Bays 6/30/2021

Camden’s inner harbor is a revelation. Camden itself is approached from the formidable West Penobscot Bay. The west and east bays are separated by a series of shattered islands, the largest being Islesboro. We crossed the bays from Pulpit Harbor on North Haven Island. 

There are several approaches and it does not amount to much of a cruise at about nine miles but it illustrates how a few miles here or there can make a difference in the characteristics of the water we traverse. 

 

In the past, at least according to my saved route, I went south around the Red #12 buoy to avoid passing through the islands. I have become familiar with the surroundings and though that does not mean I have let my guard down, it does mean I have more options when it comes to choosing a route.

 

But let me stop here and discuss a hardwired problem I have navigating in Maine. Like pelagic birds that migrate by instinct, spending most of my boating life in Chicago and on Lake Michigan, I am wired for a simplistic view of the four cardinal directions. Chicago is built on a north south, east west grid, and Lake Michigan juts straight down from north to south.

 

I instinctively know north from south and east from west when I am in its waters or on its shore. This is not the case in Maine. Maine’s shoreline, if I can call the jumble of islands, inlets, and bays that make up the coastline a shore, runs more east as it creeps it way north. My beloved grid does not exist in Maine and I find this disconcerting.

 

Enough of that: back to the bays. East Penobscot Bay is sheltered from the North Atlantic by the bulk of Vinalhaven Island and its assortment of eastern offshore islets. North Haven Island, the almost conjoined partner of Vinalhaven, contributes its most eastern Stand-in Point to deflecting the Atlantic’s swell. The Atlantic has a straight shot into West Penobscot Bay.

 

Pulpit Harbor is a secure anchorage: little disturbs it. Being close to Rockland, Camden, and Belfast, three cities that harbor most of the schooner fleet, it is a popular destination for them. We left for Camden in the morning after several days of high winds and expected to meet some of the remnant seas but it was mostly calm.

 

The course was close to straight west across both bays traversing midway between Saddle Island to the north and Mark Island to the south. The temperature had been rising on land but once out on the water it dropped substantially. The trip across the east bay and through the islands was choppy but overall sedate. 

 

Once out of the lee of Mark Island the sea state changed. I could feel Carrie Rose’s stern rise and twist as it does in a following sea. The short choppy seas were on our port and it was joined by an easy ocean swell on our port stern quarter. The water appeared a darker blue and a chill filled the air. I looked around for a shirt as goose bumps appeared on my forearms.

 

Camden has an outer and an inner harbor. A lighthouse on Curtis Island and several outer and inner ledges border the entrance to the outer harbor. There is a large mooring field and a confusing mixture of unique navigational aids. To add to the confusion, this is a busy harbor. Schooners are coming and going, launches crisscross every which way, all kinds of fine recreation crafts are on the move; it is a bit of a jumble.

 

And then there is always the radio. I was on Channel 71 discussing with the dock master a fifteen minute delay at the fuel dock. I began a 90 degree turn into the mooring field to kill time when he said come right in, so I kept my wheel turned and resumed the previous course. 

 

I was confused as to the correct dock and then I saw the large green diesel hoses serpentine on the deck. There was a special forces looking tourist go fast boat leaving, so I throttled back to keep control in the current as it maneuvered into the channel. When I felt Carrie Rose’s starboard side clunk into the dock, I realized this was the first time in two years that we pulled up to a pier and I smiled.  

Schooners 6/25/2021

Maine has hoodwinked us this year. Since we arrived on June 10, the weather has been relatively benign if not balmy. There have been a couple of patches of rain and thunder storms but hardly anything to talk about. 

Though for the last few days Pulpit Harbor has been fogged in and with it the creeping cold. Not that this has stopped numerous large tourist schooners from Camden spending the night. Friday while visiting with friends onshore the Mary Day and the Heritage schooners anchored to either side of Carrie Rose. 

 

From the dingy dock, we could not see out to Carrie Rose due to the dense fog and waning light. Our way was visually compromised, but pointing the dingy westward got us back to the boat. Due to experiences returning to the boat in the fog, I usually leave the anchor light on to guide us back like a lonely lighthouse minus the foghorn. 

 

But there was no drama this day, other than when we got close to CR the two large schooners appeared out of the fog. Suddenly an angelic voice was heard from the Mary Day singing an aria from Tosca, I think. Once the final note drifted off in the wind, present seafarers clapped. Then from Heritage, a quickly truncated tenor responded, but it is hard to best a soprano in full voice.

Anticipation

Cruising with intent to anchor changes the tenor of the endeavor. If a slip in a marina each night is the goal the number of decisions to be made each morning is lessened. Since it is best to plan for a good night’s sleep it is important to anticipate the characteristics of each anchorage before choosing one. 

Anchorages have specifics that set them aside from each other. Before considering them it is important to anticipate the weather: winds and waves, and the state of the tide and current at arrival time and then throughout the day. 

The most important consideration is the strength and direction of the wind. We listen to the weather radio and use online sources when available to prognosticate the conditions at the anchorage. The bane of a good night’s sleep is fetch. For the uninitiated fetch is the distance the wind blows over the water before it reaches the boat. The farther the wind travels and the more of it there is, the choppier the seas.

