Buck’s Harbor

 

Buck’s harbor is less than 6 nautical miles from Pickering Island, our last anchorage.  It is at the far west end of Eggemoggin Reach, just across from the abandoned lighthouse. The lighthouse and it adjoining building, classic in every way, roost on Pumpkin Island. 

 

The entrance to the reach is marked athwart ship by red and white channel markers along with a series of red and green buoys to guide mariners in. Buck’s harbor is a straight shot thru the buoys.

 

It is a new area for us, so I have my binoculars out inspecting far ahead of the bow. Charlotte notices that are two schooners raising sail and as the first begins to creep out of the entrance, I decide to do a 360 and give the crème colored American Eagle’s sails time to fill. We pass comfortably port-to-port. The second darker colored schooner, Lewis R French, is moving oddly sideways as its paying passengers crank the anchor chain up by about an inch a crank. 

 

Just pass them there is the usual (for these parts) Hinckley sailboat but it is dark grey instead of black, and a sloop instead of a yawl. The marina’s dock is full as is the harbor with many boats on moorings rafted to each other.  To arrive at 11:30AM with a 12 o’clock checkout was probably not the best move.

 

Our mooring ball green #1 was free and only required maneuvering around a couple boats to approach it. Readers more familiar with planes will know that planes land and take off into the wind, and it is the same for boats, when a current is running. Between the wind and current, whichever is the stronger is the proper choice.

 

Charlotte was at the bow with the boat hook at the ready. I could feel Carrie Rose being pulled along with the current, so I passed the mooring ball by several boat lengths before rounding up. 

 

As Carrie Rose turns, she gets sideways into the current and looses some ground toward the mooring. I pushed the throttle forward to compensate, and notice I am traveling at 3.9k. If I slow, I will miss the turn. If I take Carrie Rose out of gear, well she will just go straight. 

 

The speed stays on as I straighten the rudder in response to Charlotte’s pointing at the mooring’s pickup stick. At the last moment, I take Carrie Rose out of gear and feel the current push the bow away from the pickup. Now the bow thruster gets a couple seconds of spin time to keep her bow in place. 

 

Charlotte grabs the stick with its pendent line and pulls it up to the bow. Valiantly she struggles for the thicker mooring line as the current pulls Carrie Rose back. Now in neutral, I jump up to the bow to assist and we mange to wrestle it onto the large bronze bollard that sits behind the windless.

 

This has occurred in the couple minutes since we entered the harbor. We have not humiliated ourselves by missing the mooring. We have not spoken loudly to each other. We have not impinged another boater’s sacred space.

 

With the turn of the key, the diesel stops thumping and I look around. Buck’s harbor is marvelously quaint, if that is possible. The dock and the buildings beyond could be a Lego set. One hundred foot conifer covered hills surround us. In the middle of this U-shaped harbor is the dromedary humped Harbor Island.

 

A thick haze rolls off the hills and the waters outside the entrances are shrouded in fog. There is a fine mist covering the pilothouse’s windows. The boats are a bit confused as the top ten feet of the harbor’s water begins to drain with the changing of the tide. All in all, a day to remember.