Finally, Flight Service informed me that the airport was VFR and we could depart. It was 1 p.m., and there were still vestiges of clouds about, but I felt comfortable ﬂying above them as we overﬂew the various small islands in Blue Hill Bay. We crossed the coast at Rockport, and everything was relatively clear to our south. To the west the sky was very dark, and I wondered if I could outrun the storms. Alan continued to take photos, and I acted as his travel guide, pointing out the various towns and harbors and inlets that made up the Maine coast. As we approached Brunswick, I contacted the Portland tower to establish who we were, our altitude, where we were headed and to enter the transponder code. The controller also suggested we check the weather. I “rogered,” and we continued on. I got a recorded weather forecast that indicated that it was clear along the coast to the south. But I began to have doubts about my plans to make Falmouth by dusk. On a deeper level, I was feeling uncomfortable, and a voice in my head kept saying, This is dumb! Land at Portland! I should have listened.