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One Week in Maine: Day 3

A classic Maine lighthouse on a tiny, beautiful island. We had set out that morning for our third and last major open-water crossing, from Vinalhaven/North Haven to Deer Isle. Though I don't exactly remember it (was I sleeping again?), I think the crossing was fog-free and much easier than our earlier adventures. And we were probably a little more relaxed, because this time if we "missed" our target island, we wouldn't have to wait to hit the coast of Spain before we figured it out.

In this photo you can see that the black shale rock that characterizes so much of the Northeast has given way to beautiful and rounded white/grey granite. This would remain true for points north and east of here. It was kind of strange -- if you just looked ahead, you might think you were on the shore of an 8000' lake in the High Sierras, rather than at sea level off the coast of Maine. Those multicolored buoys, which positively litter the Maine coast, mark the location of crab pots. Crab fishermen come by periodically to raise each trap, and "harvest" any crabs that may have meandered in. Crustaceans crawl in, but they don't crawl out. (There must be some kind of crab metropolis down there, with the little guys practically tripping over each other, to support so many traps.)

Mighty mariners, proudly returning to land. The town in the background is Stonington, on Deer Isle, a really swell little village slightly overrun with galleries. And the most-excellent looking country market, so prized by weary mariners, had been closed by the tax board. Fred managed to find a few supplies, and if I remember correctly, at least one shopkeep offered to loan him a car so he could drive four miles to the nearest store. This is when it started to dawn on us that the people we met in Maine were really, really nice. Back on the mainland, Deb was getting the same impression.

A brief stop on a tiny granite island. (I like to think of these as "nub nubs", but that's just me.) Our shallow draught and steel-shod hulls allowed stops like this, but it wasn't terribly practical, because there was no place to tie off, and even if there had been, the rapidly waning or waxing tide would have made any prolonged landing (more than 10 minutes!) untenable. I guess there's more than one reason that blue water cruisers rely heavily on dinghies, it's not just because of their big embarrassing keels.

Some views of Happy Gut (?) Island, a gorgeous little island that becomes two when the tide is fully in. Grey granite, a sandy beach middle (the "gut"), and dark, rich evergreen trees above wave level. And a house or two, it's a private island. That's a three- or four-masted schooner off in the distance in the middle shot.

Confirming the tidal variation. Pretty sure it's more than 8'!

At the Wooden Boat Magazine workshop. This was sort of a pilgrimage for Fred, stopping by a place run by people who are a major force in the wooden boat business. We critiqued all the boat projects we could find.

After borrowing life jackets, oars, and a dinghy, we spent the night moored in the WB harbor.

Before dark, we rowed around the harbor, looking at the boats, and pursuing the occasional seal or dolphin. This dingy, with the red and white hull, was of particular interest. Fred had wondered for years whether this design had been influenced by one of his own boats. Or, as he put it: "It's a piece of shit. And he stole it from me!"

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