Summer of Fog

Carrie Rose was getting antsy after being anchored in Somes Harbor for six days. There was the prospect of clearing weather so she lobbied for a cruise and a cruise somewhere new. Charlotte and I studied the chart and the cruising guide, and based on a suggestion chose to cruise to Winter Harbor. It is across Frenchmen Bay east of Mt Desert Island (MDI). And it is a few miles north of Schoodic point. Schoodic point is the beginning of wild Maine.

There is little recreationally, except for solitude and spectacular views to commend one to head Downeast. It is a place we are glad to have gone twice but probably will not go again. I may be wrong about that, so don’t quote me. But I doubt Charlotte will venture there again.

 

Frenchmen Bay is approximately 6 miles wide from Otter point on MDI to Schoodic point of the Schoodic peninsula. It is open to the Atlantic Ocean from the South/Southwest. The bay is a place where the surface waves suddenly become incorporated into what is usually a SE swell. Carrie Rose begins to rise and fall, and get pushed around by an infinite combination of waves and swells. As when riding large waves on the Great Lakes, Charlotte and I sit back, hold on and let Carrie Rose do her thing. I adjust the course here and there depending on the waves, currents and sea state but mainly the autopilot manages things

 

But I forgot to mention a major concern, not catching a lobster buoy in the propellor. On Frenchmen Bay the groupings of buoys appear haphazard. We maintain a constant lookout, though the fog complicates the search. As we travel into the middle of the bay the swell increases and each lobster buoy becomes two. The larger unique buoy is connected via a long tether to a diminutive float. This small float leads to the traps some 150 feet below. My observation is that in exposed areas with larger seas the traps have longer tethers to make buoy retrieval easier.

 

So, we watch: me starboard, Charlotte port. With any lengthy endeavor, concentration can wander or be disturbed by the many dials and screens stationed in front of me. When my instinctual “look-up” alarm goes off, most times there are one or more lobster buoy ahead. Off goes the autopilot and I hand steer a slalom course around them. 

 

Carrie Rose had a traditional six spoke steering wheel. Steering with it was annoying, so I decided to remediate it. I laminated six 1 1/2 inch strips of poplar and walnut into a ring. The first attempt (with the best wood) was cockeyed. A firmer frame was fabricated and the second ring was satisfactory. With six hardy brass screws the ring was attached to the six spokes. I planned to round the edges but once fitted never altered it. For the last 1500 hours the wheel has served us well. 

 

Frenchmen Bay leads into Sand Cove and the dramatic Winter Harbor Yacht Club. It is a rollie spot with the remnants of the bay’s swell and the wakes from the local lobster fishing fleet. The club is incorporated onto the side of a cliff. It has an old timey Downeast feel, damp but cozy. Dark wood frames the inside and borders the imposing central stone fireplace. The furniture looks and feels original. And above it all is a commanding chandelier with colorful models of the yacht club’s legacy 21ft wooden racing fleet attached to each rung. They have maintained and raced these unique craft for more than 100 years. 

 

We had signed up for two nights, then woke up to dense fog on departure day. When the fog deepened, we signed up for another day. The yacht club’s launch took us to shore. It’s a mile walk into Winter Harbor’s quaint and lively town center. Charlotte had a lunch of clam chowder, a half of a lobster roll and a piece of blue berry pie for twenty bucks. We bought two small well crafted wicker baskets at a tiny antique shop and then headed for the club. The sun appeared on the way back and the fog dissipated. We looked at each other and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

 

To leave on a substantial cruise in the afternoon feels against the grain, but considering the prospect of worsening weather it was time to go. First, we took the launch back to the club for quick showers, informed the dockmaster we were leaving, threw out the trash, prepped the boat and left. 

 

Somes Harbor on MDI, our destination, is twenty mile back across Frenchman Bay. The swell increased as we travelled west across the bay and as we closed on the island dense fog re-appeared. Then to welcome us back a couple of squalls blew over as we crossed the entrance to Northeast Harbor. It was tempting to duck into the harbor but as we entered Somes Sound the sun greeted us.

 

I could see another Nordic Tug 32 in Somes Harbor. We maneuvered Carrie Rose behind her, dropped the anchor and rowed over to re-acquaint ourselves with the crew. It had been several years since we met on Swan’s Island. Back on board the darkening sky clouded over as the fog crept in. Not able to keep our eyes open, we tucked in for the night with our down comforter not far away. 

 

NE Harbor Dense Fog 6-30-23

A 35 nautical mile cruise yesterday from the inland waters of East Penobscot Bay to the open ocean side of Mt. Desert Island, NE harbor specifically. We waited until 10:30 AM for the fog to lift and no surprise, it remained. Out on the water visibility varied from 50 yards to ¼ mile. At this stage in our ongoing Maine cruising anything thing greater than ¼ miles seems like clear sailing. 

 

One of fog’s vagaries is that visibility decreases whenever there are multiple navigational challenges: bridges, shoals, islands, harbor entrances, a busy thorofare all bring out the worse in the fog. Along with the above, the sea state often quickens at these pinch points making it easy to be distracted.

