August 8, 2005
“Sea Chant” lay in readiness for departure following a morning fishing trip with brother-in-law, Jerry, visiting for a Lusby family reunion. Fish were frozen, and Captain Jim passed a calm night at Casa Rio Marina enjoying air conditioning. The goal is to head far enough north that air conditioning isn’t needed: Canada!
Tuesday the 9th dawned to gentle rain. The Naval Academy in Annapolis cancelled the 1812 Overture Concert so Captain after completing his preparations at the mooring on Half Moon Bay began trolling his way north to Rock Hall. At last a Rockfish was on the line, but alas it was only 14”, not a keeper. Captain anchored for the night in Chesapeake City at the mouth of the C & D Canal, and grilled his perch and spot for a delicious meal.
Wednesday the 10th Captain was underway at his customary 5:50 in the morning, and made good time on the Delaware River running with the tide with a top speed of 10.8 knots. By 1:00 Jim was at the canal, and out to the ocean. The stay at Donald Trumps’s Marina set the Captain’s budget back. The overnight slip was $102 and the fuel was $250.
Thursday the 11th’s departure was at 6:30 with calm seas on the way to New York City. Jubilation! Captain caught an 8 lb 30” Bluefish that he tucked away in the cooler while he spent the night at Liberty Landing Marina by the Statue of Liberty.
Friday’s departure was challenged by the bad current in the East River prompting Captain to take a scenic detour up Newtown Creek. Alas, the current was still waiting for him after he cooled his heels in the creek, and the creek was entirely given over to the grittiest industries of the city. It was a 5-7 knot slog up the river to Manhasset Bay. Jim dropped $210 into the fuel tank, $2.99 per gallon. Ouch. No dock fees tonight. Captain picked up a mooring near Iemanja, then moved aboard, Bluefish and all. Visions of a fish fry were dashed for that evening when the onboard captain, Jeff, was conked on the bean when an unsecured hatch nailed him on the head. It was off to the hospital for Jeff, and back into the fridge for fish.
Saturday the 13th was a workday aboard “Sea Chant” attending to filters and pumps. In the evening Captain Jim and Captain Jeff, reasonably recovered, dispatched the Bluefish in fine style aboard Iemanja. Plans are crystallizing for First Mate Joyce to come aboard “Sea Chant” on Sunday. Time to hustle.
Sunday dawned to more hot, hazy, humid weather and another up river run against the current. Captain’s rendezvous point with Max and Sally Groves with whom Joyce has hitched a ride is 58 miles away past West Point, the Palisades and Highlands to the tiny town of Newburgh, Mile H-53. Whew! Captain made it in time to treat our drivers to lunch at Pamela’s Restaurant. The River is wide here and passing boaters kick up quite a wake. No sooner had we finished lunch than the Captain was casting off for a fast run, with the current for a change, to our overnight tie up at the city dock in Kingston on Rondout Creek, Mile H-79. We were nestled in our slip before the evening thunderstorm hit. Jim took in the shore side Latino Festival while Joyce crashed.
No one would have believed how late I slept on Monday the 15th: 11:30. Is that transdermal Scopalomine patch a soporific? The Kingston waterfront beckoned us to launch our land dinghies, the two bicycles Captain brought onboard and get the flavor of this popular cruising destination, including a local maritime museum. Tempting as it was to stay, there be towns to the North for Captain to explore. We made the modest run to Esopus Creek at Mile H-88 to overnight on the hook in the town of Saugerties. Since there are no commercial fishermen living in these little creeks the only sounds to intrude (once the drummer finished practice) on our slumbers are the whistles of passing trains along the shoreline. We slept like babies.
We were underway early on Tuesday the 16th and put into the next Creek, Catskill, for our morning bicycle ride in the town of, what else, Catskill at Mile H-97! Each of the towns we toured bear evidence of decline, and all show signs of revitalization. Empty storefronts in the canal side towns runs at about 1/3. No loitering signs tell the rest of the tale. But since the canals have been removed from the Transportation Department to a separate Canal Authority old store fronts are being restored to their original style. Tourism and attracting retirees to own Hudson River vacation homes is the new goal. Up and down the canal system the towns will be as quaint as Annapolis. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds as we wend our way to Troy at Mile H-130. The rapids beyond make this the farthest navigable port on the Hudson. We dodged brief rain showers to take in the bright lights of Troy, and passed a comfortable night tied along the municipal wall with access to electricity and water.
The Hudson Travelers
The Champlain Canal, Wednesday August 17
Of the five boats along the wall at Troy “Sea Chant” was the first to be underway at 6:30 AM heading north. The nearby town of Waterford is a pivotal point in the 800 mile New York Barge Canal System. A sign advises boaters who bear left that they will ascend a flight of 5 closely spaced locks with a combined lift of 169 feet to enter the East-West 341 mile long Erie Canal. “Sea Chant” perseveres past this junction to pursue the 62.5 mile Champlain Canal entering Lock 1 at Mile CC 5.4. Our early start made for relatively fast locking: no time lost waiting while each vessel in turn secured themselves to the pipes or hanging lines from the lock walls. A two day canal pass is a modest $15.00.
Shore leave came early at Mile CC 11 where we stopped to ride our bikes around the town of Mechanicville, beside Lock 2. Later while we waited to exit the lock Captain deployed the awnings over the flying bridge. “That looks like a low bridge up ahead captain,” said First Mate, and the lock master also expressed concern about the 15.5’ clearance. We crept beneath it with scant inches to spare. The next low bridge caused our antenna to twang, and Captain lowered it for the duration. Even lower bridges crossed the original Erie Canal. One crewman was detailed to keep watch forward and sing out to the deck passengers, “everybody down” to keep them from being swept overboard.
Our skies today were blue, the air, crisp. Thick white cumulus clouds formed but shed no rain. The mirror surface of these non-tidal waters capture the bucolic scenes of tree lined banks in sharp detail. We continued up locking all day through Lock C-6 at Mile CC 32 about 7 miles from the town of Fort Edward. We thought about “Maggie’s Farm” racing in Galesville without us. But we were treated to freshly made strawberry shortcake and a band concert in the waterfront park where “Sea Chant” is enjoying the hospitality of the town: free tie-up and electricity.
Thursday, August 18 dawned at 60 degrees with Captain and First Mate scrambling to find long pants and shirts. Maryland’s humid weather had been here before we came, and could return, but for now we are lulled into wondering why we thought we needed to head to Canada for relief from the heat. Overhead, mackerel skies and feathery high clouds called mare’s tails remind us of the sailor’s ditty marking a weather pattern change: Mackerel skies and mares’s tails make tall ships wear short sails. Locks 7 and 8 marked the end of our uplocking to cross the Adirondack Mountains. Locks 9 to 12 gradually lowered us to the level of Lake Champlain. Curiously, there is no Lock 10. There had been one initially but it was determined that it was unnecessary, and so has been removed. We lingered in the Town of Whitehall at lunch time to bicycle into the hills to tour Skene Manor, an imposing Victorian mansion being restored by the town of Whitehall. We biked over a former car bridge that has been transformed into a theater. Imagine going to a play in a building suspended over a waterway. Our meal at the Finch & Chubb Restaurant lived up to its fame. The building itself had been an armory in the war of 1812. Benedict Arnold commissioned a fleet of small sailing craft to be build here to challenge an expected British attack for control of Lake Champlain. While the victory went to the British, and Arnold’s fleet was scuttled to prevent their falling into enemy hands the delay this skirmish entailed forced the British to retire to the safety of Canada until the following season. The revolutionaries had all winter to fortify themselves for the attack at Saratoga, the first American victory, and the battle that brought the French in on our side. Arnold was disillusioned by the lack of respect he felt his efforts were worth, and the rest is history. The town of Whitehall pronounces itself, The Birthplace of the U. S. Navy.
Later, an 18 year old fisherman named Buell made his mark on fishing. To his dismay a silver spoon from his picnic hamper fell overboard. He was intrigued to see a large fish seize the spoon and swim off. Buell welded a fishing hook to another silver spoon and began reeling in fish much larger than those landed by his counterparts using live bait. Thus the spoon lure industry was born here in Whitehall. Other innovations were inspired by the requirements of moving freight from deep water rivers and lakes into relatively shallow canals. The centerboard was invented for canal travel as was the traveler for quick sail handling. After taking on 100 gallons of fuel we exited through Lock 12 into Lake Champlain which initially more closely resembles a narrow river.
Governor Clinton’s Ditch as the Erie Canal was known laid the foundation for New York City to become the nation’s premier port, and to open up the mid-west to settlement. The Erie Canal runs the full width of the state and ties into both Lake Erie and Lake Ontario on its western and eastern sides. Midway a spur to the south links Lakes Cayuga and Seneca into the system. Lake Champlain at right angles to the Erie at its Eastern terminus heads north into Canada’s Quebec Province. To this day 77% of New Yorkers live with 2 miles of a canal, and 87% live within 20 miles: it is where all the cities grew.
After exiting the Champlain Canal we found an anchorage beside Fort Ticonderoga. Jim enjoyed the waters warm enough for swimming, and “Sea Chant” basked in the full moon awaiting new adventures on the Lake.
The Canal Couple
Lake Champlain, Thursday August 18
Lake Champlain formed from a deep fissure when geologic forces caused the earth to buckle and fill with sea water. When the ice age arrived it was covered by glaciers which filled the lake with fresh water as they melted. Initially the lake drained southward into the Hudson until uplifting of the Adirondacks sealed that opening and creating the lake. The Chambly Canal links the north end of the lake with the Riviere Richelieu at Rouses Point 110 miles north of Whitehall.
The lower 22 miles seems like a river with both banks of the lake as close as they were in the canals narrowing at one point between rock palisades to .1 mile wide. Aside from fishermen and the solitary house nestled in the tree covered steep banks it seems little changed since its discovery in 1609 by Samuel Champlain. A passing Amtrack train sounding its soulful whistle brings us abruptly back to the 21st century. We dropped our hook for the night just offshore from the rebuilt Ft. Ticonderoga.
Friday, August 19th dawned to overcast skies and mild temperatures. The delivery skipper was underway at 6 AM when the lake is at it calmest. We pulled into Port Henry mid-morning for a hike into town for groceries, and to take in the lake view from the surrounding hills. The boundary for the states of New York and Vermont lies in the middle of Lake Champlain. The lake continues to widen gradually as we push northward, and the enveloping mists shroud both the Adirondacks to our west and Vermont’s Green Mountains to the east in a blue haze. The serrated rows of peaks look like a painted scenery backdrop for a play. Next stop was Westport, an old style resort community with Victorian era homes nestled along quite streets. No less than three liveried dock attendants assisted our arrival. The winds have been picking up all day, and we ducked into the appendix like Shelburne Bay on the eastern shore. The bright lights of Burlington, Vermont are visible to our north. It is the largest city on the lake. Throughout the night we can hear the wind building as a front moves through. Our sailors adage of mare’s tails was prophetic.
As usual Captain arose at 6 AM to test the lake’s waters. The other sailors waved us cheerfully on our way: they weren’t budging from their snug anchorage. Shelburn Bay is located at the lake’s widest point, 12 miles across. Our guidebook advises, “Several days of a good blow can produce waves averaging 4 ft or more in height in the summer and approaching 8 ft in the fall.” Ours was only an overnight blow, but it persisted well into the morning. First Mate noted that unlike the Captain’s helm seat which is bolted to the floor hers is secured by a mere bungee cord. “Sea Chant” lurched wildly from side to side impacted by steady winds and building seas. Captain sought the protection of Valcour Island where we dallied over a breakfast of toast and eggs instead of our customary cereal taken underway.
Valcour Island has served the American cause in both wars against the British. Benedict Arnold arrayed his fleet of 15 vessels anchored in a line from Valcour to the western shore. Most of his craft resembled daysailors challenging the 180 ton British ships which had been disassembled on the Richeleau, portaged past what is now the Chambly Canal, and re-assembled on the Lake intent on seizing Fort Ticonderoga. Outgunned, Arnold was forced to retreat, and when overtaken by the pursuing British, to scuttle his fleet. Nonetheless, the British gave up their plans to attack the fort, and retired back to Canada.
At Valcour Island Lake Champlain splits into two branches. The lake on the Vermont side dead ends, and is therefore strictly a cruising ground. Fortified by breakfast Captain determined to put in to port at Plattsburg, NY 88 miles from our entry into the lake. Docking our single engine bow thruster-less vessel under windy conditions put Captain and Crew to the test, but we succeeded, and decided to call it quits for the day. Plattsburg is the second largest city on the lake with plenty to see shore-side. Our overnight slip is three boats away from the restaurant which will host a live band this evening, and is the destination Sunday of a motorcycle club hundreds strong. It won’t be dull around here!
The town has erected a tall eagle topped obelisk honoring the naval defeat of the British by Commodore Macdonough in the 1814 Battle of Plattsburg,, one of the battles that helped end the war. Like Arnold before him the Commodore deployed his fleet in the sheltering veil of Valcour Island. Ten thousand British were heading south awaiting support of their fleet. In a 2.5 hour battle the British fleet was defeated, and surrendered to the Americans. With that, the British army marched back to Canada. Likewise we are marching towards Canada Sunday the 21st.
The fresh-water Mariners
Quebec, Sunday August 21
Bonjour. Plattsburgh did its best to keep us in its thrall: a rock ‘n roll concert in town, a live band after our dinner at the marina’s restaurant, The Naked Turtle, and the promise of hundreds upon hundreds of motorcycles heading into town completing a charitable run. But Captain saw becalmed seas and lit out for a run to the border after breakfast at an internet café, The Coffee Cat.
As we bid adieu to Lake Champlain the winds were picking up as a cold front swept through Rouses Point, the last city on the US border. “Sea Chant” pressed on for the refuge of the Richelieu River which empties Lake Champlain. Canada maintains a custom’s dock just over the line for a casual check-in.
Of course, our relationship has not always been as cordial. Following the War of 1812 Ft. Montgomery was erected to guard our territorial rights. It was nicknamed “Ft Blunder” when the completed fort was surveyed—and found to be on the Canadian side. Back to the drawing board, and the completion of another fort.
We passed a pleasant afternoon traveling past marshy shores and farmland 22 miles to the town of St. Jean where we tied up along the sea wall for the night. Our progress was halted here by the beginning of another canal system, The Chambly, that overcomes the rapids of the Richelieu.
We enjoyed our stroll up to the first lock, and past all the stores whose signs are strictly in French. “What are crevettes?” asked Jim as we approached the Bleu Marlin marina restaurant. Aha! A picture on the banner provided the answer. The marina was having a shrimp feast, and we mustered enough savvy to place two orders that were heavenly.
While lounging back aboard “Sea Chant” Jim excitedly called First Mate to join him on the upper deck. It was the conclusion of an international hot air balloon festival, the second largest next to one hosted by Albuquerque, NM. Some 55 balloons drifted past, many descending low over the river, and a few landing on the grassy bank across from the restaurant. Never before have we seen balloons in other than the traditional shape. But scattered here among the merely colorful were balloons shaped like the devil complete with horns and tail, a rubbery duckie, two bumble bees, a barn with silo, farmer and farm animals peeking from barn doors, a toadstool with pixies, a beagle dog, a frog and a beaver. Clear blue skies showed them off to a-tee for the delighted crowds along the river walk.
Monday, August 22, our start was delayed until 9 AM when the bridge across the canal was rolled out of our way, and we entered Lock 9 of The Chambly Canal. In deference to the purchase of canal passes this one is electrically operated. All of the remaining locks are manually controlled. Unlike the US canals that were rebuilt to accommodate the increasing size of vessels, once this French Canal was completed it remained unchanged. It is rather narrow with rock lined banks to reduce erosion, and Captain had to maintain strict vigilance holding “Sea Chant” exactly in the center as the canal meandered along. The Canal is 10 miles long, but the locks are concentrated in a 1.5 mile stretch with the final 3 locks forming a continuous tier until discharging into the Chambly Basin. The bridge and lock keepers were very prompt in serving us, and bicyclists along the former tow path enjoyed watching the procedure. The locks were really only big enough for one vessel at a time. Each lock tender used a large winch handle to crank his lock door shut. Then each cranked up the floodgate on his side, and when the descent was completed, each cranked open his gate on the lower side of the lock.
Captain and “Sea Chant” took a well deserved rest upon reaching the basin to tour Ft. Chambly which in turn served the French, the British, and briefly the Americans in an unsuccessful bid to conquer Canada. Lunch was at the nearby Fourquet Fourchette Restaurant which offers French colonial food and drink. Thus fortified, “Sea Chant” plied her way along the lower Richelieu until dropping anchor between two mid-stream islands.
Early Tuesday morning on the 23rd we put ashore at the town dock of St-Antoine-sur-Richelieu at River Mile 17.8 to enjoy the provincial town’s unique style. Each home was a castle lovingly trimmed with filigree wood working on shutters, porch railings and trim boards, and even steps. Flowers are at their peak and abound in hanging baskets, planters and beds. Homes are clustered close to the river banks on both sides reflecting the early land distribution. Since the river was the only means of transport initially each family was deeded a parcel, with a narrow access to the shore, that ran very deeply inland for farming. Indeed the Richelieu has been called the world’s longest village. With our bikes stowed back aboard we continued downstream to the last lock on the river at mile 12, the St-Ours Lock (pronounced ‘ers.) In contrast to its quaint predecessors this lock is 300’ long with a floating dock to which we were secured: to bow and stern lines to tend on our descent. This was the last lock to be modernized before commerce bypassed water transit leaving the other Chambly locks in their original state.
