August 8, 2025

 

The cities on East Penobscot Bay have a living tradition of wooden schooners. Rockland, Rockport, Camden and Belfast each have at least one if not more. These two masted vessels are either in the day trade or take guests out for extended periods of time. Other than cruising on Carrie Rose there is probably no better way to see the Maine coast. 

 

We have shared many harbors and anchorages with them. They make a grand entrance towards the late afternoon usually with full sails and confidently anchor in places we, in our tiny 32’ shallow boat, shy away from. A large cast iron fisherman’s anchor that no self-respecting modern day cruiser would use today is their mainstay.

 

Once let loose it hits bottom and stops the boat. The adept crew immediately drops the headsails and the fore mainsail. And then, there it sits in splendid profile; the effortlessness of the maneuver puts us on lookers to shame. 

 

The schooners, all different, are for the most part reclaimed commercial vessels refashioned for the tourist trade. It gave them a new purpose and preserved them from being cut up and scraped. A working vessel is a working vessel no matter if it is hauling lumber, coal, freight, ice; fishing on the Grand Banks; or hauling land lubbers trying to get a taste of the sea and of the glorious past they have read about. 

 

Granted there was never anything glorious about the past other than the audacity to attempt to make a living in vessels made of wood, cotton and iron in the unforgiving environment of the North Atlantic. No wonder that, as in the Great Lakes, every tourist T-shirt shop has a book that begins with: The Wreaks of the ____. 

 

Pulpit Harbor on North Haven Island sits approximately ten miles from the schooner’s homeports. The harbor is well protected by a series of rocks, mostly underwater, at the entrance. It has a large open bay that is between 15 and 40 feet deep. The bottom consists of thick black mud that welcomes the anchor’s sharp vanes and envelopes the chain it is attached to. When the anchor is set, it is not moving.

 

Carrie Rose has been here for a week swinging from the SW to the NE. It is a place for restful sleep. At times we have had the harbor to ourselves. The mooring field east of us is oddly empty as has been the case wherever we have been this year. 

 

The fact that the anchor has held so snugly means it is reluctant to give way when it is time to for us move on. Once we are prepared to leave and the engine is running, I use the electric windlass to creep up on the anchor. There is 100 feet of Acco G40 HT galvanized 3/8^”  chain to raise. The first thirty feet are clean, but then the seventy feet that was laying in the mud begins to come out of the water. I lean over the bow rail and spray high pressure water to loosen the tenacious mud from the chain before it is deposited in the anchor locker. 

 

Remember, this is Maine and Maine’s mud is not just any mud but a living being unto itself. Thus, stored in the dark confines of the anchor locker the mud begins to putrefy. Cleansing the chain adds twenty minutes to the process of disembarking. No matter how diligent, rivulets of watery mud course down the sides of the boat and sully the aft deck.

 

Finally, the anchor, which is basically a large scoop, appears out of the water. Its blades are the repository of pounds of thick black mud and often the sea creatures that live in it. The skinny high pressure spray is no match for this conglomeration. I abruptly raise and lower the anchor into and out of the water to persuade the mud to fall off. 

 

At this point we are no longer attached to the harbor’s bottom. Charlotte pilots the boat keeping Carrie Rose out of harm’s way while I wrestle with the last of the mud. Once cleaned, the anchor is secured in place with a satisfying “thunk”. I signal for the water pump to be turned off, then drain and coil the hose. The windlass is covered and its power switched off.

 

I note the time in the log for now the cruise officially begins. We broke the hold Mother Earth had on us and now we are in King Neptune’s realm. A new vigilance is required. It takes a few anxious moments to realign, exit the harbor and accelerate towards the next destination, and await our next schooner rendezvous.

Buck's Harbor, ME

July 24, 2025

These last few days it is becoming progressively windier. The forecast called for even stronger S-SW winds today and into the night. The last several days we have been at one of our favorite spots: Warren Island State Park. It is part of a group of islands, the biggest of which is Islesboro, that separates East and West Penobscot Bay. Cruising between the bays I can almost see the glacier that ground its way SW and carved a 180 foot trough on each side of these islands.

