I have not been good about keeping up with my travel log, but this time round I am finding out that hauling along a computer adds unnecessary weight to my already overburdened shoulders. So instead I have taken a few notes, hoping that between legs I will have a chance to write about the beautiful places I have seen, and the wonderful people I have met, during the summer and fall of 2021.
You might remember that in early June 2021 I flew to Boston to visit for a few days with Sonya and Brad before heading north to the coast of Maine. Sony and Brad are a wonderful young couple facing the challenges of demanding jobs and a completely crazy housing market in the Boston area. They have a comfortable two-bedroom duplex apartment, but the rent is steep. Brad works as a construction manager for a Canadian engineering firm, which means that he has to deal with contractors on a daily basis. Good job for someone with his height and powerful build, but a downer for someone who is friendly and light-hearted. Fortunately while I was there he got offered a promotion to Project Manager, so with any luck he won’t have to fight with unreliable contractors much longer. Sonya has a PhD in Molecular Biology and works in a research enterprise that is tackling some pretty heady cancer-cure research. She is very good at what she does, but sometimes her workday stretches to 10 or 12 hours!
I may not have told you that Sonya and Brad are “slackers”, which means that they enjoy balancing on a slack line (as opposed to a tight rope) and traversing in this way chasms several hundred feet deep. It is of course completely insane, but they have a tether linking them to the slack line, so if they were to lose their balance, they would get to dangle upside down until they gather the force and balance needed to get back on the line. One interesting factoid about this crazy pastime is that they have connected with a youth group in Lebanon and have taken their slack line to poor parts of this country to share it with youngsters there. Needless to say, the local kids were eager to take on the challenge, so the “slackers” have made wonderful friends among the Lebanese youth. I have told them that I would like to join them next time they go there, which might happen in summer 2023 (but I intend to keep both of my feet firmly planted on solid ground!).
After a visit that extended twice as long as I had initially planned, Brad drove me to Camden, Maine, for the next leg of my trip. Poor guy. New England is small, but not that small, and still took three hours to drive from Boston to Camden (and three hours to get back). It was a very pretty drive, however, and we rewarded ourselves with a satisfying dinner of raw oysters and lobster. Yumm!
I came all the way to Maine to take part on a 6-day sailing trip aboard the Windjammer Angelique, which I believed to be a schooner only to find out that I was wrong: it is not a schooner but a ketch. And what, you might well ask, is the difference between the two? Well, both are sailing vessels with two masts that are almost as tall as the boat is long, but in a schooner the tallest mast is aft (that is sailors talk for the rear) (aka as the mizzen mast), which when the sails are up gives them the profile of a shark’s fin. I contrast, in a ketch the tallest mast is fore (pirate talk for forward) (aka as the main mast) and the characteristic profile is that of a mountain peak. I kind of like the latter, and with its rust-colored sails I thought our boat was the prettiest of the fleet (the fleet is composed of nearly a dozen of boats that make a living by welcoming adventure travelers to be part of the sailing experience for a few days).
We boarded that afternoon and got assigned to our cabins. Because of Covid we were to sail with only about 16 guests, rather than the normal compliment of 24 guests, so I lucked out and had a two-bunk cabin all for myself. The accommodations were positively luxurious for a 100-foot sailing boat with a sink within the cabin, and two communal “heads” (that is pirate talk for “toilette”) and showers.
Day 1. Where are we going?
Everyone wanted to know where we were going, so our garrulous Captain Dennis had to explain over and over again that we are a sailing ship, and thus at the mercy of the prevailing wind. We were to be sailing among he hundreds of islands of the Gulf of Maine, specifically coming in and out of West Penobscot Bay and East Penobscot Bay, so the skipper’s plan was to make the best of the prevailing winds and find a convenient cove to spend the night. On day 1 that ended being Carver Cove, but the name is immaterial.
It took us a while to leave Camden, because we had to turn the ship around, which is easier said than done for a 100-foot long boat. We had three sailors with us: Fern, Anne, and Ryan (and all female crew!), Bradley our two-stars chef, and the two kitchen/mess assistants Meredith and Nathan. Fern was the First Mate, so she got to push the bow around with the motorized tender while Captain Dennis backed the ship with the motor. Once in the right orientation we threaded our way out of the harbor, and right away got working on setting the sails. The main and mizzen sails are huge, so it took our collected heaving to raise them (plus the gaff, which is a tree trunk that forms the top edge of the trapezoidal sail; try it … see if you can raise a tree trunk dangling at the edge of a rope … oops, I meant at the end of a “line”). In addition w had to set the fore staysail, which has a boom at the bottom, and the outer and flying jibs, which are free flowing triangular sails that billow to either port of starboard (that is pirate talk for the left and right sides of the boat) depending on the side the wind is coming from. By now we were a beauty to behold, but the Cap was still not satisfied, so Ryan climbed to the top of each mast (swaying at 100 feet above deck) to loosen the main and mizzen gaff topsails. Now we were awesome! A tall ship with billowing sails rushing toward North Heaven Island!