The final leg of the Richelieu terminates in the industrial and gritty port of Sorel with a fire belching foundary filling the sky with billowing clouds. Goodbye Richelieu. Hello St. Lawrence.
Les Deux Amies
Saint Lawrence River, Tuesday August 23
Not since his first day on the Hudson has the Captain been confronted by unfavorable current. After First Mate Joyce joined “Sea Chant” we fell in with a favorable tide, and once in the Champlain system all of the flow has been to the north where the Richelieu aided us with a half knot bonus until finally joining the St. Lawrence.
We are not following that seaway to the Atlantic, but rather pursuing its course upstream to Montreal with a noticeable 1 knot current against our headway. Fortunately three rivers also empty into the St. Lawrence in close proximity and have divided the river into separate channels by their accumulated silt deposits. We pursued the Chenal Sud stopping at River Mile 23 at the town of Contrecoeur for an afternoon ramble. We enjoyed the older homes, although the town itself was more modest and practical in its architecture, and toured its historic center where two women were busy plying looms.
Continuing on we put in for the night at the town pier at River Mile 5 in the town of Boucherville across from a marshy shore and a river island supporting a corn farm. The town had Arthur Murry style feet painted on the sidewalk to guide tourists past the most stately homes. A baronial estate is on the market for $9 million. We found a restaurant that advertised “maison cuisine”, or home cooking, a favorite of the local workers, and just right for us boaters. Returning to “Sea Chant” an earnest resident hearing us speak English struck up a conversation about his budding career in heavy metal music. We passed a pleasant evening with him as our guest aboard, and have his signed demo cd as a souvenir.
On Wednesday the 24th “Sea Chant” emerged from her sheltering side channel into the full flood of the St. Lawrence as we headed into Montreal, the second largest French speaking city in the world. The current flowing past a channel marker made it look like a rock in a rapid where the flow of the St. Lawrence is joined by the Ottawa River with a combined strength of 5 knots in the center. “Sea Chant” quickly dove for the sheltering shore where the back swirling flow plunged us ahead into the harbor at over 9 knots. “Sea Chant” will lie pampered in the port of Vieux Montreal while Captain fortifies her with fresh charts of the Ottawa River, our next pursuit, and an oil and filter change.
The highlight of our morning sortie by bicyclette was a tour of the Chateau Ramezay Museum and Governor’s Garden. The governor’s home had the latest in 18th century technology including a dog powered spit turner for his hearth: a round basket fitted to a turnstile located near the ceiling relied upon a restless pooch pent up within to keep his nibs roast from searing. The city is bustling outdoors as the Canadians savor even the past few cool, overcast, and showery days before fall arrives in late September. We’ll return to the city tonight perhaps to dine in the restaurant named the Filles du Roy. It commemorates the 1000 French girls whose doweries were supplied by the King as inducement to emigrate and marry here, hence they were all called the king’s daughters, and are the ancestors of modern Quebec. We’ll take in the bright lights of the city’s special night illumination before heading off tomorrow into the Ottawa River.
The St. Lawrence Duo
Au Revoir Montreal Thursday, August 25
Had “Sea Chant” been a runabout we could have traveled via the Lachine Canal from our marina but the 8’ bridge clearance meant we had to follow the route of commercial vessels putting through the St. Lambert Lock, or Ecluse as they say here. A minimum of two crew must be aboard to transit, and a friendly boater traveling with another couple shared his wife with a solo sailor. Also, within the lock only two vessels handled lines. We were told to lock through tied to the other powerboat. Once through “Sea Chant” was kicking up her heels until we realized there was another lock the three of us would transit together. No need to rush: we would travel no faster than the 24’ Shark. It was our turn to be the line handlers through the St. Catherine Lock which opened onto the broad and shallow Lac St-Louis. It reminded me of the Keys in that you carefully threaded your way past submerged rocks (instead of coral), and sunlight glinted invitingly in all directions. Once across this lake we will enter the Ottawa River via the Canal at Sainte-Anne-De-Bellevue.
Terrace restaurants line the shore beside the lock at Ste. Anne, one of the most popular tourist destinations, particularly for boaters. It is a quick 3’ lift before exiting onto the Lac Des Deus Montagnes. Captain is settling into the cruiser mode now, and languished on a shady terrace enjoying Sangria, and eventually dinner before locking through to the Ottawa River, and a sunset cruise to our overnight anchorage near our next lock, about 45miles west of Montreal. Lock building on the Ottawa was spurred by the military and forestry. Logging and fur trading has given way to farming, and from the hint in the air I’d guess beef and dairy farming.
The Ottawa canals are a study in contrasts. From the smallest lift among our locks we tackled our largest on Friday morning, August 26. As transport by water gave way to rail and highway Hydro-Quebec created a new use for the river’s rapids: a dam was built to generate electricity. Beside the dam the deepest lock in Canada was constructed: a lift of 20 meters (about 65’). Water flow is controlled by a 200 ton guillotine gate. As “Sea Chant” was locking through the Public Television Station was filming a story on the operation. She cut a fine swath on this crisp, blue sky day, and we informed the interviewer that “Sea Chant” was a 1977 Mainship trawler, 34’x11’x3’, with a 200hp diesel engine, which cruises at 8 kts @3gph, a good thing when fuel is $5.00/gallon up here. We get about 3mpg, compared to the faster gas engined cruisers which get between ½ and 1mpg. About 900 of these boats were built between 1977 and 1987, and Mainship today is the number one trawler builder in the USA.
Travel on the river is endlessly entertaining. Both shores are easily viewed, and binoculars allow closer scrutiny. Farms, trees and fishing boats give way to riverside houses, campgrounds, and new mansions the farther up river we go. The surest sign of a town ahead is the glint of the silver church spire. Older towns have a church of gothic stone topped with a silvery roof, and a steeple sometimes in 3 layers all in silver color: a base, an open belfry, and a steep coned pinnacle with a cross on top. They are marked on our charts as well in lieu of lighthouses.
All in all. “Sea Chant” has proved an enduring enchantress. One of the oldest vessels plying the waterways, she faithfully starts and plugs away all day without complaint. Captain and crew much prefer her upper steering station specially fitted with a new seat for First Mate and shaded by dual Biminis. It has a quaint auto helm control about 3 “ diameter. The merest nudge will send the bow aiming opposite to the turn (First Mate has a cheat sheet diagram to aid in obeying helm commands.) Her wheel, by contrast, requires vigorous efforts by Captain to redirect her bearing. On rainy days Captain steers from her main cabin while First Mate looks on from her twin helm seat on the port side. There is ample room to walk on the outside to deploy fenders and fasten lines when we dock. Stove, fridge, hot shower, 12 volt TV for on board movies, and brand new screening for her lower level "porch” makes her a cozy cruiser ideal for these glassy waters. If it weren’t for the blandishments of shore we could stay cocooned aboard.
Montebello De Papineauville is a destination not to be missed. Papinveau was the original land grantee and 5 generations lived there until it was sold to the Canadian railroad in 1930 for use as a sportsmans club. The original manor hose not having enough rooms, the “sportsmen” built a 204 room log cabin style edifice, which was sold to a hotel chain in 1971. The whole place is a staggering 65000 acres. “Sea Chant” nestled into a slip while crew headed for the outdoor pool. Lodging is in the world’s largest log cabin. It is laid out in a huge X pattern with a central hall featuring a six-faced massive fireplace. The yacht basin is earmarked for ice fishing in winter. The year round resort features a tunnel to the indoor pool, horseback riding, golf, and a host of other sports. It is a 5 star cuisine and accommodations resort in a rustic setting. We topped off our day by strolling from the pool to the outdoor bar-be-que of trout, steak, chicken, shrimp, veal, and sausages cooked by the chefs while you watched with superb side dishes. A saxaphonist provided a smokey jazz ambience. We’ll explore the rest of the resort in the morning when we recover from dinner.
The Mellow Montebellos
P.S. Try www.ballooncanada.com for more about the aerial show we enjoyed at St. Jean-sur-Richelieu. If we dally in Ottawa until Sept 2 we can see them again.
Bon Jour, Hello Ottawa, Saturday August 27
Marshes indented by fingers of water gave way to towering granite cliffs on the left shore studded with unbelievable mansions, embassy row, when we completed our up-river pursuit of the Ottawa River. The 80’ falls described by Samuel Champlain as curtains (Rideau) were overcome in 1832 when English engineer, John By, constructed a flight of 8 locks transited in a continuous series. The manual gates are drawn aside by chain around a drum. All eyes were on “Sea Chant” as she made her solo ascent at 6 PM, ushered into the heart of this capital city like a queen. The flukey water whorls and gusty breezes kept Captain and Mate on their toes minding the fore and aft lines looped behind cables attached along the walls. The later locks are filled to overflowing requiring two sets of fenders: a high set to cushion our contact while ascending against the walls, and the other at the water line to prevent scuffs when we rest at the level of the sidewalk.
The War of 1812 was the impetus for the Rideau Canal construction. Since the St. Lawrence forms part of our common boundary it was deemed imperative to have an alternative link to Kingston at the headwaters of the St. Lawrence on Lake Ontario as a means of supplying Montreal. The area defined by the seaway and Rideau Canal resembles a piece of pie. The Irish and Scotch workers who built the canal settled at their work site, Bytown. Their ancestral accents are discernible in the accents of lock tenders and bar keeps today.
Bytown was selected as the national capital, a location at a safe distance from the American border, and at the junction of the bilingual country. The Indian word for trade furnished the formal name of the city: Ottawa. Champlain did more than map new areas for France. He made an incredible 22 trans-Atlantic crossings to press for support of New France.
The Rideau Canal was built with two stone buildings on opposite shores. The Royal Engineers Office on the eastern side became a private residence in 1868. The coming of the railroad in 1901 made this into the house of song, “The Railroad Runs Through The Middle of the House” when the rear of the structure had the railway terrace pass through it. Alas, vibrations forced the demolition of the house 10 years later.
In winter after the locks cease operation the Rideau takes on a whole new aspect. The water level in the locks is lowered to a minimum. When it freezes the canal and Rideau for the next 80 miles becomes the world’s longest skating rink. By boring through the ice to the river flow below and pumping this freshly to the surface each night the surface is kept smooth. Residents can commute to work like Hans Brinker!
We tied up for the night along the concrete walls a half mile for our flight of 8 locks to enjoy the heart of the city at night.
Sunday, August 28 our bicycles were launched to enjoy the streets blocked off each summer Sunday for pedestrians and all forms of wheeled use. Promptly at 10 we reached the grounds in front of the 3 gothic style houses of parliament where the Royal Canadian Band and ceremonial marching troops strutted their stuff in this end of season ceremony. They all sport the bushy tall hats and red uniforms we associated with Buckingham Palace. Parking our bikes we hopped aboard a double decker bus which took us on a wide tour of the city with stops for tourists wishing to linger at the numerous museums and points of interest. We stayed aboard, and learned of two major events awaiting our return to the parliament lawn.
No sooner had Jim gotten his sausage dog from a vendor on the corner than the Canadian Gay Pride Parade got underway. They were rallying at city hall with a “Kiss-in”, but we headed off when the last float passed by to try an authentic treat: a BeaverTail, or in French , Queues de Castor. North American explorers stretched pastry into an oblong shape and cooked it floating on oil. Topped with cinnamon, maple or apple they take their name from the furry animal they sought.
It is back to “Sea Chant” where we cast off to wend our way another ½ mile up the canal where we again tied up along the wall by the CFL stadium at Lansdowne Park for this evening’s Mick Jagger concert. Forty years ago they were booked at the Ottawa YMCA. Tonight some seats inside the stadium commanded $1000 each. Seated aboard “Sea Chant’s” enchanted upper deck we will sit in comfort and hear it all. With a bit of rubber necking we’ll even be able to see the visuals. With the afternoon to loll away the bicycles were deployed to enjoy the numerous flower plantings on this beautified waterway. In gratitude for hospitality during WWII of their pregnant queen the Dutch supervise the planting of 1 million tulips here each year. The beds are now a dazzling sea of annuals in elegant arrangement. Waterside bike paths line both shores, and we’ll sally forth for dinner before indulging in a thrill we missed in our teens: attending a Stones Concert. Ta-ta. That’s Mick’s limo entering now.
The Stones Fans
PS We are now in the town of Merricksville about 2 days from the canal end where we can stop as Katrina’s rain moves inland.
RIDEaU Monday August 29
How appropriate for this staunchly bilingual country that the name Rideau is a pun, with the Giant’s Staircase ascending to Parliament Hill, and wending its way through an ever varying landscape of city, posh riverside homes, historic towns, narrow canals and broad vistas of marsh grass and wildlife. The French word means curtain, the appearance of the veil of falls of the tributary Rideau River cascading today as it did when Samuel Champlain named it. It was built in anticipation of an American invasion. And we are here obeying the bilingual mandate: ride eau (water).
For 173 years this waterway has drawn travelers to some of Canada’s oldest resorts along its shores. It is comprised of 31 locks lifting vessels on the Rideau River to a network of lakes, the highest of which is Newboro Lake, a 270’ ascent to 404’ above sea level, and from there descending through 14 locks on the Cataraqui River to Lake Ontario, a lowering of 162’. The original locks and canal cuts are powered today as they were when engineered by Lieutenant Colonel John By, “the muscle power of lock staff cranking the distinctive “crab” winches. At each lock Captain and First Mate keep a sharp lookout for our pair of lock tenders to mount the steps and begin turning the cylinder wrapped by chain which opens and later closes the lock doors. If a bridge crosses our way they must sprint ahead to crank and push the roadway aside over the lock bank. They mount the upper end of the lock to take a few turns on the crab winch there that partially opens either a sluice or a pair of Venetian blind valves in the gates that starts water flooding into the sealed chamber. As the water level rises more turns of the crab winches carefully matched by the tenders to insure an even current flow past our vessel tethered fore and aft to the port canal wall. Why the port? Captain is also traveling much as the early voyagers along the Rideau did: with one engine and a Joyce powered bow thruster: an extended boat hook firmly pressed against whatever firm surface offers itself at our heightened elevation. That done, Captain adds throttle and the engines torque nudges “Sea Chant’s” bow smartly to the right, and we are on our way once more.
The first 11 locks we traversed in Ottawa are all in hand dug and blasted lock-ways 5 miles before joining the Rideau River at Hogs Back. The longest stretch, 39 kilometers between locks occurs south of Manotick en route to lock 17 at Burritts Rapids. Often the locks are in series of two or three to accommodate the lift required manned by human power. Only at 3 locks where commerce necessitated a heavier road than mustered muscle could move have electric motors been installed.
Captain and Mate alike were plenty tuckered Monday evening when we cleared through locks 21-23 at Merrickville. It had been a town of 50 souls farming and operating a lumber mill when the military construction project boosted the town’s status: they got a military base and flourished. Base is a relative term. Their fortification consisted of a moat-surrounded block-house, a fortified tower essentially standing vigil over the strategic locks. With growth in trade in mind the mid-lock of the series into Merrickville had an extra wide area on the town side. This allowed barges to off-load, turn around and return to Ottawa without impeding other vessels. Captain and Mate made a quick reconnoiter of the lovely stone buildings, took fresh stocks of grub aboard, then swaggered into a hospitable Irish pub that not only nourished our bodies but linked us via internet and CNN images of the world outside the 19th century. Merrickville is notorious for its trains: they sound their warning whistles approaching the town—all night long. With this in mind and darkness fast approaching Captain cast off the lines and hustled out to a serene anchorage in mirror calm waters. Alas, the tracks run along shore and sound carries fully over the water. We enjoyed each crossing through town along with the haunting call of a loon.
Tuesday, August 30th dawned over a scene too beguiling to quit in haste: Mate persuaded Captain to partake of a cooked breakfast rather than his trademark coffee “on the fly” with anchor hoisting competing with tucking in his shirt tail. Mate was treated to the luxury of languishing unperturbed on the upper deck while Captain tenderly tinkered with “Sea Chant’s” innards below the floors in the main salon. And a good thing, too. The alternator bracket had shed its nut, spacer and washer into the many-nooked bilge below. Diligent searching turned up the bushing, and Captain resourcefully supplied the missing metric nut from his indispensable 16-section trove tray of “wouldn’t hurt to have it” spare parts. Refreshed by a shower Captain was eager to be underway.
And what a magical day it was! Our scenery now is rustic, churches, alas, of the “low” theology prize simplicity. Gone are the wedding cake confections of spires that pierce the sky, the first harbinger of a town. These blunt steeples are solid, cross-less, and no higher than the surrounding trees. Our new silver beacons are the soaring silos. It is harvest season. Hay is in bales, and being trucked to market or stored in vast barns. Corn tassels bespeak a prodigious yield nigh its peak. Bass boaters flick their flies on waters where the marker numbers are seen mirrored in inverse below the surface as crisply as their twin above. Swimming piers with slides dot the riverfront 100 yards from the coast just past the lily pads and algae. Hershey Canada is our focus this morning. Factory seconds are to be had a short walk from Old Slys Lock (26 & 27). I’ll save you some. The lock takes its name from the settler whose home was flooded in the dam construction. The once discrete river became a flooded plain when a dam was built to supply water to the locks. A broad marshland formed, although in general, the flow of the entire system has reduced the propensity for malaria.