 

The state park has been unmolested (except by summer campers) for a hundred years. It is groomed but in a hand’s off way. The islands best amenity, for me at least, is an approximately two mile hike arounds its perimeter. An easy walk, except for the black flies and mosquitoes. It winds through a pine and birch forest with an under belly of vibrant green ferns. Along the edges are scenes we have come to expect in Maine. 

 

There is the interaction between the forest and the sea, and the tides and currents. There is an unobtrusive mussel/oyster farm in a skinny channel between Warren and 700 Acre Islands; there are a multitude of colored lobster buoys along the island’s edges fished by few classic lobster boats; there is the large brightly lit ferry that crosses from Lincolnville to Islesboro; and there are visiting yachts of all makes and sizes, and if lucky, a large schooner will drop its anchor right outside the park’s mooring field.

 

A few years back we neglected to monitor the weather and were trapped by a NE storm that came charging down the bay and directly into our unprotected anchorage. That night of howling wind was added to the list of the sleepless nights that are unescapable if one cruises long enough. With this in mind, we decided to leave early and head 20 miles to a protected cove in Vinalhaven Island called Perry’s Cove. 

 

Perry’s Cove is a unique destination in an area of unique destinations. It is the domain of John, The Mayor, a gregarious gentleman that controls several free moorings while living on his 34 foot America Tug. All he asks for is a donation to help with the upkeep and conservation of the island. This being a perfect spot, it is often crowded with cruising boats. 

 

The cove is peppered with many mooring balls besides his. Most of these balls are uninhabited by the owner’s boats, so boats come in and take them for the night hoping their owners will not disturb them and mostly this is what happens. To top it off there is a resident eagle that swoops down the channel and over the trees in feats of acrobatics worthy of the Blue Angels.

 

Carrie Rose’s diesel while running, through a connection of hoses (that I try not to fret about), heats the water in the water heater. It can also provide heat through another series of hoses connected to a radiator with fans that blows hot air into the cabin. Nonetheless, it was the hot water we were concerned about because we had not had a shower in the three days since we left Belfast. This was remedied soon after the engine was shut down.

 

When I began to write I was going to describe the bumpy ride we had head on into 4 foot seas and 20 knot winds. I was going to mention that just to add to the stress we came here by an unfamiliar route. And that we were not sure there would be a mooring available, but that is all in a day’s work out on the water and the retelling can get pedantic, so I won’t . . .     

 

 Perry’s Cove, Vinalhaven, ME                

July 15, 2025

We, meaning all the boats in Maine, patiently wait for the fog to lift. It’s been a long wait this spring and summer. There have been longer intervals. Two years ago, the fog never lifted and we went home early. Nonetheless, dedicated cruisers such as ourselves deserve better. Weather forecasting is accurate to a fault. If it says fog then there will be fog. It deflates your bubble when the 7 day outlook is 7 days of fog.

Today I count as this year’s first day of summer. Of course, we woke to fog at Buck’s Harbor, but it was demonstrably warmer. Though our surroundings were obscured, the sky was bright. At 9 AM it became obvious that the sun would win out. Sea level clouds rolled in off the Reach and then dissipated as they climbed into the surrounding hills. 

 

Boats began to stir. We dinghied to the marina to take our last showers for the next couple of days. New found friends were engaged for the final time this season and maybe forever. Boat dogs got their final walks before heading out. 

 

Back on Carrie Rose, our silent departure ritual began. The dinghy is secured on the stern. I take a good look around the engine room. Fuel filters are checked for water and water filters are checked for debris. The engine’s fluids are checked as are electrical connections, batteries, switches, belts and cables. I make sure there is no oil or water in the bilge. Only then are the various electronic devices turned on and the route is reviewed. 

 

Meanwhile, Charlotte puts everything in its proper place and I do mean everything. Experience has taught us, no matter how calm it may be, whatever is laying around will get flung across the cabin enroute. I will not bore you with the multitude of reasons for this, but it is inevitable. Finally, the engine is started. 

