ROCKLAND — Those who saw the movie RawFaith, when it showed at the Strand Theatre last month, or witnessed the real-life adventure of the 88-foot, home-built galleon's sojourn in the nearby waters, saw the story of one man's certainty in the face of a fluid reality. Regular observers of the comings and goings in Rockland Harbor may themselves be dreamers, or they might take a more skeptical approach to nautical fantasy.

I spent some time on the water this week with George Marks, one of those who provides launch service to visiting mariners, as well as mooring rental installation, and inspection. Marks does business under the name “Two Toots” and can be reached by phone at 594-2891.

This particular day started with rain, but noon showed a bright blue sky all around. I took my cameras to the Middle Pier to see if I could track down the Italian gentleman who is rumored to have purchased the North Haven from the state with plans to convert it to cargo use in the Virgin Islands. When I caught up with him, he spoke of finishing his repairs as quickly as possible and heading south. I imagine, after years afloat and unused, the North Haven needs a lot of repair work.

After I finished my conversation with the former ferry's new owner, Marks invited me to join him as he took Will Clayton and Clayton's two children for a tour of the harbor. Clayton is currently mayor of Rockland and has decided not to seek reelection. He wants to spend more time with Sophia and Noah, ages 7 and 5, respectively.

Marks told me he wanted to help put the art in my article, and showed me some of the paintings he puts on mooring buoys, when the inspiration strikes.

As we searched the North End mooring field for signs of seals and whimsical mooring ball art, we visited new arrivals tying up to their rented moorings and Marks talked about the stages of boat dreaming, from searching for the ideal boat, to owning the ideal boat, to realizing how much time and money it takes to maintain the dream.

When I was younger, and read about the skin boats of the ancient and not-so-ancient British Isles, my dreams had me floating along unknown rivers, my only direction the flow of waters I did not control. Now, I hear there is a local effort to teach people how to build curachs. Some say Brendan the Navigator, for whom our local Catholic parish is named, came here from Ireland in such a craft and I wonder where these new boats will carry their builders.

My husband recently returned from a boat dream of his own. Jiuseppe is a 19-foot gunning dory that Joe loaded with a remarkable amount of material and supplies, and took to New York City. He planned to row most of the way, expecting southerly winds to push against his intended direction. Fortunately for Joe, the contrary morning northerlies helped him make his destination in slightly less than six weeks, with the help of kind friends, interested strangers, and of course, a great deal of rowing.

This season brought Rockland Harbor a large number of so-called megayachts, inviting those of us in smaller craft to wonder, among other things, who is on board and how much fuel it took to get them here. We can sit in a rowboat or stand on the shore and look at a castle like Blue Guitar floating in the south end of the harbor, and imagine that Eric Clapton really is on board, in spite of online evidence that the 109-foot motor vessel is generally available for charter.

A chance conversation in the grocery market, with a crew member from a world-cruising sailboat, sets the mind to dreaming of distant shores.

Even without the human-built vessel to carry our imaginings, we can look across the endlessly rippling, inconstant surface of the water, wonder what lies within that shimmering skin, and find new ways to view the world. Pretending we know anything at all of what happens in the cabins of other boats, or whether seals are playing just inches below the flexing surface of the sea, can be pleasant exercise for what Kurt Vonnegut referred to as our oversized brains.

But what the ocean actually gives me, and asks of me, is presence. To stay aware of all that takes place, in a constantly shifting environment, requires a willingness to let go and let go and let go.

Last summer, 2012, I spent mostly in Lincoln County, where I covered school board meetings, selectmen's meetings, man's inhumanity to man, parades, fairs, public suppers and private property disputes, and the little bits of wonderful that are part of any community. I did not spend much time at all on the water, either at work or at play. This summer has been different.

This has been a time to cast off my moorings, both figurative and literal. My modest boat dream, to learn to sail on my own, was fulfilled after a listing on facebook led me to Emma, a Cape Dory 10 sailing dinghy. Alone and without anyone to tell me what to do next or take over when I messed up, I found myself more capable than I'd thought and the boat more forgiving than anticipated.

When an experienced friend asked me to help bring her  recently purchased 19-foot goldeneye home from Cape Rosier, it seemed likely we could manage the task. And we did. Encountering the flukey winds that have typified this summer, we tacked back and forth across the bay, seeing whales and watching other sailors and feeling the sun and wind that define the air we breathe and often propel motorless adventurers, now, as they have for centuries.

A couple of weeks ago, after returning from his moneyless and motor-free trip to Wall Street, Joe suggested we go sailing together. His idea was that he would take Emma and stay nearby as I soloed on Bella, our Vivacity 20. So, I rowed Joe's dinghy out to the mooring, put the rudder and tiller together and into their places, raised the main and unfurled the jib, cast off from the mooring, and took her out to the Breakwater.

I didn't attempt the wilder waters beyond that protective barrier. Just getting through the mooring field without hitting anyone else's boat was adventure enough. Out beyond the obstacle course of other people's floating dreams, we tied Emma to the transom and had a picnic. Then Joe returned to the dinghy, leaving me to thread the gaggle of boats between the Breakwater and our mooring, picking my way into the wind to catch the pennant, drop the sails, and put Bella to bed.

On my recent trip with the Claytons, aboard the Two Toots launch, I met a couple who had just sold their own Vivacity 20 to move up to a larger vessel. As we dropped them at the dock, they told me to wait a couple of years, until they are ready to sell their new boat. Then I can fulfill my dream of a boat I can walk inside.

On the water, whether you operate without a motor, as I do, or race the fastest boat in the lobster fleet, how things go is ultimately a function of the wind. Sometimes, you really can't get there from here. When I headed to the Middle Pier that Thursday, I was looking for a story about a big boat dream. What I found was the wonder in young eyes at the shimmering moments to be experienced afloat, no matter what the size of the vessel. There is wonder in the serendipity that is available when you accept the unpredictable nature that underlies all our human effort.

This column represents a return to storytelling for me, after five years as a reporter. I have been asked to cast my eye on Penobscot Bay, the body of water that is central to life here in Midcoast Maine. Sometimes, you are asked to do just the thing you would choose. I was looking for a name for this series and the word “adrift” came to mind. This being the early 21st Century, my next step was to google that word.

At the top of the stack, I found Simon Christen's beautiful interaction with San Francisco Bay. While we decry the foggy days that keep schooners tied to docks and thwart plans for the beach, on the other side of this continent Christen has been photographing the movement of earth and fog, the interplay of wild nature and human construct. Please take 4 minutes and 35 seconds to share this view with him at http://vimeo.com/69445362. You can learn more about his work at http://www.simonchristen.com/index.html.

For those of you stuck in the fantasy of Blue Guitar, the custom built, 1967 Camper and Nicholsons luxury craft is said to travel at a maximum speed of 12 knots and accommodate up to seven guests and five crew members. Dream on.

Shlomit Auciello is a writer and photographer living in Rockland. Her column appears here every other week. She can be reached at auciello@midcoast.com.