by me in the channel while I languished high and dry on the mud flats. The log informs me that …..”June 1 Set a bow anchor and came off on the morning flood..”. The hours I spent on the flats were awful. While Long Bill slept in the dog house with his feet nestled in the engine…I was full of sleepless remorse and self laceration. Remember, this was my first boat…My first command if you will. As “captain” my all consuming obsession was for the well being of my vessel and her sleeping crew of one. I felt a deep affection for that boat…call it love..as absurd as that may sound. I had poured all my meager capital into her. She was my livelihood and on her rested my hopes for economic freedom and a bright future…and I was aground…again. I stood in the bow for hours…the wind shrieked and made the boat tremble even though it was high and dry. Sometime after midnight, Bill unwound himself from the engine and poked his head out of the cabin. I poured out my anguish to him and he consoled me with the good humored compassion of an old friend. He fired up the fuel oil stove and we had a brew up. We talked and laughed about the old times in Crested Butte… skiing the headwall on Red Lady. Finally I crawled into my bunk and fell into a profound, deep, dreamless sleep. My first real sleep in weeks or so it seemed. No wonder the ancient Greeks worshiped a God of Sleep…he was Hypnos, son of Nyx, the night…his brother was Thanatos…Death. I woke in the morning. It was sunny and bright and calm. The Trio was floating again, tugging gently at her anchor. I was neither a very skillful nor a very experienced fisherman…But I was a damn lucky one…lucky in my friends, lucky in my boat, lucky in my vision of what my life could be ….