 

Now 10 miles further northwest attached to a mooring in Tom Cod Cove, a blustery south wind pushes Carrie Rose’s bow from side to side. As the boat swings the wind intermittently blows into the port and starboard pilothouse doors. Despite the wind’s vigor, it is a cooling summer breeze. A breeze we deserve because why not have at least one first day of summer . . .

 

Belfast, ME              

July 13, 2025

 

Carrie Rose is on mooring #5 in Buck’s Harbor at the north end of Eggemoggin Reach. The harbor’s U-shape is created by the appropriately named Harbor Island that separates it from the Reach. The harbor is known for four things: a quaint marina, it’s outdoor shower tucked next to the fuel tanks, an upscale restaurant up the road and the barely submerged Harbor Ledge in the middle of the harbor. 

As the ledge has been a rude awakening for many a boater it now has a large white buoy with a flashing white light attached to the top. Still, located mid harbor and surrounded by many boats and moorings, the buoy is easy to overlook. 

 

There are many hazards to navigation in Maine. The charts are full of them. Even on familiar routes I make a point to inspect the chart each time we venture out. In fact, familiar routes can be the most dangerous. There is no room for complacency; think of the Costa Concordia disaster.

 

We left Northeast Harbor for Buck’s Harbor on a sunny day. There was no fog and the seas were calm. Though we are capable of cruising in zero visibility I haven’t felt up to the challenge this year. I know it is inevitable, so I keep up my radar and navigation skills. But we have come to a consensus that if staying in the harbor an extra day or two will find us a sunny day to travel, we will stay put.

 

Today a group of Friendship Sloops came into the harbor. There was a strong S-SE wind, so they must have had a raucous downwind sail up the Reach. One after another came in, grabbed a mooring with varying degrees of difficulty and looked relieved to be safe in a protected harbor. The looks on their faces reminded me of many a boisterous sail on Lake Michigan.

 

Tomorrow was to be our last day here. The multiple weather apps convinced us to take our own advice and we signed up for another day. That means I can take one more outdoor shower all the while looking out the hole in the wall straight at Carrie Rose swinging on her mooring . . . priceless!

Buck's Harbor, Maine

July 7, 2025

It’s walkies time. Got to catch the 8:50 bus to Eagle Lake Trail. The first thing I do when I wake up is lean over and look at the pilothouse clock. This is to confirm if I need to roll over and sleep for another hour or get up and face the day. 

The night before a scheduled bus trip Charlotte begins to exhibit bus-missing anxiety. So, I am primed to make sure we get up in time to wash, dress, eat and put the engine on the dinghy, and of course, for Charlotte to do Wordle.

 

This morning I leaned over and pronounced it was 7:50 and this meant in our present long retired state, we could never be ready in time. But in a futile attempt, I made coffee as Charlotte rushed to ready herself until she discovered it was 7:00 not 8:00. So, let’s go hiking!

 

We have been driving pass Eagle Lake while on the way to Bar Harbor for a decade. Each time we say to each other that it looks like a flat trail around a beautiful lake. This year Charlotte took it on as a project. I am assured that other than a slight elevation change (a couple of hundred feet) it will be an easy slog on a well maintained carriage road. 

 

The last time we walked six miles was probably six years ago, but I kept my consul. Between us we have at least four suspect joints. You know, the ones that need to be lubricated each morning with gentle stretching and multiple refrains of, “It sucks getting old.”

 

The first half of the hike was on a Carriage Road. I should explain what one is for those unfamiliar with Mount Dessert Island and Acadia National Park. John D. Rockefeller Jr., the prototype for a despotic billionaire, built forty five miles of fine gravel roads between 1913 and 1940 to ride his horse on. Despotic or not, the roads, gates, bridges and buildings are beautifully crafted from local granite. They were designed not to interfere with the landscape and I admit they succeeded.

 

The one concern as we started our walk, a bit beyond halfway there is a steeper section that leads to Connors Nubble which is close to 600ft. This was to be avoided, so the plan was to take the Eagle Lake Trail the last 3 miles. Now this is a trail and in Maine terms it is rated at mild. For flatlanders like ourselves “mild” in Maine is a euphonism for be beware. This trail follows the west rim of the lake, which turned out to be a mile and a half of large (and small) granite rubble collapsed from the cliffs above.