Fortified with a 1 3/4 kls sack of almond chocolate bar fragments, $5.00, we pressed on to the bright lights of Smiths Falls—only to bicycle back to the Heritage Farmhouse museum at Slys Lock. A Grist mill and wool mill were operated here year round courtesy of the unfrozen rapids. A Mr. Bates ran the mills, more profitable than his competitor Abel Ward’s seasonal mills. Ward was jealous but patient, and when Bates died Ward bought the mills from the widow and sewed up ownership of the commerce of the area. After our tour of the miller’s home, complete with the unique two-story attached outhouse, we returned to the 4 story Canal Museum in the city. We are now in Lower Rideau Lake enjoying shore power where we spent the night: at the gas dock of Rideau Ferry Harbor. With an early evening stop Captain was rewarded with Mate’s cuisine duly noted in his log as “nice.” Katrina’s light rains and spent fury arrived at midnight, and persuaded us to stay put till noon, recollect the recent day’s pleasures and read, Hemingway for Jim and Moby Dick for me. Gray skies gave way to a pink sunset, but not before we marveled at islets resembling Bonsai arrangements at full scale set in shimmering waters overlooked by houses tucked in among the trees on the shore bedrock. Cribs, wire blocks of stone lying just below the surface support markers all but hidden around unexpected corners.
From wending our way through narrow canals we progressed this afternoon to threading our way through channels too narrow for two boats to pass each other. Midway a wide area was designated as a “sound horn” zone. Backing out of an on comer’s way would be a tricky if not impossible task. At Newboro Lake our markers switch over from red on the right to red on the left signaling the start of our descent those 162’ in 14 locks to Lake Ontario. “Sea Chant” must be mindful not to scrape her bow overhanging a canal edge as the water starts to lower. The lock tenders lend a hand holding us off. No water turbulence now; water is draining as from a tub, and more smartly. Our final locks of the day, 39-42, were at Jones Falls. We waited an hour while another boat up-locked and then more water was accumulated in the top chamber to “flush us” as Captain puts it. We were tied up and ready for another 10 minutes when a New York boater heading home to Cayuga Lake joined us on the starboard edge. What a phenomenal flume ride that cascade of 4 locks would make if those early engineers hadn’t been limited to military plans. At Jones Falls the blockhouse and lock tender’s home were one. Located on a promontory it had gun slits in the walls. They saw duty in the Rebellion of 1837 when the Canadians tried unsuccessfully to throw off the Brits. The Canadians also managed to meld their French and British halves without recourse to Civil War.
It is more civilized here. You would love to a fall foliage cruise in late September. Waterway Getaway rents houseboats at Smiths Falls. Its not too late to book. Do join us. The Canadaclub.com advertises fractional ownerships in a lodge 3 miles from lock 35 in lake-country. Or head to Montebellow. A meeting of the heads of the industrialized world was booked here, and they know where to go. We are torn between our original goal of transiting the Trent-Severn Waterway linking Lake Ontario with Lake Superior, or returning on the Hudson for our fall foliage excursion. We’ll think about that tomorrow. Today it’s a sunrise departure from our overnight slip at Shangri-La Marina 6 miles to a bridge with 4’ clearance.
Captain scoured the bridge tender’s hut for signs of activity at 7 A.M. then consulted his guide book: Canal staff report at 8:30. We doubled back a mile to Seeleys Bay for breakfast where the locals gather: food and local color, and a chance to capture reflection photos, and buy a newspaper, “The Kingston Whig-Standard.” We drove along coastal Mississippi and New Orleans this past winter and saw communities staggered just by the debris of the previous year’s 2 harsh storms. The scale of New Orleans suffering exceeds comprehension.
We were advised that Katrina’s heavier rains that fell south of us loosened cattails from their banks that could foul our engine water cooling intakes. Our fellow locker from Cayuga Lake fell in right behind us as we departed Seeleys Bay, and we locked through the next 3 locks together. He took the lead through the marshy channels, and just as a car following along behind on a dirt road eats dust we were eating the weed his turbulence scudded our way. Jim stopped to clean his strainer.
We caught sight of Cayuga locking alone through the final flight of 4 canals leading to Kingston, with two boats below waiting to lock-up. We lay along the canal waiting dock 1 ½ hours while four 26’ boats and a 36’ Carver accumulated. We were previewing the lock, and following a guide in period costume through the block house as it would have been garrisoned in 1837, and the time passed pleasantly. The group locking was snug. We were on the port wall peering over the spillway with the Carver behind us. Two boats abreast were forward on the starboard wall, and the final two, single-file behind them. It all went smoothly, and the rewarding Rideau adventure concluded in Kingston, Canada’s original capital city.
At 2 PM Captain got a slip in Kingston Marina, and he and crew enjoyed shore leave in town. “Sea Chant” deserves kudos and a preventive maintenance respite.
“Sea Chant” is a game old girl, and is already excited about the Lake Ontario Chart Book Captain brought home to her today.
Riders of the RIDEaU
Oswego Saturday September 3
Friday was a day of rest for “Sea Chant” and lots of attention. She was treated to a new alternator, an impeller for the head, and a clean out of the water intake filter supplying water to the systems of the boat, the engine filter having been cleaned en route on the Rideau. After another night on the town it was early to bed for an early Saturday crossing of Lake Ontario.
Saturday we were effectively underway at 8 a.m., Captain delayed for the opening at the diesel pump. Had winds been less gusty at our arrival we would have fueled first. The recommended crossing of the lake which allows winds to fetch across its 100 mile length is to leave at 5 am and put in for the night at Main Duck Island. Once owned by John Foster Dulles it is now a Canadian owned wildlife sanctuary. It made a nice lunch break, but you know the Captain better than to believe mere gusty winds would dissuade him from heading out again after lunch. Mate Joyce prepared with a patch behind her ear, and away we went, and a rollicking ride it was! Winds averaged gusted between 17 and 22. Spray on our starboard side even washed over her upper deck and sluiced down the ladder to the screened transom porch, or fishing cockpit as the Captain deems it: no reading today. Mate chocked herself with pillows on the port settee, the low side, and Captain braced himself in his helm chair and elsewhere and steered snug and dry inside.
At 4 p.m. “Sea Chant” put in to the port of Oswego, a gritty shipping terminus, and no place for a lady to spend the night. Captain and Mate emerged from the cabin in the Oswego River’s calm and restored the chair, thick coil of yellow electric cable, and fiberglass boarding steps back to their accustomed place on starboard, and marveled at how clean the boat was. “Sea Chant” had enjoyed her fresh water boat wash courtesy of Lake Ontario, and took the 6’waves with flying colors.
The Oswego River has a series of 8 commercial locks. No more gentle influx of lifting waters in snug locks. We were locking where the big boys ride. We missed the wall cables around which a line could be led and cleated fore and aft to hold the boat against the wall. Canadian lock tenders keep their lock lines coiled on the bank to be lowered as a boat comes to rest against the chamber wall. One such set was bright yellow cascading down into a deep lock. “Repunzel, let down your golden hair,” thought Mate at that lock. The lines in the American locks remain against the mossy walls. Crew is expected to hold onto the slimy lines, and in the swirling current of the rapidly filling lock it needed a sturdy pull as water jetting against the walls pushed “Sea Chant” toward the middle.
“Sea Chant” locked steadily along, shedding her Canadian courtesy flag along the way: we are back in the USA. Between Locks 2 and 3 the town of Fulton offers meals and views in the Lock 3 Restaurant, and a yacht basin with free electricity for overnight canalers who can stay for 2 days. We opted for the canal wall instead, and dinner at 7. We are only ½ mile from the final lock, and can be underway at 7 am. Locks close 10 P.M. to accommodate the dwindling barge traffic. “Full ton,” once rang out as passing coal barges advertised their wares, giving Fulton its name. Both the decline in river traffic, and interstate highways bypassing town is causing the demise of this and other canal side settlements.
Sunday, the 4th after locking through at 8 A.M. our cruise along the Oswego River was relaxing in its broad expanse: no rocky shore shoals or tricky steering. Passing the town of Phoenix at OS River Mile 2 Captain put in for shore leave. The Phoenix “Bridge Brats” are known world-wide. Volunteers manage a cadre of teens who will bike to any store in town with a mariner’s shopping list. Great for the boaters, and great for the kids. They have a deluxe shore side town dock to tempt travelers into spending at this dying town. A local marina sponsors a Christmas Parade of Lights to be held this year September 16, 17 and 18, before the canal freezes.
Heading upstream boater’s advised us that the 5” of Katrina’s rains had flushed all the pond scum out into the rivers. The weight of the floating mats dragged several markers downstream, and has covered the river with the growth normally in calm coves. Proceeding with caution Captain piloted us along from our upper deck in the morning’s sunshine passing the juncture of 3 rivers: Oswego, Seneca, and Oneida. We headed right into the Oneida through locks of the Erie Canal. Arriving at the town of Brewerton “Sea Chant” spied the EsKay Marina where she will await us for a month until our return.
It is a short drive from here to Syracuse Airport to pick up a rental car. It will be Fall Foliage on the Hudson when we return. How could we take “Sea Chant” west on the Trent-Severn Waterway and leave her forlorn all winter on Lake Superior? There be fish to be caught this fall and next Spring in Mayo, Rockfish for sure next Spring, and “Sea Chant” wouldn’t miss that for the world.
The Homeward Bound
Monday, September 5, 2005
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Florida Lake Country and beyond - January-February 2004
No matter how many trips you make to Florida there are always more places to visit. This year we headed south towing a new 2004 MacGregor 26m. Last year we explored the St. John's River but neglected "the most scenic creek" to quote the guide book, so we set out to rectify our error.
Oh, Black Water, Tuesday 1/20
Frost was on the deck again when we awoke but by afternoon it was mild: perfect for a quick buzz up the Black Water Creek just south of Jacksonville. You could believe Seminoles would step out onto the banks of this uniformly deep creek until low power wires and the occasional dock betrayed modern civilization. It is amazing how quickly we got underway: the mast stayed in trailering configuration due to the anticipated low clearance. We've left the mast on the trailer before for canal passages, and propped it up on a ladder on the Erie Canal, but using the Macgregor mast carrier for the mast while underway was a first, and worked quite well. The scenic creek is about 10 miles long, with secluded coves, overhanging vines, and mirror image calm. Our sojourn on Black Creek was a wonderful interlude from I-95.
Having been here a year ago we know the lay of the land. It's off to the movie, "Cold Mountain." We took a sunset stroll on the municipal floating docks at Green Cove Springs. Captain craved the feel of rolling decks beneath his feet, and the floating docks were a good approximation. When he is too old to put out of port we'll rig him a chair on a floating dock and mount a tiller beside it. That way he can enjoy "Tiller Time" while recounting his sea tales for passers by.
Armadillo Acres, Wednesday, 1/22
For decades I thought we owned property in Gopher Hole Estates, and as it turns out, it was Armadillos all along. We made our annual inspection pilgrimage to our property in Silver Spring Shores today. Bouyed by the truism that a rising tide floats all boats we had visions of rampant development engulfing our lone forlorn lot. Alas, all was as we found it last year. But with the resolve of visionary developers who could forsee the vibrant community to be when our son is a grandfather we gleaned two black trash bags of Icehouse Ale empties from our dream retirement site. We ferreted out Lake Griffin State Park between Ocala and Orlando and are now being serenaded by tree frogs on the trunks of blooming Red Bud trees. There is a launch ramp ( watch out for Alligators) and lake access, but we did not take advantage of it.
Lake Tohopekaglia (Sleeping Tiger) Thursday 1/23
With all that water in Central Florida's Lake Country a fella surely could launch his boat somewhere and take a sail. Off drove the Mariner in search of a ramp. Onward we drove only to encounter trickles where adequate water depth should have allowed a place to put in. What's that you say? The lake has been drained down 5' for maintenance. Shiver me timbers! That sort of thing isn't done on the oceans.
All of the West Lake Toho is slated for improvement to its shoreline. It seems that clearing the accumulated debris and muck in the exposed lake shore and replacing it with sand sends the Bass population soaring since this is where they breed. And Bass is what it is all about on Florida lakes. While thwarted in our quest for daysailing we did spend a bucolic night at Southport Park campground. Flocks of cranes gather here, and pairs are seen gleaning lawns. Their size makes them impressive: as big as a goose but with stork-like legs and a jaunty red crest.
Orlando Time Share Condo, Jan 25-31
It's Friday, the 24: too soon for our 1 week Orlando Condo reservation. We'll give East Lake Toho a try. Eureka! The municipal St. Cloud Marina has an excellent ramp with plenty of water. We were rewarded for our perseverance with a great spinnaker sail. The Sleeping Tiger remained sleeping: no squalls or rising winds to spice up lowering the spinnaker when day was done. The lake has a diameter of 4 miles and is about 16' deep in the center, gradually shoaling towards the shoreline. It would be a perfect place for a mid-winter Macgregor Regatta. It was close enough to return to from Orlando for a sunset sail topped by dinner at the Fishing Camp on the opposite shore. The Marina is the jewel in this park. It also has a biking path, picnic pavilion and beach. Locals fill the lot daily for its bucolic respite and the endless fascination of watching boat launches. We left the rigged boat at St. Cloud and headed off for our condo week and mandatory visit with Mickey Mouse. Unfortunately, we failed to check in with the off-site marina management, but luckily returned in time before they had the boat towed away.
Our week in the condo passed quickly. I am impressed in the strides "The Mouse" has made since our last visit with kids in tow. "Disneyline" as we dubbed it then has been tamed. The tedium, and more significantly to Disney, the lost spending time, of shuffling forward in a snake line has been supplanted at major attractions by a speed line alternative. Those who wish may insert their admission card into a machine like a metro fare card. It spits out the ticket and a stub with a ½ hour return window set about 45 minutes in the future. Return during your designated window and proceed by a special line to the front of the queue to be seated ahead of the "shufflers." We spent an enjoyable day at Epcot. We'll save Magic Kingdom for a time when the grandchild can come, too. Disney is building hotel rooms apace and is blending into the surrounding city with its "Downtown Disney" area where no admission applies. It has shops and attractions like Cirque du Soliel and a multi screen movie house.
Near downtown Kissimmee, Jim enjoyed "The Flying Tigers", a collection largely of WW II planes being lovingly restored by individuals who camp beside the airfield hosting the display to happily tinker on their individual project as their Florida family get away. One of Jim's friends passed on to Jim a book profiling WW I pilots: the Bloody Red Baron, French, English and American flyers. Compelled to join forces the French and English never lost sight of their underlying antagonism: "the reason the sun never sets on the British Empire is because God can not trust it in the dark."
The First of February saw us hitched up and heading west on I-4 near the town of Polk, home of the Fantasy of Flight attraction. The Smithsonian in Washington DC has a deluxe anniversary year display of the Wright Brother's Kitty Hawk flight that had us in the mood for more aviation history. Kermit, heir to oil income, has made it his life's work to restore vintage planes in a first class fashion. He has created Disney quality experiences of parachuting from an aircraft, a foxhole adjacent to a vintage airstrip, and simulated air dog fights while seated in a flight simulator. Guided tours of restoration, observing take-off and landing, bi-plane rental rides easily fill up a day at this most engaging airplane display.
Trip I or Trip II ?
In the week before our departure Jim took a call from the owner of a Gemini catamaran, "La Palapa" (The Beach House). A year and a half ago the owner took delivery in Miami and hired Jim as the delivery Captain bound for Costa Rica. The trip was aborted after a week, and the boat hauled out at Stock Island, just north of Key West. After the prolonged hiatus while he got his affairs in order he touched base to say he was ready to resume the delivery in February, '04 if Jim was available. We had in mind towing our MacGregor to Key Biscayne, launching and heading to the Bahamas. That would be Trip 1. But storing the MacGregor and moving "La Palapa" to Costa Rica would be an acceptable Trip II, partially duplicating our Ruta Maya trip aboard the MacGregor 65 (Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala in 2001).
February 2, Super Bowl Sunday
Sarasota, home of cousins Mark and Linda , who have graciously included us in their plans to watch the big game at a friend's country club. We were parked in front of their door by noon and were wisked off to see the game, where Jim lost $40 on the pool.
February 3, Punta Gorda
Punta Gorda can only mean Chip and Barb. As a bonus, mutual friend Dave was there, too. Three boat brokers together and the yarns they can spin. Jim is an animated speaker, but Dave surpasses him. It was a rollicking visit, and I am only sorry it wasn't filmed. I can't remember when I have laughed so hard for so long. Dave is here to install teak in one of the bathrooms. Barb's dream is to be selected for an HGTV episode of "Extreme Homes." A few years ago we sailed a Macgregor 26x from Marco Island right up to Chip and Barb's back door. Charlotte Harbor is a great sailing destination. We'll continue south to Cape Coral and let the workers get started.
Friends Greg and Monique picked up a rental house on a canal in Cape Coral. After trying yearly rentals, they have decided to go after the seasonal vacation market-and use it as a family compound, too. They spent Christmas there with Greg's extended family. Not only do you need furniture but a dock and pool to compete. We stopped by to check Greg's boat and verify the pool was ready. We were tempted to take the first plunge ourselves but lit out to see what else there was to see in Ft Meyers and Bonita Springs.
Evening on the 4th found us on the tip of Bonita Springs on a lot slated for 4 townhouses to be built. Boat slips were at the back of the lot. Across the street is the Gulf of Mexico. A local encouraged us to "stay put" for the night because there was nowhere else. In the morning we drove up and down the strand. He was right. Antique mobile homes in a 60 unit enclave sell for the cost of a townhouse at home. Islands are where it is at for Realty price jumps.
