7:30 The weather was supposed to be marginal, probably rainy, definitely overcast. The boat was safely moored in the driveway. All of our stuff was packed, but because of the impending moisture, we had decided to call off the weekend. My son was called into work, so he was out. Another weekend down.
9:00, Sunday morning, my lovely bride came to the realization that there was nothing keeping us dry except fear itself, or something, sort of like that, just not in those words. We simply had to toss in the gear, hitch the horse to the wagon and we're off for a wonderful weekend wistfully widing the wind and the waves.
11:15, gear loaded, wagon hitched, we take off only to stop at Walmart for trailer light replacement. So, 12:00 finally at the dock, things went smoothly and our baby is launched by 1:00, plenty of time to reach our destination. The winds were slight, about 5 knots, but our boat won't win any regattas anyway. It was a leisurely sail past Chebeague Island, Cousin's Island, Long Island, Cliff Island, Junk of Pork (I didn't vote on the name.) Finally we left the familiar and entered stranger waters. As sure as a rubber ax in a B movie, the wind died and we were left to suffer the whine of an outboard for the last 8 or so miles.
We decided to dodge the myriad of underwater hazards and head for open water. As we were perhaps, 1/2 NM from the "entrance", my wife was studying the charts to identify the nearest island, humming over one name and hawing over another. I urged her to hurry up with the naming thing as she only had 5 minutes. Four minutes later, the island with the elusive name disappeared into an enveloping fog, a ravenous beast with appetite for isle and sailboat alike.
We sailed in the fog, GPS in hand, heading for the appropriate buoy, listening intently for the gong or clang that would give it away. "We should be right by Deadman's Bone Grinder Shoal" Pam said, and there it was looming out of the fog like an English teacher with a term paper assignment. Time to change bearings, and my shorts. Next, the gong at the mouth of Keel Eater Cove (Muscle Cove for those with spines of Kevlar). Getting closer. "We're inside the Sound." Sound . . . odd name. I couldn't hear anything but us? Good thing or bad? Sound? Like the sound of a rubber ax? Finally we enter Stover Cove, Harpswell, Maine. I know because she told me, and because suddenly there were mooring balls all around.
6:00. Anchor down, Merlot and Dinty Moore time. (Oh, Come on! You've had worse!) "Honey, have you seen the silverware?" Hmm . . . Dinty Moore with no silverware . . . Time to break out the "Handy Man's Secret Weapon . . . duct tape! A paper plate and 1/2 nm of tape and we had utensils fit for a hardware king. What I wouldn't give for a rubber ax. 6 games of Yacht-Z, a few more of Sequence and glass of Merlot, and it was bunk time.
Morning came and we were met by a bright blue sky, warm sun, soft breeze and no flatware to eat our pancakes with. No pan to fry pan to cook said pancakes anyway. Well, at least the bacon was precooked. Never really having been a bachelor, I struggled long and hard for a solution. I cooked dollar size pancakes in a 3 quart sauce pan, flipping them with a plastic spoon, and used syrup as dipping sauce. Instant coffee, shaken not stirred, and bacon suspended momentarily over an open flame with a pair of Vise-grips. And the banjo begins to play.
10:00, morning "rituals" completed, we weigh anchor and slip out of the mooring field, close hauled on a port tack, heading north into the sound on a comfortable W-NW breeze. We'd explore the uncharted shores then run out of the sound to open waters.
10:30, 2 nm miles up, the wind dies. We motored out, for about 2 hours, until lunch time. "Wait! I didn't pack anything for lunch!" Pam exclaimed. And I thought, "1 gallon per hour, 4 hours motoring so far. 6 gallon tank, unknown wind, 3 hours motoring back." "What, lunch? Sounds good!" 3 strips of precooked bacon, too many handfuls of Cheese-ITs and almonds with sea salt (twist the knife already!) , my appetite slaked, we motor for a few more minutes then the wind picked up and we enjoyed an invigorating sail back through Hussey Sound and to the dock.
