Motoring back to Chebeague Island after dropping family off in Portland, our newly acquired, used outboard motor gave up the ghost. Luckily, we were beyond the chaos of Portland Harbor. Nonetheless, between Peaks and Little Diamond we were still a long way from our destination.

Novices all, my two adult kids and I tried to resurrect our 90-horse Evinrude, to no avail. Paddles out, we started awkwardly maneuvering toward the nearest shore.

“Need a tow?” The voice was coming from the first boat to pass us, a 30-foot sailboat running downwind on her full jib and partial mainsail. We were taken aback. Were they serious? We hadn’t even had a chance to fully assess our situation.

“Uh, sure!” I shouted back. In a few minutes, they had taken in their sails, motored back behind us and were readying a towrope. Before long, we were tethered.

Communication was impossible due to distance and wind, but at a certain moment we noticed extra activity on board our rescuer. Something was lowered into the water, tied fast to a line and set adrift till we came up to it – their last beer, to keep up our spirits.

After 1½ hours, their afternoon sail a distant memory, our Good Samaritans delivered us to the Chebeague Island boat yard.

Gratitude cannot do justice to our feelings about that afternoon. We were not only rescued from a real pinch – our faith in humanity has been fully restored.

Johnny Tyler
Chebeague Island