I’m in, my bunk is organized, my wash kit stored in the showers.

My tent is just a few feet from a beach on Long Island Sound, where a sail boat’s mooring light marks its position. Further out, buoys and a lighthouse point to the safest route for vessels heading east or west.

A storm just blew through, thunder and lightning punctuating each tent-mate’s arrival. Thunder still rumbles above, but the rain has stopped and the sky gradually clears. Plovers cheep and pipe, and three sets of osprey parents have begun the day’s fishing to feed their hatchlings. My binoculars have never seen so much use.

Today’s goal is small, just a couple of pages, but enough to make me feel I can ignore the fascinating campgrounds and discover the plot that’s lurking at the back of my mind.