PINEAWEIGH-DAY TWELVE, morning

5am

”You know what I would do if it were my leg today?” Dave snugged deeper under the eiderdown as Skoshi and I were leaving the stateroom on this cold morning. “I’d leave now,” he said.

In fact, I was thinking about that, too. The forecast calls for afternoon high winds and we are crossing Haro Strait and it can bathe us in salt water when it gets angry. Maybe (even though it will cost Diane her walk to the Lopez bakery), maybe leave early.

I took the four steps up to the salon and looked around. “Go back to sleep,” I said to Dave. “Fog.”

Only if I must, will I cruise in fog. My leg. My call, Pilot Pine. Go back to sleep.