A Week’s Time In Maine

 

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the girl
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Huckleberry

Too much to tell and too little patience to relay it. It was a beautiful week of scented pines, midnight thunderstorms, lobster, foggy mornings and of course sailing in sparkling waters. For 3 days my daughter, dog and boat wandered among the small islands, camped on some, only lunched on others. Days passed lazily with temps in the low 80’s and evenings in the 60’s. From campfires to sunsets, the time was rejuvenating.

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Bear Island viewpoint
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morning’s ceiling

Swimming took some working up to, but our pup Huck didn’t hesitate. I was concerned he’d balk at his first cruise since a short canoe ride was the extent of his exposure. The 16 hour drive north could have ended very differently.

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The last 4 days’ sails were with the Small Reach Regatta participants. Over 70 boats were in attendance this year. Based out of the Reach Knolls Campground in Brooklin, ME. The owners were great hosts. All dinners were delicious with the last night capped with lobster. This community of boaters couldn’t be more genuine and fun-loving. Though technically not a race from lunch spot to lunch spot, there was some dueling going on.

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I regret that I didn’t get more pics. Some can be seen on the SRR Facebook page. One afternoon was near windless so, we headed for Deer Isle and Stonington, a town we had visited 6 years before on the bareboat schooner “Alamar”.

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Here’s a short video as we reached home from Sheep Island back to Herrick Bay.

Our last night presented a marvelous sunset. Turning south and heading home was not easy. Still, there is always next year … or … sooner?

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photo credit: A Girl Named Leney

 

Mid-Atlantic Small Craft Festival

We’re just back from the Small Reach Regatta in Brooklin, Maine and still I’m ready for the next event. In terms of sailing, the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michaels, MD hosts a great gathering of sailboats, rowboats, canoes, kayaks, etc. The event page has 2 double enders bookending the header photo. To the left is my UNA and to the right is Peter’s NIP. After last year’s cancellation due to hurricane threats, this year should be extra special. We are going.

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Catastrophe Averted

After loosing the main halyard up the mast weeks ago, the state of the varnish on the main mast troubled me. Last week I had the mast pulled, hauled the 34′ stick on my 19′ F-150 home, stripped the spreaders, added 2 coats of epoxy and finished with 3 coats of Brightsides paint. The mainsail track was removed and the entire mast given 3 fresh coats of Petit’s Z-Spar Flagship varnish. Last Friday I returned to the boatyard (name withheld for reasons soon to be clear), painted Luna’s bottom, wax ringed the opened seams, and reinstalled the mast the following day without event. However, the removal of the mast was nearly a literal bust. Thankfully many hands were available. This video was taken by a new friend, Tim, as held one of the control lines. It is the only record I have of the work. Wish I had taken a photo of the mast travelling contraption I used, perhaps next time. Hauling the long stick upwards of 70 mph for 75 miles took some consideration.


Anyway, many hands averted what could have been a tragedy. For the record, I had remarked that the block and tackle looked to be from Magellan’s Victoria. I was assured that there was at least one more lift in it. Little did I know how close to the truth I was.

Block Island Sound Surrounds

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on the road north

This entry started as simply a video log, but I lost patience. Still, a partial video of the trip is at the end here.

After a 12 hour and 1 minute drive, UNA met Little T late on a Saturday at Stone Cove Marina in Wakefield, RI at the head of Pt. Judith Pond. A stone’s throw from there we “borrowed” a mooring for the night. Temps were cool, breeze light and southerly. Sleep came easily.

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Kevin in Little T

The following morning started calm, but a sea breeze filled in. Expecting to meet Peter and Mike in NIP later that day, we decided to beat down the Pond on an outgoing tide for sightseeing Pt. Judith Refuge.

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first morning view outside the tent
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morning calm

The race past the ferry landing was moving rapidly. Power boats had little consideration for sailboats. Most didn’t appear to know the rules of the road or demonstrate any patience. No surprise. Perhaps they were concerned with the swift current too.