Note to self:
Stash flatware, can of tuna, and fry pan in one of the lockers. Include rubber ax.
9:00, Sunday morning, my lovely bride came to the realization that there was nothing keeping us dry except fear itself, or something, sort of like that, just not in those words. We simply had to toss in the gear, hitch the horse to the wagon and we're off for a wonderful weekend wistfully widing the wind and the waves.
11:15, gear loaded, wagon hitched, we take off only to stop at Walmart for trailer light replacement. So, 12:00 finally at the dock, things went smoothly and our baby is launched by 1:00, plenty of time to reach our destination. The winds were slight, about 5 knots, but our boat won't win any regattas anyway. It was a leisurely sail past Chebeague Island, Cousin's Island, Long Island, Cliff Island, Junk of Pork (I didn't vote on the name.) Finally we left the familiar and entered stranger waters. As sure as a rubber ax in a B movie, the wind died and we were left to suffer the whine of an outboard for the last 8 or so miles.
We decided to dodge the myriad of underwater hazards and head for open water. As we were perhaps, 1/2 NM from the "entrance", my wife was studying the charts to identify the nearest island, humming over one name and hawing over another. I urged her to hurry up with the naming thing as she only had 5 minutes. Four minutes later, the island with the elusive name disappeared into an enveloping fog, a ravenous beast with appetite for isle and sailboat alike.
We sailed in the fog, GPS in hand, heading for the appropriate buoy, listening intently for the gong or clang that would give it away. "We should be right by Deadman's Bone Grinder Shoal" Pam said, and there it was looming out of the fog like an English teacher with a term paper assignment. Time to change bearings, and my shorts. Next, the gong at the mouth of Keel Eater Cove (Muscle Cove for those with spines of Kevlar). Getting closer. "We're inside the Sound." Sound . . . odd name. I couldn't hear anything but us? Good thing or bad? Sound? Like the sound of a rubber ax? Finally we enter Stover Cove, Harpswell, Maine. I know because she told me, and because suddenly there were mooring balls all around.
6:00. Anchor down, Merlot and Dinty Moore time. (Oh, Come on! You've had worse!) "Honey, have you seen the silverware?" Hmm . . . Dinty Moore with no silverware . . . Time to break out the "Handy Man's Secret Weapon . . . duct tape! A paper plate and 1/2 nm of tape and we had utensils fit for a hardware king. What I wouldn't give for a rubber ax. 6 games of Yacht-Z, a few more of Sequence and glass of Merlot, and it was bunk time.
Morning came and we were met by a bright blue sky, warm sun, soft breeze and no flatware to eat our pancakes with. No pan to fry pan to cook said pancakes anyway. Well, at least the bacon was precooked. Never really having been a bachelor, I struggled long and hard for a solution. I cooked dollar size pancakes in a 3 quart sauce pan, flipping them with a plastic spoon, and used syrup as dipping sauce. Instant coffee, shaken not stirred, and bacon suspended momentarily over an open flame with a pair of Vise-grips. And the banjo begins to play.
10:00, morning "rituals" completed, we weigh anchor and slip out of the mooring field, close hauled on a port tack, heading north into the sound on a comfortable W-NW breeze. We'd explore the uncharted shores then run out of the sound to open waters.
10:30, 2 nm miles up, the wind dies. We motored out, for about 2 hours, until lunch time. "Wait! I didn't pack anything for lunch!" Pam exclaimed. And I thought, "1 gallon per hour, 4 hours motoring so far. 6 gallon tank, unknown wind, 3 hours motoring back." "What, lunch? Sounds good!" 3 strips of precooked bacon, too many handfuls of Cheese-ITs and almonds with sea salt (twist the knife already!) , my appetite slaked, we motor for a few more minutes then the wind picked up and we enjoyed an invigorating sail back through Hussey Sound and to the dock.
Note to self:
Stash flatware, can of tuna, and fry pan in one of the lockers. Include rubber ax.
