This is the abstract and brief chronicle of a two-week cruise in a sloop around ong Island Sound. It first appeared in The New Yorker and still retains the pressed shape of a column of type lodged between Conrad Hilton and Givenchy ads. The author set out to ejuvenate himself, study the transformed landscape, see Progress in microcosm, and analyze the nautical Easterner. He is gently envious as he passes the great launches of the supercosmopolitans the Schicks and Rockefellers. The Sound is about 100 miles long and appeals more to sailors than sunbathers. Excitement is in ratio to the type of vessel he is on and, though his sloop carries and inboard auxiliary motor, Hunt's is a wind-driven dyssey. The Sound is torn up by about 200,000 boats each summer. Some marinas house undreds of swank power boats which seldom go anywhere and are mere floating summer homes. ilboat enthusiasts sigh for the vanishing sailor. This book is best when at sea or riding anchor through a squall, captures towns brilliantly, and is wry about the uniform vulgarity everywhere.