Wren's Photo Albums
June's Photo Albums
Cherryfield.US
From the First Mate's Seat
Florida to Maine by Boat
When we reached Cherryfield, Maine for the summer this year, summer was nearly over. That's because we came from Florida in a 44 foot Hi Star, a twin engine trawler type boat that cruised at about 18 miles an hour. We were living out one of my husband's dreams—to go all the way up the East Coast on the water. He fulfilled his dream in 30 days, but in many respects it was a nightmare. In a weak moment that I regretted almost immediately, I agreed to be First Mate, and felt committed to see it through. Here is the log of the Sunrise Line from Blackburn Pt., Florida to Winter Harbor, Maine.
Day One, June 14, Blackburn Pt., Florida to Placida, FL
We began our trip without a trial run, and had never been on an overnight trip or even a long day trip on this boat. We left two weeks later than originally planned due to slow organization and air conditioning problems in the salon, and we still weren't really ready when we departed late Friday morning in chaos. Cartons were piled all over the boat, along with tool boxes, papers, food, and clothes, and there was no free space anywhere inside.
Five miles down the intracoastal, we stopped for fuel. Just as we approached the dock, a big storm came up, the wind began blowing, and we tied up in a downpour. My job was to go to the engine room which is about 200 degrees, wrap myself around a hot pipe, bend into a pretzel shape, not slip on the wet surface under my feet, hold a flashlight up to the gas gauges, and radio Wren when they got full. I'm not sure who was wetter after we refueled--me from sweat, or Wren from rain. The lady who helped us told Wren that people who start boat trips on Fridays are cursed, but she refused to say how.
Since we had such a late start, rather than stay in the intracoastal, Wren headed for the Gulf where we could go at full speed. We ran into immediate problems. The generator wouldn't start, and we had no air conditioning. The rain continued heavily, and the seas were rough. I attempted to make lunch and spent about an hour trying to navigate from fridge to counter and back. Wren managed to come down and retrieve his lunch, and noted that my beautiful basil plant had turned upside down and wilted leaves were now buried in potting soil. I tried to recover it, but by this time salt water was pouring onto the deck creating mud. I stuffed the plant back in the pot, but had covered myself with dirt. Seas grew rougher and things began flying inside the boat. Anything on any surface flew onto the floor and since all the chairs, counters, and couch were piled high, it got pretty active. I found we had no potable water and nothing else I wanted to drink except some V-8 juice. As I tried to put the glass to my lips, juice flew into the air all over me, my sandwich, and surroundings. I sat down on the floor and tried to get food into my mouth.
After lunch I tried to reach the head, accessible only from the bedroom. I couldn't. I sat on the side of the bed, eyeing the facilities just a few steps away, and noticed that water was pouring in the two side windows and from the overhead window all over the bed. It was so rough in the bottom of the bow that each time we descended on a wave, my stomach stayed above me. It was also unbearably hot since there was no air conditioning. I considered the toilet again, but it was clear there was no way I could get there or sit on it. I was actually seasick for the first time in my life, so I crawled back to the salon deck. A few minutes later, I went back to the bedroom sealed the side windows, and wondered what to do about the bed. I realized I needed to get up on deck, or I was going to be really sick, but I wasn't sure I could get up there without falling overboard. The stairs were very slippery, especially the rails, but I made it.
Shortly after I got up on top, the grill, which is attached to the stern appeared to break off. Wren cut the engines way back in hopes of retrieving it, but he cut them down too fast, and we lost one completely. The grill turned out to be attached by a chain, but the engine refused to start again. Suddenly I was the pilot of the boat with one engine while Wren tried to deal with the crisis, trying to restart the engine, and calling various people for advice (which entailed finding phone numbers that were on the computer). I had no idea what I was doing, but at least out in the Gulf I had little chance of running into anything, though I was pretty miserable. With one engine we were limping along, and finally had to turn around and go back to Gasparilla Marine which is where the boat had a recent overhaul. It is 45 minutes by car from where we started. We had progressed 50 miles forward and 10 miles back, and were able to dock shortly before five p.m. and stay for the night in the slip used for lifting boats in the air before they're overhauled. They got our engine started for us, but were unable to deal with the generator till morning. We ate dinner and dried the bed with my hair dryer, but the wet books and magazines on the side shelves were matted and stuck together forever.
What I learned on Day One:
Day 2, June 15, Placida to Ft. Myers
Wren kept reassuring me last evening that we'd had an important learning experience, and that it was good to get all the problems solved early in the trip. I didn't buy it.
We had workmen arrive early on the boat, but before they started work, they kicked us out of our slip to let another boat in, so while I was in the shower, our boat took off along with the water supply, leaving me soapy and confused. We did return to our slip to get our boat fixed, and I actually got to play deck hand and ropes three times in 24 hours and survived.
Pouring rain again. We got off close to ten due to the time needed to fix the generator. We were smart enough to choose the intracoastal this time. Everything went smoothly for awhile, but I felt horrible from lack of sleep and the misery of the previous day. Wren made me drive the boat and disappeared with no explanation or hint of when he'd return. I was having trouble coping generally. He did return, but next thing we knew, we had lost the port engine again. I was back at the helm. This time I was driving from the salon deck, and it was much harder to see out and follow the markers. On top we have the GPS. He spent lots of time in the engine room, and we tried to restart the engine many times without success. He called various people for advice. He tried various schemes to get the engine going. I kept driving, getting more and more stressed all the time. At some point the rain became so dense I couldn't find any markers. Wren was lost in the engine room. I screamed several times, but he never heard me. I figured I would soon ram the boat into something, but didn't know what else to do. Eventually Wren reappeared and got the boat back on course. I had been heading straight for a land mass and was way out of the channel.
Wren finally got the engine started with step by step phone guidance from the previous owner. The sun finally came out. He decided to stop at Ft. Myers so we could recover and try to get the boat organized. In two days we have gone an hour's car ride from home.
Sometimes something nice happens. In a long performance, a dolphin family followed us. Glistening under the surface, their jet propelled sliver bodies rode our wake like Olympic champions, stopping every few seconds to dive, one after the other in a flawless water ballet.
What we learned on Day 2:
Day 3, June 16, Ft. Myers to Clewiston
We walked around Ft. Myers last night to try and at least approximate the distance we walk in a normal day in a normal house. In this boat, the movement is only up and down the ladder, never forward. The city was closed up tight except for a few young people looking for action.
The dock master woke us up in the middle of the night because the boat was listing to port. Wren already knew this, and still hasn't figured it out. We haven't sunk yet, but it's probably imminent. Today was actually a good day compared to the other two.
We got off late since the captain of this ship is not known for getting organized early, and kept busy with "boat stuff" until after ten. Of course it was raining by the time we left, and continued on and off all day, becoming a blinding storm with lightening and thunder for the last two hours. We meandered down the Caloosahatchee River across Central Florida--very quiet compared to the intracoastal in our area, and lined with green rolling lawns and homes with their own boat docks. We went through three locks, which turned out to be no big deal. Wren had prepared the boat well so that no matter what we were told to do, we could do it easily, and that was a plus. We also were the only boat in any of the locks which prevented any chance of collision. I had heard such horror stories that I was dreading the ordeal, but we had bumpers in place, were told which side we would tie up on, were thrown ropes, and Wren was able to control one and I the other with no difficulty. We were rising and so pulled our ropes in (rather than letting them out or not letting them out and tipping over as someone had explained had happened to them). The second lock had grab-your-own ropes along the cement walls, and I successfully tied up, and the third lock had nothing and we just drove straight through.
We are spending the night in Clewiston on the edge of Lake Okeechobee. The "marina" is just a creek with boats lined up along one side. A strange combination of people helped us dock—a peculiar old man, a bleached blond who might have been his daughter, a pretty 3 year old black girl whose job it was to push the boat away from the dock, and a hired dock hand who was taking orders from all the others. There is a tiki bar of sorts, but no supplies, and we had heard the Clewiston Inn was wonderful, but it is closed. Fortunately, we still have food. There is actually a Gulf Wind Sea Ray trip returning from the Bahamas docked here. We went on many trips with them when we had our Sea Ray, but got kicked out of the club when we got our new boat. The leaders of the trip were with us on some trip and actually knew us.
We lost the air conditioning in the salon area early in the day. It was 87 degrees at dinner in spite of the rain. We took a short evening walk in real red neck territory, which was pretty depressing. When we retired, the bed was soaking wet again (we seem to be slow learners), and I woke up in the middle of the night to find Wren trying to stuff towels into the over head window. Rain was dripping only on him due to our list to port side. I told him to put on his raincoat and go back to sleep.
What I learned today:
Pictures from Day 3, Locks along the Caloosahatchee River
Day 4, June 17, Clewiston to Ft. Pierce
After deciding that eight was a good standard departure time, we left this morning at ten to ten after the usual am boat preparations, and a generator that took half an hour to start.
We crossed Lake Okeechobee this morning, which basically looked like a lot of water, and drove up the St. Lucie River, which wasn't that exciting either. At St. Lucie we approached our last lock, and thought we were pros. There was a 35 minute wait during which time Wren decided to teach me how to stay in one place with the engines running and not run into the big barge behind us where we were blown by the wind. I was not a good student. A large barge carrying a crane and assorted vehicles emerged from the lock and we entered with another boat. We had trouble getting the stern of our boat next to the lock, it poured rain unexpectedly the entire time, we had our bumpers at the wrong height, having re-positioned them for last night's stay, Wren got his rope jammed and couldn't let it out as the water descended, and my rope jammed when Wren started moving the boat forward before I had untied.
We made it all the way to 2:30 pm before we lost an engine--this time the starboard one. Wren tried to restart it from above and the starter button disintegrated, so we both ran downstairs to the lower helm, Wren spewed his usual unintelligible directions to me, and disappeared into the engine room. I was supposed to drive the boat, but I didn't seem to have any control and we began moving quickly into the rocks. I screamed and this time Wren heard me and returned, and realized that the one engine that was working wasn't running and we were just drifting. It probably only took ten minutes to get the engine going again, but there was a lot more hysteria around this crisis--I don't think either of us had the emotional energy to deal with one more thing, and my initial lack of control over the boat really freaked me out.