 

In Japan while riding numerous trains from single car country trains to 200 MPH behemoths, the engineers monitor each gauge by pointing at them in sequential fashion. I found myself doing the same. Oil pressure, engine temperature, battery state, RPM, depth, autopilot, AIS, compass, radar, paper chart and chart plotters, radio . . . it is a round robin. At different moments one of the above can overrule the others and then the cycle begins again. 

 

On passages of any length, I will don ear protection, lift the floor boards, and inspect the engine and shaft rooms. There are many spinning parts so I keep a proper distance. The diesel’s temperature, fuel filters and raw water intakes, hoses, the bilge, the shaft seal leading to the prop; I take a quick look around for abnormalities. Once satisfied I relieve Charlotte from the helm and she returns to navigation duties. 

 

So, I was doing the above while we cruised east across Blue Hill Bay’s Eastern Passage. approaching Bass Harbor Head, the southernmost point on Mt. Desert Island. Bass Harbor itself lies about a mile west of the Head and there lives the notorious Captain Henry Lee, the ferry to Swans Island. In Carrie Rose’s many transits back and forth across these waters, the Captain Henry Lee has never missed a chance for a close encounter. 

 

It was 1:45 PM and we were still a few miles west of Bass Harbor and considering the dense fog I was beginning to get nervous. Charlotte reported that the ferry leaves its berth at 2:15 PM. It has been my experience that attempts to outrun sizeable ships is futile. They leave the dock and in moments have accelerated to cruise speed. Except on days when I have an inadvertent death wish I tend to hang back and even circle in place until they pass. 

 

This time, now that I have deciphered the intricacies of the Vesper Marine AIS Watch Mate, I could see that the small black arrow that represents the ferry and its relationship to us, was stationary. 

 

For the uninitiated AIS, Automatic Identification System, is a relatively simple device (if that is possible these days) that broadcast name, speed, direction, destination and in some cases the closest point of approach of other boats that are broadcasting. Most commercial vessels are required to have one. Of course, no self respecting lobster fisher would have one but let’s not go down that rabbit hole.

 

As I watched, the black arrow began to move. I got queasy even though, according to Vesper AIS, the ferry would remain behind us. I decided, like any novice airplane pilot, to trust my instruments. We carried on to the Bass Harbor Bar and gratefully never encountered the Captain Henry Lee. 

 

The Bar is approximately a mile wide running north to south between Bass Harbor Head with its classic lighthouse and the northern shore of Great Gott Island. The passage is marked by two large bell buoys.

 

My observation, after passing over the 8 to 15 foot deep (at low tide) bar is that the weather and sea state often changes dramatically. In general, the sea is calmer when going west as the bar is open to the full force of the Atlantic Ocean when travelling east. We crossed and in an instance were motoring uphill to the top of a swell. The wind picked up and this was reflected in the rowdy sea surface.

 

Carrie Rose is a sea worthy craft that given the right circumstances gets as rowdy as the seas she is in. I check the course, made a small correction and then, for some reason looked behind me. There on the apex of the swell was a bright white LED light on top of what looked like a WW II landing craft. Its flat square bow was crashing into the waves as it moved to our starboard side. The radio came alive, “Carrie Rose I’ll be passing you on your right.” I responded affirmatively and thank him for letting me know.

 

It accelerated, passed in front and left us in its massive green phosphorescent wake. The hulk made a ninety degree turn around the green “1” buoy and disappeared into the fog. We simultaneously heard each other say, “Holy Sh-t!” 

 

The 30 miles we had traveled so far was in varying visibility. Now as we turn north into the Western Way to NE harbor the fog became all encompassing. I had sped up to get into protected waters and now slowed to check the course and the radar. The few blips on the screen were the expected buoys. They will lead into a progressively narrow channel bounded by Mount Desert Island and Great Cranberry Island.

 

A few other blips appeared with the characteristic stop and go of lobster boats pulling and setting traps. Further in, the small fleet of ferries that support Great and Little Cranberry Islands sped across the screen. Other than the radar screen the world was white. There are a series of large red gong buoys that show up well on radar, these were matched to their images on the chart plotter and now, even slower, Carrie Rose inched into the harbor. 

 

Boats grudgingly appeared out of the fog. We were in familiar territory but still could not relax. I called the harbormaster on channel 68 and suggested we be able to tie to mooring #362 for no other reason than it was in front of us. Charlotte armed herself with the boat pole as I nudged Carrie Rose’s port bow up to the can. She picked up the line on the first attempt and secured its slimy loop to the bow’s bollard. Then with the engine off, I entered the data of our trip into the log. 

 

We both sat in the salon and sighed. Espresso with a dash of milk was prepared and we both settled in with our reads. Charlotte’s book about the systematic murder of Native Americans to steal their oil money, and mine about the 900 day siege of Leningrad during WWII are both fitting topic for this day on the water . . .