On the narrow cliff road, we duck into a pullout when a homemade motorcycle-truck comes at us around a bend, and we stop to peer over a heart-stopping drop-off to watch the sloop approach the harbour, far down below.
      The wind has given up this boat, and it now moves with the air of a triumphant matador, bouncing lightly on the chop just outside the harbour, where the wind is sending a message that it will be lurking outside whenever the sloop chooses to leave.
      Just as I begin to pull our tiny car back onto the one lane cliff-hanger of a road, an out-of-place big, black SUV comes roaring straight at me and nearly clips off my mirror. For a minute we forget about the sloop and tend to our own journey. Carefully, I get the car back on the road and we glance down as we drive, catching only glimpses of the boat as geography gets in the way.
      Finally, the road turns to allow us an unimpeded view of the sloop, and we’re able to pull onto a wide shoulder where we get the full view of the village, the harbour, and the sloop as it slowly enters.
      There should have been a band playing. Anyone who’s ever been caught out has likely had that feeling as they pulled into a safe harbour after a successful match with the elements’ But those are the moments that always go unheralded, except within ourselves. And that’s as it should be. You don’t sail for applause.


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