We finally entered the intracoastal on the east coast, but Wren hadn't programmed the GPS for this part of the trip yet. He was experimenting to see if we really needed the GPS for points north. Suddenly I had the job of reading the chart and figuring out where we were and what to do. A bridge appeared that we needed opened, and I was supposed to know what to do fast. The ensuing conversation (under stress, and I do very poorly under stress) was pretty much like "Who's on First?"
W: What bridge is this?
J: It says bascule bridge, automatic control, see note for SEC RR
W: What's the name of the bridge?
J: Bascule bridge.
W: What else does it say? Read me Note C.
J: Note C has nothing to do with it.
W. What else does it say, I need the name of the bridge.
J: The note is for railroad bridges; it isn't a railroad bridge, is it?
W: No.
J: Note SEC RR is about railroad bridges.
We never found out the name of the bridge, and it wasn't until much later that I found out that bascule is a kind of bridge, not the name, and I don't think Wren ever figured out that "see note" wasn't Note C. We never did make radio contact with this bridge, but finally another boat did, and we went through with them.
Things went downhill for me from then on. I can't read the chart without standing up, and the idea of spending eight hours a day for the next five weeks reading little squares and triangles was too much. We reached Ft. Pierce at five pm by which time I was exhausted, unhappy, and not up to doing anything in a city that has interesting history. It started pouring again after we docked, and the at this point the boat feels about two inches square. I have had no exercise at all in four days, but I've never been so tired.
The cooler which is supplementing our small fridge has become a well with the contents all floating around in it. I just haven't had the strength to deal with it often enough to get new ice and old water out of it. Maybe I can make bread pudding with the soggy bread.
What I learned today:
Pictures from Day 4, Lake Okeechobee to Ft. Pierce
Day 5, June 18, Ft. Pierce to Cocoa
We started the day at 5:55 am, but we still didn't get off till 8:45. Neither of us slept as Wren stayed up half the night playing computer, and I just stayed up half the night. The morning was quiet on the intracoastal--I thought perhaps we were going to have an easy day. The GPS wasn't working quite right, and Wren had to re-program it while I drove, but I didn't have to read any little squares or triangles, and I actually worked on my Swedish weaving for awhile. The humidity was very high, but no rain. We moved along quickly except for constant slowdowns for sailboats and little motor boats. We did hear of a 35 foot boat near Ft. Pierce that had sunk, and the Coast Guard were rescuing six people in the water.
We had just finished lunch when Wren noticed that the starboard motor was not behaving. At about the same time a big storm came up and lightening streaked across the sky in front of us. The motor had the same symptoms of the port engine the previous Saturday when he had to change the fuel filters as I tried to stay on course in the rain on one engine. I didn't think I would survive a repeat performance. We were headed for Titusville, but suddenly decided to head for the nearest marina. Wren's plane experience made him realize that two potential problems mean trouble. We didn't know exactly where the marina was, but called on the cell phone, and had to turn around and backtrack. Even so we got out of the channel in our search and ended up in some shallow water in the middle of nowhere. Turned out we had turned at the wrong bridge.
We settled in near Port Canaveral, at Cocoa Village, a charming little town at 2 pm. Wren spent the afternoon trying to change the fuel filter and figure out why we had only used fuel out of one tank today. It took him until 5 pm. I walked to town to look for a supermarket, but haven't found one yet at any port. I saw lots of lovely boutiques and gift shops, local community theater, restaurants and coffee bars, all laid out around a town square and fountain. I was too exhausted to check out any of them.
The storm came and, even docked, we rocked so much it sounded as if someone was hacking the boat to pieces. I decided to try to make bread pudding with my soggy whole wheat chocolate chip raisin bread. The big loaf barely fit in my only casserole dish. I soaked it in eggs, sugar, and a small bit of milk (had to reserve what little milk we had for cereal at breakfast) and shoved it in the oven. I was not overly hopeful, but the resources I had to create dinner with were pretty sparse, and I figured dessert might be important. And since the casserole dish was too big to fit in the fridge, we had to eat most of it for dinner.
What I learned today:
Technical Notes from the captain:
Day 6, June 19, Cocoa to St. Augustine
Wren was asleep at 7 pm last evening. It poured most of the night. We went 123 miles today, quite a record considering our previous accomplishments. That's the good news.
The dress code continues to deterioriate. I have given up wearing a bra, which I only wear anyway because my daughter Juliet makes me, insisting droopy breasts are not sexy.
This morning we drove through Haulover Canal up the intracoastal and into Mosquito Lagoon. I had seen a big bottle of Skin So Soft yesterday, but had a feeling it was not easily accessible. Actually we saw no mosquitoes. We left Cocoa Village at 8:25, again it took us over two hours to get organized, with the front bilge pump not working, and the fuel only pulling from one tank, necessitating fuel transfer underway. I get to pilot again.
Progress was slow in the morning due to many "no wake" zones that lasted for miles. We passed ugly trailer communities and expensive lavish homes, most deserted now that it's summer. At noon, we had made so little progress, we decided to try the outside route--Wren had heard the thunder showers were due only south of us. Right. This was our first venture out in the true Atlantic, and within five minutes, we were in a terrible thunder storm, zero visibility. Wren put the boat on autopilot and disappeared into the engine room. I wondered what the nearest continent east of us was, but neither of us had a clue. We were in heavy rain, thunder and lightening for the next four and half hours. I wondered if lightening hit boats often, and if we would catch on fire and blow up. There were a surprising number of fishing boats out there, and fortunately we had radar and were able to locate them. The seas got rougher as the afternoon progressed, and our seats rocked back and forth under us. Somehow, Wren lost his shoe overboard right off his foot. I was at least smart enough to stay up on top--couldn't have made it below if I'd wanted to--and things were crashing around us. We were soaked all afternoon, and for the first time I was cold. Wren's camera stopped working it got so moisturized.
It was a long day. We docked in St. Augustine around five in downpours. Inside, the dining table had tipped over, anything that was not already on the floor was now. The salon air conditioning seemed to have revived itself, and it was freezing. The bed (we finally learned to cover it with a raincoat each morning) was under water. We needed buckets to catch what came through the window this time, and I don't think a hair dryer will do it. I am wearing a sweatshirt for the first time in months. Tomorrow we stay in port, recover, and sightsee.
Today's lessons:
Pictures from Day 6, Cocoa to St. Augustine, Florida
Day 7, June 20, St. Augustine
Today we felt as if we were on a big cruise ship in port. However, real cruises don't have six days at sea first, and when you get back on board you get to play and eat and eat, whereas we get to work and cook and clean. Nonetheless, it was great to be off the boat in an interesting place.
St. Augustine is the oldest city in the US, founded in 1565. It has a quaint Spanish flavor with lots of interesting architecture, most of which came centuries later as the initial town burned down several times, and only the fort and central square remain. Henry Flagler, partner of Rockefeller and co-founder of Standard Oil built four large hotels and many churches, very Spanish except for the Presbyterian church which is modeled after St. Mark's in Venice. We took the trolley car tour in the morning and again late in the afternoon, so at the end, we really knew our history. The second time around, the trolley ran out of gas at the Fountain of Youth, but a replacement arrived quickly. Very old live oaks hanging with Spanish moss line the streets, Flagler College, once a hotel, is prominent in the center. Narrow lanes are lined with gift shops, restaurants, and tourists. We liked the city a lot.
We ventured over the Bridge of Lions in the morning and finally found a small market for at least the most crucial supplies (cereal with water instead of milk is really awful). I was very excited to find eggplant, asparagus, artichokes, peppers, along with the essential milk and bread. We lugged our bags back over the bridge and are at least set for a few more days.
It showered on and off all day, but no downpours. After lunch we explored the little shops, art galleries, and even a Spanish bakery, and bought two baskets for the boat. We had dinner at Harry's which was cajun. We were both too tired to eat, and were home and ready for bed by seven-thirty.
Today's lessons:
Pictures from Day 7, St. Augustine, Florida
Day 8, June 21, St. Augustine to Amelia Island
After eight days we are still in Florida, but there is hope of getting out tomorrow. The bad news is there are thirteen states from Florida to Maine.
It began pouring rain around six am, and we considered staying put, so Wren did some maintenance work, and we puttered around for awhile. We finally decided maybe we'd have a break in the weather, at least enough to get untied, get fuel, and get underway. No such luck. By the time we actually got off at 11:30, we were both soaked through everything, and dripping, cold, and (me at least) miserable. For the first time I enjoyed being a pretzel in the engine room during fueling, as the heat felt wonderful.
We drove 69 miles today in downpours only known to Florida. At one point we got lost (yes, even on the intracoastal) and had to turn around and back track and still couldn't find the right turn off. We were not counting little squares and triangles properly, and we paid the price. The scenery was nonexistent or better not seen--everything in shades of gray splotched with fog and the blur of the water. Sitting up on top, we were splattered and dripped on, damp and cold. I had on a sweatshirt and jacket, but the chill went right through everything. We have no adequate foul weather gear—my raincoat is very thin nylon and doesn't repel anything, and Wren's is better but not great. The best rain gear (at least it repels water) is on the bed along with four bowls, and we have at least controlled the depth of the deluge.
We have battened down inside the boat for the night. The news is full of the terrible storms, flooding, accidents, and roads closed due to the severe weather. The forecast is for more of same. We have both soaked through two sets of clothes today, and I am out of sneakers. I wonder if I will ever be dry and warm and happy again.
Thought for the evening: Noah must have gotten really depressed in that ark.
