June 24, 2025

Today it is warm. The sun is shining and by shear consequence the harbor woke up. Lobster boats that have been sitting moribund at their moorings are suddenly covered with traps. Carrie Rose is a bit like a lobster boat but I doubt I could pile fifty lobster traps on the stern and she’d still be floating. Lobster boats have been growing in the 12 years we have spent on the water here in Maine. It is not unusual for them to have massive 700 to 1000 hp engines. To put in context, we have 210hp. 

While in the fog and cold Charlotte was reading me lobstering statistic to pass the time. And though, last year’s catch of 87,000,000 lbs. of the squirming crustaceans was down from the previous year, it was leagues above 10 years ago. There were several factors attributed for the drop: overfishing (the fisherman will never concede this), the warming waters of the Gulf of Maine (don’t even mention climate change around here), different invasive crabs (of course, they all seem to be from China), etc., etc. But let’s move on. 

 

As we are wont to do this time of year, we are attending the Acadia Festival of Traditional Music & Dance in Bar Harbor. There are many Canadian artists, teachers, students, and guest present from Prince Edward and Cape Breton Islands, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Newfoundland. The young man in charge of the event (a fiddlier himself) made a point to welcome the Canadians and apologized for our present government’s disrespect. He got a big round of applause.

 

So today, as the temperature rose, we shifted from wool and fleece to t-shirts and shorts. I put the sunshade up over the pilothouse windows. I dug out the jury rigged (I know, not again) cords for the 12 volt fans. There is enough sun to charge the batteries, run the fans and the frig, and as a bonus, charge the dinghy’s lithium battery. 

 

The shift from the isolation of cold to the exuberance of heat is taxing. An old fart now, in denial concerning the value of change, I keep trying to mix up my surroundings. It is good that Charlotte is a good sport . . . 

NE Harbor, Maine

June 21, 2025

Cold and miserable, rain and fog . . . then a strong SW wind blows it out and replaces it with a warm breeze. The sun peaks out of the clouds as it should on this longest day of the years. The light is pure in Maine. There is no forest fire smoke, no pollution from industry, cars hardly matter even during the height of tourist season. The sun shines through the atmosphere unimpeded and onto Carrie Rose’s roof top bank of silicon. 

The SW breeze strengthens and drags waves of black clouds over the harbor and disperse them out onto the Gulf of Maine but not before covering the pilothouse’s windows with a light drizzle. 

 

In years past the harbor was packed with schools of fish. And following them were seals, cormorants, porpoises, osprey, eagles and equally rapacious, fishermen. This year no fish, so only a lone seal and cormorant cohabitate with us. An eagle swept in off the northern cliff, above the houses, took a cursory inventory of the surrounding waters and after a short visit to a lobster boat flew back over the hill. 

 

NE Harbor is protected from most directions except maybe the South in a serious blow. Today the worst of the wind rattles Carrie Rose’s wooden doors just to let us know it is there, and not to try and confront it. More than one sailor has been lured out into disaster while sitting in a calm harbor. 

 

It won’t be us, this time at least. We are not going anywhere except maybe into town to buy something trivial as an excuse to go for a walk. As I stand here in the pilothouse this longest day I can see seven American flags each straining to the strong wind gusts. Rhetorically at least, there seems to be a lot of that going on this summer….

Northeast Harbor, ME

June 18, 2025

The fog finally rolled in. We have been waiting patiently for it to obscure the little world we live on out here in the middle of the harbor. Granted it is not the supercharged fog where we can’t see the boat next to us but it works. Along with the fog came rain and a temperature drop. This is par for the course. 

As I mentioned, we have been using a warming blanket to warm up the bed before we get into it. I discovered that it is hard to use judiciously. This is reflected in the lack of battery charge in the morning. Fog being fog it prevents our one solar panel from making up the difference from the use of the blanket. The only way to deal with this is to run the generator. 

 

Carrie Rose is 1990 vintage. Back then a generator was a splurge. Not all boats had one or two as is often the case now. We did not have all the electronic gizmos and we did not have the expectation that every comfort on land would be available on the water. The electron needy devices have slowly infiltrated and along with that, we aged. Our expectation of comfort grew mainly because our protoplasm demanded it.

 

If you pardon the technical talk, our generator is a 4kw Kohler. That’s correct, the plumbing people. They are big into power generation. As with many other things, generators have become sophisticated. Ours is not one of those. It is powered by a small two cylinder diesel. I shouldn’t say small because it is the same size engine that we had on Lenore, our 31 foot sailboat. 

 

If anyone is familar with small diesel engine they know that a small one can make a hell of a racket. And, like a Harley Davidson, each detonation pulls and pushes the engine back and forth sending a small shockwave through the boat. And, though there is a muffler, each of the above detonations sends a distinct pop out the starboard side of the boat. 

 

Charlotte and I have been self conscious about this since we began to cruise. The last thing we want to do in a pristine anchorage is create an hour or so of noise pollution once a day. Our friends with newer boats have generators that are encased in sound proof crypts with exhaust systems that expel the foul vapors and noise under the water, thus maintaining the pristineness the anchorage. 