 

The trail began root bound and lead into a boardwalk made of half sawn trees balanced on other rickety half sawn logs. I began to ask if we should backtrack and take the boring but easy way to the bus stop. Charlotte carried on and lucky for us we remembered to bring both tungsten tipped carbon fiber walking sticks. As the trail approached the lake shore it devolved into a 1.2 mile boulder field that challenged our suspect joints and balance.

 

Of course, we met young strapping males and younger families with newborns lofted high on their father’s backs in Formula One type seats. They were without concern as they skipped across the trail while we groveled amongst the stones. Charlotte deserves credit. She barely uttered a foul word except to tell passersby to get off the trail.

 

Eventually, as the trail peeled off from the shoreline, it flattened out and became cushioned by a carpet of lovely amber pine needles. Once back on the carriage road, we had another two miles of a gently rising trail which finally descended into the parking lot and bus stop.

 

A look at the bus schedule meant another hour to wait for the return bus, so we hitched a ride to Bar Harbor (the opposite direction) in search of ice cream. As we walked into town I saw the distinctive vehicle of a friend from the harbor and flagged it down. We had a fun trip back to the boat, all the while lamenting our sore muscles and reveling at the fact that we had hiked six miles!

 

We were back on Carrie Rose by 2:30, just in time for a pre shower espresso. By four we were back on board sitting in our favorite places. An ice pack sat comfortably on my left knee as I contemplated dinner. Again, Charlotte stepped up and declared dinner would be the never before attempted zucchini fritters. 

 

It was the end to a successful day: 3:45 minute six mile walk without a crisis, hot showers and fritters without a mess. Now that’s the way to spend a day . . .

Northeast Harbor, ME

July 3, 2025

It is a unique moment when we are the only boat left in an anchorage. When the last boat raises its anchor and motors out it gets unusually quiet or at least it feels that way. Depending on the circumstances we feel blessed or wonder why we have not left. Let’s say the weather is deteriorating, should we also be moving to a safer location. This concern is not unprecedented as we have errored in the past. 

To sit through a storm at anchor is sobering. The decision to stay, especially at night, is hard not to second guess. Carrie Rose’s AIS (Automatic Identification System) has a feature called Anchor Watch. It shows where we are in reference to the anchor. It knows this because once the anchor is dropped, a button that marks its location is pushed. That is if in the commotion that is anchoring, we remember to push it. 

 

A circular boundary surrounding the anchor is set and if the boat extends beyond it, an alarm will sound. So, let’s say 70 feet of chain is lowered then the boundary is set at 100 feet. If the wind increases the chain will pull tight and extend, thus the extra length of the perimeter. A dragging anchor is not a thing we want to deal with especially in the dark, so we are careful in how we set the anchor.

 

I am not sure how I got on this tangent. I was writing about a quiet anchorage all to ourselves and suddenly I’m in a storm with the anchor dragging.

 

Another thing we notice, except in the most remote anchorages, is that lawns are always being mowed. Here in Somes Harbor no one (as of yet) is mowing their lawn but that has been replaced by major bridge reconstruction to the north and to the west, a large home’s sea wall is being built. The latter entails placing large granite boulders delicately (not quietly) in place and the former, pounding metal post into the mud. 

 

That said, the nights here have been quiet, dark and cool; perfect sleeping weather. 

 

Most mornings and afternoons I can see osprey and hear eagles. These two avian do not get along. Of the two, the osprey is more aggressive. An eagle will pretty much sit on its perch and get dive bombed repeatedly by the osprey. The eagles seem annoyed but not enough to fly away. In my experience, ospreys are tireless, whereas eagles are chill. 

 

One of the benefits of Somes Harbor is the complimentary bus service that L.L. Bean provides for Mount Dessert Island. The bus stops at the Somes Public Library. It is a fifteen minute walk once we dinghy to the dock. Today Bar Harbor’s hardware and grocery stores are on the agenda. The bus arrives at 10:18, so I need to stop chilling and get my act together . . .