Captain's Thoughts
Hi, just an update from a very wet Wren. I had hoped that if we just headed north we would have had some dry weather some of the way, but it rained ALL day. Here we are at Amelia Island which is supposed to be beautiful, but as yet we have no report. June found me an Amelia Island shirt at the Cherryfield Mall, I put it on this morning, but it was soaked before we ever left St. Augustine. There's obviously a reason everyone leaves Florida before the first of June.
We have gone 528 miles. Today we had no thunderstorms, just RAIN all day. Unlike flying, even the thunderstorms haven't really been a problem. However, all day today was IFR -- as we cruised past Amelia Island we went under two IFR approaches to the local airport. We just want to get out of Florida before it sinks.
Day 9, June 22, Amelia Island to St. Simon's Island, Georgia
The good news is that we have finally left Florida, but we only traveled 55 miles today because the other choice was 135. I don't think we ever considered that marinas are not like motels—there isn't one every few miles so that when you get tired you can just check in. The weather forecast of rough seas kept us on the intracoastal, turning what would have been a one day trip in the Atlantic, into a three day trip. Even the intracoastal was rough at times.
The sun poked out briefly this morning, so we toured Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island. It was a sleepy little village at 9 am on Saturday--upscale shops, bookstores, and restaurants along a palm lined Main Street. We walked among unimpressive Victorian houses off the beaten path. Barges moved past us all night, but we never figured out why.
Rain continued on and off all day, but not the continuous downpour of yesterday. Our main radio doesn't seem to be working, and Wren accidentally threw a second from the upper to lower deck (somehow he avoided losing it overboard), and we thought we were down to the third and only remaining one, but the thrown one still works.
Sights along the way were a heavily guarded submarine (Wren got very excited--he doesn't have one of those), a trawler with sails, and unusual looking house boats. We ran aground briefly going up the Hampton River to get to our very isolated but picturesque marina, but hopefully didn't do any damage to the boat. There are no points of interest or amenities here; just river, grass, and rain. For dinner we are eating our doggy bags from Harry's in St. Augustine.
Thought for the day: Are we there yet?
Captain's Notes
If we could have gone outside in the Atlantic today, we could have easily done what would have been over 150 miles along the windy intracoastal in just over 100 miles. However, with small craft warnings it didn't seem like a pleasant place to spend the day.
You know you have a radio problem when a boat with machine guns and Marines with M16's is running along side asking over the radio if you understand their instructions and you keep saying NO, please repeat, and they don't. Very unnerving!
We finally have an early afternoon in port, but it's probably the only marina we will stop at with no laundry to wash and dry all our wet clothes.
Spent some time organizing one layer of my "stuff" and found a couple of new bicycle inner tubes. I cut one up and tried to use it as gasket material; we'll see how it works.
Still working on the problem of listing to port. Many of you suggested checking the bilge pump. Phillippe is convinced it's related to the anvil's that all McMains travel with. I'm convinced the basic problem is all the STUFF I packed into the port stateroom. If I transfer about 80 gallons of fuel (500 pounds) into the starboard tank, the Sunrise Line levels out. However, after a couple of tries I've discovered that during the night, that and more all flows back into the port tank. Last night I transferred 80 plus gallons to the starboard and cut off the flow from that tank, but it still snuck back to the port tank. Maybe it runs through the fuel transfer pump. Tonight I've turned off both the valve from the port tank and both valves into the fuel transfer pump. So far so good, but it isn't dark yet which is when the fuel seems to sneak around!
Pictures from Day 9, Amelia Island, Florida to St. Simon Island, Georgia
Day 10, June 23, St. Simon's Island to Hilton Head
We actually made it through Georgia in one day. It seems to take a minimum of two hours to prepare the Sunrise Line for departure. After repairing the bilge pump, we actually got off at one minute to eight, but had a wasted half hour retracing our steps back up the Hampton River and this time avoided the shallow spot we'd run aground the day before.
We had showers on and off all day, and even though there was only one downpour, the bed was wetter than ever, so I guess the fix-it job Wren did with the inner tube made things worse instead of better. We traveled with a partner today, Jazzy Lady who found us early this morning and radioed that he wanted to follow us. He was a boat dealer from Jacksonville who was delivering a house boat to D.C. He wanted to travel in the protection of our wake since his boat is much less stable than ours. He turned out to be useful since he knew the way, and actually he led many times when Wren was unsure what to do next--it's amazing how tricky the route is; I always thought you had land on both sides and just went down the middle, but actually the intracoastal is a maze of intertwined rivers, lakes, channels, and various other bodies of water, and if you miss a marker or a turn, you can get lost fast. Wren enjoyed getting to know Jazzy Lady over the radio throughout the day, and we are docked beside her tonight.
Through most of Georgia, we were flanked by lime green marshland, and only on the Savannah River did we finally see some stately homes along the banks. We are staying at a very fancy circular marina in Hilton Head--so fancy that they give out bottles of wine to each boat. A large mall surrounds us with a lighthouse and just about anything else you can think of, except a supermarket (the only thing I wanted), but we finally were able to purchase laundry detergent at the General Store (I failed to bring any along, having forgotten the procedure at laundramats--it's been 35 years), and finally got to wash all those soggy clothes that have been piling up. The washers were about a gazillion miles from the boat, and I made Wren drag the clothes over, and in all we made many trips back and forth since I failed to start the dryer the first time, so that it was dusk by the time we finished.
I am finding boating more exhausting and more like camping every day. All we see is water and marinas, the boat is surely shrinking, every time I open the fridge things fly out at me, the stove has tiny burners that sort of cook things sometimes, the bed is also shrinking (from all that water probably), I am sick of playing in the toilet to get anything to go down, the salon area is a jumble of electronics, charts, and clothes, the kitchen sink is so narrow you to have to wash the dishes holding them vertically, and I swear as I was drying them I saw snow out the window. Maybe it was just those two huge stark white boats across from us with an eerie sun setting behind them that created the illusion of a winter sky.
Thought for the day: when is the fun part?
Pictures from Day 10, St. Simon Island, Georgia to Hilton Head, South Carolina
Day 11, June 24, Hilton Head to Charleston
We awoke to drenching rains and the oppressive memories of dripping clothes, and water logged bodies. Now the bed is listing, even if the boat isn't. We reeled in the power and water lines, and Wren tried to start the generator, which now only starts by going below and tweaking things from the open stern. I watched the water pouring into the engine room and wondered how anything could weather being this wet for so long. Generator refused to start. Bilge pump was misbehaving also. Wren had to replace the generator battery, and we didn't get off till nearly ten. I have mastered port and starboard, but I don't seem to have mastered front and back. I tried to untie the bow lines in the rear. Knowing port and starboard doesn't help if you don't know front from back.
Today we saw broader expanses of flat marshland with rows of deep green trees in the distance. Fancy houses were often nestled among the trees. We had a half second glimpse of an occasional dolphin. Then four; following distantly in our wake, fins barely visible, like daggers in formation.
The thrum of the engine has become an anesthetic for me. I sit in the first mate's seat sleepily, eyes closed, sealed off from the world. I think about the color of the water--is it gray or black or green, or no color at all? Sometimes I am called to attention for a bridge or a marker. The chart looks like so many squiggles to me. North is not even at the top, but at some strange angle. There is no hint of where we are in the real world--progress is measured in meaningless numbers, "no wake" zones, and depths. Wren reads the complimentary paper delivered to our boat (a first), cuts his toe nails, photographs everything, steers, studies the chart, and plays with all the gauges.
The sun came out sometime in the afternoon. Black sand piles like mini volcanoes rose out of the water as we neared Charleston. We passed trees draped with Spanish moss hanging over the water. It is hot again. We refueled on arrival. The engine room was unbearable after six hours with both engines running. The pumps were slow, the fuel level was way down, I could hardly stand the twisted position required to watch the gauges, and I thought I would pass out and/or throw up. I got no sympathy.
Lesson for the day: Send the captain to the engine room. I bet I can pump fuel as well as he can.
Day 12, June 25, Charleston
We awoke to rain again, but actually had only mild showers on and off once we were ready to tour. There are some serious boats in this marina. The one across from us is well over a hundred and fifty feet, from B.V.I., and last night we were wedged between two that made ours look like a toy.
Had to up the dress code today--we're in a city, and people will actually get to see us.
We walked for over four hours exploring the city's shops, but mostly admiring the homes in this beautiful place. We were reminded of Nantucket in a very southern way--lots of patios, courtyards, ivied walls, brick driveways, wrought iron gates, lush little gardens lined in brick, window boxes, flowering trees in fuscia, lavender and white (big blossoms shaped like lilacs--we were told they are crepe myrtle), oleanders in full bloom, and of course the homes. Houses were tall and thin, often in pastel colors or white or brick with porches on the side up two stories. Lots of Georgian architecture. We walked down to Battery Park and sat on a bench and thought about ringing the fancy brass door bell outside the gate on the house we were facing. Decided against it.
We walked through the Old Market, admired the sweet grass baskets that cost way more than I was willing to pay, joined a couple from Ohio who were doing their own walking tour out of a AAA book, and spent a long time looking for foul weather gear. I vetoed the $275 version, and we ended up getting some discount jackets that fold nicely into a bag and appear to be waterproof. We both had trouble with so much walking--I think our limbs have atrophied sitting still on this boat--and we came back hardly able to hobble. Wren's camera didn't work through much of our walk, but he finally discovered if he slams it around a bit, he can take pictures. So now you have to blow on it (previous idiosyncracy) and bash it as well.
We had dinner at the Charleston Grill--four stars and very expensive, but Charleston is a city of fine cuisine, and I would rather eat one really good meal out than lots of mediocre ones. We shared the tasting menu which went as follows:
The meal was quite spectacular, and we sat facing a courtyard garden with a large fountain in the center. A jazz trio played throughout the evening. We won't eat like that again for a long time.
Pictures from Day 12, Charleston, South Carolina
Day 13, June 26, Charleston to Bald Head Island
We got off at 7:20 am and weren't really ready, as Wren remembered he hadn't moved certain levers or turned on the generator after we were already underway. He sent me to the engine room, only I had no idea what I was doing and cut off the fuel to the starboard engine. Lots of hysteria and running up and down followed (this is a very bad thing to do--engine can stop and not restart), and when things were under control, I got a lesson in manifolds and levers and fuel direction, etc. The only thing I remember is the hysteria.
