Trafton Island and Schooners at Buck's Harbor

The island’s granite and tree shoreline subdues the NNE wind. Carrie Rose is afloat amongst lobster buoys. They surround, as do scurrying lobster boats, the small cove we anchored in. The anchor was set in 17 feet at near high tide, and this morning, after a spectacular full amber moon rose from Trafton Island’s forest, we floated in less that 7 feet at low tide. Carrie Rose draws 3.5 feet so we were safe from kissing the bottom. 

 

Tide is a creature of geography, wind, and above all else the phases of the moon. Full and new moons herald extremes in the average rise and fall of the tide. 

 

About a mile north of the anchorage is a grouping of moored lobster boats. They radiate out from east to southwest to their fishing grounds. We are the recipients of the wake that issues from their heavily laden vessels. Due to anchoring close to the island’s granite wall Carrie Rose rolls twice. First we roll port to starboard, then settle for a moment, and then on the rebound, starboard to port.

 

Lobster boats awake before the sun rises from the North Atlantic’s horizon. During Maine’s summer that is not long after 4 AM, thus our day begins early. I try to remain in bed but I find I suffer from recriminating dreams and am forced to rise. 

 

I bundle up and go aft to turn on the propane. There is a ritual to this. The knob on the propane tank is turned to OPEN. Next, the ball valve with the blue handle is opened with an audible rush as it sends gas from the tank to the regulator. A half dollar (remember those) size gauge goes from zero to between 100 to 150 PSI in an instant. There are two red handled valves below this. One labeled HEATER, the other STOVE. This morning the former is opened. 

 

We are almost finished so do not abandon me yet. I climb down into the salon where on the starboard back wall hangs our beloved Newport by Dickinson stainless steel cabin heater. With its glass and stainless steel door open, and the gas knob turned to ON, I click the trigger of a long nosed butane lighter.  A blue and yellow flame springs to life. I shut the door and the saloon instantly becomes a comfy abode.

 

Next, I boiled water to fill a thermos. This will provide enough hot water for tea/coffee, and then to wash the breakfast dishes, and occasionally our faces. Life on Carrie Rose is, let’s not say primitive, let’s just say frugal. We maximize our resources.

 

The thing that shortens our off gird sojourns is when the last of the salad is eaten. It seems the absence of green roughage can only be tolerated for a short time. If anchoring for an extended period, dinners become rudimentary. I — who has eaten the same food for decades — even gets bored. Hard tack and salt pork or its veggie equivalent can only hold its appeal for so long.

Buck's  Harbor Schooners