Somes Harbor, ME 

 

June 24, 2025

Today it is warm. The sun is shining and by shear consequence the harbor woke up. Lobster boats that have been sitting moribund at their moorings are suddenly covered with traps. Carrie Rose is a bit like a lobster boat but I doubt I could pile fifty lobster traps on the stern and she’d still be floating. Lobster boats have been growing in the 12 years we have spent on the water here in Maine. It is not unusual for them to have massive 700 to 1000 hp engines. To put in context, we have 210hp. 

While in the fog and cold Charlotte was reading me lobstering statistic to pass the time. And though, last year’s catch of 87,000,000 lbs. of the squirming crustaceans was down from the previous year, it was leagues above 10 years ago. There were several factors attributed for the drop: overfishing (the fisherman will never concede this), the warming waters of the Gulf of Maine (don’t even mention climate change around here), different invasive crabs (of course, they all seem to be from China), etc., etc. But let’s move on. 

 

As we are wont to do this time of year, we are attending the Acadia Festival of Traditional Music & Dance in Bar Harbor. There are many Canadian artists, teachers, students, and guest present from Prince Edward and Cape Breton Islands, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Newfoundland. The young man in charge of the event (a fiddlier himself) made a point to welcome the Canadians and apologized for our present government’s disrespect. He got a big round of applause.

 

So today, as the temperature rose, we shifted from wool and fleece to t-shirts and shorts. I put the sunshade up over the pilothouse windows. I dug out the jury rigged (I know, not again) cords for the 12 volt fans. There is enough sun to charge the batteries, run the fans and the frig, and as a bonus, charge the dinghy’s lithium battery. 

 

The shift from the isolation of cold to the exuberance of heat is taxing. An old fart now, in denial concerning the value of change, I keep trying to mix up my surroundings. It is good that Charlotte is a good sport . . . 

NE Harbor, Maine

June 21, 2025

Cold and miserable, rain and fog . . . then a strong SW wind blows it out and replaces it with a warm breeze. The sun peaks out of the clouds as it should on this longest day of the years. The light is pure in Maine. There is no forest fire smoke, no pollution from industry, cars hardly matter even during the height of tourist season. The sun shines through the atmosphere unimpeded and onto Carrie Rose’s roof top bank of silicon. 

The SW breeze strengthens and drags waves of black clouds over the harbor and disperse them out onto the Gulf of Maine but not before covering the pilothouse’s windows with a light drizzle. 

 

In years past the harbor was packed with schools of fish. And following them were seals, cormorants, porpoises, osprey, eagles and equally rapacious, fishermen. This year no fish, so only a lone seal and cormorant cohabitate with us. An eagle swept in off the northern cliff, above the houses, took a cursory inventory of the surrounding waters and after a short visit to a lobster boat flew back over the hill. 

 

NE Harbor is protected from most directions except maybe the South in a serious blow. Today the worst of the wind rattles Carrie Rose’s wooden doors just to let us know it is there, and not to try and confront it. More than one sailor has been lured out into disaster while sitting in a calm harbor. 

 

It won’t be us, this time at least. We are not going anywhere except maybe into town to buy something trivial as an excuse to go for a walk. As I stand here in the pilothouse this longest day I can see seven American flags each straining to the strong wind gusts. Rhetorically at least, there seems to be a lot of that going on this summer….

Northeast Harbor, ME

June 18, 2025

The fog finally rolled in. We have been waiting patiently for it to obscure the little world we live on out here in the middle of the harbor. Granted it is not the supercharged fog where we can’t see the boat next to us but it works. Along with the fog came rain and a temperature drop. This is par for the course. 

As I mentioned, we have been using a warming blanket to warm up the bed before we get into it. I discovered that it is hard to use judiciously. This is reflected in the lack of battery charge in the morning. Fog being fog it prevents our one solar panel from making up the difference from the use of the blanket. The only way to deal with this is to run the generator. 