We passed Fort Sumpter on our way out into the Atlantic. We traveled on the outside to make the 140 miles scheduled for today. The weather forecast sounded good, and we had patches of blue sky, and lots of mammoth clouds exploding up from the horizon. Seas were 2-4, the water the color of iridescent coal. The morning was easy and Wren had the boat on autopilot. Nothing to see but water and a very occasional fishing boat in the distance. As we moved farther out, the shoreline became a thin black line, then disappeared completely.
When I went down to make lunch, it suddenly got rougher. Food kept flying off the counter, and the sandwiches slid off the plates, bits of tomato and cucumber splattering the floor which became a giant salad bowl. The boat was really rolling from side to side, and I thought it might tip over. This time I was scared. I finally got on top where it is less frightening and easier on the stomach. We rolled all afternoon in a following sea. I rolled back and forth in my seat, trying to keep the boat level. We docked at Cape Fear in 35 mph winds. The interior of the boat was a disaster. The table unbolted itself and tipped over again. The garbage was strewn everywhere, coffee grounds all the way to the corners of the room. Nothing in the bathroom or bedroom had stayed stationary. Charts, books, lamps were all on the floor. I've had enough of the Atlantic.
Bald Head Island is 30 miles south of Wilmington, N.C. The homes are all gray Victorian with big porches lined with rocking chairs. It is clearly a ritzy community--very quiet and exclusive, and everyone travels by golf cart as there don't seem to be any cars on the island. I am too stressed to explore it, and am just happy to be docked somewhere.
We are fortunate to have the previous owners of our boat, Lew and Lucille, for guidance as we travel. Lucille sent me her traveling rules. No thunderstorms or heavy rain and clearly if I had asked, she would have included no seas like we had today. She also let me know she never crouched in the engine room during refueling--that was Lew's job. I am learning slowly.
Lessons for today (and there are none about levers):
Captain's Notes
It was too bad the seas got rougher this afternoon, as the morning out on the Atlantic was quite nice. Because we were able to go direct instead of following the Intracoastal, the 144 miles we went today was equal to going 175 along the ICW which would have taken at least two days. We could save a little more by going outside tomorrow, but for some reason June isn't interested.
On the Atlantic there are no "slow, no wake" zones like there are on the ICW, so we were able to average 17 mph instead of the 13 or 14 we do on most days.
It was interesting to see how the autopilot was able to cope with those seas. It has a whole range of adjustments which determine how quickly it reacts. In rough seas it needs to react very slowly; otherwise it goes crazy and can't keep control. The only problem with that is the boat seems to be wandering all over the place. Several times I tried to see if I could do better. If there was something on the horizon I could use as a reference, I usually could with a lot of effort. Without any reference other than the compass and the GPS, I almost never could. On the other hand, whenever the boat really rolled badly I could correct faster. It was lucky that didn't happen too often because it seemed like it was on a 45 degree angle (I'm sure it wasn't more than 30, but sure seemed more).
The table has a big one inch bolt which allows you to attach it to the floor -- I finally learned to attach it when going outside. Only problem is that today it pulled the fitting it screws into out of the wood in the floor and still ended up on its side. What has amazed me is that contents of the refrigerator have stayed put. Both the refrigerator and freezer have pins to lock the doors, but June won't believe me that sooner or later the fridge is going to open. (You have to open the freezer to remove the pin for the fridge, and something always falls out of the freezer when you do, even standing still--this is why she finds the pin such a pain to use.) Maybe the secret is that June keeps it jammed so full that nothing tries to get out. There is also a large 2x3x3 box which hangs under the cockpit floor -- this is the second time it has jumped loose. Last time there were some big fenders (bumpers) that it landed on -- not sure what it found to land on this time; I have yet to put it back in place.
I can't believe the wind was as high as the 35 mph the dock hand reported to June, but I admit it took two tries to get the Sunrise Line backed into this slip. I aborted the first try early on because the wind helped me get turned too soon. At least I managed to get in without hitting any "pointy things".
Total distance covered so far: 925 miles. Since it's only 1900 miles to Cherryfield by car, I was hoping we were getting near half way. However after some rough measurements on a map, I doubt that we are even 40% of the way there. (I'm beginning to agree with June, this is probably not something I want to do every year.)
Day 14, June 27, Bald Head Island to Beaufort
We departed after nine since we had to scrape the barnacles off the dingy. Leaving the harbor, we passed a Coast Guard anti-terrorist training operation that we 'd heard about in the news last night. Dense rain all morning along the intracoastal. We got to try out our new foul weather gear which kept us fairly dry, but didn't improve our spirits. I have a new hairdo thanks to the self applying mousse out here: Sunrise Sweaty Rain Drops enriched with Sea Salt. The price is right.
We were amused to watch the golf cart traffic on Bald Head Island last night. Double carts and even triples like stretch limos carrying whole families to dinner and back at frightening speeds.
This morning we made very slow progress due to constant No Wake zones and pelting rain. The landscape has changed and continued to change all day. Early on we passed small islands and ferries taking tourists back and forth. Later communities right on the intracoastal--large three storied wooden homes with porches on all three stories. Later long expanses of grassy wetlands with clusters of houses way in the background. The intracoastal is narrow here with sections sharply and intricately cut like puzzle pieces, tiny tributaries wandering through them.
The bridges in N.C. only open on the hour. We squeaked under the first one, having arrived at 11:05 am and not wanting to wait, we went under with about a half inch to spare. We were braver on the second one, but had about the same clearance. At the third one, we knew we'd have to wait. Wren asked me to bring up Chapman (the boating bible) to read while we waited. By the time I produced it, Wren had drifted a tiny bit and we had run aground.
While Wren called Seatow, I surveyed the surroundings. I could see a strip mall ashore, and wondered what it was going to be like to spend a week here (here turned out to be Surf City--not my first choice of vacation spots). I also wondered how many casualties were in store before we reached Maine, and how many thousands more dollars were going to disappear into this boat. Seatow took forever to appear and my anxiety level rose higher and higher. We were easy to get out of the sand, and there was no obvious damage, but one never knows. Our progress for the day was minimal at this point.
On the way to the next bridge, we saw cheap fuel along the waterside and stopped to fill up. In a furious rush, we tried to finish fueling and get to the next bridge before it opened. I pumped the fuel, but had trouble keeping the lever depressed fully (I am always in trouble with levers, and this one took strength). Wren insisted he loved it in the engine room. Of course, we missed the next bridge opening, needing to go six miles in ten minutes, an impossibility.
The sun came out around four, but we were nowhere near Beaufort, our destination. We finally entered Boque Sound, a wide expanse of blue water with sandy spits and white houses far in the distance. It was a really long day. We almost hit bottom again twice trying to get into the marina, docked after six in bad wind, and had difficulty getting into our slip and tied up. The air conditioning had conked out again. The fuel transfer pump refused to work. We didn't eat till nine pm. The wind was blowing wildly, and I thought we were probably about to have a hurricane.
Thought for today: Enough is enough. I want to go home now.
Captain's Notes
Even as bad as today was, we made 110.6 miles. It just took a LONG time waiting for bridges to open and SeaTow to pull us back into the channel (the good news was since they were a commercial vessel they got us a special opening to send us on our way). The ICW is SLOW, the Atlantic is rough, you just can't win! Total miles traveled so far is 1036.
Day 15, June 28, Beaufort to Belhaven
We slept in this morning and considered staying for the day since the winds were scary. We weren't sure we could maneuver out of our slip between two rows of boats without blowing into at least one of them. Turn around space was an extra inch at bow and stern. I nearly blew off the deck pulling in the ropes. We both experienced terror as we turned and moved dangerously close to one boat, then another. I helplessly watched us running sooo close to the boat in front of us. I had learned with our first boat that trying to fend off things manually is useless and only endangers irreplaceable body parts. Wren did an excellent job, and we departed with all boats and passengers intact at 11:15.
We had a fairly quiet day for a change. We had a chart to guide us out of the marina which prevented us running the risk of going aground again. The sky was blue and sunny, but salt spray often covered us as we moved along the white capped intracoastal, up the Neuse River, past Gum Thicket Shoal. There was no land in sight ahead of us in the choppy, murky green water that looked and felt like the Atlantic. We were just inland from Cape Hatteras where seas where up to nine feet. There were only high bridges and occasional slow spots, so we made good time, but had left too late to get to the far stopping place, so docked mid afternoon at Belhaven, only a four hour trip. Still by the time we were tied up, hooked up, refueled, washed, etc., it was after five. Pouring rain, thunder, and lightening hit just as we were refueling--maybe there are some advantages to the engine room. We were surprised to pull in right next to Jazzy Lady, who had been stuck here for a couple of days, refusing to deal with the wind. She had gained two additional passengers--wives, and they gave us the scoop on town which is another golf cart community, though cars are allowed, but the rain and our chores prevented us from seeing any of it.
Our marina is also an inn and a restaurant with real southern local color. We were checked in by a drawly young girl who was our best friend within seconds. At some point the cook wandered through, and I asked what the buffet menu was. She told me she wasn't sure she was going to get it cooked, but she'd try. She didn't seem to know what she might cook, but the young girl told me the usual fare was fried oysters, ham, and barbecued chicken. I had a feeling this was no gourmet dining room, but might be worth it just for the experience, forget the food. But when a lady in a walker appeared who seemed to be a permanent resident, I had second thoughts. I wondered if this was really a nursing home, and decided I would cook on the boat.
Lesson for today (after 15 days of sitting in a heap): The more you sit, the less you feel capable of doing anything else. I will probably be comatose by the end of this trip.