Once we got to the wind-shadow of North Heaven Island Bradley produced the first of a series of memorable lunches, this time consisting of a fish stew, walnut arugula salad, and in my case a peanut butter and jam sandwich. In the afternoon we plied back-and-forth along East Penobscot Bay (we pirates would call that tacking, where all the hands have to help turn the sails around so the vessel can zig-zag against the incoming wind) until we reached Carver Cove. On the way we were joined by several schooners, because today was the day when a goodly portion of the fleet gets together for “a jam” (which apparently comes from the word gam, which in turn is a contraction of the word gamming, the paying of a visit to another ship for chatting and gossiping.) In better years they all lash together so you can walk the gang plank from ship to ship, but in these Covid times we kept a few hundred yards from each other. So Dennis came up with the idea of sharing some grog around the fleet, by making the right mixture in a big cooler (rum, water, and lime juice) and then delivering a pitcher to each ship. Ay, ay, ay … this is going to get ugly.
Then we had to have some fun, so each boat put down their
oar boat, which on average would accommodate eight rowers, and we were supposed
to go around the fleet, solving a riddle to identify the different boats in the
fleet, and rowing to the right boat to collect a token. And we were encouraged
to wear costume. So Fern was at the helm, dressed in a pink unicorn onesie,
Rick was wearing a pirate bandana, and I wore a crab hat. The other boats
cheated (both by staring early and not wearing costumes), but we made a good
show and came in as fifth out of eight. Most significantly, we all had a good
time laughing and rowing with all our might. And at the end … a healthy serving
of grog!
Day 2. Rain and fog
It rained hard last night, and in coming out unto the wet deck I couldn’t help but notice we were surrounded by a thick fog. Fortunately, the coffee urn was already on deck, and after a hearty breakfast we were ready to set up the sails. I am very impressed by our sailing crew: All three are young women, maybe in their 20’s, who figure they might pursue an actual career as sailors. Fern, our First Mate, is definitely training to be a skipper so she is soaking knowledge from Dennis about anything nautical. She is short, maybe 5-foot 2, but is a bundle of muscle and technique who has no problem hauling a line; she is also bossy in a good sense, and has no problem getting together a party to raise the sails, lower the oar boat, or lift the anchor. She will make a great Cap one of these days.
Even with the sails deployed, we had to leave the cove under motor, blasting our foghorn every minute or so (one long blast and two short ones indicates a sailing vessel with right of way, but since we were under motor we gave up our right of way and used a simple long blast as our signal). We were hoping the fog would lift, but by lunch (mushroom soup followed by cous-cous) it became clear that today was not going to be a sailing day so my fellow adventurers furled the sails. I sneakily avoided the unwelcome task to take a shower and enjoy a nap.
In the early afternoon we docked at the small town of Castine, which is the poster child for beautiful New England homes, as well as a contended peninsula of Maine where wars were fought by the French Acadians and the Brits in the 17th century, the Brits and their rebellious colonies in the Revolutionary War (1779 to 1783; in fact, it was the final British port to surrender), and the Brits and the Americans during the British War (1817 to 1818).
Back in the boat we had an appetizer of Pigs-in-a-Blanket, and then motored a short distance to Smith’s Cove, for a made-from-scratch lasagna dinner. At which point Anne, a woman of many talents, regaled us with a selection of classical music played on the on-board piano! She was amazing! As I was congratulating her, we fell in conversation, she learned that I was a geologist, and told me about how she was half-way hiking the Caledonian Trail. You have heard of the Appalachian Trail, haven’t you? Well, clever Anne learned in her Geology class that in the Paleozoic, the Appalachian Mountains extended into the Acadian Mountain of eastern Canada (and had a complimentary half in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco), into the Caledonian Mountains of Ireland and England, and the Caledonian Mountains of eastern Greenland (with a complimentary half in Scandinavia), so she decided she is going to hike the whole thing! She has finished with the Appalachian and Acadian segments of the hike, but had to take a break due to Covid, and next year she plans to do the Ireland and Britain segments, and the following one the Greenland and Scandinavia segments (at this point it is unclear if she will get to do the Atlas/Moroccan segment). Pretty cool plan, isn’t it?
Day 3. Stepping down the mast
The day was glorious, so we hurried to set up the sails, and by 9:30 am we were on our way. We are still getting used to working as a team, however, so we missed stays trying to get out of the cove and had to motor out in shame. But the wind was blowing, so we got over it and we really enjoyed turning the point of the peninsula and heading down Eggemoggin Reach. There was only one small problem that we were going to have to contend with: The Reach is a narrow passage between the peninsula and Deer Isle, and the two are connected by a handsome bridge that is about 5 feet too short for our main mast to fit under it. We were thus going to have to step down the upper extension of the main mast, which is a regular tree trunk about 15 feet long. This time it was Anne’s turn to climb up to the top of the mast, and hook the lines that would allow the ground crew to first pop it out of its socket, and then lower it down. It is a bit like pulling the bayonet out of an old rifle, using the rim of the rifle as the attachment point of the block (that is pirate for pulley) and the lines that extended to the deck, where we were all waiting to pull. Wow, what a maneuver aloft, but we managed to slip under the bridge unscathed, and after reversing the procedure set up the top mast again, deployed the main gaff topsail, and continued in our merry way to Burnt Coat Harbor in Swan’s Island, which is one of the epicenters of the lobster-trapping industry.