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fast inlet current

Mike, coming from Philly, was delayed en route through Connecticut. The plan devolves into Peter driving NIP to meet him part way in Stonington, CT 17 miles away. U and LT would catch up there. At noon however, the breeze out in Block Island Sound quits. Peter, waiting to confirm with Mike, is still at Stone Cove. We decide to sail back in and meet there. After slopping around until 13:30, an afternoon breeze stirs.

We ride the ebb tide back into the Pond only to find Peter has now decided to go to Stonington. At this point U and LT decide to sail to Block Island and clear the eastern entrance of Pt. Judith Refuge at 15:30. It is a late start, but the southerly winds help us along. What exactly the incoming current is doing is hard to tell. UNA points almost to North Pt on Block. Part way out, Little T is motor sails, passes us at North Pt. and heads into Great Salt Pond. For UNA, the wind dies. Not wanting to be swept past the island and still unsure of the current we tack just west of North and ride along the western coast to arrive in the Pond at sunset.

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The Great Salt Pond (photo credit: KMac)

We raft to Little T briefly, talk about the great day (12 hrs of sailing), have a beer, fix dinner and cast off for the night. Anchored off Breezy Point, we can count over 150-175 boats moored or anchored. My last visit was almost 25 years ago. Much was the same, but newer bigger construction was evident, detracting from the island’s quaintness. Though early in the season, the place seemed more hectic, but still possessing the air of another land. Maybe it is the fresh sea breeze.

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Salt Pond morning

 

We decide to catch breakfast at the Old Harbor about 1.5 miles away on the opposite side of the island. First we needed to hail the water taxi. After repeated attempts via VHF channel 16, a nearby boater, sick of listening to us, hails the “launch”, a term which finally gets a response. Kevin is particularly annoyed at the “water taxi” operator’s haughtiness and resolves to catch him in a dark alley on a subsequent visit. How he would dispense of the body is a topic he sticks to for a good part of the walk to The Old Harbor. My dead phone is left with a Serbian named Milo behind the counter at a pier store for charging. Apparently there are many migrant workers from Serbia that arrive for the summer work and then leave (not sure anybody is really checking on that).

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Old Harbor. Breakfast had on the right at the Surf Hotel.

At Old Harbor, breakfast is on the verandah of the Surf Hotel which overlooks the harbor. Our good waitress is … ready? … Serbian. Omlette is perfect. High speed ferries blow in and out of the  stone seawalls. With all the environmental concerns, it is hard to believe that these craft don’t power away everything on the sea floor. Getting run over by one of these fast boats is certainly a real concern. They can appear out of nowhere. The water is quite clear and the temps cool. Was a great way to have a meal.

Upon return to the “taxi” dock, Kevin gets geared up for dunking the taxi’s helmsman. I’m glad he’s back away from keel-hauling. I find Milo and my phone still there. He says his boss threatened to fire him for his small act of kindness. I apologize, buy some groceries and leave a tip. So much for the relaxed atmosphere.

Back at the “yachts” the wind has picked up. Noon weather predictions sound like we could get socked in, so we put in a reef, sail a loop once around the mooring field, slip past Cormorant Cove, and reach along Harbor Neck’s Coast Guard Station. We head for Stonington to meet Mike and Peter who had spent the night behind Sandy Point outside Watch Hill.

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sexy IOR transom
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B.I. Coats Guard Station

Not 30 minutes out the wind diminishes. We shake reefs and continue on a broad reach for 3-4 hours and make Watch Hill light as the afternoon breeze kicks in. Once in Little Narragansett Bay behind Sandy Spit we spy Nip’s two masts, raise board and rudder and slide over skinny water to be greeted by our missing buddies. The gulls immediately descend on their unattended picnic and try to take off with basket, cheese and summer sausage (that is a shooting offense). We trade stories, share wine, tell bigger tales and at sunset depart to settle in the boats for the night.

