As I watch from the companionway, I consider yet another reason we've resisted mounting a dodger on Taleisin. Without one, half of me sits in the friendly, orderly cabin where Larry, sleeping soundly, is within easy shouting distance should I need his help. At the same time, I'm already halfway outside, so there's no reason not to check a line or trim a sail. Without the dodger, I can study the whole horizon, estimate the track of each squall, and watch stars appear behind each trailing skirt of clouds. Tonight, I contemplate how our amidships galley and aft watch seats make the dodger less important to us. We can cook without fear of spray or wind dousing the stove; we can remove our foul-weather gear in the dry space just below the companionway, safely away from the person working in the galley.