 

Carrie Rose is 1990 vintage. Back then a generator was a splurge. Not all boats had one or two as is often the case now. We did not have all the electronic gizmos and we did not have the expectation that every comfort on land would be available on the water. The electron needy devices have slowly infiltrated and along with that, we aged. Our expectation of comfort grew mainly because our protoplasm demanded it.

 

If you pardon the technical talk, our generator is a 4kw Kohler. That’s correct, the plumbing people. They are big into power generation. As with many other things, generators have become sophisticated. Ours is not one of those. It is powered by a small two cylinder diesel. I shouldn’t say small because it is the same size engine that we had on Lenore, our 31 foot sailboat. 

 

If anyone is familar with small diesel engine they know that a small one can make a hell of a racket. And, like a Harley Davidson, each detonation pulls and pushes the engine back and forth sending a small shockwave through the boat. And, though there is a muffler, each of the above detonations sends a distinct pop out the starboard side of the boat. 

 

Charlotte and I have been self conscious about this since we began to cruise. The last thing we want to do in a pristine anchorage is create an hour or so of noise pollution once a day. Our friends with newer boats have generators that are encased in sound proof crypts with exhaust systems that expel the foul vapors and noise under the water, thus maintaining the pristineness the anchorage. 

 

Of course, a new generator would remedy the situation but come at a cost both financially and psychically. We can absorb the monetary cost, at least our financial advisor tells us so. The psychic cost, I am not so sure. To replaced it, one boatyard or another will have to be dealt with and at least in Maine, this has proved a challenge. Along with deadlines, our expectations are rarely met.

 

As I write this, sitting in the fog, I should be more concerned about the state of our and the world’s polity. Us privileged boomers can certainly put up with a little noise and inconvenience for a little longer and wait for the sun. I’m not sure about the planet. 

NE Harbor, ME

June 15, 2025

We have been lucky with the weather. Of course, the weather owes nothing to us. It goes about its merry way with no concern for our comfort or safety. A professional boat captain reminded me the other day that there is no reason to be caught unawares because of the quality and quantity of weather information available.

The harbor is quiet. A large Nordic Tug came in. There was a time when any Nordic Tug sighting was an excuse for a party but that was on the Great Lakes. Eastern folk are a bit more restrained in their approach to spontaneous joy. A large sailboat from England is off to our port and a meticulous Wesmac 46 cruiser/lobster boat from Boston was tied to the dock.

 

These boats are what dreams are made of until the storage, maintenance and fuel bills come due. That said, they are also boats with a specific purpose in mind. To that end Carrie Rose has suited us well. Like our bungalow she is a little cluttered and cramped but then cramping aside, a bigger boat would also be cluttered. It is the nature of the beast.

 

Yesterday it was discovered that the “boiler” in the harbor’s bath and shower building is broke and will not be fixed until the end of the month. This was concerning news for us as we had already gone three days without a good scrub. No problem, I ran the generator to heat water to take showers on CR. 

 

That is when Charlotte discovered that the shower sump’s pump was not working. I found an unconnected wire and thought for sure this is the problem. Simple, I’ll fix it in the morning: day four. I connected it: nothing happened. I tested the switch with my multimeter: functional. I called Matt the electrician who saved us when we had years of unsolved electrical problems. He gave me some hints but politely sounded like he wasn’t interested.

 

I was loath to start cutting wires but I did. The pump worked when connected to a different power source. There was power to the wires when I connected the switch wires and no power then I disconnected them. I began to scratch my head. The only thing of note was the hot wire’s voltage was not steady and rarely got to 12 volts.

 

The engine room was opened as was the switch panel to no avail. Of the multitude of wires, no brown and taupe one could be found. And since the sump’s wires disappear behind an impenetrable caulk seal and the only way to get to them is to destroy the drain pan, I did the next best thing and jury rigged the pump.

 

I am sure what I did violates most of American boat building electrical codes, but the thought of ten more days without a shower took preeminence. If Matt shows up, well that would be a plus. Otherwise, the yard can fix it over the winter. Life is a compromise after all. 

Northeast Harbor, ME