It’s that time of year again.

The Daybreak (a Catalina 27 sailboat) has been washed and waxed, and the depleted woodwork has actually received no less that three coats of spar varnish after receiving exactly none last year. I could actually hear the wood thanking me as the varnish was lovingly applied.

Now if I can just get that balky, overheating diesel under control, we will be good to go. The boat yard said “she” will be in the water in a week.

This is the year (I swear) that we cast off the bonds of timidity and boldly go where few sailors have dared … outside the Rockland breakwater.

My idea of a good sail is a light breeze, warm day and a long rope tied to the dock. I don’t like to get of sight of the Rockland Coast Guard station, in case of an emergency. If my life vest isn’t on, it is within arm’s reach. After writing maritime disaster and drowning stories for about four decades, I have more than a healthy respect for the ocean. As one Newfie, the daughter of a whaling captain, once told me, “The ocean doesn’t care if you live or die.”

All right. I am a sea coward. When the whitecaps come out, I go in.

The Daybreak has been no farther north of Rockland than Bayside, no farther east than Eagle Island, no farther south than the Mussel Ridge Channel and the Owls Head lighthouse. Last year, the most daring trip we took was the two-day circumnavigation of North Haven.

This is the year that we expand our horizons. I subscribe to Maine Boats and Harbors magazine only to see what “real” sailors do with their Maine summers.

In this month’s issue, Ken Textor describes the perfect, sheltered “Paths of Least Resistance” from Port Clyde to Frenchman Bay and Mount Desert Island.

This, then is the summer’s quest. To the south, Port Clyde doesn’t look too bad, but one should have half a brain to figure the tides through the Mussel Ridge to get there. To the north, I don’t know about Mount Desert. I think Isle au Haut and the dangerous, death-defying circumnavigation of Deer Isle would be more realistic.

This is all new to me, you understand, but it appears that the wind will always blow out of the general direction you wish to travel, making any headway arduous and time-consuming. There is sort of an engine on the boat but even when it isn’t red-lining from overheating, it offers precious little horsepower. If the wind and tide are running against you, the best the wheezing diesel can do is hold you in one place while you seek safer alternatives.

The most dangerous thing any crew member has done on the Daybreak is to light the alcohol stove. It is somewhat like the Coleman fuel stoves in that you have to pump the fuel to get the stove lit. This monstrosity belches 3-foot flames, which endanger not only the curtains but any bystander in shouting distance. After a few moments of the forestlike fire, it just goes out, requiring a repeat of the entire procedure.

We have decided to retire the alcohol stove in favor of the wondrous Coleman propane stove, which should win a Nobel Prize for its inventor. If you are bright enough to remember the propane, this machine is foolproof.

Needless to say, provisions are vital to any expedition. On one of the early overnight trips, about three miles from Bayside to the northern tip of Islesboro, we spent $80 for provisions. We don’t like to miss too many meals.

Now that the stove problem has been solved and prayers to Poseidon might cure the diesel’s chronic overheating problem, we have the nautical charts out, exploring routes from Port Clyde to Deer Isle.

This is the year. (All mariner traffic, be advised.)

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.