 

Of course, a new generator would remedy the situation but come at a cost both financially and psychically. We can absorb the monetary cost, at least our financial advisor tells us so. The psychic cost, I am not so sure. To replaced it, one boatyard or another will have to be dealt with and at least in Maine, this has proved a challenge. Along with deadlines, our expectations are rarely met.

 

As I write this, sitting in the fog, I should be more concerned about the state of our and the world’s polity. Us privileged boomers can certainly put up with a little noise and inconvenience for a little longer and wait for the sun. I’m not sure about the planet. 

NE Harbor, ME

June 15, 2025

We have been lucky with the weather. Of course, the weather owes nothing to us. It goes about its merry way with no concern for our comfort or safety. A professional boat captain reminded me the other day that there is no reason to be caught unawares because of the quality and quantity of weather information available.

The harbor is quiet. A large Nordic Tug came in. There was a time when any Nordic Tug sighting was an excuse for a party but that was on the Great Lakes. Eastern folk are a bit more restrained in their approach to spontaneous joy. A large sailboat from England is off to our port and a meticulous Wesmac 46 cruiser/lobster boat from Boston was tied to the dock.

 

These boats are what dreams are made of until the storage, maintenance and fuel bills come due. That said, they are also boats with a specific purpose in mind. To that end Carrie Rose has suited us well. Like our bungalow she is a little cluttered and cramped but then cramping aside, a bigger boat would also be cluttered. It is the nature of the beast.

 

Yesterday it was discovered that the “boiler” in the harbor’s bath and shower building is broke and will not be fixed until the end of the month. This was concerning news for us as we had already gone three days without a good scrub. No problem, I ran the generator to heat water to take showers on CR. 

 

That is when Charlotte discovered that the shower sump’s pump was not working. I found an unconnected wire and thought for sure this is the problem. Simple, I’ll fix it in the morning: day four. I connected it: nothing happened. I tested the switch with my multimeter: functional. I called Matt the electrician who saved us when we had years of unsolved electrical problems. He gave me some hints but politely sounded like he wasn’t interested.

 

I was loath to start cutting wires but I did. The pump worked when connected to a different power source. There was power to the wires when I connected the switch wires and no power then I disconnected them. I began to scratch my head. The only thing of note was the hot wire’s voltage was not steady and rarely got to 12 volts.

 

The engine room was opened as was the switch panel to no avail. Of the multitude of wires, no brown and taupe one could be found. And since the sump’s wires disappear behind an impenetrable caulk seal and the only way to get to them is to destroy the drain pan, I did the next best thing and jury rigged the pump.

 

I am sure what I did violates most of American boat building electrical codes, but the thought of ten more days without a shower took preeminence. If Matt shows up, well that would be a plus. Otherwise, the yard can fix it over the winter. Life is a compromise after all. 

Northeast Harbor, ME

6/12/2025

Carrie Rose is tied to floating dock 302 in Northeast Harbor, ME. It took us almost a week to drive the 1300 miles from Chicago. I know, I know that is a long time but when I must stop at every rest stop it lengthens the trip a bit. 

In response to the above, Charlotte and I have decided to make our transits vacations. Each of the small towns we stopped at, some bleaker than others, had charm. It could have been a restaurant, a museum, a park, but it was always something we did not expect. 

 

Of course, they were not Chicago but then I have always been a snob; not that I realized it until somewhat recently. If it wasn’t real potato chips vs Pringles, jazz vs rock, classical vs popular, Frank Lloyd Wright vs anyone else, it’s been some other obscure thing. Being a vegetarian lends itself to snobbery and let’s not even talk about wine and coffee and tea . . . need I go on!

 

So, it took us a long time to get to Carrie Rose. The last several years I decided to let the yard do the work: it’s called commissioning. At some point an invoice is emailed  

and it is usually a surprise. In most other endeavors we know what a thing or service will cost. This is not the case in boating. I am not sure why and I know this is lazy on my part, but I have resigned myself to it.

 

After a raucous ride into Northeast Harbor the winds calmed and the temperature rose. The harbor is empty. Last year we got here on June 28^th, this year June 12^th. A few boats are trickling in, but we’ve got the place pretty much to ourselves. The first thing I noticed is how quiet it is. There are a few loud motorcycles and the bleating of a construction vehicle but overall, the lack of a constant stream of 777 heavies flying over our head is comforting. 

 

We came into the pier thinking the outgoing tide will push us onto it, alas it was pushing us away. I drove towards the pier several times and was ready to drive around again when Charlotte announced she had the midship’s line attached. This is perfect, I can spin the wheel to the port and drive in against the pier. Of course, we had our usual fault finding debrief and challenged ourselves to do better next time. 

 

There is a saying in the Japanese tea ceremony: Ichi-go, Ichi-e, one time - one meeting. That is the same for docking. It is never the same and even after piloting Carrie Rose for twenty years I still feel the need to improve my skills. And, like resigning myself to unknown costs, I have resigned myself to never get docking quite right. 

 

Northeast Harbor, ME