I’m pleasantly surprised, year after year, by the sailing weather on the coast of Maine, in October. I took my camera and a tripod on this late October sail.
Strapped to stanchions - rigging, whatever was handy, and using the camera's timer (I was alone), gave me a different lens perspective on my sailing.
Going to windward, my boat will mostly sail itself. In late October, there are few (none sometimes), boats on the water. You can read a book in the protection of the dodger, occasionally glancing forward to see it all clear ahead.
A tack or two breaks things up as we sail Eastward, across the bay. Perfect wind for my boat, 5 to 10.
October days are short but warm up fast when the sun is shining. I don't plan to cover many miles - more spend time sailing during the warm hours of mid-day.
I love sailing so much, I forgot to eat a nice lunch someone so thoughtfully prepared. Not a first for me.
Steering off the wind raises the temperature in the cockpit. A down wind course brings shirtsleeve conditions.
For the lens, October light is richer. Water and sky - bluer. The Ochre color of Rockweed on the Sugar Loaves has more red-orange, in late October.
Going deeper into my favorite stretch of sailing,...
it's warm and calm inside.
I hook a rental mooring for the night off North Haven, the only visitor in the harbor.
Those of us that live on the coast of Maine are used to our towns and villages dimming to various degrees in October. But on the islands like this one, it's lights out.
I watched the final ferry of the night tie up. This is me trying to be still for a 2 second exposure.
Once the ferry crew shut down the engines and left the dock, the entire village and surrounding shores, went black.
Black that is, except for the ferry dock, which they leave lit up like a Christmas tree - all night (safety?).
The next morning, on a rare East wind, it was a cinch to sail off and leave the cold engine alone. Rolling out about 80% of the genoa gives me good control to weave my way out. But I see there wasn't much to weave around.
I pass the life support system for the island, the ferry boat.
It's a different day. Some of the blue in the sky and water gives way to a steely gunmetal gray color.
There are a few good days still to come, but the end is near.
Strapped to stanchions - rigging, whatever was handy, and using the camera's timer (I was alone), gave me a different lens perspective on my sailing.
Going to windward, my boat will mostly sail itself. In late October, there are few (none sometimes), boats on the water. You can read a book in the protection of the dodger, occasionally glancing forward to see it all clear ahead.
A tack or two breaks things up as we sail Eastward, across the bay. Perfect wind for my boat, 5 to 10.
October days are short but warm up fast when the sun is shining. I don't plan to cover many miles - more spend time sailing during the warm hours of mid-day.
I love sailing so much, I forgot to eat a nice lunch someone so thoughtfully prepared. Not a first for me.
Steering off the wind raises the temperature in the cockpit. A down wind course brings shirtsleeve conditions.
For the lens, October light is richer. Water and sky - bluer. The Ochre color of Rockweed on the Sugar Loaves has more red-orange, in late October.
Going deeper into my favorite stretch of sailing,...
it's warm and calm inside.
I hook a rental mooring for the night off North Haven, the only visitor in the harbor.
Those of us that live on the coast of Maine are used to our towns and villages dimming to various degrees in October. But on the islands like this one, it's lights out.
I watched the final ferry of the night tie up. This is me trying to be still for a 2 second exposure.
Black that is, except for the ferry dock, which they leave lit up like a Christmas tree - all night (safety?).
The next morning, on a rare East wind, it was a cinch to sail off and leave the cold engine alone. Rolling out about 80% of the genoa gives me good control to weave my way out. But I see there wasn't much to weave around.
I pass the life support system for the island, the ferry boat.
It's a different day. Some of the blue in the sky and water gives way to a steely gunmetal gray color.
There are a few good days still to come, but the end is near.
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