Cabrera wanted a cruising permit and a paid mooring reservation before it would have us, which amused me more than it should have, given the island’s own history includes rather less orderly chapters: a military garrison, a notorious prison camp, centuries of being fought over by people who never once filled out a form about it first. Now it is a nature reserve, and the only thing being fought over is a mooring buoy, and you need paperwork to lose that fight too. I suppose that is what passes for progress.

The night skies here are the clearest this crew has seen all season, clear enough that Hendrik went ashore after dark with a camera to photograph the Milky Way, and I will say the island earns its reputation on that count if nothing else. A place with a history this checkered ought to at least have the decency to look peaceful once the sun goes down, and it does.

I spent the evening on deck, unseen, doing the thing I am actually built for: keeping half an eye on the boat while everyone else looked up instead of down. Somebody has to.