 

Anchorages vary in the protection they offer from winds of various directions. Few anchorages offer 360 degrees of protection; this often leads to compromises and judgment calls. In most cases, we get the overall protection correct but in true Murphy’s Law fashion, the best spot already has someone swinging on it or is fifty feet away from where we have just dropped our anchor. It is a bit like buyer’s remorse.

 

The nature of the bottom that the anchor will be asked to dig itself into is something we have less control over. Just to start, what the bottom is composed of. This is often revealed in tiny terse abbreviations on paper charts but less so the electronically translated ones. The hope is for dense, clay predominant mud with little or no vegetation. 

 

The final action in anchoring is to set the anchor. Once the anchor is on the bottom and most of the anchor chain is lowered, I give Charlotte the sign to reverse Carrie Rose. This is done gingerly at first otherwise there is a risk of pulling the anchor out and having to reset it. I am humbled by the amount of information to be gleaned about the state of the anchor 25 feet below and 100 feet out ahead by watching how the chain reacts to increasing power in reverse. It is reassuring to feel the anchor dig in. 

 

I can remember our first real anchorage. It was Government Bay in the Les Cheneaux archipelago on the southern shore of Lake Huron in Upper Peninsula Michigan. To say it went smoothly would be a lie. Even though this large bay provided multiple places to anchor, I could not make a decision. Once I did, at Charlotte’s urging, the anchor chain became jammed in the windless. It required a large screwdriver and a larger hammer to free it. 

 

This occurred repeatedly that day. It was frustrating enough to call the entire cruise off if we hadn’t been 500 miles from home! This “chain” of events continued for another decade until I finally replaced much of the anchoring gear. The hammer and screwdriver still reside in my anchoring bucket next to the helm as a reminder never to let my guard down.

 

I could go on but as with most activities we endeavor to do, we learn by our mistakes. Lately, and I am knocking on wood while I write this, we are able to enter an anchorage, make a quick assessment of the conditions, pick out a favorable location, and set the anchor successfully. 

 

Though there is always a sense of anticipation in the gut until the engine is turned off and we are sipping the afternoon’s espresso.    

 

Photo by Dave Jones

Recommisson

I began writing this post with detailed discussions of each project that I was confronted with during the 2021 recomissoning. Then I thought better of it. I was bored writing it, so I thought you would be bored reading it. 

 

In the sense that a picture is worth a thousand words (or at least 500), I have included a photo of the partial project list. I can now report that with most projects completed Carrie Rose (CR) has been launched, and spent a quiet night on Atlantic Boat’s mooring #9 in the middle of Herrick Bay.

 

There was talk of delaying the launch due to cold rain and fog but when the time came the clouds parted and the sun shone. Wayne, the yard boss, with the help of a large yellow Caterpillar thingy connected to a long hydraulic trailer slid CR effortlessly into the water.

 

This is a doubtful moment despite the preparation; the checklists; the blood, sweat and tears. As CR touched the water, I scurry to inspect the possible places where water can enter the boat. Once assured that CR will not sink it is time to start the engine. 

 

On CR the telling moment, when all is right with the world, is seeing water spit out of the exhaust. Ever watchful Wayne would not give the command to heave CR into the bay until he was satisfied with the amount of water expelled. 

 

Charlotte jumped on and with a little help from the bow thruster we glided back, spun 180 degrees to the south, and headed to the mooring. 

 

Today, when Sir Tugley Blue is launched, we will head for a spot between two islands in Merchant Row Passage. The anchorage between Round and McGlathery Islands is new to us, so we have done our due diligence. Chart plotter, navigational apps on iPad and iPhone, plus two hard copies of cruising guides to the Maine coast, and finally the above has been confirmed on the paper chart.

 

And now just before it is time to drop the mooring’s line to head south the wind has picked up to 25 knots. As my mother was fond of saying, “Never a dull moment”.

 

6/15/2021 

North Hero, Vermont 6/10/21

A Vermont sunrise is crimson and blue before it rises over New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Birds begin their first fling at the day with the first hint of light. 

 

Out the window of Shore Acres beautifully restored 60’s motel resort, white caps stream on Lake Champlain’s Inland Sea from a cool northeast wind, that also scatters the peony’s pink and white leaves.

 

Since there are no legions of 737’s, 747’s, 777’s, MD-11’s and their indistinguishable Airbus brethren, the air is clear leaving the sun’s rays unfiltered by soot.

 

Eastward over the water are the foothills of the White Mountains the landscape has a certain look: 

 

-Blue gray water capped in white lead the eye to a green shoreline darker in the foreground and lighter further on.

 

-A few emerald green fields of fodder are highlighted by the low angle of the morning sun.

 

-This layer of rich greens gives way to a whitish-gray haze, which gradates as it rises with the distant mountain into a grey with deep violet overtones and then to an equally hazy blue sky.

 

With the light as it is at 6:30 AM Mt. Washington’s slanting ridges – north to south, bottom to top - are discernable. 

 

It is a nice way to wake even if it began before five and breakfast is not until 7:30!