Unfortunately, rain came in the next day, the cavern started to seep, and we never made it back. When the weather finally cleared, I continued Jared’s tour, taking him to Otter Cliff and the Precipice. Each night, we’d retreat to the vessel and our scotch. On the last day, the forecast looked good for more sailing, so we decided — with the Atlantic Climbing School guide Fasoldt offering to accompany — to sail back to Steuben. Since Fasoldt has a couple of Pacific crossings under his belt, it was a rare learning opportunity. That Monday was bluebird, and as we sailed back down Frenchman’s Bay, we cracked cold PBRs and listened as Fasoldt instructed us in the ways of the sea — trimming sails, taking in a reef, and how to rig a boat properly (turned out our mast was cocked and we had too much weight in the stern). We repaid him with Beta on the Trango Towers, where he hoped to head soon.

While we clocked along at five knots, I worked my way to the bow and dangled my legs over the bowsprit. Every few minutes, as the boat hit a trough, my bare feet would dunk into the green seawater. Leaning back, I gazed at the full sails overhead and took a deep breath of the salty air. Jared manned the helm, steering us on a steady course toward Schoodic Island.

Over the last week, we’d checked out one island in Downeast Maine and had barely scratched the surface. With the sea as our highway, the possibilities seemed limitless: head east into the open ocean, and in 150 miles you’d land in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, with great cragging and bouldering. You could loop back through the Bay of Fundy (avoiding Old Sow) and explore Grand Manaan Island, with its 400-foot sea cliffs. Or, if you were really feeling ballsy, head north, around Nova Scotia up to Newfoundland, with sea cliffs (Blow-Me-Down) up to 1,200 feet. Keep the SS Scrapmaster seaworthy, I reckoned, and I could do a lot of things. With years to go before I graduated from being a rookie mariner, I knew I needn’t go too far into the ocean. Trolling along the coast of Maine, learning the ropes, looking for rocks — that sounded just fine by me.

Senior Contributing Editor Mark Synnott lives in Jackson, New Hampshire, with his wife and three kids, and operates Synnott Mountain Guides (newhampshireclimbing.com).