We elected to stay far away from the madding crowds on Opening Day, and instead headed up into Saratoga Passage and around Baby Island into Holmes Harbor, some place we’ve never been. It was quiet, calm, and windless at anchor, and we did absolutely nothing but laze around in the cockpit. It was Supermoon weekend, and we attempted to capture it via a porthole:
The anchorage was peaceful, but all was not well. Our ancient Autohelm 3000 Autopilot was sick; he was dying, actually, and no amount of resuscitation was successful. I can remember being afraid of him when we first got the boat. Who knew what might happen if you turned your boat over to a wheel-driven relic the likes of Mr. Moto? I quickly learned to appreciate him, though, and his sidekick, the remote nicknamed Mini-Moto. If you’ve ever read any No. 1 Ladie’s Detective Agency stories, you’ll know that when someone dies in Botswana they say he “has become late.” So on the night of the Supermoon, in Honeymoon Bay, Holmes Harbor, Whidbey…Mr. Moto became late. We still have his ashes.