“Autopilot to waypoint ‘Bass Rock,’” he told the paired system. The helm turned gently. Restless eased forward at eight knots, her engine a low murmur.
The chart bloomed to life. Depth contours wrapped around the entrance to Hyannis Inner Harbor like topographic lines on a mountain. His own position, a crisp blue triangle, pulsed exactly where he knew he was: just outside the channel, giving a wide berth to a sandbar that had claimed two props last summer. navionics boating
He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Autopilot to waypoint ‘Bass Rock,’” he told the
Finn cut the wheel to port. Hard. The engine roared as he throttled down, not up. Restless slid sideways, her wake slapping against nothing visible. The depth held at 9.8 feet. Then 12. Then 15. The chart bloomed to life