“Hang on,” the man next to me advises, and I’m quick to comply. The Angelique’s red sails have caught the wind, and her tall wooden masts creak under the wind’s powerful hand. The sailboat angles sharply, cutting through the sea, and I have to hold on to keep my balance.

With my back against the boathouse, I brace myself and give in to the tall ship’s tilt. Sea spray mists my face as we slice through the rhythmic waves, and I’m thrilled with the freedom of sailing. Behind me, I hear the joyful whoops of my fellow passengers who are obviously just as happy.

Later, when the wind slows down, one of the crew members shows me how to climb out onto the head rig near the jib boom to watch the waves below. Netting is the only thing that holds me above the sea, and for a moment, I panic, watching the water crash beneath me. But I follow Abe’s careful steps to the edge, and then catch sight of the scene before me.

The blue waters of Penobscot Bay stretch across the horizon, with pine-covered islands in the distance and wood-shingled villages draped along the shoreline. Gulls float in the breeze against a cobalt sky, and the air is heavy with the salt of the ocean.

Though the ship has two engines, the Angelique sails under the power of the wind.

The sea is a mainstay for many who call Maine home. We pass boats of all sizes, from luxurious yachts with helicopter landing pads to rugged rowboats, faded from the sun.

We also pass dozens of lobster boats. Colored buoys marking their traps dot the water as far as the eye can see. “It looks like God sprinkled Skittles candy across the sea,” one person remarks, and it seems an accurate description.

The Angelique herself is a gaff topsail ketch following in the timeless tradition of 19th-century tall ships. The 95-foot (29 m) vessel, one of 14 windjammers that sail the coasts of Maine, holds 29 passengers and six crew members.

Most of the windjammers were built around the turn of the century, when America relied on sailing ships for transport. In fact, several of the vessels are registered National Historic Landmarks.

Though the Angelique is one of the newer ships in the fleet, it is still patterned after vessels of old. Quarters are tight, but comfortable. Our cabin consists of a double bed, a small sink and three feet of floor space. My husband and I have slept surprisingly well in our wood-paneled cocoon. Though the walls are thin and I can hear our neighbor snoring at night, a pair of earplugs does the trick as the sea rocks us to sleep.

All passengers share three “heads” (restrooms) onboard, and there are two narrow showers. The Angelique has a cozy deckhouse, complete with piano for singalongs, where my husband pores over charts and maps, trying to follow our course.

Powered by Trip.com

Family-style meals are served in the mess hall, below. Debbie, the cook, whips up incredible dishes from her compact kitchen. From my perch on the deck, I can hear her singing “Swing low, sweet chariot” while she works, the tinny sound of banging pots intermingling with her soft voice.

Captain Mike Henry stands at the wheel, enjoying the breeze and looking as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Though we have two engines for backup, we sail under the power of the wind. With no set itinerary, we will go where nature takes us.

There is a certain freedom in that; still, I can’t help but ask Captain Mike where we might be headed today.

“Oh, probably straight … and then we might turn,” he deadpans in that dry Maine sense of humor.