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Mike and Peter draw a tarp over themselves and call it quits. However, around 02:00 winds grow, thunder and lightning is on the southern horizon and Kevin yells 1/2″ hail is headed our way. I survey bearings add 10′ to anchor scope and roll back into my bunk. Wind maybe hits upper 20’s. No hail. Tent keeps things dry and pointed into the wind. The sand spit kills any wave action. Mike and Peter on the other hand have a fire drill to lower the main mast for a ridge pole, install the tarp roof and nest back in.

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NIP the next morning

Regretfully, Peter has to head back to the ramp across the little bay and on home with NIP. Mike gives Kevin and I a lift to retrieve our trailers. I grab some ice and a lipo battery for phone charging at Waverly’s Walmart. Back at the ramp, Mike continues on with Kevin in Little T. We sail into Watch Hill’s elite harbor and then tour Stonington Harbor.

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Watch Hill: beautiful and obscene

Stonington has its share of beauties too.

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Quest 30?

 

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Concordia yawl

 

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LFH’s Araminta

 

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beauty

By now it is around noon. With a good beat to Mystic, we buck the current, sneak to weather of White Rocks (not sure if the cormorants didn’t paint them), tack under Enders Island, round Mason Pt. and reach into Mystic’s outer harbor. It is one beautiful classic boat after another. We are a couple of days out from the WoodenBoat Show, but I believe most of the boats on view are permanent residents. We pass through the 2 draw bridges to anchor off Mystic Seaport Museum. Dinner is perfectly battered fish-n-chips at Latitude 41. We have a nice sunset view from the patio under the shade of a large tree. The evening is cool. I sleep until 07:00 when I hear an “oh sh*t!” as a single manned rowing shell discovers at the last moment they are aimed at UNA. Thankfully it is a miss. We take the water taxi Little T to a bagel shop for breakfast and then sail/motor back to the ramp at Barn Island near Stonington. Mike heads home and I pull UNA and do the same. Kevin stays for another night. Together we covered about 100 miles in the 3-4 days.


Another good trip. Thanks Peter!

Tangier to Onancock

It is a rapid beam reach under full sail from Tangier Light to the town cut. Luna with full sail is overpowered, sails on her ear, but easily steers. Before beating to weather in the narrow cut, I drop and furl the main. We easily tack 4-5 times to reach the Chesapeake’s “Venice”. The wind is still gaining force so I attempt to coast up to one of the crab shacks and then ready the outboard, but as I drop the jib, the boat stalls out (I later realized we’ve not 4′ of water) and we stop 5′ short of a piling. Frantically I race back to the cockpit to mount the outboard, but not before I’m aground on the opposite side of the channel. With the mizzen still up, the boat is heeled and sticks to the bottom.

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pilings missed and crab shacks

I start the engine readily, throttle up and walk forward to help the bow shake loose. However, because I forgot to add the motor bracket’s strut, the engine breaks  free and douse itself just as I grab the motor. Only the tether keeps me from losing the new engine. After setting the engine in the cockpit, Big T motors past. We try twice to yank Luna free. No luck. T’s 4 hp engine has enough to do keeping her in the wind. A 50′ motor catamaran passes by and all crew give us a wave. Keeping my fingers clutched I just shake my head. Now, I’m ready to haul the main up and sail off just when a kind waterman in his skiff “Miss Stuart” offers a tow which we accept. He takes us back to the piling we missed earlier and ties us to it. I reinstall the engine (with bracing bracket) and slowly try to turn it. It’s frozen. At this point I’m expecting the worse, but decide to drain the carburetor after which the engine seems to rotate. A harder pull and it fires up. Distrustful of it continuing to run, I allow it to for several minutes before casting off. The problem now is that we are again aground on the other side of the channel and can’t release the line from the piling. Had I been alone, I would have had to get wet or leave the dock line. Fortunately Kevin can sneak his boat in and untie us. So, once again we’re off and search for a crab sandwich. After a few futile attempts to dock, I suggest we head on to Crisfield or some place east. Agreed, we motor back toward the Sound.

