Long as I can remember, the Thanksgiving holidays have been an outdoor adventure for me, starting when I was a little boy roaming the woods with my grandfather, right on through the years Mara and Alec were growing up. My son Alec and I have made this an official family tradition in the last four Thanksgivings running – a week of hiking, boating, biking, and cold-weather camping every time. Last winter we floated remote rivers of Chesapeake Bay, for instance. These are serious outdoor challenges, involving ultralight camping and covering many miles a day in remote settings for a week – and we have it to ourselves because it’s too cold for reasonable people.

This year we had a special challenge: one week to move Alec’s newly purchased cabin sloop — a 26-foot Bristol with about 400 square feet of sail, 45 years old but quite seaworthy (we hoped) — from Toms River, New Jersey, where it miraculously survived in the heart of Superstorm Sandy’s vengeance, all the way down the ravaged Jersey shore, and all the way up Delaware Bay and the big river to its new home in Philadelphia, where it will serve as his “apartment” while attending grad school at Philadelphia University.

So we left midday Sunday, sailed down Barnegat Bay, laced through the intricate channels of the Intracoastal Waterway, entered the open sea at Atlantic City, passed Cape May on Jersey’s south tip via the Cape May Canal, and made our way all the way up Delaware Bay and the Delaware River to the industrial port of Wilmington and on to Penn’s Landing in Philly. Five days, about 250 miles, tying to a handy dock each night or anchoring in a safe nook in remote stretches where there were none. We made our way past huge flocks of many kinds of seabirds and waterfowl; waterside views of wildlife refuges, hurricane-dashed amusement parks, and city skylines; and huge supertankers and freighters coming up from and going down to the sea. Floating debris, fog, and short days had to be dealt with, but we expected and accounted for all that. We had some good winds at times, and used the rhythm of the rising tides to help us up the mighty river.

What does any of this have to do with Kaua`i, you ask? Well, not much admittedly, except for one instant: as we made our way past the Philadelphia Naval Yard’s fleet of “mothballed” ships, right there between old aircraft carriers, destroyers, and even a vintage battleship, we saw it – no kidding, a huge ferryboat moored alongside the WWII behemoths, with “Hawaii Superferry” emblazoned across its hull! The juxtaposition was as ironic as it gets.

What any of this has to do with Thanksgiving should be obvious. We are experienced watermen, and all our risks were carefully calculated. But the aftermath of Sandy, that strange superstorm, was all around us, and in late November there are few small boats out on the water that far north in anticipation of the gale-force winds and icy temperatures that can arrive on short notice. A warm cabin at night, two secured anchors, a hot meal, clear beacon lights on a night run off the open ocean and into harbor, fog clearing, big waves damping down, a stiff breeze in the sail, enough water to float at low tide – the sailor has many simple delights to be thankful for. As we all do. We all complain too much, and feel thankful too seldom, let’s face it.

Down at Makauwahi Cave Reserve, meanwhile, Lida has plenty to be thankful for, too. Her two boys are safely back into port. The Reserve project has the dual strength of a great staff and great volunteers. Visitors are appreciative of the work being done by so many dedicated hands, and (mostly) generous in contributing to sustaining this unique place. Native plants, tortoises, and the new taro lo`i, complete with stilts and Koloa ducks, are thriving.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.