Day 16, June 29, Belhaven to Coinjock
We departed at 8:50, delayed by repairs. The bedroom air conditioning is now broken. More problems with the bilge. We seem to be the last boat to leave each day--Jazzy Lady and the two super size boats around us were gone by breakfast. We had to undo about 55 ropes that kept us stable in last night's wind, and got off in a light breeze, with sun and haze.
We had no Sprint reception at Belhaven and couldn't send our log or e-mail last night. I feel more and more cut off from the world. I just read in the marina book that Belhaven is one of the prettiest towns along the Carolina coast, but we never even viewed Main St. We keep ourselves prisoners in this crowded, cluttered space--rain, lethargy, exhaustion, chores, all seem to close us in. Even the most pathetic ports now look intriguing, yet we never see them.
As we drove up the canal this morning, the landscape was the most varied yet. Tall grasses appeared along the water's edge, bleached at the bottom, green stems and feathery tops in silver and gold. Fallen trees with roots upturned like wooden veins poked out of the depths. Our wake formed five gentle curling waves to our side, terracing the smooth surface. We saw fields of tobacco to our right, a hedge of lush green on our left, a tangle of bushes embracing each other. We passed communities of rotting stumps, gnome homes partly submerged. Next a low mud wall carved out sharply on the bank, yellow clay designs down the center simulating a highly magnified rattler curling up the canal, trees spiking from its back. Later we passed a forest of tall branchless trunks, like javelins lined up for battle. And then hanging off the bank, webbed roots tipped up to look like show ladies' wide feathered robes or the nests of prehistoric birds. The Alligator River was wide like a lake, and Albermarle Sound was an obstacle course of crab traps. We regained our Sprint service here, so Wren decided to send last night's e-mail, read incoming mail, and respond to some. I had my choice of autopilot--watch carefully and take it off to steer around crab traps--or just steer all the time and go around the traps. The first time I saw a trap I panicked and spun the rudder dial instead of taking off autopilot. From then on I decided to steer, but imagined every ripple in the water was a trap and was basically doing loop-de-loops across the sound.
We are staying in Coinjock, N.C. tonight. Don't go there. Though the words mean, "land of the mulberry bush," the guide book compares it to the rest stop on Interstate 95 in New Jersey, right outside of NYC. Everyone has to stop there coming or going, but it's not really even a place.
Lesson: I keep thinking that one day I'll have nothing noteworthy to write about, but I finally see that it's not likely to happen.
Captain's Notes
Today we did 88.3 miles in 5 hours and 38 minutes. We have now gone a total of 1194 miles.
Yesterday was the first time I departed a slip with one engine in reverse and one in forward just to go straight (at little extra power on the forward engine just to make headway).
Day 17, June 30, Coinjock to Deltaville
Sunshine again for the second day in a row. I forced myself to go for a walk in Coinjock. Wren joined me briefly. I saw mostly pavement and a Mama duck with eight newborns waddling along in a line behind her. She lost half of them in a bush where they kept tumbling over backwards trying to get through, and Mama dawdled for the longest time before she went back to find them.
We got an early start today. Up the North Landing River, we passed tall broad leaved grasses, glassy blue inlets, scalloped shorelines, fields of wild flowers. Ospreys were nesting atop markers, the white breasted mother standing at attention as we passed, protecting a couple of speckled young ones. The river wound gently toward Norfolk. We passed round islands barely big enough for a picnic, a sharp white tree trunk facing skyward, perfectly graduated like an icicle.
We had three bridges with limited openings early on and had to sit and wait for them. At the third Wren sent me to the engine room to move levers again. I did exactly what he said and confirmed what I had done on my return. Misinterpreting my confirmation, Wren decided he had left the levers in the wrong position at our start this morning. Panic, hysterics, and Wren flew down the stairs, leaving me to deal with a drifting boat surrounded by other boats waiting for the opening. I just stood there and started to shake. This was the most traumatic event of the trip so far. I didn't want to be here, I couldn't deal with one more situation where I felt out of control, my tolerance level for stress was zero, I felt emotionally drained, physically depleted, helpless and vulnerable. We had been this route before, and I had sworn I would stay out of the engine room. I had done the levers correctly and everything was okay, but it didn't really matter to me, I was a basket case. Wren tried to give me the manifold-lever lesson again. I refused to even listen. All this lever nonsense because Wren had broken the fuel transfer pump (by turning some wrong levers—not that he admitted this to me, but I overheard him telling the previous owner on the phone). I listened to the lever lesson later in the day. Understanding it doesn't help. Fuel burns out of one tank and reappears in the other. None of it makes sense.
Our next bridge refused to open because someone had driven into the gates. We waited till they were fixed. The next bridge had a gazillion-car freight train on it, and wouldn't open till the train passed. We dealt with a lock where we had to provide our own ropes and lasso the cleats on the side of the lock. I surprised myself and caught the rear cleat from quite a distance. It took five hours to go the 50 miles to Norfolk and pass by our amazing Naval Fleet. Miles and miles of gruesome gray vessels were docked on either side of us. It was like being in a war movie. The Chesapeake was alive with sailboats, fishermen, big barges pulled by tugs, and a submarine heading to Norfolk. We had been warned it might be rough, but it was like a bathtub.
We are docked in Deltaville, Virginia, 20 miles from the Potomac. There is nothing here, not even ducks. No phone service, no e-mail. Tomorrow we hope to get to D.C. and spend three days on land.
Lesson: Do not forget previous lessons--STAY OUT OF THE ENGINE ROOM NO MATTER WHAT.
Pictures from Day 17, Coinjock, NC to Deltaville, VA
Day 18, July 1, Deltaville to Annapolis
We were up at 5:30, but didn't actually leave till nearly nine. We get slower all the time. Deltaville is the only marina I wouldn't go back to. No phone reception, no TV reception, trash disposal limited to a far distant dumpster that was stuck closed, no fuel, and the water tasted like it was directly out of the Chesapeake.
I sat out on the back of the boat last night and watched the sunset. Wren was already out cold. The expansive orange globe looked out of perspective, and dwarfed the marina, showering the water with a long string of sparks. Schools of black striped fish were barely visible swimming perpendicular to the current. I stayed and watched a distant pine eclipse the sun. The sky turned faintly pink, then gray, then black. Promises, promises, I thought.
It took us nearly an hour to refuel this morning at a neighboring marina whose pumps were so slow, Wren didn't even go down to the engine room for the first 20 minutes. We finally got our 268 gallons.
Today we continued up the Chesapeake in sun and haze. A bit more wind than yesterday, and lots of sailboats were floating along. We passed numerous naval ships and got in the wake of one--shades of the Atlantic at its worst. This was probably our easiest day so far. We docked in Selby Bay south of Annapolis mid afternoon where our friends the Mckees actually showed up and rescued us.
We toured Annapolis and had a wonderful dinner harborside, then were chauffeured back to Bethesda, our first experience in a car on roads in a long time. It feels good to see something other than water, be able to talk with friends, and to be unconfined.
Thought for the day: Land at last!
Days 19-21, July 4, Bethesda, and Greater Washington Area
We are back on the boat to get organized and prepare to an early departure tomorrow. Celebrating the Fourth in downtown D.C. didn't seem like a good bet after we saw the security preparations on Wednesday, and read about the restrictions in the paper. As one editorial put it, this year there was not much freedom to celebrate our country's freedom. We had a wonderful break in Bethesda, D.C., and surrounding towns with our friends Marty and Alan McKee. He is our former ambassador to Swaziland, and they are about to leave for Zambia where Alan is going to fill in for a few weeks. What a novelty to have wide spaces to walk in, an opportunity to exercise, water pressure in the shower, an e-mail hookup we could use any time of day, delicious meals (including a half bushel of crabs), interesting people to talk to, land transportation, beds that don't list, no rain, no engine noise all day long, use of a washer and dryer, and an escape from the draining boat routine. We both relaxed and recovered.
Our hosts spent most of their time driving us around to supermarkets (me) and boat equipment stores (Wren). We covered about a dozen of each in the greater Washington area. Wren bought pumps, plumbing, water filters, electric hookups, flags, charts, and lots of engine oil. I bought all the produce I could find. We did get to the Egypt exhibit at the National Gallery where we learned of the Egyptian quest for immortality which involved a very complex belief system, and a great deal of work on the dead body. We saw beautiful artwork, jewelry, artifacts that were all buried with the dead to help them with their journey toward rebirth. We all learned about ushebti which were tiny mummies buried with the dead who would be their slaves in the afterlife, sort of like a first mate.
Our lifestyle disintegrated almost instantly when we returned to the boat. The air conditioning wasn't working for a change and it was 105 in D.C. today. The plug-in cooler had somehow gone off, and all the food inside of it was mildewed and rotten. Wren got the bedroom air conditioner to go on, but it leaks and pours water into the boat and just sits there since the bilge isn't working either. The new water filter did a great job of eliminating sediment in the water, but also pretty much eliminated the water as well, and now it comes out in a slow dribble. The ice maker doesn't feel like making ice anymore. I cooked dinner in 101 degree heat, and it finally got down to 92 at nine pm.
Lesson: Stay on land!
Day 22, July 5, Annapolis to Cape May
I had trouble re-entering the cruise world, and didn't sleep in anticipation of the rest of the trip. The air conditioning was turned to freezing in the bedroom, to compensate for the salon, and Wren was up playing with the bilge in the middle of the night so we wouldn't sink.
We finally got off at 8:45 after stopping for fuel, water, and a pump out. The Chesapeake was bouncy--lots of sun and haze with the wind, and very busy, dappled with boats. The screwpile lighthouses seemed functionless, tiny structures in the middle of the water. One looked just like a dollhouse with a traditional light set on its roof. Dozens of sailboats far in the distance looked like white spires across the water. Close by, their sails puffed in the wind like white sheets drying on the line. We passed freighters, barges, and motor boats on plane, edged with foam like a protective coating of cotton batting. One barge carried mounds of sand and looked like dunes sliding across the bay. There was an urgency to life on the Chesapeake today.
