Autumn was in the air, a magical time on Chesapeake Bay. The breezes were back after the stultifying heat and calms of summer, the trees were starting to acquire what would become a mantel of gold, red and brown, and delta-flights of honking Canada geese were arriving for the winter. Early that morning I stepped onto a dew-covered deck and watched the mist rising like steam; all was quiet except for the occasional slap and roil of a fish taking its prey. The first hint of the sun showed itself through the trees on the eastern shore, a promise of another fine day for sailing. But sailing would come later, when the wind arrived. For now, I finished my coffee and slipped below for another hour in the snugness of a still-warm sleeping bag.