July 21, 2026

  

 

In the late seventies I bought a musical instrument after seeing an ad in the Whole Earth Review. Over the next several years I learned how to get a note out of it and how to read its distinctive music. Though I always kept it near, decades would go by without any serious attempt to master it.

 

Just before I retired, I decided to get serious and took several lessons from the preeminent player in the USA. He was gracious and encouraging, and a larger-than-life character. But the remote, and in the days before Zoom and Skype, the technically convoluted lessons were not working for me. I sought out a local teacher and under his tutelage made progress.

 

But don’t worry, this story is not about my musical endeavors, it is about the camaraderie that that instrument engendered and how cruising on Carrie Rose did a similar thing.

 

This comradeship takes many forms. There are harbor friends, yacht club friends, boat yard friends, and then there are cruising friends. Meeting a fellow cruiser is on par with meeting up with an old friend where the conversation begins like it never ended all those years ago.

 

It does not seem to matter if, like us, the folk have cruised the Great Lakes and the eastern seaboard, or they have spent the last 15 years on a world cruise. There is a direct connection that putting oneself at the mercy of the sea engenders. I cannot explain it other than that.

 

Most of the friendships are transitory because, of course, the thing about cruising is the constant motion. We have met people in Maine that we knew in the Chesapeake a decade ago. The boat is usually recognized first and then we search our “little grey cells” to put a face to it.

 

There are deeper connections. In our case many are due to our distinctive craft. Carrie Rose was purchased in 2003 and spent her first summer with us the next year. When we finally began to cruise with her, we made close sustaining friends that last to this day.

 

Maine is a unique place in that when I start up a conversation with a fellow boater, I never know if they have just bought a boat or have just come in off an Atlantic crossing. This keeps me humble. No matter what Charlotte and I have accomplished on Carrie Rose, no matter what knowledge we have gained, many have equaled or surpassed us.

 

This fact alone keeps cruising interesting or should I say, compelling. Despite the cost, the maintenance, the moments of terror, this keeps our little part of the world expanding rather than contracting. And there is no way to put a value on that . . .   

 

 South Bristol, ME

 

     

July 18, 2026

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

I anticipated a rowdy passage and I was not wrong. After three days in Gloucester, MA it was time to leave. We sat out the worst of the weather from the southeast. For two nights we had to seek refuge in the pull out bed located in the salon. Something we rarely do. The bow, where we usually sleep, was raucous and due to the combination of wind, waves and tides Carrie Rose was rocking 15 to 20 degrees side to side.

 

There are two ways to leave Gloucester for the north. One is to round Cape Ann. This adds 5 nm to the trip and going around a cape is always asking for trouble. The other is to go through the shallow Blynman Canal/Annisquam River. It cuts this section of Massachusetts off from the mainland. The narrow canal is lined with moored boats, beautiful cottage style homes and salt marshes. 

 

The defining feature of the canal is Blynman’s Bridge. It is easy to miss as it is tucked into the northwest corner of the harbor. The bridge is low and the passage is narrow. Often there is a strong tidal currant moving one way or another through it. I call the bridge tender on channel 13 to ask for an opening and then hung back because boats coming from the canal have the right of way.  

 

Due to the bridge’s narrow opening the current can be strong. We planned to pass through an hour after low tide because then the current is slack. After watching many boats pass either way I decided it is best to not be timid and power through. Twenty-eight turns and five miles later we exit into Ipswich Bay.

 

Our plan was to go 30 nm to Kittery but once out in the bay we decided to head for Biddeford, Maine. This added an additional 25 nm and three hours to the cruise. It also increases the chance of challenging seas and thunderstorms close to the destination. I add two hundred RPMs to the big Cummins diesel under our feet and maintain at least 8 knots towards the destination.

 

As predicted the wind and waves increase incrementally throughout the day. Large waves pass under our port stern quarter accelerating Carrie Rose to 10 knots on occasion. It was reminiscent of the waves we were accustomed to on Lake Michigan. As the following sea picks Carrie Rose’s stern up, they send the boat skipping down the face of the wave. I thank myself for lightening the load in the bow, so she rides above the waves and not buried in them.

 

The sea calmed as we approached the lee of the Biddeford Pool. It is a tricky entrance. With my stabilized binoculars in hand, I compared the various chart plotters with what I was seeing out the pilothouse windows. The green cans and the red nuns were in the correct position, or maybe I should say Carrie Rose was in the correct position relative to them. 