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Kevin and Big T

We fight the wind and waves to reach open water. My little engine barely has enough push to get there. I quickly raise the main as I think a stone jetty will claim Luna. We are quick to get clear, but soon realize we’ve too much sail. Waves are pushing 3-4′. I decide to raise the jib and allow it to luff before dousing the main. As  I drop the main, a jib sheet snags a rear hinge of the forward hatch and pulls it loose. With that, there is no going to windward. Water dousing the bow could quickly ship too much water. I see Kevin is struggling with his main. Neither one could help the other if need be. I feel I need to save my boat and decide to run with jib only. I lose sight of Big T. My VHF gets doused. Phones are useless. I begin to wonder if T is still floating. Winds are 30-35 and gusting. A 2 hour sleigh ride for Luna begins. The GPS shows almost 12 knots a couple of times. Once I realize how well she is handling the seas, my fears subside as we roll south of Watts Island and into the long 8 mile creek to Onancock. All the way the wind is howling, even at the town itself. We anchor and take a breath. Not able to hail Kevin by radio, phone or text, I decide to call the Crisfield Coast Guard Station. I give them T’s description and last known where-a-bouts and state that I suspect she was back in Tangier. An hour later Kevin confirms this by text and I call off the search and air rescue. I’m completely soaked and salt is on everything outside the cockpit. With a change of clothes, a couple of beers are in order before dinner and an early sack time. By 2100 I’m in the berth. As sleep falls, I rehearse the afternoon’s events and decisions. I make a list. What a day, a lucky day. I’m proud of Luna. LFH designed a “sensible” boat. She done good.

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View from a quiet cabin

Mobjack to Reedville

Sailed LUNA last week for our first overnighter of the year. From Mobjack we had a plus 45 mile run to Reedville where we met Kevin with his Capri 22, Big T.

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Storm passed off New Point Comfort

Shortly after Stingray Point, the wind died. We motor sailed and eventually spied Kevin off Reedville. He had been just north of the Potomac the night before coming from Cambridge, MD.

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New engine and modified bracket

Entering Reedville is the last remaining stack of what was over 20 from fishing processing plants. Built in 1902, this one now serves as a “gateway” to the town and is lit at night. In danger of collapse, the icon was saved by the community and Omega Protein fishing company to memorialize a part of the town’s history.

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Reedville’s smokestack icon

We anchored off the town’s water tower, enjoyed a swim and watched the sun set as the evening cooled. The nearby boatyard had some classic old workboats.

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Kevin and Big T
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LUNA

With Luna’s new 4″ berth cushions, sleep was easy. However, at 5:00 a passing workboat shook things up. I thought someone had climbed aboard. I sacked out for another 1.5 hrs when I decided to make coffee and take a short sail up the creek to seek out a college friend who I hadn’t seen in forever. I knew he had a Corsair trimaran, so locating his pier wasn’t hard. As we coasted up to his dock, he threatened to shoot. In apology he offered coffee and we caught up before saying goodbye to wake up the world’s heaviest sleeper, KMac. A quick passing rap with a boat hook on Big T’s bow pulpit got him stirring.

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The fresh morning breeze takes us out into the Wicomico and Bay. Setting a course for Tangier Island, we head dead downwind. I devise a whisker pole using the boat hook to sail jib and main wing and wing. Luna practically sails herself for hours until we seem to be headed for the same point and time where both a tug  and cargo ship are headed. We first bear off close behind the tug whose following barge make a slick of the sea. The huge prop wash pushes us around. We then have to head up and cross behind the container ship as it’s wake lifts and lowers us like an ocean swell.