Through Delaware we traveled up the C and D Canal (we got to cross off two states today), a narrow space lined with stone. The ride was smooth on the olive colored water. We finally entered the Delaware River and the first sight we saw was a nuclear reactor with Coast Guard protection and a torpedo. We had a following sea and wind, but no real rough water. We often saw no land on this huge marbled blue-black body of water. We passed a bright green freighter that Wren thought must have been Hess oil.
We went 137 miles today to Cape May. We docked the first time at 5:25 and re-fueled. We were permanently docked by six. I was planning to make chicken rhubarb for dinner with the young rhubarb I bought at the Farmer's Market in Bethesda, but I needed rosemary which I had nearsightedly packed far far away . The boat's food storage area is a two layer hole. After you remove everything from the first layer, you can see into the pit, but it's too deep and too narrow to reach or climb into, plus there is a cabinet above it, so you can only get in sideways. I tried to climb in anyway and got stuck, part of me wedged on a carrot on the counter, and part of me halfway in the hole. Wren appeared at this point and said we had to move. I said I was stuck and why had we been directed into our slip if it was the wrong one. I was very tired, starving, upset, and permanently wedged in food storage. Wren said, we didn't just have to move to a different slip, we had to move to a different marina. He had misdialed when he made the reservation, and had also given his credit card number, so we were paid for somewhere else. Wren pulled me out of the hole, we unhooked the power, the water, the ropes, and drove to the other marina. At seven we were redocked in the right marina (whose gas was twenty cents a gallon cheaper than what we had just paid—226 gallons worth), this time for the night. Wren found my rosemary and we ate dinner at sunset. Now he is blowing on the ice maker with the hair dryer (which has had a multitude of uses on this cruise), trying to get it to make ice. I have always wanted to see Cape May, but we only have a view of the ugliest condos ever built.
Lesson: Watch carefully what goes into the pit.
Pictures from Day 22, Selbey Bay, Maryland to Cape May, New Jersey
Day 23, July 6, Cape May
We stayed in Cape May today as yesterday was just too long on the sea for me, and Wren had to stay up hours past his boat bedtime getting the ice maker to work. He did succeed, though at first he insisted the cubes are now coming out bigger.
Cape May is a lovely Victorian seaside town. I'm sure there was once a boardwalk along the beach, but now it is a wide expanse of cement with shops and restaurants alongside, and beyond a wide flat sandy such as New Jersey is famous for. Umbrellas in primary colors were set up all along the shore, and families were enjoying the hot sun. Across the street were rows of large old Victorian houses in pastel colors with dark contrasting trim, towers and turrets, and lots of gingerbread. Most are hotels or guest houses. Beyond the main drag are dozens more such houses, and even the bank is Victorian with a pink tower and white lacy trim. We had a picnic on a shady bench across from the bank. We lost our map before we even reached the beach, but we found a walk home that took us past the most elaborate homes of all--some with landscaped gardens and invitations to come in and look around.
At dinnertime we went for takeout to the Lobster House next door. The level of activity was reminiscent of the New York Stock Exchange. Families, teens, old ladies, couples--all of Cape May was jammed inside, and everyone was trying to talk above the uproar of the others. The wait staff screamed loudest of all, calling out numbers as people made their choices. Yards and yards of cases displayed raw tuna, salmon, clams, crabs, artisan breads, Italian pastries, veggie and seafood salads, deviled clams, calamari. We ordered soft shell crabs and waited, watching the assembly of meals in the kitchen by a dozen kids in navy T-shirts. We enjoyed our dinner back on the boat, and have now completed our crab experience for this part of the world, having indulged in both hard and soft shell varieties. I could have cooked the crabs myself, but I suspected the garlic was in the pit. 'Nuf said.
Captain's Notes
June has been pushing to get this over with, so was surprised when she wanted to spend a day here. It was really great wandering around this old town!
Pictures from Day 23, Cape May, New Jersey
Day 24, July 7, Cape May to Brooklyn
Wren put everything on the floor before departure this morning, including the table lying on its side. I hoped this was not a bad omen, but we were going out in the Atlantic, and had not had a good experience in the past. Temp was 74, quite a bit of wind from the northwest, but due to change mid day to give us another one of those following seas.
We left Cape May between the jetties in a parade of boats, including a dozen parasailors all squashed in one craft. I looked behind me and saw every boat on plane, bows poised upward like jets already aloft. A line of fishing boats had preceded us, and were already stretched out across the horizon, rigging and lines looking skeletal in the haze. The sun still low in the sky lit a path starboard side, rippling gold leaf across the water. A phantom hump surfaced. Had I imagined a whale?
As we got out into the Atlantic, the sky grew smoky—a pseudo haze--white yet cloudless with a slight blue tinge, muted sunlight filtering through. Wren told me the air was filled with real smoke from forest fires in Quebec. Strong winds had carried it far. There was no smoky scent, but I couldn't smell the ocean either. The water was gray, no shoreline visible. By noon the smoke rimmed sun looked like an amoeba. Wren went off course and moved close to shore so we could see Atlantic City. Tall ghostly geometric buildings, white on white, looked like some ruined ice city in the arctic. They eventually came into focus so we recognized the Taj Mahal, then were erased again by smoke. Seas were not uncomfortably rough today, but choppy enough so that neither autopilot nor I could steer at our regular speed. Wren left me to deal with autopilot (not usually a problem), and the boat began going in circles. I found I couldn't do any better. Scary trying to keep a compass setting, and only moving wildly from one side of it to the other.
We saw more blue sky as the smoke partially dissipated mid afternoon. We could see a blur of buildings to the west, JFK was invisible on our right. We passed an outline of the Coney Island skyline, which changed to look like a pointillist painting in whites and grays, and eventually turned from dots to the sharp lines of skyscrapers in the pale light. We entered Brooklyn with the excitement of seafarers ending a year long journey. Though neither of us has spent any time there, we are in familiar territory. We grew up in the shadow of Manhattan, and were nurtured and shaped by what it offers. More than Florida or Maine, this part of the world feels like home.
This marina is alive with ducks, dogs, and fat men in bikinis. I suspect that just beyond the parking lot is a slum, but as usual, I feel drugged from the long day so I will miss everything on shore. Tomorrow we have only 50 miles to travel.
Lesson: Even in the Atlantic, Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
Captain's Notes
I've been warned about the currents at Hell's Gate. It's best to transverse at slack tide, but with our short trip tomorrow we'll arrive before that. Hope all goes well.
Someone suggested that as long as we were here, we should go around the Statue of Liberty. It's a little (very little) out of the way and so I wouldn't have thought of it. Hope the Coast Guard, or whatever security is protecting it, doesn't take us as a threat if we go over there in the morning.
Pictures from Day 24, Cape May, NJ to Brooklyn, NY
Day 25, July 8, Brooklyn to Stamford
Blue skies today but still a lot of fog upward from the horizon. As we exited the marina, we went under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge which connects Brooklyn and Staten Island. The water was a little choppy, and Wren was at the front window as we went under the bridge, frantically bashing his camera, running back and forth to the wheel as the boat veered wildly to one side then another. We got caught in someone's wake, and we both sat down. A shiny red tug with black and white trim preceded us. The Seastreak flew past us at an angle. To our left was a Coast Guard boat and two bright red freighters anchored. The Staten Island ferry plodded along crosswise; her bright orange body lettered in black like a day glow school bus. We passed six huge black stationary vessels staggered along the water. Staten Island was densely green with white steeples and brick buildings peeping from the trees.
The activity was overwhelming, and I worried I wouldn't remember it all. I took notes as fast as Wren took pictures, neither of us able to sit still for a minute. Two more glowing orange ferries appeared from the city, the faint outline of the Manhattan skyline behind them. The buildings were shielded under the smoke. I spotted the silhouette of the Statue of Liberty looking like a great heron in the distance, sleek soft curves that gradually became the pale aqua form of the lady herself. She rose from her pedestal, the sun catching the creases of her robe, the gold of her torch glinting in the sun, Ellis Island behind her. The points of her crown spiked into the sky, sharp as the minds of those who created her. Wren brought the Sunrise Line in close; we forgot about depths, security, other boats.
Manhattan came into focus, and we headed straight for her as Miss Liberty faded back into the smoke, a bird again. The New York skyline looked neat and clean like a drawing, the buildings all squares and cubes, rectangles and pentagons--levels, shapes and colors, one building superimposed on another. I loved art in eighth grade where we learned perspective and drew all those buildings.
Ground Zero was there--an emptiness in the picture. I agree with Anna Quindlan who in a recent editorial encouraged that emptiness to stay--lest we forget. We continued up the East River under the Brooklyn Bridge and up the island. We passed the Empire State Building, the gilded Chrysler Tower, the UN looking like a big block on end with a green glass front. As we moved up the east side of the city, the buildings had less order, grew more chaotic looking. Wren was still running from front to back taking pictures, and I worried he would fall overboard. A seaplane glided in and landed near us, then another. A helicopter descended and disappeared low behind the buildings. We passed under all the bridges--Manhattan, Williamsburg, Queensboro, Triboro; we were moving faster than the traffic along FDR Drive beside us. The city looked more dilapidated as we proceeded, crumbling brick, gray apartment houses, facades worn and irregular. Eventually we reached Hell's Gate where the currents can send you backward or sideways except at slack tide, which it wasn't. We navigated safely through and saw LaGuardia on our right. Jets flew at us like darts thrown from the runway, but also came in for a landing, long and low across the water in front of us, then barely missing our helm (we could hear the hiss of the engines), then behind, ascending and descending planes crossing mid water. We went under the Whitestone Bridge, the Throg's Neck. If you have ever driven over any of these bridges and the highways surrounding them--nerves steeled, body on edge, constant accidents, gridlock, advanced merges--then you may appreciate how we felt. Here we were in our little boat from Florida driving up the East River, dodging traffic of a different sort, observing a world we've been part of, but never experienced like this.
