I couldn’t resist shelving my plan once I was aboard.

Actually, as I used the paddleboard to get out to the mooring, I was thinking that conditions merited more than cleaning the bottom of the boat. The wind was from the southwest at 10 to 15 knots; the sky streaked with non-threatening clouds; conditions couldn’t have been better.

Apparently they were also perfect for the terns. The sleek birds hovered above the water in squadrons, dive-bombing to snatch fish from the waves. Their screeching was persistent, high pitched and excited. There were fish to be caught.

As I reached the boat, I realized there was more to clean than the bottom. The terns had set up camp on the bow. The deck was littered with deposits, including a sun-dried fish no longer than two inches. My “bird preventer,” a line stretched from the mast to the backstay, had done its job. The terns hadn’t used the boom for a perch and as a result the cockpit cover had been spared. At least that was clean.

I went to work on the foredeck with a sponge and bucket. The screeching of terns surrounded me. There were flocks of them, prepared for their aerial attacks. They weren’t pleased I had dislodged them from their launching pad.

Below surface, the bottom was in far better shape. I wiped off patches of scum that I realized were alive with tiny crustaceans. They coated the sponge and clung to my body. I dislodged a couple of barnacles where I missed applying bottom paint. I was finished in 10 minutes and back aboard.

The wind was beckoning. It was an easy decision. When would there be another opportunity like this to raise sail and with nowhere in particular to go, sail away? Being alone, I slipped on a lifejacket, realizing I never would have done that 20 years ago. You get protective of those years the more you accumulate. Besides, I figured, if I fell over I would have a good story to tell, so I’d best be sure I was around to tell it.

I needn’t have worried. The boat behaved. I avoided hitting anything and she didn’t capsize. It was choppy off Conimicut Light and the wind stiffened as I headed for Ohio Ledge. The end of a summer day was drawing near. Sailboats, wing on wing, ran before the wind on their way back to Rhode Island and Edgewood Yacht Club and ports north. Fishermen off Conimicut Light reeled in their lines and pulled anchor. I tacked several times and somewhere before reaching Papasquash Point turned around and headed back. The run was easy, the boat surging forward in the puffs. I had the time to consider my defenses against the terns and I knew what to do.

I’ve spent years battling the terns. Strategies have entailed hanging “eye” balloons, like those swinging from posts in Morris Farm cornfields; hoisting a plastic owl from the main halyard; and stringing streamers across the deck. Nothing, however, beats deer netting. String it above the deck and the terns head elsewhere – usually the neighbor’s boat. I’d get out the netting after securing the boat.

What was a first was leaving the paddleboard on the mooring. When paddling out to the boat, I’d tie it off the stern using a thin line in place of the leash. That wasn’t going to be long enough if I was going to sail to the mooring and retrieve the line without whacking the board. So I added in a 20-foot section of line.

Everything was working to plan, but terns are crafty fowl.

On my return, I spotted a flock, flying in formation, their cries rising in the wind. They were on watch for a school of fish, or were they waiting for me to return so they would have a place to hang out?

This time I’d string up the netting, they were going to be denied the foredeck.

However, the terns had beaten me at my own game. The paddleboard was where I had left it. Riding it were a half-dozen terns ready to greet my return with their protests … and of course, mementoes of their visit. Time for another plan.