Maine Cruise 2005
Week 4

Overnight, a front passed through, bringing rain and showers and, for a short while, some northeast winds.  The NOAA forecast had called for the winds to be rather brisk, so once they began I got up to check things out.  Fortunately (this time), NOAA turned out to be quite wrong once again, and the winds never exceeded 10-15 knots--and then only for a short while.  The rain continued much of the night, and then into the morning with lingering showers, which lasted till around 0930.  We could see that it was clearing to the north and west, so we decided to depart.

One advantage of our anchoring location was that it saved quite a bit of distance on the day, particularly since we could leave through a nearby pass right at the head of the harbor, knocking probably a mile and a half off the trip.  A small thing, but nice nonetheless.

We motored through Fox Islands Thorofare, enjoying a pleasant trip with no jerk powerboats or malicious island ferries to sully the trip, and then continued motoring down lower Penobscot Bay towards our chosen destination:  Home Harbor, tucked just inside Pleasant Island at the outer (and southern) end of the islands surrounding Muscle Ridge Channel.  The wind remained nonexistent, and the weather slowly cleared, though it remained overcast directly where we were.  There was a pretty sloppy leftover swell from somewhere, which began to cause some irritation after a couple hours, what with the slatting main and, worse, the clanking of the reefing car on the boom track over my head.  On the old boom, I had addressed this very problem some years before, using a classy section of duct tape to secure the rattly car, and I vowed to do the same when we got into port and I could find the duct tape.  With the boom strapped in as tightly as it was to hold the mainsail from slatting much, it was a little lower to the cockpit than usual, and I found myself being banged in the head every so often as the boom would violently shake to one side from the wave action.  All was hunky dory for a while, but eventually I had had enough and began to stew, looking forward to getting into port--which was nearby, but still seemed to be taking forever.

Obviously the pleasure of sailing deliveries had been used up on the trip east a few weeks earlier. 

Home Harbor was very pretty, though a little exposed to the southeast swell, so it was not without its problems.  In addition, lobster boats used the harbor as a thorofare, so we were bounced around quite a bit, between the swell and the wakes.  However, the views were extraordinary, with the Camden Hills and Muscle Ridge Channel in one direction, and the open ocean and distant islands of Vinalhaven and Isle au Haut in the other.  Very nice, and a pleasant overnight stop for its variety.  We had some minor anchoring issues:  our first set left us in a bad position with a nearby mooring and floating lobster pot line, so we hauled up and moved a short distance away.  Then, the anchor didn't grab at once, but while backing down it grabbed securely.  Just how securely we would discover the next morning.

I thought the sunrise potential here might be nice, with the open easterly view, so I got up early to take it in.  It was indeed pretty, and I wouldn't have been asleep much longer anyway, given the 20  or more lobster boats that ran through the harbor between 0500 and about 0630, leaving a few large wakes.

We were ready to depart by 0830, and I went forward to pull up the anchor.  Somehow, I knew something was wrong as soon as I pulled on the rode; it seemed too hard, even though I was just pulling in slack.  Nonetheless, I pulled in what I could, till we were directly over the anchor, at which time I would normally just haul up the anchor with only minor undigging work.  Since the water was about 25' deep where we were, I just barely had the end of the 30' chain on deck.  The anchor seemed well secured, so I took a wrap on the bitt and waited for the boat to pull the anchor out of the bottom, which is how things go every time.

Not today, though.  Try as I might, I couldn't get the anchor to budge, so after a while I tied it off and went back to the cockpit to try and use the motor to get it out, something we have never had to try before.  At first, I tried it with the anchor chain vertical, but it was clear that the anchor was very well stuck, and this accomplished nothing other than to pull the bow down.

After a few attempts, I went forward to let out a bit of scope, and then tried the engine again.  This time, I had enough scope to get the boat oriented in a different direction, and in short order I thought I felt something give.  Going forward, I found that I could now raise the anchor--success!  I was glad to get the thing up undamaged, and with only a minor delay.

We departed and rounded Two Bush light, and headed southwest towards Mosquito Island, our next mark.  Partway down, a southeast wind arose, and we tried sailing for a while before the wind disappeared again and we were forced to power once again.  While under sail, in an open bay, we found ourselves in the sights of a large Feadship, Silver Cloud, which was aiming right at us on a reciprocal course.  At first I thought he didn't see us, but then the boat turned one way, then the other, then back again, all over the place, and ended up passing us within about 100' to starboard--far too close--and throwing a steep 5' wake.  The wake did a nice job cleaning off any remaining mud on the foredeck from pulling up the anchor, though, so all was not lost.

I hate these big yachts.  Please don't come here...or if you do, try not to pretend you're the only boat on the water.  I think the Med is more to your liking, so just go there.  Your wealth and pompousness do not trump good manners and proper seamanship.  If you do insist on "gracing" Maine with your esteemed presence, please at least abide by the rules of the road and the laws of the sea.  Thank you.

We arrived at Harbor Island in the middle of Muscongus Bay without further incident, though we had to power the rest of the way.    Harbor Island is owned by some friends that I hadn't seen in probably 15 years or more, and as luck would have it they were there this day, so we had an enjoyable catch-up and tour of the wonderful stone house on the island (very old, and very authentic with no electricity) and some of the trails on the island--fun.