I made friends with one of the passengers, Tommy, who is pretty savvy about New England and its ways, although he too was for the first time enjoying the pleasure of traveling in a tall ship. We exchanged expertise, and after I explained to him the intrusive relations that could be observed between different generations of granitic dikes in the lobster pen (a stockade by the shore where the co-op lobster boats brought their catch in times of old), Tommy gave me a crash course on lobster trapping using a “chum” mix of pig hide, water, and salt; enlightened me about the superiority of hard-shell versus soft-shell lobsters (the latter, having recently molted, are not as densely packed with meat as the former); and explained the escape hatch used in lobster traps, so small lobsters can escape.
A short row brought us back to the boat, where we had a delicious dinner of codfish baked with chives and capers, and a side dish of grilled linguica, green beans, and small potatoes.
Day 4. Lobster Bake
Another delightful sailing day, with spectacular landscapes all around us. In the first three days we had moved north and east away from Camden, so it was time to start moving west across Jericho Bay and East Penobscot Bay to ultimately anchor on the east side of North Haven Island. The day was so perfect that it was hard to take time to go to the head, for fear of missing out on some spectacular views.
Shortly before lunch Captain Dennis opened the Angelique Boutique, so I of course bought myself a cap. It turns out that there are several guest that have come back for the second, third, or even fourth sailing with Angelique. I thought that was a bit too much, but I also have to acknowledge that this ship is a lot of fun, so I will not rule out a repeat in the not-so-distant future. There is an older guy, Mike, who is here with his grownup grandson, so maybe in a few years I will drag Ronnie to come sailing with me.
After some hours of wonderful sailing, the highlight of the afternoon was going to be a lobster bake on the easter beach of North Haven Island. The skipper had it all arranged and a lobster boat delivered an unknown amount of live lobsters as we arrived, and we all headed to the beach on the rowboats. Bradley and the Cap were in charge, and brought with them armloads of firewood, a big tub of the type people used to wash clothes, a stand, and little else.
I have struck a friendship with Rick, who is about my own age, and a photography and nature enthusiast. He must be retired, because it seems he spend every moment sailing in one of another of the Windjammers, working as a volunteer sailor (he actually gets in the way of the crew, but everybody loves him), and taking hundreds of photographs of the ship, the crew, the guests, the islands, the trees, the rocks, the flora and fauna, and … He takes his passion for photography farther, and has self-printed a series of photographic guides to each of the Windjammers, the trees of New England, the mushrooms of Maine, and … as his current project … the rocks and minerals of Maine. He was thus elated to know I was a geologist, and had picked my brain about plate tectonics, the geologic history of Maine, and lastly the rocks. The shore of North Haven provided an excellent lab for my dissertation about rocks, with a cool metaconglomerate that had been first metamorphosed and the intruded by a diorite, and then cut by a basaltic dike, so while the other went to visit the lighthouse Rick and I happily jumped from boulder to boulder along the shore.
By the time we rejoined the others Bradley had already started the fire, and was bringing some seawater to a boil. Meredith—for once allowed to leave the galley—and the rest of the crew were scooping huge piles of seaweed, while Captain Dennis lugged a big ice chest filled with lobsters to the fireside. I jumped at the opportunity to feed the lobsters to the pot. Fifty lobsters! Once they were in there the tub was filled with the seaweed as a kind of leaky lid, and 20 minutes later the Skipper and Bradley scooped out the seaweed to form a bed on the beach and upon it poured the fully-cooked lobsters. “Oh, no” complained the Cap, “they again turned all red!” There are no words to describe the extent and deliciousness of the feast, which amounted to about three lobsters for each of the people present. What a wonderful treat!
Day 5. Becalmed
The sea is absolutely still, without a ripple or hint of a swell. Not only was there no wind, but we were at high tide so there was not even a tidal current. Well, when life gives you lemons … and our Cap decided that this were perfect conditions to motor across the narrow channel between North Have and Vinal Heaven islands, which is normally not navigable because of its shallow depth, and thus got us into West Penobscot Bay, where we caught enough of a whiff of wind to allow us to tack to Rockland Harbor, and from there to tack back to Pulpit Rock and Pulpit Harbor, where we spent the night.
Dinner that night was a tasty dish of beef fajitas, but for once Bradley faltered and made the common gringo mistake of not the tortillas hot enough, so they fell apart (and of course it didn’t help that the guests did the other common gringo mistake of overstuffing their tacos).
Day 6. Back to Camden
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and the crossing of West Penobscot Bay, from Rockland Harbor to Camden, was all too brief. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and I am sure I will come back for more in years to come. Captain Dennis made the sailing all the more enjoyable by his inexhaustible treasure trove of stories. He started as a carpenter/shipwright during the off season (he still does that today) and sailor, worked his way to First Mate, and eventually bought Angelique from her old owner and captain less than 10 years ago.
Of course there are other windjammers out there, as I had
occasion to find out a few weeks later …
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