Thursday, February 5-8, Key West
If its warm weather you want, you keep heading south until you are at the tip of the Keys. We checked into Boyd's Marina and Campground on Stock Island, adjacent to Key West, launched the MacGregor, tied it in its slip, and headed for the pool. Our campsite sits alongside the waterfront about 20 yards from our boat slip. The pool water approximates a hot tub, and the high for the day is 81 degrees. I could get used to this style of Florida.
Maybe we'll head for the Dry Tortugas. On a previous trip I sailed a Macgregor 26x powersailor to the Dry Tortugas, about 70 miles west of Key West. Or maybe not. Damn it, they fixed the pool thermostat. Now the water is "refreshing." Before, the bathers had stayed in for hours at a stretch until we were teasing about it being the Fountain of Youth.
Island Ambition is overtaking Jim. Why go to the Tortugas? We can daysail to the City (Key West) and check out the bars. Boyd's is growing on us. Every morning we head out for a little sail. The first volunteer camper to accompany us was 53yr old "Huck" from Pa. He had been vacationing here every year since 1976, and had never been sailing. The blustery winds and 2'-3' waves gave him an exciting baptism. Unfortunately he slipped off the bow while assisting in docking and fell into the shallow water, injuring his ribs and arm. Next time we saw him he had a sling and body wrap for strained shoulder and cracked ribs. We felt awful about it, but Huck was cheerful and uncomplaining, great attributes in a shipmate. Lesson - avoid "help" from novices, just leave'em in the cabin while you dock. I could have backed up to the pier and stepped off the transom with a stern line and long bow line, easily managing the tie up by myself.
On another day we sailed to Key West, about 5 miles and a perfect beam reach under main and jib. After lunch and a walking tour of downtown bars, we decided to return the back way, sailing on the northern side of the Keys to the bridge that separates Stock Island from Big Pine Key ( I think). We just dropped the mast and motored under the bridge, raising the mast again on the other side. This is a pretty neat trick and only a few other boats can do it.
The ramp at Boyd's was a little tight , so I might recommend the ramp at Oceanside Marina, but they no longer provide storage for the tow vehicle and trailer, so you have to go to Peninsula Marine about 1 block away and make storage arrangements, $10/day. You can still launch at the Key West Bight marina, but parking space for the tow rig is limited. Due to boat delivery obligations the Macgregor trip was cut a little short this year. Still, we launched three times, raised the mast twice, and spent about 8 days sailing. The Bahamas will still be there next winter!
Trip II, "La Palapa" To Panama
Kevin and Ani (On-ee) are an engaged couple fresh out of college who sailed with us one perfect day on the Macgregor while we were at Boyd's campground. Now they're hooked. He is a California fire fighter who repels from helicopters into forest fires. In the wet season he has off to travel. Ani is a landscaper, also footloose when the ground is frozen at home. In addition, she is a ballroom dancer. Jim told his other crewmate Wally she was an exotic dancer to piqué his interest in helping sail to Panama if conditions are favorable. La Palapa's final destination is the Pacific side of Costa Rica at the little town of Quepos. Meanwhile, Boyds is right around the corner from the boat yard. Kevin and Ani came by to check out the Gemini and pitched right in wiping her down and bending on sails. Since they just 'happened" to have their passports, they agreed to crew until they were tired of it. They stayed to the bitter end, over 30 days. Bottom painting is set for the 13th . Wally flies in the 15th with "patches" for the young green crew to keep them from getting green around the gills. As exciting as sailing the Ruta Maya was for me on the 65' I'm going to stay behind this go round. It's hard to top the perfection of my first trip. Let the "La Palapa" Adventures begin!
The itinerary was Key West to Isla Muheres, Mexico via the coast of Cuba, about 335miles, then along the coast of Mexico south to Belize, about 250 miles, then inside the reef through the Belize islands maybe 50 miles, then to Roatan, Honduras, another 100 miles, then around the tip of Honduras to Isla Providencia, about 365 miles, 265 miles more to Panama, 35 miles through the canal, and finally 480 miles to Quepos, Costa Rica. About 1900 miles total. It took over 30 days, including a 5 day layover in Panama and deserves a write-up of its own. A Macgregor Powersailor could probably have done it faster, maybe we'll see one day! When I finally returned to Key West, all was as I had left it, except much dustier. A quick 1200 miles later, the Macgregor was once again safely back at her home port.
--Happy Sailing and great trailerable adventures from Capt Jim and first mate Joyce!
Oh, Black Water, Tuesday 1/20
Frost was on the deck again when we awoke but by afternoon it was mild: perfect for a quick buzz up the Black Water Creek just south of Jacksonville. You could believe Seminoles would step out onto the banks of this uniformly deep creek until low power wires and the occasional dock betrayed modern civilization. It is amazing how quickly we got underway: the mast stayed in trailering configuration due to the anticipated low clearance. We've left the mast on the trailer before for canal passages, and propped it up on a ladder on the Erie Canal, but using the Macgregor mast carrier for the mast while underway was a first, and worked quite well. The scenic creek is about 10 miles long, with secluded coves, overhanging vines, and mirror image calm. Our sojourn on Black Creek was a wonderful interlude from I-95.
Having been here a year ago we know the lay of the land. It's off to the movie, "Cold Mountain." We took a sunset stroll on the municipal floating docks at Green Cove Springs. Captain craved the feel of rolling decks beneath his feet, and the floating docks were a good approximation. When he is too old to put out of port we'll rig him a chair on a floating dock and mount a tiller beside it. That way he can enjoy "Tiller Time" while recounting his sea tales for passers by.
Armadillo Acres, Wednesday, 1/22
For decades I thought we owned property in Gopher Hole Estates, and as it turns out, it was Armadillos all along. We made our annual inspection pilgrimage to our property in Silver Spring Shores today. Bouyed by the truism that a rising tide floats all boats we had visions of rampant development engulfing our lone forlorn lot. Alas, all was as we found it last year. But with the resolve of visionary developers who could forsee the vibrant community to be when our son is a grandfather we gleaned two black trash bags of Icehouse Ale empties from our dream retirement site. We ferreted out Lake Griffin State Park between Ocala and Orlando and are now being serenaded by tree frogs on the trunks of blooming Red Bud trees. There is a launch ramp ( watch out for Alligators) and lake access, but we did not take advantage of it.
Lake Tohopekaglia (Sleeping Tiger) Thursday 1/23
With all that water in Central Florida's Lake Country a fella surely could launch his boat somewhere and take a sail. Off drove the Mariner in search of a ramp. Onward we drove only to encounter trickles where adequate water depth should have allowed a place to put in. What's that you say? The lake has been drained down 5' for maintenance. Shiver me timbers! That sort of thing isn't done on the oceans.
All of the West Lake Toho is slated for improvement to its shoreline. It seems that clearing the accumulated debris and muck in the exposed lake shore and replacing it with sand sends the Bass population soaring since this is where they breed. And Bass is what it is all about on Florida lakes. While thwarted in our quest for daysailing we did spend a bucolic night at Southport Park campground. Flocks of cranes gather here, and pairs are seen gleaning lawns. Their size makes them impressive: as big as a goose but with stork-like legs and a jaunty red crest.
Orlando Time Share Condo, Jan 25-31
It's Friday, the 24: too soon for our 1 week Orlando Condo reservation. We'll give East Lake Toho a try. Eureka! The municipal St. Cloud Marina has an excellent ramp with plenty of water. We were rewarded for our perseverance with a great spinnaker sail. The Sleeping Tiger remained sleeping: no squalls or rising winds to spice up lowering the spinnaker when day was done. The lake has a diameter of 4 miles and is about 16' deep in the center, gradually shoaling towards the shoreline. It would be a perfect place for a mid-winter Macgregor Regatta. It was close enough to return to from Orlando for a sunset sail topped by dinner at the Fishing Camp on the opposite shore. The Marina is the jewel in this park. It also has a biking path, picnic pavilion and beach. Locals fill the lot daily for its bucolic respite and the endless fascination of watching boat launches. We left the rigged boat at St. Cloud and headed off for our condo week and mandatory visit with Mickey Mouse. Unfortunately, we failed to check in with the off-site marina management, but luckily returned in time before they had the boat towed away.
Our week in the condo passed quickly. I am impressed in the strides "The Mouse" has made since our last visit with kids in tow. "Disneyline" as we dubbed it then has been tamed. The tedium, and more significantly to Disney, the lost spending time, of shuffling forward in a snake line has been supplanted at major attractions by a speed line alternative. Those who wish may insert their admission card into a machine like a metro fare card. It spits out the ticket and a stub with a ½ hour return window set about 45 minutes in the future. Return during your designated window and proceed by a special line to the front of the queue to be seated ahead of the "shufflers." We spent an enjoyable day at Epcot. We'll save Magic Kingdom for a time when the grandchild can come, too. Disney is building hotel rooms apace and is blending into the surrounding city with its "Downtown Disney" area where no admission applies. It has shops and attractions like Cirque du Soliel and a multi screen movie house.
Near downtown Kissimmee, Jim enjoyed "The Flying Tigers", a collection largely of WW II planes being lovingly restored by individuals who camp beside the airfield hosting the display to happily tinker on their individual project as their Florida family get away. One of Jim's friends passed on to Jim a book profiling WW I pilots: the Bloody Red Baron, French, English and American flyers. Compelled to join forces the French and English never lost sight of their underlying antagonism: "the reason the sun never sets on the British Empire is because God can not trust it in the dark."
The First of February saw us hitched up and heading west on I-4 near the town of Polk, home of the Fantasy of Flight attraction. The Smithsonian in Washington DC has a deluxe anniversary year display of the Wright Brother's Kitty Hawk flight that had us in the mood for more aviation history. Kermit, heir to oil income, has made it his life's work to restore vintage planes in a first class fashion. He has created Disney quality experiences of parachuting from an aircraft, a foxhole adjacent to a vintage airstrip, and simulated air dog fights while seated in a flight simulator. Guided tours of restoration, observing take-off and landing, bi-plane rental rides easily fill up a day at this most engaging airplane display.
Trip I or Trip II ?
In the week before our departure Jim took a call from the owner of a Gemini catamaran, "La Palapa" (The Beach House). A year and a half ago the owner took delivery in Miami and hired Jim as the delivery Captain bound for Costa Rica. The trip was aborted after a week, and the boat hauled out at Stock Island, just north of Key West. After the prolonged hiatus while he got his affairs in order he touched base to say he was ready to resume the delivery in February, '04 if Jim was available. We had in mind towing our MacGregor to Key Biscayne, launching and heading to the Bahamas. That would be Trip 1. But storing the MacGregor and moving "La Palapa" to Costa Rica would be an acceptable Trip II, partially duplicating our Ruta Maya trip aboard the MacGregor 65 (Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala in 2001).
February 2, Super Bowl Sunday
Sarasota, home of cousins Mark and Linda , who have graciously included us in their plans to watch the big game at a friend's country club. We were parked in front of their door by noon and were wisked off to see the game, where Jim lost $40 on the pool.
February 3, Punta Gorda
Punta Gorda can only mean Chip and Barb. As a bonus, mutual friend Dave was there, too. Three boat brokers together and the yarns they can spin. Jim is an animated speaker, but Dave surpasses him. It was a rollicking visit, and I am only sorry it wasn't filmed. I can't remember when I have laughed so hard for so long. Dave is here to install teak in one of the bathrooms. Barb's dream is to be selected for an HGTV episode of "Extreme Homes." A few years ago we sailed a Macgregor 26x from Marco Island right up to Chip and Barb's back door. Charlotte Harbor is a great sailing destination. We'll continue south to Cape Coral and let the workers get started.
Friends Greg and Monique picked up a rental house on a canal in Cape Coral. After trying yearly rentals, they have decided to go after the seasonal vacation market-and use it as a family compound, too. They spent Christmas there with Greg's extended family. Not only do you need furniture but a dock and pool to compete. We stopped by to check Greg's boat and verify the pool was ready. We were tempted to take the first plunge ourselves but lit out to see what else there was to see in Ft Meyers and Bonita Springs.
Evening on the 4th found us on the tip of Bonita Springs on a lot slated for 4 townhouses to be built. Boat slips were at the back of the lot. Across the street is the Gulf of Mexico. A local encouraged us to "stay put" for the night because there was nowhere else. In the morning we drove up and down the strand. He was right. Antique mobile homes in a 60 unit enclave sell for the cost of a townhouse at home. Islands are where it is at for Realty price jumps.
Thursday, February 5-8, Key West
If its warm weather you want, you keep heading south until you are at the tip of the Keys. We checked into Boyd's Marina and Campground on Stock Island, adjacent to Key West, launched the MacGregor, tied it in its slip, and headed for the pool. Our campsite sits alongside the waterfront about 20 yards from our boat slip. The pool water approximates a hot tub, and the high for the day is 81 degrees. I could get used to this style of Florida.
Maybe we'll head for the Dry Tortugas. On a previous trip I sailed a Macgregor 26x powersailor to the Dry Tortugas, about 70 miles west of Key West. Or maybe not. Damn it, they fixed the pool thermostat. Now the water is "refreshing." Before, the bathers had stayed in for hours at a stretch until we were teasing about it being the Fountain of Youth.
Island Ambition is overtaking Jim. Why go to the Tortugas? We can daysail to the City (Key West) and check out the bars. Boyd's is growing on us. Every morning we head out for a little sail. The first volunteer camper to accompany us was 53yr old "Huck" from Pa. He had been vacationing here every year since 1976, and had never been sailing. The blustery winds and 2'-3' waves gave him an exciting baptism. Unfortunately he slipped off the bow while assisting in docking and fell into the shallow water, injuring his ribs and arm. Next time we saw him he had a sling and body wrap for strained shoulder and cracked ribs. We felt awful about it, but Huck was cheerful and uncomplaining, great attributes in a shipmate. Lesson - avoid "help" from novices, just leave'em in the cabin while you dock. I could have backed up to the pier and stepped off the transom with a stern line and long bow line, easily managing the tie up by myself.
On another day we sailed to Key West, about 5 miles and a perfect beam reach under main and jib. After lunch and a walking tour of downtown bars, we decided to return the back way, sailing on the northern side of the Keys to the bridge that separates Stock Island from Big Pine Key ( I think). We just dropped the mast and motored under the bridge, raising the mast again on the other side. This is a pretty neat trick and only a few other boats can do it.
The ramp at Boyd's was a little tight , so I might recommend the ramp at Oceanside Marina, but they no longer provide storage for the tow vehicle and trailer, so you have to go to Peninsula Marine about 1 block away and make storage arrangements, $10/day. You can still launch at the Key West Bight marina, but parking space for the tow rig is limited. Due to boat delivery obligations the Macgregor trip was cut a little short this year. Still, we launched three times, raised the mast twice, and spent about 8 days sailing. The Bahamas will still be there next winter!
Trip II, "La Palapa" To Panama
Kevin and Ani (On-ee) are an engaged couple fresh out of college who sailed with us one perfect day on the Macgregor while we were at Boyd's campground. Now they're hooked. He is a California fire fighter who repels from helicopters into forest fires. In the wet season he has off to travel. Ani is a landscaper, also footloose when the ground is frozen at home. In addition, she is a ballroom dancer. Jim told his other crewmate Wally she was an exotic dancer to piqué his interest in helping sail to Panama if conditions are favorable. La Palapa's final destination is the Pacific side of Costa Rica at the little town of Quepos. Meanwhile, Boyds is right around the corner from the boat yard. Kevin and Ani came by to check out the Gemini and pitched right in wiping her down and bending on sails. Since they just 'happened" to have their passports, they agreed to crew until they were tired of it. They stayed to the bitter end, over 30 days. Bottom painting is set for the 13th . Wally flies in the 15th with "patches" for the young green crew to keep them from getting green around the gills. As exciting as sailing the Ruta Maya was for me on the 65' I'm going to stay behind this go round. It's hard to top the perfection of my first trip. Let the "La Palapa" Adventures begin!
The itinerary was Key West to Isla Muheres, Mexico via the coast of Cuba, about 335miles, then along the coast of Mexico south to Belize, about 250 miles, then inside the reef through the Belize islands maybe 50 miles, then to Roatan, Honduras, another 100 miles, then around the tip of Honduras to Isla Providencia, about 365 miles, 265 miles more to Panama, 35 miles through the canal, and finally 480 miles to Quepos, Costa Rica. About 1900 miles total. It took over 30 days, including a 5 day layover in Panama and deserves a write-up of its own. A Macgregor Powersailor could probably have done it faster, maybe we'll see one day! When I finally returned to Key West, all was as I had left it, except much dustier. A quick 1200 miles later, the Macgregor was once again safely back at her home port.
--Happy Sailing and great trailerable adventures from Capt Jim and first mate Joyce!
Monday, August 25, 2003
Cape Cod and Maine - August 2003
Way back in 1977 My wife Joyce and I had a “sailing trip from Hell” in August on the Chesapeake Bay during which thousands of chickens died on the eastern shore from the heat, we had daily thunderstorms, visibility was ruined by haze, and jellyfish set new density records. Despite the comforts of our 38’ cruising sailboat, we could not escape the icky conditions, or could we? The following summer we hitched up a MacGregor 25 and headed north on our first “northern exposure” trip. We have enjoyed many trips north in the intervening years, and this one on the new MacGregor 26M was one of the best.
