By nightfall, our tired, fuzzy minds strove to decipher a confusing confluence of channels, including Lockwood's Folly and Shallotte. Buddy, dressed to the nines in his pajamas and ready for a decent night's rest, suggested we stop. Having navigated these waters before, in daylight, he knew they were tricky. But like a bunch of punk kids ignoring our older, wiser father, we proceeded and made one of the oldest mistakes of the sea when navigating at night. We (read "I") picked out a mark too far up the channel and cut past several others. "This doesn't seem right," is all Teddy had to say before we all realized the mistake. Sea grass and a beach several feet off our bow, illuminated by the spotlight, confirmed our realization.