By Kimberly Mayer

Journal contributor

You can turn my husband around on the Salish Sea, and he could identify any island by its shape, the contour of its hills. That comes from 18 years of boating here. As first mate, I can’t claim to have mastered much in the way of navigation or operation. For my part, I threw myself into accessorizing the boat. Books, books, books, there is something about reading at sea! Topsider shoes, windbreaker jackets and polo shirts in a raft of bright colors, so unusual in the Pacific Northwest. But there’s a certain quality to the light out on the water and in the marinas. Everyone looks like they’re in a Ralph Lauren ad.

When we first began boating, we sometimes anchored off Rosario Resort on Orcas Island. There I was up a dozen times in the night to see that we were still there. The cliff was my marker, and the currents continuously turned us around. Again and again, I thought we were gone. You have to understand, in my mind, then all waters rushed to the Bering Sea.

Now I know that not to be true, but I do know that this is where the land breaks up. The end of the Western world. The archipelago reminded me of Pat Conroy’s beloved Low Country in South Carolina. A good place to be a writer, I thought. This is where I want to live. Moved here, we did, and now we’ve sold the boat. This is the end of being all tied up. She was starting to spend too much time in the slip. As my friend said after putting down her dear old ailing dog, “As much as I miss her every day, I’m thinking I may have kept her too long.”

Now the boat is on its way. The new owners hope to take it to Alaska, which was always our dream, too. We’ll be sure to travel in other ways, but lately, a broken-down espresso machine at home impacts us more than the loss of a trawler.