 

When I looked up from studying the charts the dark forebodings of the predicted thunderstorms appear before me. The storm was about an hour early by our reckoning. I accelerate while calling the Biddeford Yacht Club to announce our arrival and receive instructions. It can be difficult to find the assigned can in an unfamiliar mooring field. Thankfully the radio operator had given me a clue when she added that mooring #83 was in line with red nun #9 just off the starboard pilothouse door. 

 

The mooring lay between a large catamaran and a smaller sailboat. Charlotte went out on deck as I spun the boat around to head into the wind. The seas ahead were suddenly alive with spray as the squall hit. The first pass was a miss. Now it was truly blowing and the rain and spray coming off the waves obscured the surroundings. I began to slowly steam into the wind and waves when Charlotte commanded another pass.

 

Here is where Carrie Rose’s 220hp turbo diesel earns it keep. With the wheel hard to starboard I powered through the turn and headed straight for the mooring. Charlotte grabbed the boat pole and hooked the mooring pennant. I jumped out of the pilothouse and between the two of us we got the line over a small appendage that is usually used to guide the line to the bollard.

 

There are always port and starboard dock lines attached to the stanchions. I undid the port one and passed it through the loop on the end of the mooring line, brought it back to the bollard and secured it. Now we were secured. We retreated into the pilothouse as the fury of the wind and waves increased. In this unprotected bay, Carrie Rose began her customary snap rolls of 15 to 20 degrees side to side. Every boat has its weakness, and this is hers.

 

Violent summer storms like this usually pass quickly. Though common on the Great Lakes we have experienced only a few in Maine. The Northeast has different weather patterns that after ten years of cruising here I am beginning to appreciate.

 

The storm moved out to sea, the wind and water quieted to a mill pond, and we slept a contented sleep. Once again, Carrie Rose proved to be a great sea boat. Point her in the desired direction and in most cases, she’ll take care of the rest. Granted the occupants don’t always fare as well as the boat. We hang on and count the hours, minutes and sometimes the seconds until we reach port. I admit it is an odd way to spend a life, but it is too late now to take it back!

 

South Bristol, Maine

July 3, 2026

It’s hot. Not a common occurrence in Maine. At 9PM it is still hot, though a coolish breeze out of the west just came through the port side pilothouse door.

Charlotte has retired to the bow to read and sleep. There’s a nice breeze up there through the cabin house hatch. I am on the pilothouse’s bench, my favorite place. Stars and planets are beginning to appear.

 

Today’s heat drove us to test the newly serviced air conditioning (AC). There are two: one forward and one aft. It is safe to say that they have been problematic for years. A few days back while in the yard I asked Doug the mechanic to sort them out and to focus on the forward unit as no cooling water come out. 

 

He took the water exhaust hose off, put it to his lips and blew. A foreign object shot out onto the yards gravelly surface never to be found. Now with the free passage of water, he declared it fixed and move on to the next issue. I was skeptically hopeful if that is even possible.

 

So today, on Buck’s Harbor’s mooring #41 Charlotte decided it was time to test the system. I fired up the generator (AC need’s 110v to work), toggled the appropriate toggles, turned on the AC raw water pump and no cooling water at all pumped overboard. Disappointed is not the correct word. Resigned might be better. I was both.

 

I did not swear or stomp my feet; just got in my favorite place and began to think through the process of creating cooled air. When mental blockage set in we jumped (not really) into the dinghy (new) and drove to the dock. It’s a steep walk to the general store in the four building village. Provisions were bought, popsicles were consumed and then I noticed a young man eating an ice cream sundae. Where (too hot to talk)? Around the corner was his answer.

 

Around the corner we hurried. Charlotte enjoyed a scoop of double chocolate and it being 2:45 PM, I had a macchiato and an odd cookie made up of other odd cookies. 

 

Back on Carrie Rose with a brain fueled by a double shot of espresso, I began to think again. During my medical career this was known as developing a differential diagnosis. I picked up a multitool, a flashlight and headed for the raw water strainer under the salon’s floor. Face down with my head in the bilge I noticed a thin meniscus of pink antifreeze through the glass of the strainer. The wingnuts that keep the Atlantic Ocean out of the boat were loosened and with a rush of water the strainer filled. It was one of those ah-ha moments. 

 

With anticipation I restarted the generator and toggled the toggles and they worked. We sat in the pilothouse and bathed in cool air. A problem I begged people to fix for years was fixed . . . and by my own hand, alleluia!  