We called home to check in, and received some concerning news.  My mom, who was watching our dogs, said that our beloved 13 year-old golden retriever Haley was not doing real well, gad stopped eating and was quite weak.  Understand, now, that our litmus for Haley's good health has always been food; this is a dog who would eat anything, anytime, always.  Anytime she turned up her nose at food was cause for serious concern, especially now.  A couple months earlier, a routine blood test had shown some evidence of advancing kidney failure, but she had no outward signs and seemed perfectly fine, so, armed with this new knowledge, we had proceeded with caution, changed her diet, and, lacking any signs of problem or discomfort, figured that this was just the first real sign of her advancing age, but hadn't worried overly about the diagnosis.  Nonetheless, we were now extremely worried about her, and decided to go home tomorrow, even though originally we had planned to take another couple days to get there.

We departed at first light, around 0545, hoping to get home in early afternoon.  I had been worried about the possibility for fog, so I was glad to see that it was clear at the moment.  There was no wind, of course.

As we headed out the rock-strewn bay, however, I noticed that behind us--on the mainland--there was a foggy mist, which seemed strange because it was crystal clear to the east over the ocean, and we could see Monhegan Island as if it were next door.  As we continued on our way, it became clear that the fog was indeed advancing from the shore outward, which was very strange.  Still, it was obviously a clear and soon-to-be sunny day, so we didn't worry.  I did set up the radar and connect the computer with The Cap'n software, just to be safe. 

Just past Devil's Back, a nasty rock, the fog caught up with us.  While I always hate fog, I wasn't that worried, as I was convinced that it would clear out sooner than later, and would be only a temporary inconvenience.  As early as it was in the morning, there was little traffic; most of the lobster boats were behind us, closer to shore.  When the fog surrounded us, we still had 1/8 - 1/4 mile visibility, which isn't that bad when compared with how it can be.  The fog was inconsistent, and at times the visibility would improve some--though never beyond 1/4 mile.  But it was clear overhead most of the time, so it was clearly one of those low-to-the-water fog banks that don't last long when the sun hits them.

The fog hung in there, though.  We passed Pemaquid without incident, passing close enough to see the point, and shortly thereafter the fog opened up more than we had seen so far; we could see into Linekin Neck, and I figured the fog wasn't long for the world.  Around Damariscove Island, though, it closed in again, despite bright sunshine to the east, and before long we were in as thick fog as we had seen all day--under 1/8 mile.  OK, thought I, but it's got to clear soon.  We plugged onwards.

Around 0900, I was sick and tired of it.  We'd been in thick'o'fog for three hours, and it was as bad as ever.  Despite all the electronics, which admittedly make navigation pretty easy (as well as locating other boats with the radar), I remain uncomfortable in the fog; frankly, only a fool would not.  I took a moment to vent my displeasure at the uncaring void; Heidi listened patiently, though.

Presently, though, the fog seemed to clear almost instantly.  One minute we were steaming along in near 0 visibility; the next, I could see all the way to Seguin Island and Georgetown, both several miles distant.  And then bang--it was over, and the fog was gone for good.  It was amazing to me how quickly the fog disappeared--literally 5 minutes from start to finish, with no lingering signs.  I then and there decided that ranting and raving to Mother Nature did indeed work; obviously, it was my little tirade several minutes earlier that had caused the fog to clear.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful, if boring.  It didn't help that we were concerned about Haley and just wanted to be home.  Inside Broad Sound, only an hour from home, suddenly some strong westerly thermals began to kick up off the islands, with gusts into the 20's.  Of course the wind was directly on the nose, so was of no benefit to us.  Plus, all we wanted to do was get home.  Once we came through Chandler's Cove and headed the short distance west to Clapboard, the wind became fierce--30 knots, directly on the nose.  In addition, we had the tide against us, so we made good about 3.5 knots.  What a pain.  After a long, silly slog, though, we made it to the mooring, and secured with no problems.  The wind was so strong that it took three approaches to the mooring; the bow kept getting blown away from the pendant.

As usual after cruising, Falmouth seemed ridiculously overcrowded with boats and activity--a shock to the system for sure.  We secured the boat and went ashore with a small amount of gear, and rushed to see poor Haley.  We had been holding out hope, but we knew as soon as we saw her that things were bad; she seemed to have worsened since yesterday's report, and could really not even get up or walk.  She was weak and anemic and sick, but she was happy to see us, clearly.  I think she held on for us, honestly.

Sadly, her kidney problems had accelerated, and there was nothing we could do.  She was in no pain, and had been happy and healthy right up until only 4 or 5 days before, but it was clearly over.  She wouldn't eat, couldn't stand without substantial assistance, and could barely walk thereafter.  Her kidney enzyme levels had quadrupled since the initial testing a couple months earlier, showing unequivocal advanced kidney failure.  She was shutting down, but had waited till we got home.  It was the hardest day of our lives. 

Life goes on, but we sure miss her!  She was the "Beast", and she was the best.

Glissando, Pearson  Triton #381
www.triton381.com 

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