Continuing with the Best of Gunkholing, this month we are re-running “Small Craft Warnings” from Fall 1983. It’s another true, harrowing tale about Brian and his adventures in sailing. ~ Kevin Shortsleeve

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I get my head set for a week on the water and, shy of a hurricane, I go. One Monday, after several hours of what felt more like hanging on than heaving to I found myself scanning the approaching shoreline for relief from the southwest wind. I cranked my centerboard all the way up and ran dead ahead into a cove bordered by a high bluff. I anchored as close as I could in the lee of a protective hill topped by a single farmhouse.

With the engine still idling, I stood on the bow watching to see if my anchor was holding. There was a man looking down from the farmhouse porch. “Can I help you?” he shouted. “No thanks, all set,” I yelled against the wind. “The harbor is around the corner ‘ya know.” I shut off the diesel engine, waved and said, “Thanks, I know.” He just watched me for a long minute, then climbed down five of the fifty wooden steps leading to his small dock, stopped and warned, “This is a private cove ‘ya know.” I answered, “I’m not going ashore.”

For the next few hours I was busy locating supplies and returning things to the shelves they’d been on before I crossed the Sound. As I leaned over the stern fastening the cookout to a safety rail, the man’s outboard skiff passed right under my nose. I almost jumped overboard....