June 10, 2026

 

June 10, 2026

 

It is June 10th, and Charlotte and I would typically be in Maine or at least on the way there. Since Carrie Rose left our home base in Chicago, we are often not home for this much of spring. Standing outside the front of our bungalow I must admit that the neighborhood looks lovely. In February, I never thought this day would come. 

 

Charlotte received a new right knee in January. It went well despite a few post operative glitches. (I thought knees were titanium but TI is too soft. They are stainless steel with a high nickel/chromium content.) Her rehab went well. It was the work of three pleasant and smart thirty something physical therapist. We were sad to leave them behind after 12 weeks.

 

Lucky for both of us, Charlotte was functional enough by the time I blew my back out while sweeping the winter’s muck out of the garage. It turned out that I was the one to get the most use out of Charlotte’s father’s walker.

 

Unlucky for us, we had an appointment with our dermatologist in April. He has a laconic bedside humor that seems fueled by the perpetual woes of the Chicago Cubs. He discovered two lesions on me and not to leave Charlotte out, one on her. 

 

Also unlucky for us, because of the above, we have become well acquainted with an affable plastic surgeon and her trusty sidekick. She has removed nearly ten chunks of flesh from us. At present we are in recovery mode from the last of these interactions. Thus, we are still in Chicago awaiting suture removal. 

 

I try not to anthropomorphize Carrie Rose, but after twenty six years of devotion it is hard not to consider her feelings. She has spent almost ten months in a dark dank shed awaiting her release: to have Atlantic’s cold salty seas coursing under her keel again. And I imagine the Cummins diesel’s pent up frustrations. I go to sleep envisioning the turn of the key that will bring life to her.

 

The plan as of today is to head to Vermont via Canada to visit a friend and then onto Maine. We have a three day reserved slip in Boston for the Tall Ship Festival. This of course means we will have to leave the comfort zone that Maine has become. I’m sure Carrie Rose is up to the challenge, now it is our turn to step up!

Arcadia Terrace, Chicago, IL

Happy Holiday 2025!

This year was different than the past few years. This year, on the water at least, was tranquil. Carrie Rose’s engine purred. No matter what we plugged in her batteries remained fully charged. I continue to marvel at the new radar and chart plotter. They performed flawlessly during the few foggy days we encountered.

And that brings me to the weather. We were on the water by mid-June; still early for Downeast Maine. The first few weeks were in the low to middle forties - cold. Most days it rained and fog rolled in off the Atlantic. But then as June morphed into July, the sun came out and the temperature moderated. It remained so until we departed on Labor Day.

 

Living on a boat requires attention to detail. Of course, the weather is a major factor especially when combined with eleven foot tides and the currents they generate. There is the location of the boat: are we swinging on a mooring or tied to a floating dock or anchored to the bottom of a protected (or not) cove; it makes a difference. 

 

The fundamentals of life: food, water, heat and dealing with waste increase the complexity. We have whatever food we bring. Some needs to be refrigerated, some not. We have 100 gallons of water that we nurture. For heat, the tiny propane fireplace keeps the salon and the pilothouse warm while ignoring the head and the forward bedroom. And we have a 40 gallon black water tank that can be pumped over board (three miles off the coast) or pumped into a marina’s waste system. 

 

The boat itself, despite constant maintenance, is a black hole. We do our best and then leave the rest to providence. In twenty years, Carrie Rose has thrown us a few curves. The Cummins diesel, the heart of the boat, has hiccupped twice. Once the injectors clogged while passing through a narrow rock strewn channel and a decade later, peculiarly, a malfunctioning thermostat left us stranded in a tidal race between a series of jagged rocks and the offshore Petit Manan Lighthouse. Both times we resisted panic and with the help of friends went on to cruise another day.

 

My 2010 Honda Accord Coupe has a small screen that can display photos. When the car was new, I struggled to add mine. I managed to get two loaded. One is a picture of Charlotte and I standing next to Carrie Rose while she swings in a crane’s straps about to be lowered thirty feet into the South Branch of the Chicago River. The other shows us tied to an idyllic lock in Canada’s Rideau canal. I toggle between the two and derive satisfaction from the reverie they elicit. It makes the “blood, toil, tears and sweat” of boat ownership worth it. 

 

We each have passions - many times unconceivable to others - that fulfill our lives. The new year, for me at least, is a time to contemplate the past and reevaluate the future. We wish and hope the best in whatever drives your passion. Cheers!