Tata: Why is the boat slowing down?
Pete: I don’t know.
Turns out, there was AN ISLAND in our path. I later told this to Mom who narrated:
Mom: Don’t hit a rock don’t hit a rock don’t hit a rock don’t hit an island. Where’s the bar?
Excellent footnote: most of Martha’s Vineyard is a dry island. That Pete and I stumbled into establishments where young waiters mispronounced Italian words but brought us wine and beer made us very damn cheerful. And in the fog, we did not hit that continent in our boat’s path.