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passing tug towing barge
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southbound container ship

Around 1100 Tangier’s houses emerge from the Bay. Winds and seas begin to build. Not certain the western approach has enough depth, we elect to sail south around Tangier Light, up the Sound and into the town cut east. We think we have arrived, but the remainder of the day is going to get a lot more interesting …

Persistent Sailors

The number of active sailboats on the Bay has been dwindling for years. Yet, countless marinas have neglected boats melting away as their encrusted hull grow closer to the bottom below. How many broken dreams lay tied to so many piers? Also, gone are the huge regattas I recall as a child where literally hundreds of dinghies would participate. Optis, Turnabouts, Moths, Windmills, Skipjacks, Thistles, 5-O-5’s, Hamptons, etc. all showed up on the big weekends. It was great sport and the post race festivities were something to enjoy, if not sit back and observe. Why the numbers have declined, I don’t know really. I blame the “virtual reality” of TV and it’s effectual inducement of mental laziness. Correct me if you will, but where has people’s sense of adventure gone? The spirit of entertainment and immediate gratification is killing genuine experience and outdoor adventure. I know, that’s another discussion. We’ll leave it for now.

Through sailing UNA, I have found a small group who are passionate about just sailing. Many don’t care to race or compete at all. That’s OK. Their love for messing about in boats is the treasure. I value their friendships immensely. And now that our big boat has found a new owner, we’re looking to do more varied and frequent sailing.

Accordingly, yesterday, after meeting a canvas maker, my daughter and I took a short sail in Mobjack with LUNA. Winds were light and varied from NNE at 4-6 mph. We reached across Mobjack and west into the mouth of North River where we met some of the most dedicated sailors in out little marina. Barbara, Ayars and their Cape Dory 30 “Dory” day sail their nice boat almost every week during the season. Now that we have the Rozinante, I expect we’ll be crossing paths more frequently.

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ghosting under Dory

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ghosting under Dory
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Afars, Lina and Barbara (credit: Declan)

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Goodbye “Emily’s Grace”

Boats are full of memories, … if used. Our Beneteau First 42 “Emily’s Grace” provided hundreds. Unlike today’s plastic bottle spaceships, EG was designed by the renowned German Frers to the old IOR rule (International Offshore Racing). When searching for the “next boat”, we looked at several dozens of sailboats. Many appealed, but none clicked. However, I immediately fell in love with her sleek lines and knew she’d be perfect for weeks with a growing family on the Bay. With her huge wheel and balanced rudder, she sailed like a dinghy, was responsive and quick. For the seven plus years we owned her, decades of quality family time was logged. Our previous boat, a Pearson 10M “Emily”, was no exception the 16 years before EG.

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Emily’s Grace

Sailing’s romance is not so much your destination. Instead it is about the journey and the promise of a distant horizon. Sounds trite perhaps, but I wouldn’t trade any of sailing’s memories or adventures for anytime on any beach. No beach cottage ever coaxed exploration to discover what lay behind a point of land. Sailing has always offered to me an unmatched freedom and independence.

So, its not without some sadness that we say goodbye. Simply put, the children have grown up fast. They naturally want their own independence and schedules were making it rare to have the entire family aboard. The thrill of sailing can be done smaller when the number of crew shrinks. It is often said that a boat owner’s best days are the first and last of ownership. This is often quipped by one who can’t sail, nor would. I take exception and don’t subscribe. I’ve missed all our boats for one reason or another, but mostly because of those memories. On our last cruise we took a few videos and photos. I never seem to take enough. The camera does intrude on the experience sometimes. This compilation shows both languid days and bashings to weather. We witnessed gorgeous sunsets and crisp morning breezes. These memories I’ll always treasure. Though of a particular week with the family, it draws upon all those previous voyages we took. They can’t dismissed. I’ve yet to find anything quite so satisfying as working with a crew as we press toward the next harbor. I hope the new owner enjoys her half as much as we have. We wish him many memories. Goodbye EG-