On the way to Maine we made several stops, mentioned because a trailerable boat trip is like a family adventure road trip with a boat (and overnight accommodations) in tow. We visited my sister and her family in York, Pa., followed by a glorious day at Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Pa. My wife the gardener loved the landscaping, flowers, fountains etc. Then to Long Island’s Port Washington for a visit with a boating buddy and dinner aboard his 92’ yacht. We were not jealous (much) because we know the trade –offs first hand. The expense and time obligation of a large yacht is staggering. My wife Joyce enjoys writing about the history and people of the areas we visit, and some of it is incorporated here. Joyce’s narrative continues:
“Long Island, across the East River from Dutch New Amsterdam, was settled by Englishmen. Earlier English settlers craving religious freedom in Connecticut drove off fellow settlers who did not worship exactly as they did. Some took the short boat ride over Long Island Sound and began raising cattle after the usual favorable land transaction with the local Indians (who may have envisioned the payments as only rent for a season leading to hostilities later.) The long shoreline with numerous peninsulas simplified fencing. Only enough fencing needed to be built to pen cattle into a finger of land with the shoreline hemming them in on the other three sides. For each 11' of fence a family erected it was entitled to pasture one cow. The back of a house counted too. Houses served as fence gates. The rear yard was pasture and the road in front, Cow Neck Road, is now Rt. 25.
In 1902 a local man and his 16-year-old son took 37 days to make the first private Atlantic crossing to England under motor in a 38' boat powered by a 10-hp kerosene engine. In 1935 the first Pan-Am trans-Atlantic flights were inaugurated here.”
Friday morning we met Jim G at his new townhouse for the walk through before settlement.. It has a bow shaped deck overlooking his yacht Iemanja in the harbor. Sands Point, L.I. N.Y. has among the highest median housing prices in the country: $2 million.(gasp!) Iemanja started life as a 68 footer and was twice sliced in two to extend it into its present 92' length tripling the cockpit space and expanding 2 cabins below into staterooms in the first expansion. Later the galley was expanded adding room for a washer and dryer plus a small cabin across the hall. Altogether there are six cabins, 5 heads, 4 refrigerators, six a/c units, two generators and a host of other equipment. She has new Oriental carpets in the salon and hall. Her spruced up interior and new paint job on the exterior will restore her to her former glory. We'll catch an afternoon sail with Jim this afternoon before she heads to Rhode Island for her repainting.
Next it was off the Newport, Rhode Island to hob knob with the RROC (Rolls Royce Owners Club) at their annual judged show. We surprised Jim's friend Lauren by popping in to see how he was faring. Lauren took 3rd place with his 1935 model. Newport is a great place for sightseeing so we launched the land dinghies (bicycles) and spent a couple days touring. Armed with the Historical Society's 9 walking tours we did the town on foot in the colonial section and by bicycle to take in the mansions of the Gilded Age. Joyce continues:
Rhode Island was the first colony to break with England. The victorious Battle of Yorktown that brought the French aboard as allies was launched from what is now King's Park. The oldest Jewish congregation and the first Black Freedman's Church are here. The religious tolerance helped make this the cultural capital of the country in its early days. The Naval Academy relocated to Newport during the Civil War. Two presidents had summer White Houses in Newport: Kennedy at Hammersmith Farm, Jackie's home, and Eisenhower on the grounds of Ft Adams.
The mansion tour helped unravel a mystery of the rich: why husbands and wives had separate bedrooms. It seems the rich change clothes for each part of the day and for each activity about a half dozen times in all. Ladies entertained close friends with tea in their bedroom. Awkward to have Reginald pop in to don his tennis togs.
Actually, the men did their best to escape the relentless social functions of the Gilded Age by taking to their yachts. The America's Cup was handed to the Australians from Marble House, home of the Vanderbilts for the 6 week summer season.
Speaking of sailors we bumped into Iemanja's crew while on that mansion tour. We had spotted her at anchorage between Ft. Adams and Goat Island as we pedaled around Monday morning. She had gamely flown her spinnaker with just 3 crew aboard on the passage. And poor Jim G missed the sailing! Unless the weather improves they will have no better luck painting her deck now than they had in June. Intermittent daytime drizzle with overnight rains set in Monday and remains the forecast for next week.”
Heading further north, we landed in Scusset on the north end of the Cape Cod Canal. The Canal saves ships 36 miles navigation around the treacherous tip of the Cape greatly improving both time and safety. We are nestled into the trees a short walk from the Atlantic in as rustic a setting as you please. The boat serves as a camper with the boarding ladder and fold-up helmsmans seat providing access to the cabin.
Day 1 At Sea
Avast, Mateys!
Like a precision team the Owl and the Pussycat shifted from landlubber to cruising mode Wednesday, Aug 6 in our maiden voyage aboard the all new powersailor, the MacGregor 26M. We launched from Bourne Marina at 3:30 under partly overcast skies. A brisk 15 knot SW wind and an enthusiastic current capable of pulling the channel lobster pots underwater dictates that we explore the Cape Cod Channel to our east.
Once headed for its mouth the current, which had carried us crab-wise now sent us, turbo-charged under the Railway Bridge with genoa unfurled.
The Cape Cod Canal is the world's longest inland sea level (no locks) canal. Its twin bridges (rail and car) are Civil Engineering Award winners. The railway bridge promises enchantment with its graceful long arch between 2 pillars topped by cones reminiscent of castle turrets. By the time we crossed under the auto bridge our genoa was furled against the gusts. "A1 EXPRESS" friskily leaped over the wakes of passing power boaters, and the tug bucking the current carried a "bone in her teeth" (a prominent bow wave in Landlubberese.) Mate Pussycat stepped lively as we tasted the briny for the first time of our vacation: steering, hauling up the dagger board, stopping and unstopping the water vent, fetching the hand-held radio, binoculars, charts and chairs as the Owl settles into shipboard routine.
The banks of the canal are a recreational preserve. The roadways created during construction are now developed as hiking, biking, skating and skateboarding paths with ample access for fishing. By the time we passed below the Sagamore Bridge 40 minutes past launching via the miracle of the 50 hp Honda the sun shone under skies cleared of all but the puffiest white clouds. Crisp air, continuous breezes and ice tea put heart into crew!
A slip at Sandwich Marina in the East Boats Basin ($1.75/ft) seems a song after sailing a 65 footer. Crew easily lassoed dock cleats that previously proved a "gap too far" without a boat hook and several patient (?) approaches by Captain on the 65'. Crew's flawless performance will be rewarded by an evening meal ashore. (Owl knows how to keep Pussycat purring and eager to tour by water!) "Seafood Sams," no frills, low bills, good food, fast service.
Our California King sheets fit the aft berth to a "T". Without our children, now grown too busy to vacation with Mom and Dad, we have our gear neatly stowed on the V-berth.
Zounds! It's 5:30! Time to relax on the cockpit cushions before departing for shore. Coast Guard Station Rangers sponsored an 8pm nightcap of sing along Sea Chanteys.
Day 2 At Sea
Thursday August 7. After overnight rain, morning dawns to 15 knot SW winds in fog. Cape Cod Bay just beyond the canal terminus experiences gentle offshore breezes under these conditions. Should we venture out and sail there? No! We're Gloucestermen! Its back to Buzzard's Bay.
Before departure we took time to invent the on-board dishwasher: our am dishes in our 6 pack Little Playmate cooler, soap, water from the dock, load, lock and wedge her aboard in the aisle. We haven't perfected the rinse cycle yet.
Our goal is to tour the perimeter of Buzzard's Bay. Having adopted the Norwegians axiom, "There is no bad weather, only bad clothes," we are not letting iffy skies keep us in port.
Once past the closely spaced buoys - a testimony to the fogs here-we had a close hauled beat under full sails to Wood's Hole. Purrfection. As we veered westward into the wind the "Iron Jenny" carried us comfortably to our overnight slip on Cuttyhunk Island ($2/ft). At 4:30 the Raw Bar sent a comely dockhand along the piers to take final orders for the day. Newspapers are available on the honor system: the till sits unguarded as the weight. The pizza "parlor"-6 picnic tables in a driveway-is it for restaurants. The island is the tip of the Elizabeth Island chain and boasts being the location of the first English habitation on the coast of New England.
Bartholomew Gosnold arrived in 1602. Gosnold, the namesake town, has 25 year rounders, and 20 times as many summertime visitors on a speck 2.5 by .75 miles with a one-room schoolhouse through Grade 8. Serenity and fishing are the attractions that have drawn guests here since Taft and Teddy Roosevelt enjoyed the little changed Cuttyhunk Fishing Club. We are well provisioned with beer, wine and grog as well. This is a dry island: food and ice only for sale.
I'd chat more but our lobsters from the Raw Bar are ready. I'll bring you the picture.
Day 3 At Sea
With 7 am sunshine beckoning, "A1 EXPRESS" left the slip under sails recrossing Buzzard's Bay wing 'n wing with a preventer on the main (the boom vang cleated to the stanchion base) and a whisker pole on the foot of the Genoa to hold the sails fully splayed through chop and wakes. Brief readings of 8 knots cap steady 5's with Pussycat "autohelm" at the wheel while Owl navigated, reefed and later unreefed the main, all the while keeping a sharp eye out for "weather". Several years ago we experienced a "white squall" that snuck up on us from the rear in Long Island Sound. In unfamiliar waters strewn with rocks near shore with mists that gather into fog instantly being under-canvassed and over prepared is the only way to sail. Well, at least until the dark patch passes.
"Change course from Wood's Hole (our intended storm hideaway) back to 40 degrees for Mattapoisett on the mainland side of the Bay," commanded Owl.
How did the sailing grounds of the America's Cup contenders garner such a name? Our English fore bearers called any broad-winged bird too slow for falconry a Buzzard. The fish-eating Osprey native here fit that description and the name stuck.
Mattapoisett is an old shipbuilding town with its homes neatly labeled by year of construction and original owner. Most riveting were photos in the Harbormaster's Office titled, "August '97 Surprise." Town dock, which stands at 8 feet above water, was awash - its tethered craft a snarled mass as men clad in slickers tried valiantly to untangle them. We understood the reason for the mooring field balls having 4 times the usual scope when we saw a photo of a catboat’s bow lunging into the air and straining at the tether. The harbor is completely exposed to the full fetch of the Bay.
With more ice our noon to 1:30 shore leave was up. "A1 EXPRESS" is enjoying the waves too much to call it a day yet. It's the Captains watch (under Bimini, of course) as we cruise close to shore aiming for the next cove to the east, Sippican Harbor, and the town of Marion.
Just underway with a spitfire jib (Genoa mostly furled in) we headed into 15 - 20 knot gusts rounding Strawberry Point Rocks. Safely past, the full Genoa with pole was set for the downwind run into Sippican-registering 7.6 knots. Jibe ho! With only the Genoa now we aren't taking advantage of our new fangled mast that automatically swivels to adjust on each tack. But it is an attention grabber for folks who see our boat. At 3 pm, it’s off to Burr Brother's Boats ($2/ft) and showers.
While the waterfront of Marion is dominated by private homes, parks, and a large exclusive school, out on 6A we found "Waves", a down home pool hall/bar/restaurant with crowd pleasing prices and menu: Stuffed Quahogs ("co" hogs, local clams) and Filet of Sole. Delicious.
Burr Brothers is a sprawling working marina tucked into the bitter end of Sillican. The last barrier between marina and marsh is a 150' arm permanently lined with dinghies that await owners with yachts moored in the extensive well-protected harbor. Perfect sleeping conditions.
Y-a-w-n. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Day 4 at Sea
Saturday, Aug 9, 9:30 am
"Ain't no sunshine" for today,
Tropical depression on the way,
The voice of NOAH had to say.
When our customary morning sprinkles failed to give way to clearing, Capt. Jim, clad in swim trunks and foul weather jacket nosed "A1 EXPRESS" into the head breezes of the channel under power, staying snuggly dry beneath the Bimini.
At the Number 5 Can Capt. raised the main and unfurled a working jib portion of the Genoa to yield speeds of 4.5 knots. Plus it smoothed the light chop for Pussycat reading below.
Through the portlights you can see two wooden two masted Concordia yachts with sails lashed on the foredeck and both booms freshly moored from a race or cruise. These are the kinds of yachts that were made in Mattapoisett. The Burr Brother's Boat Yard Carpentry shop, still open, maintains these sleek beauties.
Hang onto your hats, boys! Capt. let the Big Dog all the way out for another knot of speed and tolerable heeling (no squealing) below decks just past Bird Island. We leveled out in a broad reach. Movable ballast was asked to shift to the low side to give us more heel now. Actually, the rain has gone away, and I'll join Captain above decks, help steer while he sets the pole on the Genoa for a wing 'n wing run back to Bourne.
As we made our way back to the Cape Cod Canal at low water there were 18 people wading in the shallows probing for Quahogs in the sand. All in all, you can't to wrong sailing Buzzard's Bay. Every inlet has a quaint town and distances are negligible for a power sailor. Just set your sights according to the most pleasurable point of sail and see where it leads you.
“A1 EXPRESS" can wait for us on her trailer ($10/day) where we launched. I had counted on the rain to make our getaway speedier: fewer admirers at the ramp to "chat up." Our yar naval blue hull and new design turns heads everywhere we go. It's off to Chatham for us to join our daughter, Janet and her husband Duncan at his family's summerhouse at Stage Harbor.
Provincetown to Sandwich,
Monday Aug 11
Provincetown has a lookout tower to commemorate the site where the Pilgrims composed the Mayflower Compact in the Harbor before putting to shore briefly to reconnoiter. They sailed straight across Cape Cod Bay to Plymouth on the mainland to found the first permanent New England settlement in 1620.
Typically, skies cleared by the time we made our driving survey of the beaches surrounding town, the Province Lands National Seashore. Undulating dunes clad in stabilizing grasses and pitch pines have miles of biking trails. We caught a glimpse of a coyote darting by. Bigger than a fox with buff fur it looks like a wild dog with a very bushy tail and no owner in sight.
Now heading south we enjoyed the dozen towns we drove through on 6A (Old King's Highway). I read from our Guidebook about the distinctions of each one until I got to Sandwich, which is just above the Cape Cod Canal terminus. Opposite on the mouth of the Canal is Bourne where our boat is stored.
Sandwich is home to the Heritage Museum and Gardens. "Jim, it has antique cars for you and flowers for me."
Into Shawme Crowell State Forest we pulled at 3 pm to a primitive campsite with the previous camper's fire still moldering in the firebox. Our bicycles were launched for the 1 mile wooded trail ride to the adjacent gardens for their final 2 hours of the day.
Heritage Gardens began as a rhododendron breeder's property. He created 5 fragrant cultivars through hybridization, and the plants here are found nowhere else on earth. Eli Lily purchased the grounds upon the breeder's death and planted numerous-what else-daylily beds. Included at the Heritage is a display of Cahoon's art of New England. His motif is the Mermaid. Each scene is one of whimsy: mermaids on bicycles, dancing with sailors, feeding geese who are tugging down their fishscale panties. Pure fun.
As I strolled past each variety of daylily Jim hotfooted it up the hill to do the same by each auto in the museum. Hydrangeas, Sea Roses and all manners of English Garden flowers flourish here and all along the roadside flowerbeds.
Tuesday 8/12
With our boat back in tow we seek suitable ramps with trailer storage for further sea excursions. It is Jim's aim to continue north until he needs long sleeve shirts. In 220 miles we saw all of coastal New Hampshire and some of southern Maine. It seems these northern exposure folks take to the outdoors with gusto in August, their true summer month. Tiny cabin clusters are popular here, although giving way to modern landscaped places in towns. Perhaps the Gulf Stream heats the water here higher than Chatham's 53 degrees.
Rt. 1 in Maine slices across numerous peninsulas of land projecting "Down East." Just outside Bath the restaurant sign, "Taste of Maine", beckoned. In the lobby of Taste of Maine two Bull Moose racks locked in mortal combat are on display. The human combat over them that ensued is just as riveting as their final struggles. It seems a fisherman came upon the fallen stags and cut off the racks from the corpses. Upon return he excitedly showed his find to the game warden, who unsportingly, seized it in the name of Maine on the flimsy pretext that denying people racks deters killing of animals for the horn. The fisherman, undeterred, brought suit for their return. The State, shamed in editorials for its bullying, settled for the right to borrow the rack display for 3 months per year from the finder who cannot profit from keeping it.
August 13 & 14
We took time to take a bicycle tour of Boothbay Harbor, a town with a feel much like Annapolis. A shipbuilding spot of yore, it has an active lobstering industry, which we supported at lunchtime. A pedestrian footbridge crosses the narrow end of the harbor with a house built midway across, the former home of a fish merchant who found it handy for receiving his wares, and as it turns out, amongst the cod liquor bottles were concealed during prohibition.
Later Beagle Puppy sniffed our Lake Pemaquid, a campground with something for everyone and activities galore for all ages of kids-EXCEPT SAILING: the sail on their lone boat tore out. Warm, fresh water for an afternoon swim, and a canoe paddle in the cool of Thursday morning. As the lake narrowed we were surrounded by lily pads in bloom. The channel that leads to the next lake is closed off by a beaver lodge in winter, now cut away for boaters. An hour of paddling-as opposed to floating downstream is enough for Ma and Pa Kettle.
It's on to the historic sights of Pemaquid Point bordering one of the larger bays, Muscongus. Settlers of the 1600's first built fishing villages here. When Europe depleted its beaver population the economy shifted bringing the French trappers of the north into head to head competition with the English fishermen/trappers. This hotly contested piece of real estate was fortified by the British as a strategic outpost to secure Maine. In all four forts were built on the site of the reconstructed Ft. William Henry. Settlements thrived, failed and were later rekindled numerous times.
Today the harbor is dotted with moored vessels, some of which are just now casting off to enjoy postcard perfect skies as we watch from the waterfront restaurant. We capped the day at Camden Hills State Park, snagging the last campsite, and a chance to drive boat and all to the top of Mt. Battie. Camden is where the coast meets the mountains. We had a 360-degree panorama of water and forest.
