Carry On

                     

Due to various orthopedic anomalies, we decided, at the last moment, to risk a trip to and a summer on Carrie Rose. The self-imposed restrictions were: one - to have the boatyard commission the boat and launch it, and two – there was to be no anchoring.

 

In the great lakes, unless north on the Canadian side of Lake Huron, we mostly seek out a marina each night. Maine is a different story. In Maine we anchor. It can be in a snug cove or somewhat exposed on the backside of an island or nestled between the rocks of an offshore island. While these anchorages usually provide quiet bucolic settings they do at times lead to challenges.

 

It was these challenges that we wanted to mitigate this year. Whenever an anchor is involved there is always the risk of a disaster. Through hard won experience, Charlotte and I have become adept in the black art of dropping and raising the anchor. That said, I am never confident in the placement, whether it be the depth, the distance from other boats or rocks, or the proper protection from wind and waves . . . I can go on, but I’m even getting bored. So, no anchoring. 

That meant we had to find moorings or floating piers to hang out on.

Our cruising area is approximately fifty miles up and down the coast. The center of which is Herrick Bay where our boat spends the winter. In either direction there are a few small towns and islands that fit the bill. We spent time in Northeast Harbor on Mt. Desert Island, Pulpit Harbor on North Haven Island, unexpectantly met old friends in Buck’s harbor on the northwestern end of Eggemoggin Reach, moored off Warren Island State Park in the group of islands that separates East and West Penobscot Bay, and on the mainland in Belfast, Maine.

 

Each of these locals offered various experiences from not quite wilderness to metropolitan. They are populated with the extremes of aristocratic old money to hard working lobster fishers. We attended Celtic and Chamber music festivals. There were craft shows and used book sales. The only museum we attended was far west on the not touristy side of Mt. Desert Island. It consisted of an eclectic mix of antique cars, motorcycles and bicycles.

 

But our most enjoyable pastime and ultimate downfall was visiting the farmer’s markets. I say downfall because in our “normal” daily lives we tend towards the monkish. Granted, when home I have a few cookies and Tollhouse chips, and Charlotte indulges in a scoop of ice cream here and there. Mainly our diet is Mediterranean without the addition of once alive protein for dinner, and yogurt with whole wheat bread in the AM.

 

This went to hell over the summer. Not distracted by the usual stress of anchoring and weather exposure, we languished in the comfort of not worrying about the next day’s destination, about the anchor breaking loose in a storm, about cruising in the zero visibility of the North Atlantic’s pervasive fog (not that we didn’t find ourselves in it despite precautions), or about the various mechanical difficulties that constantly appear on a moving boat.

 

Instead, we went for short daily walks to the ice cream parlor, the specialty wine shop, the artisan bakery, the fisherman run fish and chip shops, need I go on. Gluttony would be too strong of a word, but I did begin to feel a little gouty and light headed. I did not realize the extent of our debauchery until, on the way home, we landed at a dear friend’s house who willingly gave up her kitchen.

 

I was driven to bake and cook. Whole wheat bread appeared as did tomato sauce and pesto. Multiple pizzas popped out of the oven. Every variation of vegetable derived pasta was served for dinner. Gradually we recovered from the sugar and fried food stupor we had found ourselves in just a few weeks before.

 

Now in our 8th decade you’d be forgiven if thinking we should have known better. If this teaches me one thing it is the value of simple unadulterated activity and food. Next year, despite whatever malady beseeches us to limit our pursuits, we will do the utmost to carry on. It sounds a bit Churchillian, but then through his insistence he inspired a nation to carry on . . . Happy Holidays! 

 

Charlotte & Dean