I have seen the Statue of Liberty before, but never did it impact me as it did today as we pretended to belong to the morning commerce, casually moving around the complexities of buoys, boats, ferries, and shores, too awed to worry or wonder what on earth we were doing there. Today was almost worth having a boat for.
As we moved up Long Island Sound, the water was velvety and blended into the distant hills, but I hardly noticed as we quickly approached Stamford where we both grew up. I was in love with New York all over again.
We are presently at my childhood friend Billy Hensley's home where he is wining and dining us royally, so I must stop and appreciate this luxury. He is going to be Wren's first mate for the next two days to Boston, and I will drive and visit friends till they catch up. I have told them they absolutely have to keep up the log.
Lesson: If your world is getting old, try a different point of view.
Pictures from Day 25, Brooklyn, NY to Stamford, CT
Day 26, July 9, Stamford to Pt. Judith
Here I am anchored in the Point Judith Harbor of Refuge. June has abandoned ship (actually she's in Concord tonight where we lived for 27 years ). With luck I meet her in Boston tomorrow.
An old friend (originally June's), Bill Hensley, joined me for a couple of days. Tonight we're experimenting with anchoring out. He has experience, since he captained for several years in the 1960's before joining the navy for six years.
We didn't depart until after 8:30 this morning and for the first couple of hours the current seemed to be working against us. Then the current changed and we started picking up speed. It looked like we could reach Cuttyhunk (near Martha's Vineyard) before 6 p.m. and we decided to go for it. Then in mid-afternoon the seas started to build. They were on our starboard quarter, and it was getting harder to keep the Sunrise Line going straight. After listening to the latest marine forecast which was now giving small craft warnings for this afternoon, we decided to stop here—which we had looked at earlier in the morning as a reasonable half way point to Boston.
This is a man-made anchorage of about 3 square miles, protected from the winds by a rock breakwater. With Bill's advice, we anchored with little trouble, but after shutting off the main engines I realized the generator was no longer running. I couldn't restart it.
Analysis indicated a fuel flow problem. With only the normal level of difficultly I replaced the primary Racor filters (there are two fuel filters for each engine, the initial ones separate out water and other junk you don't want to get near the engine.) Tried again to start the generator with no success. Was going to replace the secondary filter, but couldn't find a spare. The good news was that unlike the primary one, the secondary filter seemed fairly clean. Played the various games I had learned to get the main engines started with no success. When all else failed I decided to have a martini and RTFM (read the manual.) It had detailed directions on bleeding (critical for any diesel engine that runs dry.) However, step one failed. Couldn't get fuel to flow to point "A" even after removing the hose and lowering it to the bottom of the boat. Bill said: "Do you have a manual pump you could pull it through with?" I would never have thought of it, but over 25 years ago I bought a great little pump for removing fluids from the old Land Rover. All these years it's been in a little black bag of critical things I used to fly back and forth to Nantucket. I figured it was on the boat and unlike any other experience, we found it within a minute.
After removing various fittings, using a little electrical tape (after packing tape failed) a few strokes on that pump pulled fuel through after hundreds of strokes on the generator primer had failed. Since we were now following the manual, we did the rest of the bleeding steps, dried up all the diesel fuel (thinking how nice it wasn't gasoline) and put things back together. After a few tries I got it running. It looked like we might have power to run the microwave and cook dinner. (However, a few minutes later I remembered I had never replaced the air intake I had removed. This involved removing all the covers again, but was reasonably mindless work.) It's now humming along nicely and after another martini, we'll start dinner! I enjoy this kind of experience (but am sure June wouldn't). You learn a lot solving a problem like this. Now if someone would just stop rocking the boat ...
The predicted thunderstorms never came by, but waves are breaking over the breakwater and the wind is whistling through, so it is nice to be in this protected harbor! Traveled today: 110.6 miles, time 6 hours 34 minutes, average speed 16.8 miles per hour, 21.6 mph maximum. Total traveled since leaving Blackburn Point, 1838 miles.
Day 27, July 10, Pt. Judith to Charlestown, (and Day 28, July 11 in Boston)
Spending the night anchored out was nice; the boat rocked occasionally but it was a very pleasant night. First order of business this morning was to start the generator (needed for the coffee pot and to heat more hot water for showers). More problems--it was leaking fuel (I believe at one of the fittings I had to remove to bleed it). After getting that fixed, I was back to my daily problem of not being able to get the "stop solenoid" to disengage. Today it was much worse than usual and seemed to take hours. Finally got it going, made coffee, had a shower, breakfast, and raised the anchor. We departed at 7:17 am.
It was somewhat rough in Block Island Sound, but not so bad that we couldn't make good progress. Buzzard's Bay was more sheltered from the wind, and therefore, much calmer. We did discover why boats have their TV's hidden behind doors. Since I forgot to close the doors, Billy found the TV face down on the floor after we departed Block Island Sound. Will have to try it tonight when I get back to the boat and see if it still works.
We reached the Cape Cod Canal before 11 am and were out in Cape Cod Bay by 11:30. Should have been in Boston by 2pm, but the seas were VERY rough. We tried all different speeds: 8, 10, 12, 15, 18 miles per hour. We got banged around at all of these. Finally decided on about 15 with frequent slow downs every time we got to an especially big wave(there were lots).
After reaching Boston Harbor and things calmed down, the boat was listing much more to port. Found the port tank about 1/2 full and the starboard one basically empty. Shut off the supply from the starboard tank so all three engines would draw from the port (they return to starboard, so that would put some fuel back there and help balance the boat). Only problem is I learned June's trick and shut off the feed TO the starboard engine instead of the feed FROM the starboard tank. About 5 minutes later Billy was still piloting and said something's wrong. BOTH engines had slowed to almost an idle. I ran below, saw what I'd done, and threw the levers, but not in time to avoid a shutdown of the starboard engine. The port continued to idle until I got topside and turned off the synchronizer which is controlled by the starboard engine (which is why the port slowed down in unison). Once we had control, we turned around and headed back out of Boston Harbor where there was more room to maneuver. I'm now getting practiced at re-starting diesel engines. Had some fuel in a bottle to refill the primary filter left over from the previous evening's experience with the generator. Filled it. Manually pumped fuel into the secondary filter (the big engines have good manual pumps built in). Then with the help of some starting fluid got the port engine restarted in relatively little time, turned around and continued in. We arrived just before 4pm, started to dock, but then found we had to go to another marina to get fuel. Pumps were very slow, but were able to use two. Got back to the dock where June was waiting for us about 4:45.
We all spent the night at our son Tark's new house in Waltham, Mass, where we had a great dinner which his friend Teresa cooked.
Notes from the First Mate
Here's what's been going on shorewise while the boat has been bouncing around for two days. I was so happy to miss the lever crisis--twice was enough for me--I think I would have just jumped overboard the third time around. Time to give Wren that lever- manifold lesson, which clearly has nothing to do with why it is so easy to get mixed up and turn the lever wrong or the wrong lever.
I have been on shore for three days plus at this point, and almost feel normal again. I think I might actually survive the rest of the trip. In Stamford I was served jumbo shrimp bathed in cocktail sauce with lemon slices while I wrote my log in the home of my friend Billy. He and his friend (who was to stay and care for his 90 year old mother in his absence), waited on me and new wonderful foods kept appearing at my side. Wren and I were served dinner on the porch and delivered back to our boat for the night. The next day I drove Billy's car to Concord and spent two wonderful days with an old friend. I did lots of walking and lots of talking and felt energized for the first time in weeks.
Wednesday afternoon I attempted to retrieve the guys in Charlestown at some obscure marina, directions given to me by the dockmaster who could barely speak English. I found the right exit off the expressway, did not see the road I was told to follow, circled a rotary five or six times, took every turn off of it, traveled over a huge bridge or under a long tunnel each time, ended up in Everett twice, Somerville once, and Boston once, made my way back from each town, and eventually by accident found the marina a very long time later.
As I was waiting for the Sunshine Line to refuel, I sat and watched the Boston skyline and talked with the dock boy who gave me a sitting tour of the harbor area with details of each boat as it arrived or departed, including two freighters delivering new cars down the coast. I liked being a dockhand as the boat finally pulled in and I could catch ropes from shore and tie up. When I went on board the contents of the salon and bedroom were strewn all over the floor, more so than on any rough day I experienced, and I was so glad I had missed it all.
We are spending the day in our son Tark's new house, after a fancy breakfast with friends in Concord. It is very windy and in the sixties--not a day for the Atlantic, and it feels like winter to me.
Pictures from Day 27, Rhode Island to Boston
Day 29, July 12, Charlestown to Boothbay Harbor
We left this morning at 8:30 in sunny cool weather, light winds. The generator needed more repair work, the air conditioning in both the salon and bedroom is completely gone, but that doesn't matter anyway--now we need heat.
In the evening Boston Harbor changed. Dinner cruise boats drifted up and down the water. A frilly white house boat with latticework went by, harassing us with rock 'n roll music. A fleet of tugs--four in a row--sat waiting for day break. We watched a gondola motor by--well it looked like a gondola. A police boat sped around looking for speeders. Boston has a different feel from NYC--there wasn't the urgency on the water. Traffic appeared to be for pleasure as much as for business.
Leaving the marina in the morning, Boston stood compactly on our right--the Customs Tower presiding over many new structures in cylindrical shapes. The slope of Charlestown was behind us, the Bunker Hill Monument an isolated spike on the hillside, marking the revolutionary battle. We passed the airport--jets rising over our helm again, water taxis no bigger than rowboats, small ferries. Three tugs all abreast headed toward us, the two on the ends suddenly turning outward like a Thunderbird display in very slow motion. We moved up the North Shore past clusters of white houses wrapped in a green backdrop, past narrow buildings angled against each other like card houses you could blow over. A quiet day on the water except for an occasional freighter, usually anchored (were they taking a nap?) and a sprinkling of sail boats. After we passed Cape Ann, there was no land in sight as we proceeded up the New Hampshire coast and into Maine. The deep blue sea kept the air chilly and the water temp dropped to 53 as we moved north. We rounded Squirrel Island late afternoon and saw our first hint of shoreline, massive tan rocks circling the isle like a wide ruffled Victorian collar.
