Having weighed anchor in Pago Pago Harbor bright and early after 10 months of teaching high school English and waiting for the end of cyclone season, I, along with my wife Marilu, waved goodbye to a handful of fellow yachties standing on their decks wishing us well. “Tea for the Tillerman,” my favorite Cat Stevens album, was playing on a portable cassette stereo out on deck while I gripped the laminated ash tiller, wending around boats in the anchorage.  “Hey, Babe, could you pour me another cup of tea?” Marilu stepped down into the galley to grab the teapot. I…

I thought I’d never say this, but I miss being a boat owner. For 20 years I had sailed my faithful Catalina 34 everywhere and all around — on the Florida coast, throughout Chesapeake Bay and across the Gulf Stream into the turquoise archipelago of the Bahamas. But with 3,500 hours on the engine she was showing her age, and on a cruise up the East Coast I was averaging a major repair every 100 miles. In a fit of frustration I made the hasty decision to hang a sign on her and let someone else continue with the projects. …