There was ice on the decks the next morning as we sailed away, double-reefed, for Cape Whittle, the obstacle we'd been dreading since putting Belle Isle behind us. Capes are notorious for causing difficulties — our worst times sailing have been trying to round capes: Burica, Cape May, Cape Sable, Cape John — and the weather station at Cape Whittle had been reporting winds 15 or so knots stronger than neighboring sites. It was a grand sail down, however, and as we came near, the wind dropped to a whisper, then fell flat calm. Losing no time, we started the motor and left the cape behind as quickly as possible. Taking advantage of the quiet, we made our longest daytime run ever — 70 miles — all the way to Washicoutai Bay, an uninhabited, narrow curving arm that sheltered Ganymede through the raging storm that the eerie calm had presaged.