Fri/Sat 8/15-16
From Mt. Battie's highs and peaceful camping we wended our way into Thomaston sight of Montpelier Mansion, once home of General Henry Knox. When America had only 10 millionaires, 7 of them had residences in Thomaston, country places to wait out the heat of New York City or Boston. Montpelier put us in mind of Monticello. It's builder, Gen Knox, lived here for 10 years after retiring when his close friend, George Washington, left office. He served Washington as an artillery expert whose knowledge he gleaned entirely from books: he never saw a cannon before becoming an advisor on their deployment. But it was his concept to use them in field engagements rather than to buttress fixed fortifications. He rose to the rank of Secretary of War under the Articles of Confederation and was left in capitol in NY (DC had not been built yet) for one week as acting president when the rest of the government was evacuated as a precaution during a cholera epidemic. In retirement he founded numerous business ventures but overextended himself financially. His death brought financial ruin for his heirs. He did it all himself; he didn't delegate, nor did his successors have his prestige to substitute for collateral.
We have been hanging around the area to return to the Chamberlin Post Office on Long Cove, Pemaquid to drop in on friends from Derwood Maryland who have a log cabin he and three siblings use for a week or two each in the summer.
We stowed the boat at a nearby boat yard, gouged the pavement on our way up the steep drive and nestled in for a stay at Camp Hendry over the weekend. We enjoyed the lobster with 13 at table, the gourmet feast prepared at home, the blueberry pancakes, the water tubing, the history of kidnapped Indians who when returned to their natives homes acted as interpreters for fur traders. I never realized that when the pilgrims arrived at Plymouth Rock they were greeted by the words, "Welcome, Englishmen" in English by Samoset, who, with Squanto, another repatriated kidnap victim ensured those Pilgrim's survival--along with fish sent up from the camps at Pemaquid.
Ah, Camp Hendry. Jim, can we come back again next year?
Sun, 8/17, Penobscot Bay, Day 5 at Sea
The siren call of soft landlubber ways at Camp Hendry couldn't deter us from rounding out our tour of Maine's mid-coast by sea. Glaciers long ago scoured deep valleys, bold waters (deep all the way to shore), outcropping ledges, and so many islands that it has the highest concentration of lighthouses in the world. Just the place for Beagle Puppy to paddle around!
Tides here are about 9' requiring floating docks often jammed to capacity in August. But remember the 15' canoe we brought with us from home? We'll take it in tow as our dinghy.
The town ramp in Camden saw dozens of Kayaks launched and retrieved. But nobody went in the water with as much style as "A1 Express”. As a test of our dinghy we poked around the corner, dropped anchor at Sherman Cove for a FREE night, gingerly lowered ourselves from the transom into "Tippy Canoe" and paddled ashore for victuals and grog. Jim couldn't quite bail all the water from our tender. Close inspection reveals chips along the stern admitting a slow seep. As long as we're not awash in the morning, our non-traditional dinghy will suit us to a "T": the snappy naval blue color mirrors that of "A1 EXPRESS."
"Did we bring a blanket along”? asked Jim about dusk. Shafts of sunlight shot overtop Camden Hills and glinted in golden reflections off our bow at sunset. We had one aboard all along, but hadn’t needed it until now.
August 18, Day 6 at sea
Bangor or Bust!
With full fuel tanks we headed out into Penobscot bay in the early morning mists and set a compass course for Islesboro. Gradually increasing speed and adjusting the towing bridle until we were comfortably towing the canoe at 15kts.
This 3-island group with secure harbor was once the playground of the wealthy, whose “cottages”, rivaling Newport in grandeur, can be seen along the shore. At the north end of the harbor local lobstermen had created small “islands” of their own, one even had a travel trailer on it, to keep their pots and nets easily available despite the high tides and expensive real estate.
Further up the bay we found the town of Belfast, where the old chicken rendering plant has been replaced with a considerably more pleasant town park. Continuing north, we picked up a mooring at Searsport and paddled over to the town dock for our eagerly awaited visit to the Penobscot Bay Maritime Museum.
The Museum brings to life a bygone era, when schooners set sail from the town docks bound for faraway ports. Sea Captains often took their wives along and one family boasted 35 members whose birthplaces were denoted by latitude and longitude. Most exciting was a film made in 1929 by a 17yr old sailor who added sound narration at age 80, recounting with glee his adventures rounding Cape Horn and showing footage from 17 stories up of decks awash in a storm. We were thankful for our Honda 50 hp, which keeps up moving in calms rather than helplessly awaiting the next “blow”.
So we used it to move on up the Penobscot River under the Knox Bridge to Bucksport. Bangor was another 25 miles up river but we were lured ashore by a delightfully landscaped waterfront. MacLeods restaurant was acclaimed as the finest eating anywhere and after a sumptuous feast, we quite agree. The town had a picture perfect waterfront except for the large paper mill just upriver. Across the river stood formidable Ft. Henry Knox, built after the war of 1812 to protect the area from marauding British, and it worked! The British fleet never returned! We still had some daylight so returned downriver 6 miles to Ft. Point, sight of pre-Revolutionary Ft. Powell. It saw action in the French and Indian wars, but was destroyed by Loyalists who feared it’s strategically advantageous position would be seized by patriots.
Docking with the canoe in tow was a learning experience. What worked best was stopping a short distance from the dock and securing the canoe with fenders alongside the boat, then docking the other side along the pier in a normal fashion. We reversed the procedure upon departure, moving away a bit before letting the canoe slide back behind us in the towing position.
An evening stroll through tall pines to the 1826 lighthouse and fog bell tower and back in time for sunset cocktails drew day to a close.
August. 19 Day 7
The day began crisp, clear, and perfectly calm. Mr. Honda cut a powerful swath, quickly transporting us 5 miles south to Castine. We appreciated the spotless and free town docks where we tied up and inspected our leaking canoe. We were early enough for breakfast at the Castine Inn, where, for $5 ea., they treated visiting boaters to luxurious hot showers. Typical marina/campground facilities are adequate but…. Refreshed, we commenced the mandatory walking tour. Castine had a Dutch fort, secured by French allies, who were driven out by the British, who were later attacked by the Americans. Many homes of loyalists were removed by barge to New Brunswick. After a bit of shopping and a closer look at the 640’ flagship of the Maine Maritime Academy which dominates the town’s waterfront, we puttered across the river to Smith cove and anchored for some rest, relaxation, and lunch. Joyce enjoyed basking in the warm sunshine while I studied charts under the Bimini.
Soon it was “weigh anchor”. The rocky bottom sends up a clean anchor, unlike the muddy Chesapeake where each chain link is often full of sticky clay. Back out on Penobscot Bay the afternoon breeze had picked up and whitecaps were evident. Of course the tide was flooding in. Serious sailors, or those who are powered with eggbeaters, contrive to avoid situations such as sailing against the tide, but we are free to sail however we wish, and the 50 hp Honda guarantees out arrival on time. 4 hours of pleasant, upwind sailing with the boat self- steering perfectly gained us about 4 – 5 miles. Joyce brought along a book of poetry to share and read aloud while I lounged comfortably in the cockpit while granite islands topped by tall pines and houses perched on shore of the larger ones made for one of the most scenic afternoons afloat we can remember. Pussycat paused in her rendition of “The courtship of Miles Standish”, for Owl had nodded off.
We dropped anchor about 5pm in Wells Cove by Deer Isle, near a former granite quarry, now fish packing plant, and watched the comings and goings of the fishermen. In this peaceful setting our one burner stove served up steak, onions, rice, and warmed rolls with cold wine and salad. Why go into town? Settling in for the night, Joyce finished up ‘Miles Standish” and it was time to turn in. A beautiful day to be remembered forever. Thank you Mr. MacGregor for our boat and Mr. Honda for our motor, and thank You God, for Maine.
Wednesday August 20 Day 8 “Fairyland” or “Ferryland”?
Today’s calm winds and overcast skies are omens of change. NOAA says a front is due Friday, so today is a good day to poke around the granite islands. We can imagine Dixie Bull, a 1700’s pirate who preyed on shoreside villages, lurking in one of the numerous coves. It is dead low tide. Hells half acre, an islet owned by the National Park Service, lies ahead. It sports a shaggy fringe of seaweed covering barnacles, and canoe access is over slippery algae covered rocks.
Above the high tide line there is sun-bleached granite, mosses, low grasses, and a sudden shock of tall pines. Park service picnic tables stand guard over deserted campsites. While we are not far from the town of Stonington on Deer Isle, we are almost completely out of sight of any human habitation. The islands appear as so many Mohawk warriors with faces submerged.
Back aboard A-1 Express we made for Isle de Haut, the southernmost of Penobscot Bay. At low tide the barnacle encrusted ladder ascended 20’ up to the small general store. There wasn’t much that couldn’t be seen from the boat. Ancient metal crane derricks, evidence of the former granite industry, were used to lower granite blocks onto barges.
We set a course through Fox thorofare on Vinylhaven to the small town of North Haven. A vacant mooring ball gave us a chance for a lunch break. Joyce served up a heated rice/pasta au gratin dish over toast points for an al fresco lunch under the bimini top. At 12:30 a half dozen local sloops started a race, which we watched intently. The wilier skippers threaded their way through the mooring field and found a bit of wind, quickly outdistancing their competitors gamely tacking out the channel.
We were almost directly across from Rockland but our destination was Carver’s harbor and the town of Vinylhaven on the south shore. Ferry’s bring everything to these remote lobstering outposts, some say the “real Maine”. In a harbor thick with moorings there were only two pleasure sailboats. The town boasts several restaurants, one in the driveway of a townhouse, reminiscent of the pizza place on Cuttyhunk in Buzzards Bay.
Most of the cruisers anchor away from town in nearby coves and dinghy in. We dropped out hook next to an abandoned dock on a rocky outcropping at the head of the harbor, and I felt a sudden urge to purchase the quiet little spot, refurbish the dock, and build a small home nestled among the rocks. We’ll swagger into town for lobster rolls and fresh blueberry pie, a local favorite, and, of course, the mandatory walk from one end of town to the other. We turn in early, figuring we will be rocked by wakes starting at 5:30. It actually started at 4:30 with a cacophony of V-8 engines warming up to a grand prix start for the lobstermen. Maybe those other cruisers in the adjacent coves were on to something.
Thursday, August 21 Day 9
With the morning's glassy calm, the steady purr of the Honda carried us towards Rockland. The perfectly smooth water made spotting harbor seals and dolphins easy. Usually the seals were shy, but in the harbor they were real beggars, hoping for a fishy treat. Soon we were past the long town breakwater to the spacious, nearly vacant and well-manicured town docks. Here were hot showers and an information office, perfect for the visiting yachtsmen. The farmer’s market was setting up stands for sales of local produce and products. We got fresh bread and goat cheese and raspberry jam. The town was a little too big for a walking tour, but the trolley tour worked out fine. Nearby Snow Park had excellent ramps and free storage for tow vehicles and trailers for a week, would have saved us $100. if we had launched here instead of Camden.
Rockland and nearby Rockport were world export leaders for lime, baked in kilns along the shore and added to mortar and cement. Another sweep through the Farmer’s market netted us homemade chicken salad and our lunch underway was complete.
Motoring north the few miles to Rockport, we noted the harbor was unprotected all the way to England, and storms with south winds wreak havoc. At the little town harbor park was a statue of Andre’ the seal, a Rockport harbor attraction for many years. The friendly harbormaster told us the “real” story. Legend has it the seal pup was found abandoned by his mother and raised by a local waterman. Actually, the mother seal was killed for the lobsterman’s winter larder, and two pups were raised, one of which swam off and the other, Andre’, returned each spring for 24 years. Locals bet on the day Andre’ would turn up. Rockport was small and charming, a perfect town for a walk, with a drugstore and soda fountain, and resident artist’s community.
With only a couple miles to go the wind came up so we unfurled the genoa for a leisurely afternoon sail to Camden Harbor. The blue sky and mackerel clouds, the chartered schooners hoisting sail, and the dark pine covered rocky shoreline formed a picture of Maine sailing we will not soon forget. Too soon we were back on land, mast lowered, and continuing on towards our next destination, but we definitely plan to return to the shores of Maine in the future.
Friday August 22
We spent the day enjoying the computer facilities at the Camden and Rockport libraries with a long bicycle ride along the coast we had sailed past yesterday, before retracing our route along the shore of Penobscot Bay. We had a closer look at Belfast, larger than we thought, and Searsport, home of the PBMM (Penobscot Bay Maritime Museum). We toured Ft. Knox, which we had seen from Bucksport across the river. Joyce’s narrative continues:
“It was here that Paul Revere’s reputation as a patriot was damaged when as a member of the Massachusetts militia he participated in the battle of Penobscot Bay which ended in a debacle. It seems an attempt was made to capture the fort at Castine. Due largely to the fleet commander’s delay, British gunships arrived and forced the continentals to flee up the Bay where they hoped to be able to defend the narrow river. They were routed and forced to beach and burn 40 vessels. The commander, Wadsworth, had Revere found guilty of disobeying orders ( he was slow to torch his boat) thus ruining his military career. Ironically two generations later his relative, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, immortalized Revere in the well known poem, “ The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere” and made his name synonymous with patriotism.”
August 23 Saturday
Mt. Dessert Island, sight of Acadia National Park, lay to the north of Penobscot Bay a bit too far for the sailing trip (this time) but quickly accessible by road. Acadia was the first national park created from donated lands. Mt. Cadillac, at 1580’ the highest in the east, served as a landmark for mariners up to 40miles away. The wealthy had built Newport style cottages outside Bar Harbor but a devastating fire erased all evidence of industry or wealth, allowing the Rockefeller family to purchase and donate the land. In addition, Rockefeller built 47 miles of horse-drawn carriage roads which still exist and you can recreate the turn of the century experience for yourself.
With the front very cool western winds created perfect visibility for our skyline and coastal drive through the park, ending in downtown Bar Harbor. The 20kt breeze beckoned us to hop aboard the 4 masted schooner “Margaret Todd”. Joyce: “Despite Capt. Jim’s urging to put out for open water under full canvas, our cargo of lily-livered landsmen held us to half her sail area. Her 150 tons smoothed Frenchman’s bay’s whitecaps. The two hour sail whetted our appetites to have our own helm again.”
Sunday August 23
“Rustication” – the paintings of the Hudson River School of artists depicting nature’s beauty sparked the vogue of rustic recreation, or rustication. Then as now people headed north to the Woods extolled by Thoreau. We headed for Moosehead Lake, largest lake in Maine at 32x10 miles. One of my MacGregor 26 customers told me about it. He rented a cabin on an island in the lake for several years, enjoying the fishing and fresh water sailing. We camped at Rockwood, mid-lake on the western shore. The fresh winds churned the lake waters to froth, but we had arrived too late to participate in the frolic. Predicted overnight lows of 47degrees had us snuggling under blankets.
Monday August 24
The lake is a dazzling setting for the jewel, Mt. Kineo, jutting 700’straight up above the sparkling water. We launched at 9am into diminished winds, still capable of pushing us at 3-5 kts , with overcast skies and chilly fall temperatures. We had hats, coats, scarves and gloves, in August! Seabirds flying above emit cries that reverberate across the shimmering reflections of pine topped islands. Bliss! We’re headed south on a beam reach with only the occasional fishing boat for company. Rental cabins tucked into the pines are the only evidence of civilization.
A-1 Express and Mr. Honda are enjoying their fresh water bath (and the trailer). There are no tides or currents to contend with when we step ashore in Greenville for dinner. Across the cove is the last remaining lake steamer out of a fleet of 40 or more that used to ferry vacationers around the lake. The “Katahdin” still gives passengers the thrill of a bygone era. Greenville is the center for wintertime festivities, auto and snowmobile racing on the smooth, frozen lake waters. Summer is almost the off season here. We anchored in crystal clear water (the anchor and each link of chain clearly visible in 15’) between Deer island and a tiny speck, Whisky Island, for a memorable evening with a lovely sunset.
Tuesday August 25
The Honda was once again called into service in the damp morning calm for a tour of the mid-lake area including a breath-taking visit to the vertical cliffs of Mt. Kineo. There is a resort with hiking trails and available dock for the hardy. Water depths were 40’ alongside sheer rock walls reaching skyward 700’. Our camera picked an unfortunate time to fill up, so we’ll have to return for those pictures another time. There is a little river that connects Moosehead with another lake but overhead power wires deny us entrance (unless we elected to lower our mast). We beat the rain back to the launch ramp for a quick exit. Later that day as we were heading home, having come within 16 miles of the Canadian border, the skies cleared for a beautiful, sunny afternoon and we wished we had stayed on the lake longer.
We beat feet down interstate 95 and made it to a suburb of Boston for dinner and a 4-hour snooze aboard. Awakening just after midnight, we put Connecticut and NY City behind us with light traffic, stopping at 6 am on the NJ turnpike for a few more winks and to let the rush hour traffic ahead around Baltimore abate. We pulled into Mayo, Md. At 11am, just 24 hours from Moosehead Lake. So stop complaining about the August heat (which hit us like a sledgehammer when we returned) get a MacGregor and trailer your boat north. It’s what they were made for.
