Breakfast is cereal and fruit, eaten under way. Out of the shadow of the island, we watch as the sun dances across the brownish-red sandstone along the mainland shore and we motor through glassy water. All week, we find morning is the time to charge the batteries; afternoons, once the breeze is up, are perfect for sailing. We pass between Raspberry Island, with its white lighthouse perched high upon a bluff, and long and narrow York Island, formed only a century and a half ago when a sandbar, or tombolo, filled the space between two separate mounds of land. By 7 a.m., we feel the warmth of the sun, and slowly, as we approach, we begin to distinguish details in the Swallow Point Cliffs, the wall of sandstone that lies at the midpoint of Sand Island. At first, we see only scattered dark splotches in the brown, red, and yellow horizontal layers, but as the light moves higher and we move closer, we gaze on intricate caves and towers carved out of the rock over the years by wind, ice, and water. We take turns riding into the caves in the dinghy, and Sue and Paula are quick to jump overboard and swim in the 55 F water through narrow openings and twirl around smooth pillars that disappear into the clear, green water below.