Cell phone service along the downcast coast “sucks dead toads” as my rather colorful ex. sister in law would say. I was unable to maintain connection long enough on my last attempt to post here but I was able to pick up an irate email from someone following this cruise.
Speaking of Roque, I stopped in Rockland to pick up charts for Nova Scotia and have lunch with a former windjammer captain and Maine icon who told me he had never been to Roque. Here’s a man who knows the best part of the coast better than all but a handful of people on the planet and he’s never been there. It’s a good example of the difference between depth and breadth of knowledge.
Anyway, my disappointed correspondent has a point. Since I’ve made the commitment to make this cruise sort of a net reality show and share it with so many of you, I should give my audience more consideration. I suppose it’s the same sense of annoyance I get in the supermarket checkout line when I see on the tabloid covers that a man who is married to someone like Victoria Beckham or Claudia Shiffer is fooling around with someone else, I mean, What does the man want?
In this case, the weather has had a lot to do with it. For the most part, it has been calm and hazy. What little wind there has been has been dead aft so that the boat just slats around. I’ve found myself thinking, It’s nicer farther east, if I just motor though this part, I can meander in a nicer part of the coast.
Well, before I knew it, I was anchored of Trafton Island, on the far side of Petit Manan, Maine’s Cape Horn, watching an incredible sunset. I apologize for missing the chance to post a picture of the cliffs of Mount Desert with all those tourists pointing cameras back at Strider.
Trafton has special significance. I once knew a woman who grew up sailing the coast of Maine with her family for the entire summer each year and this was her favorite island. I was very much in love with her when the boat she had been out rowing alone in washed ashore on Martha’s Vineyard and she disappeared at sea. Sitting there where her father had probably anchored many times, Icould se her and her sibling in my mind’s eye running up and down the beaches and coves.
A beautiful breeze sprung up after a quick stop in Jonesport, too nice to stop at Roque. That’s sort of like going to Paris and not visiting the Louvre or tie Eiffel tower. I did close reach along the incredible cliffs and stop to buy a couple of lobsters from a boat which I ate in one of my favorite coves while watching eagles fly by.
Large swells and strong winds made the passage up the Grand Manan channel the next day more than I wanted to tackle in my relaxed frame of mind so I shifted down to the beautiful cove inside Cross Island and spend a day relaxing, walking beaches. I bought clams from diggers. Steamers for lunch, and white wine, garlic, and spinach spaghetti clam sauce for dinner.
The next day, I motored in thick fog and large swells to Eastport with a stop in Cutler to wait for the tide. After replenishing fuel, water, and ice, I motored over to and incredible spot off North Lubec. Today, I will explore the last major part of Maine I have yet to see. This is where the true adventure begins.
This correspondent is probably unaware that, after laying down over 4000 miles of GPS tracks in Maine in just the last two years and stopping at Roque Island, the holy grail of far downeast cruisers, six times in one year, I’ve got quite a collection of Tee shirts hanging on the walls of my mental attic.
Speaking of Roque, I stopped in Rockland to pick up charts for Nova Scotia and have lunch with a former windjammer captain and Maine icon who told me he had never been to Roque. Here’s a man who knows the best part of the coast better than all but a handful of people on the planet and he’s never been there. It’s a good example of the difference between depth and breadth of knowledge.
Anyway, my disappointed correspondent has a point. Since I’ve made the commitment to make this cruise sort of a net reality show and share it with so many of you, I should give my audience more consideration. I suppose it’s the same sense of annoyance I get in the supermarket checkout line when I see on the tabloid covers that a man who is married to someone like Victoria Beckham or Claudia Shiffer is fooling around with someone else, I mean, What does the man want?
In this case, the weather has had a lot to do with it. For the most part, it has been calm and hazy. What little wind there has been has been dead aft so that the boat just slats around. I’ve found myself thinking, It’s nicer farther east, if I just motor though this part, I can meander in a nicer part of the coast.
Well, before I knew it, I was anchored of Trafton Island, on the far side of Petit Manan, Maine’s Cape Horn, watching an incredible sunset. I apologize for missing the chance to post a picture of the cliffs of Mount Desert with all those tourists pointing cameras back at Strider.
Trafton has special significance. I once knew a woman who grew up sailing the coast of Maine with her family for the entire summer each year and this was her favorite island. I was very much in love with her when the boat she had been out rowing alone in washed ashore on Martha’s Vineyard and she disappeared at sea. Sitting there where her father had probably anchored many times, Icould se her and her sibling in my mind’s eye running up and down the beaches and coves.
A beautiful breeze sprung up after a quick stop in Jonesport, too nice to stop at Roque. That’s sort of like going to Paris and not visiting the Louvre or tie Eiffel tower. I did close reach along the incredible cliffs and stop to buy a couple of lobsters from a boat which I ate in one of my favorite coves while watching eagles fly by.
Large swells and strong winds made the passage up the Grand Manan channel the next day more than I wanted to tackle in my relaxed frame of mind so I shifted down to the beautiful cove inside Cross Island and spend a day relaxing, walking beaches. I bought clams from diggers. Steamers for lunch, and white wine, garlic, and spinach spaghetti clam sauce for dinner.
The next day, I motored in thick fog and large swells to Eastport with a stop in Cutler to wait for the tide. After replenishing fuel, water, and ice, I motored over to and incredible spot off North Lubec. Today, I will explore the last major part of Maine I have yet to see. This is where the true adventure begins.