Cheers and happy sailing from Capt. Jim and First Mate Joyce
On the way to Maine we made several stops, mentioned because a trailerable boat trip is like a family adventure road trip with a boat (and overnight accommodations) in tow. We visited my sister and her family in York, Pa., followed by a glorious day at Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Pa. My wife the gardener loved the landscaping, flowers, fountains etc. Then to Long Island’s Port Washington for a visit with a boating buddy and dinner aboard his 92’ yacht. We were not jealous (much) because we know the trade –offs first hand. The expense and time obligation of a large yacht is staggering. My wife Joyce enjoys writing about the history and people of the areas we visit, and some of it is incorporated here. Joyce’s narrative continues:
“Long Island, across the East River from Dutch New Amsterdam, was settled by Englishmen. Earlier English settlers craving religious freedom in Connecticut drove off fellow settlers who did not worship exactly as they did. Some took the short boat ride over Long Island Sound and began raising cattle after the usual favorable land transaction with the local Indians (who may have envisioned the payments as only rent for a season leading to hostilities later.) The long shoreline with numerous peninsulas simplified fencing. Only enough fencing needed to be built to pen cattle into a finger of land with the shoreline hemming them in on the other three sides. For each 11' of fence a family erected it was entitled to pasture one cow. The back of a house counted too. Houses served as fence gates. The rear yard was pasture and the road in front, Cow Neck Road, is now Rt. 25.
In 1902 a local man and his 16-year-old son took 37 days to make the first private Atlantic crossing to England under motor in a 38' boat powered by a 10-hp kerosene engine. In 1935 the first Pan-Am trans-Atlantic flights were inaugurated here.”
Friday morning we met Jim G at his new townhouse for the walk through before settlement.. It has a bow shaped deck overlooking his yacht Iemanja in the harbor. Sands Point, L.I. N.Y. has among the highest median housing prices in the country: $2 million.(gasp!) Iemanja started life as a 68 footer and was twice sliced in two to extend it into its present 92' length tripling the cockpit space and expanding 2 cabins below into staterooms in the first expansion. Later the galley was expanded adding room for a washer and dryer plus a small cabin across the hall. Altogether there are six cabins, 5 heads, 4 refrigerators, six a/c units, two generators and a host of other equipment. She has new Oriental carpets in the salon and hall. Her spruced up interior and new paint job on the exterior will restore her to her former glory. We'll catch an afternoon sail with Jim this afternoon before she heads to Rhode Island for her repainting.
Next it was off the Newport, Rhode Island to hob knob with the RROC (Rolls Royce Owners Club) at their annual judged show. We surprised Jim's friend Lauren by popping in to see how he was faring. Lauren took 3rd place with his 1935 model. Newport is a great place for sightseeing so we launched the land dinghies (bicycles) and spent a couple days touring. Armed with the Historical Society's 9 walking tours we did the town on foot in the colonial section and by bicycle to take in the mansions of the Gilded Age. Joyce continues:
Rhode Island was the first colony to break with England. The victorious Battle of Yorktown that brought the French aboard as allies was launched from what is now King's Park. The oldest Jewish congregation and the first Black Freedman's Church are here. The religious tolerance helped make this the cultural capital of the country in its early days. The Naval Academy relocated to Newport during the Civil War. Two presidents had summer White Houses in Newport: Kennedy at Hammersmith Farm, Jackie's home, and Eisenhower on the grounds of Ft Adams.
The mansion tour helped unravel a mystery of the rich: why husbands and wives had separate bedrooms. It seems the rich change clothes for each part of the day and for each activity about a half dozen times in all. Ladies entertained close friends with tea in their bedroom. Awkward to have Reginald pop in to don his tennis togs.
Actually, the men did their best to escape the relentless social functions of the Gilded Age by taking to their yachts. The America's Cup was handed to the Australians from Marble House, home of the Vanderbilts for the 6 week summer season.
Speaking of sailors we bumped into Iemanja's crew while on that mansion tour. We had spotted her at anchorage between Ft. Adams and Goat Island as we pedaled around Monday morning. She had gamely flown her spinnaker with just 3 crew aboard on the passage. And poor Jim G missed the sailing! Unless the weather improves they will have no better luck painting her deck now than they had in June. Intermittent daytime drizzle with overnight rains set in Monday and remains the forecast for next week.”
Heading further north, we landed in Scusset on the north end of the Cape Cod Canal. The Canal saves ships 36 miles navigation around the treacherous tip of the Cape greatly improving both time and safety. We are nestled into the trees a short walk from the Atlantic in as rustic a setting as you please. The boat serves as a camper with the boarding ladder and fold-up helmsmans seat providing access to the cabin.
Day 1 At Sea
Avast, Mateys!
Like a precision team the Owl and the Pussycat shifted from landlubber to cruising mode Wednesday, Aug 6 in our maiden voyage aboard the all new powersailor, the MacGregor 26M. We launched from Bourne Marina at 3:30 under partly overcast skies. A brisk 15 knot SW wind and an enthusiastic current capable of pulling the channel lobster pots underwater dictates that we explore the Cape Cod Channel to our east.
Once headed for its mouth the current, which had carried us crab-wise now sent us, turbo-charged under the Railway Bridge with genoa unfurled.
The Cape Cod Canal is the world's longest inland sea level (no locks) canal. Its twin bridges (rail and car) are Civil Engineering Award winners. The railway bridge promises enchantment with its graceful long arch between 2 pillars topped by cones reminiscent of castle turrets. By the time we crossed under the auto bridge our genoa was furled against the gusts. "A1 EXPRESS" friskily leaped over the wakes of passing power boaters, and the tug bucking the current carried a "bone in her teeth" (a prominent bow wave in Landlubberese.) Mate Pussycat stepped lively as we tasted the briny for the first time of our vacation: steering, hauling up the dagger board, stopping and unstopping the water vent, fetching the hand-held radio, binoculars, charts and chairs as the Owl settles into shipboard routine.
The banks of the canal are a recreational preserve. The roadways created during construction are now developed as hiking, biking, skating and skateboarding paths with ample access for fishing. By the time we passed below the Sagamore Bridge 40 minutes past launching via the miracle of the 50 hp Honda the sun shone under skies cleared of all but the puffiest white clouds. Crisp air, continuous breezes and ice tea put heart into crew!
A slip at Sandwich Marina in the East Boats Basin ($1.75/ft) seems a song after sailing a 65 footer. Crew easily lassoed dock cleats that previously proved a "gap too far" without a boat hook and several patient (?) approaches by Captain on the 65'. Crew's flawless performance will be rewarded by an evening meal ashore. (Owl knows how to keep Pussycat purring and eager to tour by water!) "Seafood Sams," no frills, low bills, good food, fast service.
Our California King sheets fit the aft berth to a "T". Without our children, now grown too busy to vacation with Mom and Dad, we have our gear neatly stowed on the V-berth.
Zounds! It's 5:30! Time to relax on the cockpit cushions before departing for shore. Coast Guard Station Rangers sponsored an 8pm nightcap of sing along Sea Chanteys.
Day 2 At Sea
Thursday August 7. After overnight rain, morning dawns to 15 knot SW winds in fog. Cape Cod Bay just beyond the canal terminus experiences gentle offshore breezes under these conditions. Should we venture out and sail there? No! We're Gloucestermen! Its back to Buzzard's Bay.
Before departure we took time to invent the on-board dishwasher: our am dishes in our 6 pack Little Playmate cooler, soap, water from the dock, load, lock and wedge her aboard in the aisle. We haven't perfected the rinse cycle yet.
Our goal is to tour the perimeter of Buzzard's Bay. Having adopted the Norwegians axiom, "There is no bad weather, only bad clothes," we are not letting iffy skies keep us in port.
Once past the closely spaced buoys - a testimony to the fogs here-we had a close hauled beat under full sails to Wood's Hole. Purrfection. As we veered westward into the wind the "Iron Jenny" carried us comfortably to our overnight slip on Cuttyhunk Island ($2/ft). At 4:30 the Raw Bar sent a comely dockhand along the piers to take final orders for the day. Newspapers are available on the honor system: the till sits unguarded as the weight. The pizza "parlor"-6 picnic tables in a driveway-is it for restaurants. The island is the tip of the Elizabeth Island chain and boasts being the location of the first English habitation on the coast of New England.
Bartholomew Gosnold arrived in 1602. Gosnold, the namesake town, has 25 year rounders, and 20 times as many summertime visitors on a speck 2.5 by .75 miles with a one-room schoolhouse through Grade 8. Serenity and fishing are the attractions that have drawn guests here since Taft and Teddy Roosevelt enjoyed the little changed Cuttyhunk Fishing Club. We are well provisioned with beer, wine and grog as well. This is a dry island: food and ice only for sale.
I'd chat more but our lobsters from the Raw Bar are ready. I'll bring you the picture.
Day 3 At Sea
With 7 am sunshine beckoning, "A1 EXPRESS" left the slip under sails recrossing Buzzard's Bay wing 'n wing with a preventer on the main (the boom vang cleated to the stanchion base) and a whisker pole on the foot of the Genoa to hold the sails fully splayed through chop and wakes. Brief readings of 8 knots cap steady 5's with Pussycat "autohelm" at the wheel while Owl navigated, reefed and later unreefed the main, all the while keeping a sharp eye out for "weather". Several years ago we experienced a "white squall" that snuck up on us from the rear in Long Island Sound. In unfamiliar waters strewn with rocks near shore with mists that gather into fog instantly being under-canvassed and over prepared is the only way to sail. Well, at least until the dark patch passes.
"Change course from Wood's Hole (our intended storm hideaway) back to 40 degrees for Mattapoisett on the mainland side of the Bay," commanded Owl.
How did the sailing grounds of the America's Cup contenders garner such a name? Our English fore bearers called any broad-winged bird too slow for falconry a Buzzard. The fish-eating Osprey native here fit that description and the name stuck.
Mattapoisett is an old shipbuilding town with its homes neatly labeled by year of construction and original owner. Most riveting were photos in the Harbormaster's Office titled, "August '97 Surprise." Town dock, which stands at 8 feet above water, was awash - its tethered craft a snarled mass as men clad in slickers tried valiantly to untangle them. We understood the reason for the mooring field balls having 4 times the usual scope when we saw a photo of a catboat’s bow lunging into the air and straining at the tether. The harbor is completely exposed to the full fetch of the Bay.
With more ice our noon to 1:30 shore leave was up. "A1 EXPRESS" is enjoying the waves too much to call it a day yet. It's the Captains watch (under Bimini, of course) as we cruise close to shore aiming for the next cove to the east, Sippican Harbor, and the town of Marion.
Just underway with a spitfire jib (Genoa mostly furled in) we headed into 15 - 20 knot gusts rounding Strawberry Point Rocks. Safely past, the full Genoa with pole was set for the downwind run into Sippican-registering 7.6 knots. Jibe ho! With only the Genoa now we aren't taking advantage of our new fangled mast that automatically swivels to adjust on each tack. But it is an attention grabber for folks who see our boat. At 3 pm, it’s off to Burr Brother's Boats ($2/ft) and showers.
While the waterfront of Marion is dominated by private homes, parks, and a large exclusive school, out on 6A we found "Waves", a down home pool hall/bar/restaurant with crowd pleasing prices and menu: Stuffed Quahogs ("co" hogs, local clams) and Filet of Sole. Delicious.
Burr Brothers is a sprawling working marina tucked into the bitter end of Sillican. The last barrier between marina and marsh is a 150' arm permanently lined with dinghies that await owners with yachts moored in the extensive well-protected harbor. Perfect sleeping conditions.
Y-a-w-n. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Day 4 at Sea
Saturday, Aug 9, 9:30 am
"Ain't no sunshine" for today,
Tropical depression on the way,
The voice of NOAH had to say.
When our customary morning sprinkles failed to give way to clearing, Capt. Jim, clad in swim trunks and foul weather jacket nosed "A1 EXPRESS" into the head breezes of the channel under power, staying snuggly dry beneath the Bimini.
At the Number 5 Can Capt. raised the main and unfurled a working jib portion of the Genoa to yield speeds of 4.5 knots. Plus it smoothed the light chop for Pussycat reading below.
Through the portlights you can see two wooden two masted Concordia yachts with sails lashed on the foredeck and both booms freshly moored from a race or cruise. These are the kinds of yachts that were made in Mattapoisett. The Burr Brother's Boat Yard Carpentry shop, still open, maintains these sleek beauties.
Hang onto your hats, boys! Capt. let the Big Dog all the way out for another knot of speed and tolerable heeling (no squealing) below decks just past Bird Island. We leveled out in a broad reach. Movable ballast was asked to shift to the low side to give us more heel now. Actually, the rain has gone away, and I'll join Captain above decks, help steer while he sets the pole on the Genoa for a wing 'n wing run back to Bourne.
As we made our way back to the Cape Cod Canal at low water there were 18 people wading in the shallows probing for Quahogs in the sand. All in all, you can't to wrong sailing Buzzard's Bay. Every inlet has a quaint town and distances are negligible for a power sailor. Just set your sights according to the most pleasurable point of sail and see where it leads you.
“A1 EXPRESS" can wait for us on her trailer ($10/day) where we launched. I had counted on the rain to make our getaway speedier: fewer admirers at the ramp to "chat up." Our yar naval blue hull and new design turns heads everywhere we go. It's off to Chatham for us to join our daughter, Janet and her husband Duncan at his family's summerhouse at Stage Harbor.
Provincetown to Sandwich,
Monday Aug 11
Provincetown has a lookout tower to commemorate the site where the Pilgrims composed the Mayflower Compact in the Harbor before putting to shore briefly to reconnoiter. They sailed straight across Cape Cod Bay to Plymouth on the mainland to found the first permanent New England settlement in 1620.
Typically, skies cleared by the time we made our driving survey of the beaches surrounding town, the Province Lands National Seashore. Undulating dunes clad in stabilizing grasses and pitch pines have miles of biking trails. We caught a glimpse of a coyote darting by. Bigger than a fox with buff fur it looks like a wild dog with a very bushy tail and no owner in sight.
Now heading south we enjoyed the dozen towns we drove through on 6A (Old King's Highway). I read from our Guidebook about the distinctions of each one until I got to Sandwich, which is just above the Cape Cod Canal terminus. Opposite on the mouth of the Canal is Bourne where our boat is stored.
Sandwich is home to the Heritage Museum and Gardens. "Jim, it has antique cars for you and flowers for me."
Into Shawme Crowell State Forest we pulled at 3 pm to a primitive campsite with the previous camper's fire still moldering in the firebox. Our bicycles were launched for the 1 mile wooded trail ride to the adjacent gardens for their final 2 hours of the day.
Heritage Gardens began as a rhododendron breeder's property. He created 5 fragrant cultivars through hybridization, and the plants here are found nowhere else on earth. Eli Lily purchased the grounds upon the breeder's death and planted numerous-what else-daylily beds. Included at the Heritage is a display of Cahoon's art of New England. His motif is the Mermaid. Each scene is one of whimsy: mermaids on bicycles, dancing with sailors, feeding geese who are tugging down their fishscale panties. Pure fun.
As I strolled past each variety of daylily Jim hotfooted it up the hill to do the same by each auto in the museum. Hydrangeas, Sea Roses and all manners of English Garden flowers flourish here and all along the roadside flowerbeds.
Tuesday 8/12
With our boat back in tow we seek suitable ramps with trailer storage for further sea excursions. It is Jim's aim to continue north until he needs long sleeve shirts. In 220 miles we saw all of coastal New Hampshire and some of southern Maine. It seems these northern exposure folks take to the outdoors with gusto in August, their true summer month. Tiny cabin clusters are popular here, although giving way to modern landscaped places in towns. Perhaps the Gulf Stream heats the water here higher than Chatham's 53 degrees.
Rt. 1 in Maine slices across numerous peninsulas of land projecting "Down East." Just outside Bath the restaurant sign, "Taste of Maine", beckoned. In the lobby of Taste of Maine two Bull Moose racks locked in mortal combat are on display. The human combat over them that ensued is just as riveting as their final struggles. It seems a fisherman came upon the fallen stags and cut off the racks from the corpses. Upon return he excitedly showed his find to the game warden, who unsportingly, seized it in the name of Maine on the flimsy pretext that denying people racks deters killing of animals for the horn. The fisherman, undeterred, brought suit for their return. The State, shamed in editorials for its bullying, settled for the right to borrow the rack display for 3 months per year from the finder who cannot profit from keeping it.
August 13 & 14
We took time to take a bicycle tour of Boothbay Harbor, a town with a feel much like Annapolis. A shipbuilding spot of yore, it has an active lobstering industry, which we supported at lunchtime. A pedestrian footbridge crosses the narrow end of the harbor with a house built midway across, the former home of a fish merchant who found it handy for receiving his wares, and as it turns out, amongst the cod liquor bottles were concealed during prohibition.
Later Beagle Puppy sniffed our Lake Pemaquid, a campground with something for everyone and activities galore for all ages of kids-EXCEPT SAILING: the sail on their lone boat tore out. Warm, fresh water for an afternoon swim, and a canoe paddle in the cool of Thursday morning. As the lake narrowed we were surrounded by lily pads in bloom. The channel that leads to the next lake is closed off by a beaver lodge in winter, now cut away for boaters. An hour of paddling-as opposed to floating downstream is enough for Ma and Pa Kettle.
It's on to the historic sights of Pemaquid Point bordering one of the larger bays, Muscongus. Settlers of the 1600's first built fishing villages here. When Europe depleted its beaver population the economy shifted bringing the French trappers of the north into head to head competition with the English fishermen/trappers. This hotly contested piece of real estate was fortified by the British as a strategic outpost to secure Maine. In all four forts were built on the site of the reconstructed Ft. William Henry. Settlements thrived, failed and were later rekindled numerous times.