We motored into Boothbay Harbor in a lot of wind, dodging thousands of lobster pots bobbing on the surface. In bold fluorescent colors, they looked like big inverted popsicles waiting for a party of oversized children to gobble them up. Here we were able to reserve a slip, whereas further east there are only moorings and not even the promise of that. After dinner we walked to town on a footbridge crossing the circular harbor filled with moored sailboats. We knew we were in Maine as we wandered around a bustling center of cafes, ice cream shops, outdoor lobster restaurants, white clapboard houses, country churches, all winding up the hillside. The town was wide open and filled with tourists. On our way home, the sun set and lit the sky forming a smoky blue glacier rising from a pink lake. We hope this will be the last night aboard the Sunrise Line. We have 100 miles to go tomorrow.
Pictures from Day 29, Boston to Boothbay Harbor, ME
Day 30, July 13, Boothbay Harbor to Winter Harbor
We got off early from Booth Bay Harbor as we were anxious to finish the last lap and get home. We could hardly fit between the lobster pots which are hard to keep track of and seem to mysteriously appear in our path at the last second. We had a couple of near misses and had to veer sharply. The sky was bright with more clouds than blue, and there was a lot more wind than the day before. It took effort to stay in our seats, and we bounced up and down in the navy sea.
Once out of the harbor, we passed a dozen small evergreen islands, billowy rocks like big puffy pillows piled on shore. Islands continued to appear, green mounds in the distance, but rarely a boat. It was cold on the upper helm, and we were wearing our jackets. As I worked, my Swedish weaving warmed my legs.
Mid morning, Wren decided on a shortcut. Historically this has always added a minimum of 3 hours to any trip on land. We headed almost due east. We passed Isle au Haut and hundreds of small birds skittered over the water, black bodies and white wings like grindings of salt and pepper. It got colder and rougher as we progressed. By eleven I had a second jacket on and was huddled under my weaving, which was sticky with salt spray. I worried all morning about having to drive the boat in this weather, but I knew it was imminent after all the coffee Wren had drunk at breakfast.
"See that ripple in front of the island ahead. Just steer for that."
As soon as he left, both the island and the ripple disappeared. I couldn't keep the compass setting at all in the rough water. He took forever. I decided no liquids for lunch.
When we reached the mountains, the sea began to smooth out. A chain of humps, links in a monster dragon was barely visible in the haze, Cadillac Mountain, the largest hump. My no liquids plan failed. Wren left me at the wheel while he went to the engine room to move levers. This time I was faced with circumventing lobster pots, and there was no room for error. People who can't hold a compass point in the ocean should not navigate near lobster pots. One zig instead of a zag and we could have a line wound around us turning us into one of those lettuce dryers that spin with a winding cord. Wren arrived back in the nick of time.
At the last minute we had been advised not to moor our boat in Milbridge, 3 miles from home as the water is very shallow at low tide. So we headed for Winter Harbor at the end of the Schoodic Peninsula. Wren insisted on a detour to the point first. As we changed direction, the wind picked up and we were back in heavy seas. On shore the glacial rock deposits bring tourists from all over the country. From the water they just looked like a dirty excavation site. Wren insisted on taking pictures anyhow, his body and camera facing the stern as we approached a mass of lobster pots rising on the peaks of waves. A few seconds of frantic steering and he got us headed back for home. There was a brisk wind coming into Winter Harbor, lots of lobster pots and no sign of a dock. We eventually spotted our Suburban on land (left for us by my brother Bruce), which was far bigger than the pathetic boards we tied up to in order to unload. The dock was where the Bar Harbor Ferry departs and it was less than half the length of our boat. You can just imagine the size of the ferry. The harbor master helped us, thank goodness, as I suddenly forgot everything I had learned in 30 days and was wildly flinging ropes into the water. Both the dock and the boat were flailing around in the wind. We were very grateful to find our neighbor John Brace had brought his Suburban and Jeremy Gay to welcome us. Jeremy has a summer job fixing boats and helped Wren fill up both Suburbans with the contents of the Sunrise Line. I packed up inside as we rocked violently from side to side.
During all this the fuel pumps at the dock broke and failed to shut off, pouring fuel into the harbor. The EPA was called and there was a frenzied cleanup effort. We weren't refueling, thank goodness, but we were trapsing back and forth up and down the dock and ramp throughout the crisis.
We couldn't get everything into the two cars. (Now you know why the boat was listing.) Wren and Jeremy took the boat out to the mooring and figured out how to attach it. We finally drove home. We had survived, and the trip was finally over.
Well, maybe not. I did realize sometime on the 29th day that getting to Maine wasn't really the finale because the boat came with us. There was no escape. On day 31, Wren discovered that he had left important computer parts on the boat. Never mind that we have a new kitchen with no electrical outlets, no functioning stove, dishwasher, etc., no dishes, pots and pans (contents of the old kitchen are all upstairs squashed into the laundry room), or that five rooms had been repainted over the winter and the contents of those were squashed somewhere else as well. However, the computer parts were necessary to retrieve the log from his laptop which was self destructing, and I wanted them as much as he did.
We drove the 25 miles to Winter Harbor with two empty suitcases. Our dingy had several inches of water in it-cold water-53 degrees to be exact. We climbed in and water sloshed through our shoes and up our ankles. I sat poised on the side to avoid swimming in the bottom. Wren took off and revved the motor sending us speeding ahead. I was clutching the suitcases and rising into the air.
Wren found his computer parts and some other prize possessions. I cleaned the fridge and attempted to empty the food storage pit. I went head first into the lower level and I still couldn't reach anything except for the coffee beans and pasta which somehow spewed into the bottom which was filled with water that had leaked in from the counter during the trip. Wren went in head first next, but he couldn't reach the mess in the bottom either. We decided to ignore it and let it dry out and baled out the dingy instead.
As much water as we removed from the dingy, more somehow seeped in. We plunged the two heavy suitcases into the wet bottom, and I sat on top of them as we undulated over someone's wake, bobbing up and down the waves. We reached the dock, but had trouble with the rest of the process. The little boat keeping swinging around in the wind, and Wren couldn't raise the engine out of the water. For awhile I was on shore with the gas, the suitcases, and a small bit of rope, and Wren was twirling around in the harbor. The Zodiac worked much better in Florida.
Is it over yet? I don't think so. Today Wren is going to investigate a mooring closer to home. And the boat is far from empty.
Captain's Notes
Last year when I started thinking about getting a boat we could take back and forth between Maine and Florida, I had thought we could make the trip every year. That it might be a pleasant way to transition between our two lives. That it might be a nice way to spend a few weeks each year.
Lesson I've learned: it takes too long and requires too much energy. I'm afraid I'm getting too old for this. I didn't think the time it took would be a big issue, but must admit that before the end I was REALLY looking forward to getting to Cherryfield.
The best part by far was motoring under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge up to the Statue of Liberty, across to the tip of Manhattan and up the East river. Second best was running along with three dolphins crossing our wake and jumping over each other as they flew along side (it's too bad that was the second day and I hadn't recovered enough from that day's crisis to get the camera out).
Addendum:
It took two more attempts to unload the rest of the boat. By now it was clear that the dingy had a leak so we prepared to be wet, but when we got to our mooring, there was a lobster pot all tangled around us. After all our narrow misses navigating around those things at sea, some lobsterman had placed his pot right next to us and the wind had entwined them together. Wren couldn't get them apart, so we filled up two suitcases and again took them back in the water logged dingy.
A few days later the harbor master called and asked us to move to a different mooring right away. We set out for Winter Harbor early to try to beat the high winds predicted for later in the morning, but we weren't early enough. Now the lobster trap was even more tightly wound around us. Wren sat in the dingy and tried to catch the trap ropes with a boat hook as I stood on the boat pulling the dingy back into position. The owner of the boat yard tried his own technique, and finally had to cut the rope. We did finish unloading at the dock, but the Sunshine Line rocked wildly, and I got seasick again. Fortunately, Wren found a tourist who was willing to help him tie up to the new mooring, which turned out to have too short a bridle, and even the two men almost gave up. Getting away from the dock was impossible in the wind, and we popped a fender and scratched the boat. Down East seemed to be one new challenge after another.
The Sunrise Line spent eight weeks in Winter Harbor. We found an experienced captain to take her back to Florida. Not until the day before her return, did we venture out, grabbing our only chance to explore the Maine coast. We were just too tired before that.
Our one excursion took place on a flawless morning in early September. Leaving the harbor, nothing looked as it had when we arrived in July. The blue sky was translucent, white clouds puffed up like plastic pool toys above us. The blinding sun coated the water with a sugar glaze, hiding the lobster buoys. As we headed south, Cadillac Mountain meandered on our right in dips and peaks covered in a green and beige paisley print. Schoodic Point's true beauty emerged as we passed, pink granite boulders, like mammoth glistening gemstones or a lost city rising from the water. In the distance rows of overlapping pines stood guard perched on granite towers, their watch stations, as smoky mountain peaks softened the space around them. We headed toward Petit Manan Island. Lobster boats were out working their traps, gulls fluttering behind them like a string of burgees. Occasionally, we saw seaweed floating on the water, rubbery taupe monsters with a hundred thumbs.
We never set foot on Petit Manan as we had to turn around to return the boat for provisioning for the trip South. On the way back, Wren saw a whale surface three times, hump rising out of the water. I missed it totally. We handed the Sunrise Line over to the capable new captain who would return it to Florida in the time we took to for us to go half way. To my surprise, I wished a boat ride had gone on longer, that we could have had more opportunities to explore Maine.
Pictures from Summer in Winter Harbor, ME
|
For other pictures, click on graphics, or
Wren's Photo Albums June's Photo Albums Cherryfield.US |
|
5222