Today the harbor is dotted with moored vessels, some of which are just now casting off to enjoy postcard perfect skies as we watch from the waterfront restaurant. We capped the day at Camden Hills State Park, snagging the last campsite, and a chance to drive boat and all to the top of Mt. Battie. Camden is where the coast meets the mountains. We had a 360-degree panorama of water and forest.
Fri/Sat 8/15-16
From Mt. Battie's highs and peaceful camping we wended our way into Thomaston sight of Montpelier Mansion, once home of General Henry Knox. When America had only 10 millionaires, 7 of them had residences in Thomaston, country places to wait out the heat of New York City or Boston. Montpelier put us in mind of Monticello. It's builder, Gen Knox, lived here for 10 years after retiring when his close friend, George Washington, left office. He served Washington as an artillery expert whose knowledge he gleaned entirely from books: he never saw a cannon before becoming an advisor on their deployment. But it was his concept to use them in field engagements rather than to buttress fixed fortifications. He rose to the rank of Secretary of War under the Articles of Confederation and was left in capitol in NY (DC had not been built yet) for one week as acting president when the rest of the government was evacuated as a precaution during a cholera epidemic. In retirement he founded numerous business ventures but overextended himself financially. His death brought financial ruin for his heirs. He did it all himself; he didn't delegate, nor did his successors have his prestige to substitute for collateral.
We have been hanging around the area to return to the Chamberlin Post Office on Long Cove, Pemaquid to drop in on friends from Derwood Maryland who have a log cabin he and three siblings use for a week or two each in the summer.
We stowed the boat at a nearby boat yard, gouged the pavement on our way up the steep drive and nestled in for a stay at Camp Hendry over the weekend. We enjoyed the lobster with 13 at table, the gourmet feast prepared at home, the blueberry pancakes, the water tubing, the history of kidnapped Indians who when returned to their natives homes acted as interpreters for fur traders. I never realized that when the pilgrims arrived at Plymouth Rock they were greeted by the words, "Welcome, Englishmen" in English by Samoset, who, with Squanto, another repatriated kidnap victim ensured those Pilgrim's survival--along with fish sent up from the camps at Pemaquid.
Ah, Camp Hendry. Jim, can we come back again next year?
Sun, 8/17, Penobscot Bay, Day 5 at Sea
The siren call of soft landlubber ways at Camp Hendry couldn't deter us from rounding out our tour of Maine's mid-coast by sea. Glaciers long ago scoured deep valleys, bold waters (deep all the way to shore), outcropping ledges, and so many islands that it has the highest concentration of lighthouses in the world. Just the place for Beagle Puppy to paddle around!
Tides here are about 9' requiring floating docks often jammed to capacity in August. But remember the 15' canoe we brought with us from home? We'll take it in tow as our dinghy.
The town ramp in Camden saw dozens of Kayaks launched and retrieved. But nobody went in the water with as much style as "A1 Express”. As a test of our dinghy we poked around the corner, dropped anchor at Sherman Cove for a FREE night, gingerly lowered ourselves from the transom into "Tippy Canoe" and paddled ashore for victuals and grog. Jim couldn't quite bail all the water from our tender. Close inspection reveals chips along the stern admitting a slow seep. As long as we're not awash in the morning, our non-traditional dinghy will suit us to a "T": the snappy naval blue color mirrors that of "A1 EXPRESS."
"Did we bring a blanket along”? asked Jim about dusk. Shafts of sunlight shot overtop Camden Hills and glinted in golden reflections off our bow at sunset. We had one aboard all along, but hadn’t needed it until now.
August 18, Day 6 at sea
Bangor or Bust!
With full fuel tanks we headed out into Penobscot bay in the early morning mists and set a compass course for Islesboro. Gradually increasing speed and adjusting the towing bridle until we were comfortably towing the canoe at 15kts.
This 3-island group with secure harbor was once the playground of the wealthy, whose “cottages”, rivaling Newport in grandeur, can be seen along the shore. At the north end of the harbor local lobstermen had created small “islands” of their own, one even had a travel trailer on it, to keep their pots and nets easily available despite the high tides and expensive real estate.
Further up the bay we found the town of Belfast, where the old chicken rendering plant has been replaced with a considerably more pleasant town park. Continuing north, we picked up a mooring at Searsport and paddled over to the town dock for our eagerly awaited visit to the Penobscot Bay Maritime Museum.
The Museum brings to life a bygone era, when schooners set sail from the town docks bound for faraway ports. Sea Captains often took their wives along and one family boasted 35 members whose birthplaces were denoted by latitude and longitude. Most exciting was a film made in 1929 by a 17yr old sailor who added sound narration at age 80, recounting with glee his adventures rounding Cape Horn and showing footage from 17 stories up of decks awash in a storm. We were thankful for our Honda 50 hp, which keeps up moving in calms rather than helplessly awaiting the next “blow”.
So we used it to move on up the Penobscot River under the Knox Bridge to Bucksport. Bangor was another 25 miles up river but we were lured ashore by a delightfully landscaped waterfront. MacLeods restaurant was acclaimed as the finest eating anywhere and after a sumptuous feast, we quite agree. The town had a picture perfect waterfront except for the large paper mill just upriver. Across the river stood formidable Ft. Henry Knox, built after the war of 1812 to protect the area from marauding British, and it worked! The British fleet never returned! We still had some daylight so returned downriver 6 miles to Ft. Point, sight of pre-Revolutionary Ft. Powell. It saw action in the French and Indian wars, but was destroyed by Loyalists who feared it’s strategically advantageous position would be seized by patriots.
Docking with the canoe in tow was a learning experience. What worked best was stopping a short distance from the dock and securing the canoe with fenders alongside the boat, then docking the other side along the pier in a normal fashion. We reversed the procedure upon departure, moving away a bit before letting the canoe slide back behind us in the towing position.
An evening stroll through tall pines to the 1826 lighthouse and fog bell tower and back in time for sunset cocktails drew day to a close.
August. 19 Day 7
The day began crisp, clear, and perfectly calm. Mr. Honda cut a powerful swath, quickly transporting us 5 miles south to Castine. We appreciated the spotless and free town docks where we tied up and inspected our leaking canoe. We were early enough for breakfast at the Castine Inn, where, for $5 ea., they treated visiting boaters to luxurious hot showers. Typical marina/campground facilities are adequate but…. Refreshed, we commenced the mandatory walking tour. Castine had a Dutch fort, secured by French allies, who were driven out by the British, who were later attacked by the Americans. Many homes of loyalists were removed by barge to New Brunswick. After a bit of shopping and a closer look at the 640’ flagship of the Maine Maritime Academy which dominates the town’s waterfront, we puttered across the river to Smith cove and anchored for some rest, relaxation, and lunch. Joyce enjoyed basking in the warm sunshine while I studied charts under the Bimini.
Soon it was “weigh anchor”. The rocky bottom sends up a clean anchor, unlike the muddy Chesapeake where each chain link is often full of sticky clay. Back out on Penobscot Bay the afternoon breeze had picked up and whitecaps were evident. Of course the tide was flooding in. Serious sailors, or those who are powered with eggbeaters, contrive to avoid situations such as sailing against the tide, but we are free to sail however we wish, and the 50 hp Honda guarantees out arrival on time. 4 hours of pleasant, upwind sailing with the boat self- steering perfectly gained us about 4 – 5 miles. Joyce brought along a book of poetry to share and read aloud while I lounged comfortably in the cockpit while granite islands topped by tall pines and houses perched on shore of the larger ones made for one of the most scenic afternoons afloat we can remember. Pussycat paused in her rendition of “The courtship of Miles Standish”, for Owl had nodded off.
We dropped anchor about 5pm in Wells Cove by Deer Isle, near a former granite quarry, now fish packing plant, and watched the comings and goings of the fishermen. In this peaceful setting our one burner stove served up steak, onions, rice, and warmed rolls with cold wine and salad. Why go into town? Settling in for the night, Joyce finished up ‘Miles Standish” and it was time to turn in. A beautiful day to be remembered forever. Thank you Mr. MacGregor for our boat and Mr. Honda for our motor, and thank You God, for Maine.
Wednesday August 20 Day 8 “Fairyland” or “Ferryland”?
Today’s calm winds and overcast skies are omens of change. NOAA says a front is due Friday, so today is a good day to poke around the granite islands. We can imagine Dixie Bull, a 1700’s pirate who preyed on shoreside villages, lurking in one of the numerous coves. It is dead low tide. Hells half acre, an islet owned by the National Park Service, lies ahead. It sports a shaggy fringe of seaweed covering barnacles, and canoe access is over slippery algae covered rocks.
Above the high tide line there is sun-bleached granite, mosses, low grasses, and a sudden shock of tall pines. Park service picnic tables stand guard over deserted campsites. While we are not far from the town of Stonington on Deer Isle, we are almost completely out of sight of any human habitation. The islands appear as so many Mohawk warriors with faces submerged.
Back aboard A-1 Express we made for Isle de Haut, the southernmost of Penobscot Bay. At low tide the barnacle encrusted ladder ascended 20’ up to the small general store. There wasn’t much that couldn’t be seen from the boat. Ancient metal crane derricks, evidence of the former granite industry, were used to lower granite blocks onto barges.
We set a course through Fox thorofare on Vinylhaven to the small town of North Haven. A vacant mooring ball gave us a chance for a lunch break. Joyce served up a heated rice/pasta au gratin dish over toast points for an al fresco lunch under the bimini top. At 12:30 a half dozen local sloops started a race, which we watched intently. The wilier skippers threaded their way through the mooring field and found a bit of wind, quickly outdistancing their competitors gamely tacking out the channel.
We were almost directly across from Rockland but our destination was Carver’s harbor and the town of Vinylhaven on the south shore. Ferry’s bring everything to these remote lobstering outposts, some say the “real Maine”. In a harbor thick with moorings there were only two pleasure sailboats. The town boasts several restaurants, one in the driveway of a townhouse, reminiscent of the pizza place on Cuttyhunk in Buzzards Bay.
Most of the cruisers anchor away from town in nearby coves and dinghy in. We dropped out hook next to an abandoned dock on a rocky outcropping at the head of the harbor, and I felt a sudden urge to purchase the quiet little spot, refurbish the dock, and build a small home nestled among the rocks. We’ll swagger into town for lobster rolls and fresh blueberry pie, a local favorite, and, of course, the mandatory walk from one end of town to the other. We turn in early, figuring we will be rocked by wakes starting at 5:30. It actually started at 4:30 with a cacophony of V-8 engines warming up to a grand prix start for the lobstermen. Maybe those other cruisers in the adjacent coves were on to something.
Thursday, August 21 Day 9
With the morning's glassy calm, the steady purr of the Honda carried us towards Rockland. The perfectly smooth water made spotting harbor seals and dolphins easy. Usually the seals were shy, but in the harbor they were real beggars, hoping for a fishy treat. Soon we were past the long town breakwater to the spacious, nearly vacant and well-manicured town docks. Here were hot showers and an information office, perfect for the visiting yachtsmen. The farmer’s market was setting up stands for sales of local produce and products. We got fresh bread and goat cheese and raspberry jam. The town was a little too big for a walking tour, but the trolley tour worked out fine. Nearby Snow Park had excellent ramps and free storage for tow vehicles and trailers for a week, would have saved us $100. if we had launched here instead of Camden.
Rockland and nearby Rockport were world export leaders for lime, baked in kilns along the shore and added to mortar and cement. Another sweep through the Farmer’s market netted us homemade chicken salad and our lunch underway was complete.
Motoring north the few miles to Rockport, we noted the harbor was unprotected all the way to England, and storms with south winds wreak havoc. At the little town harbor park was a statue of Andre’ the seal, a Rockport harbor attraction for many years. The friendly harbormaster told us the “real” story. Legend has it the seal pup was found abandoned by his mother and raised by a local waterman. Actually, the mother seal was killed for the lobsterman’s winter larder, and two pups were raised, one of which swam off and the other, Andre’, returned each spring for 24 years. Locals bet on the day Andre’ would turn up. Rockport was small and charming, a perfect town for a walk, with a drugstore and soda fountain, and resident artist’s community.
With only a couple miles to go the wind came up so we unfurled the genoa for a leisurely afternoon sail to Camden Harbor. The blue sky and mackerel clouds, the chartered schooners hoisting sail, and the dark pine covered rocky shoreline formed a picture of Maine sailing we will not soon forget. Too soon we were back on land, mast lowered, and continuing on towards our next destination, but we definitely plan to return to the shores of Maine in the future.
Friday August 22
We spent the day enjoying the computer facilities at the Camden and Rockport libraries with a long bicycle ride along the coast we had sailed past yesterday, before retracing our route along the shore of Penobscot Bay. We had a closer look at Belfast, larger than we thought, and Searsport, home of the PBMM (Penobscot Bay Maritime Museum). We toured Ft. Knox, which we had seen from Bucksport across the river. Joyce’s narrative continues:
“It was here that Paul Revere’s reputation as a patriot was damaged when as a member of the Massachusetts militia he participated in the battle of Penobscot Bay which ended in a debacle. It seems an attempt was made to capture the fort at Castine. Due largely to the fleet commander’s delay, British gunships arrived and forced the continentals to flee up the Bay where they hoped to be able to defend the narrow river. They were routed and forced to beach and burn 40 vessels. The commander, Wadsworth, had Revere found guilty of disobeying orders ( he was slow to torch his boat) thus ruining his military career. Ironically two generations later his relative, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, immortalized Revere in the well known poem, “ The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere” and made his name synonymous with patriotism.”
August 23 Saturday
Mt. Dessert Island, sight of Acadia National Park, lay to the north of Penobscot Bay a bit too far for the sailing trip (this time) but quickly accessible by road. Acadia was the first national park created from donated lands. Mt. Cadillac, at 1580’ the highest in the east, served as a landmark for mariners up to 40miles away. The wealthy had built Newport style cottages outside Bar Harbor but a devastating fire erased all evidence of industry or wealth, allowing the Rockefeller family to purchase and donate the land. In addition, Rockefeller built 47 miles of horse-drawn carriage roads which still exist and you can recreate the turn of the century experience for yourself.
With the front very cool western winds created perfect visibility for our skyline and coastal drive through the park, ending in downtown Bar Harbor. The 20kt breeze beckoned us to hop aboard the 4 masted schooner “Margaret Todd”. Joyce: “Despite Capt. Jim’s urging to put out for open water under full canvas, our cargo of lily-livered landsmen held us to half her sail area. Her 150 tons smoothed Frenchman’s bay’s whitecaps. The two hour sail whetted our appetites to have our own helm again.”
Sunday August 23
“Rustication” – the paintings of the Hudson River School of artists depicting nature’s beauty sparked the vogue of rustic recreation, or rustication. Then as now people headed north to the Woods extolled by Thoreau. We headed for Moosehead Lake, largest lake in Maine at 32x10 miles. One of my MacGregor 26 customers told me about it. He rented a cabin on an island in the lake for several years, enjoying the fishing and fresh water sailing. We camped at Rockwood, mid-lake on the western shore. The fresh winds churned the lake waters to froth, but we had arrived too late to participate in the frolic. Predicted overnight lows of 47degrees had us snuggling under blankets.
Monday August 24
The lake is a dazzling setting for the jewel, Mt. Kineo, jutting 700’straight up above the sparkling water. We launched at 9am into diminished winds, still capable of pushing us at 3-5 kts , with overcast skies and chilly fall temperatures. We had hats, coats, scarves and gloves, in August! Seabirds flying above emit cries that reverberate across the shimmering reflections of pine topped islands. Bliss! We’re headed south on a beam reach with only the occasional fishing boat for company. Rental cabins tucked into the pines are the only evidence of civilization.
A-1 Express and Mr. Honda are enjoying their fresh water bath (and the trailer). There are no tides or currents to contend with when we step ashore in Greenville for dinner. Across the cove is the last remaining lake steamer out of a fleet of 40 or more that used to ferry vacationers around the lake. The “Katahdin” still gives passengers the thrill of a bygone era. Greenville is the center for wintertime festivities, auto and snowmobile racing on the smooth, frozen lake waters. Summer is almost the off season here. We anchored in crystal clear water (the anchor and each link of chain clearly visible in 15’) between Deer island and a tiny speck, Whisky Island, for a memorable evening with a lovely sunset.
Tuesday August 25
The Honda was once again called into service in the damp morning calm for a tour of the mid-lake area including a breath-taking visit to the vertical cliffs of Mt. Kineo. There is a resort with hiking trails and available dock for the hardy. Water depths were 40’ alongside sheer rock walls reaching skyward 700’. Our camera picked an unfortunate time to fill up, so we’ll have to return for those pictures another time. There is a little river that connects Moosehead with another lake but overhead power wires deny us entrance (unless we elected to lower our mast). We beat the rain back to the launch ramp for a quick exit. Later that day as we were heading home, having come within 16 miles of the Canadian border, the skies cleared for a beautiful, sunny afternoon and we wished we had stayed on the lake longer.
We beat feet down interstate 95 and made it to a suburb of Boston for dinner and a 4-hour snooze aboard. Awakening just after midnight, we put Connecticut and NY City behind us with light traffic, stopping at 6 am on the NJ turnpike for a few more winks and to let the rush hour traffic ahead around Baltimore abate. We pulled into Mayo, Md. At 11am, just 24 hours from Moosehead Lake. So stop complaining about the August heat (which hit us like a sledgehammer when we returned) get a MacGregor and trailer your boat north. It’s what they were made for.
Cheers and happy sailing from Capt. Jim and First Mate Joyce
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