Saturday, September 5, 2020

Maine, Continued

I haven't posted for over a week. Not sure why, a combination of factors I suppose including limited connectivity, sailing solo and distractions.  I'm going to catch up with a travelogue summary of the days since my last post on August 25, the narrative interspersed with relevant photos.

August 26, Castine

I got in contact with my Instagram friend, Rebecca. She's a student at Maine Maritime Academy (MMA), an artist and a pretty bad-ass young woman who has been restoring a vintage steel yawl, Cu-Mara. I have been following the work she has been doing on the boat, single handed, all summer. It's been an impressive display of energy, perseverance and making a dream come true on a shoestring budget. The boat has beautiful lines and Rebecca applied her artistic talent to the selection of colors and artwork on the bows, a cu mara, a sea wolf, being ridden by a woman on each side.

I wanted to Rebecca in person and lend a hand if I could. I took the dinghy over to Cu-Mara's mooring in windy, rough and chilly conditions. I arrived to a hearty greeting and capable hands took hold of the painter and made us fast to the boat. In addition to having sailed her previous boat, Dolphin, some considerable distance, including some single-handed passages, Rebecca is the chief mate on Bowdoin, the official vessel of the State of Maine and MMA's flagship. Bowdoin was built in 1921 with  a double wood hull for arctic exploration and has made three trips above the Artic Circle.

It turned out there was some work I could assist with, the installation of a new engine throttle and shift control. We worked out how to install it, dry-fitted it and tested it before quitting to get out of the strong breeze.

August 27, Castine

We finished the installation of the engine controls in the morning, during which I got a quick tour of the MMA waterfront and shop buildings when we went ashore to get some hardware needed.

I wanted to head further north, knowing there was something beautiful to see there but feeling a bit down and uncertain, so I stayed in Castine and worked on Intermezzo. The weather had calmed down and it was peaceful and comfortable at anchor. I would later regret my decision to not push onward, but no use crying over spilt milk.

Rebecca, master of s/v Cu-Mara

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sea-wolf starboard bow

 

 

 

 

 


Sea-wolf port bow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 


 


The arctic schooner Bowdoin, official vessel of the State of Maine

 


 


Maine Maritime Academy's fleet of training vessels

 


Another lovely Castine sunset

 








































 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 August 28, Bucks Harbor

I headed just a little north to Bucks Harbor, a pretty little spot that my friend John had recommended for its outdoor showers overlooking the water, which I enjoyed. I took a mooring ball and spent a warm sunny afternoon lounging about. It was nice, but I really wished I had figured things out better and spent time further north, for the next day I had to return to Rockland to pick up Lisa who was returning from shore leave and the opportunity was gone for at least this time round.

August 29, Rockland

My single-handed sail back to Rockland was a challenge with winds around 20 knots, heavy rain, reduced visibility and very cool temperatures. I wore my heavy foul weather jacket for the first time. Despite the conditions I enjoyed myself immensely, really having to focus, plan ahead and move quickly and carefully on the boat, like a marine ballet with no audience.

By the time I dropped anchor in Rockland in the early afternoon, I was pretty damp and cold, bordering on shivering. I dried off, had a warm drink fortified with rum and relaxed in the salon watching the rain come down. Fortunately, when Lisa's bus arrived, the rain had eased off to a light mist and the temperature was warmer so the dinghy ride to collect her was much more pleasant than it could have been.

August 30, Rockport

We motored in gusty winds the five miles north to the small harbor of Rockport. There was no room to anchor, so we looked for a transient mooring ball. They really pack the boats into this harbor and it took us a little while to figure out which balls were available and then which ones were suitable for Intermezzo's length. We had a couple of "go arounds" before we found a suitable mooring ball and it was really tricky getting attached in the 20 knot wind with 30 knot gusts! We almost got it the first time, but the pennant slipped off the bow cleat at the last second and we had to pick it up again.  All told, it took us almost two hours to reconnaissance the harbor, search for the right mooring and get hooked up.  I so much prefer anchoring.

I strolled around Rockport and had late lunch with a nice glass of Chardonnay, while Lisa went on a bike ride to tour nearby Camden. By the time she returned and the sun had gone down, it was quite cold out.

Rockport harbor on a blustery day















 

 

 

August 31, Port Clyde

We spent most of the day sailing from Rockport to Port Clyde, about 28 nm down the coast. It was an upwind sail, close hauled. I tried trimming the sails differently, moving the jib cars further aft and using the traveler to trim the main rather than the sheet, which I kept pretty tight. It worked great, the best upwind sail ever on Intermezzo. Lesson learned!

We walked around the nice waterfront town, visited the Marshall Lighthouse (the land's end where Forrest Gump finishes his run across the country) and bought a couple lobsters off a boat for dinner.

Port Clyde

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 




Marshall Lighthouse
















Port Clyde sunset















 

 

 

 

 

 

September 1, Monhegan Island
We left Intermezzo at anchor in Port Clyde and took the ferry to Monhegan Island, about an hour's ride offshore. There is a small village on the island where the ferry docks, only a few cars and the rest of the island is just open space, criss-crossed with hiking trails. We hiked the perimiter of the island along some high cliffs. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. The hike took us a few hours and I finished it up with a nice local brew.

Wreck on the shore of Monhegan Island

View from the cliffs of Monhegan Island





























 

 

 

 

 

September 2, Port Clyde

Lisa did a 20 mile bike ride while I attended to my end of month finances and administrative tasks. I've really fallen behind on my "To Do" list and need to get back on track.

September 3, Boothbay

We motored from Port Clyde to Boothbay, another 22 nm southward along the coast. We anchored just outside the mooring field and took the dinghy into town. We enjoyed a nice walk along an "outdoor museum" trail which featured two dozen placards with historic photographs at points of interest along walk. I picked up some nice oysters and pastries along the way.

Boothbay is a nice town and the historic walk was interesting, but it is too touristy for me.  We decided we would move on the next day.

 September 4, Seal Cove

We originally headed to Christmas Cove from Boothbay on John's advice, but as we approached the cove decided it was too crowded and looked for somewhere else to go. What a great decision!

We headed about four miles up the Damariscotta River and turned into long narrow Seal Cove. What a pretty place, a rock- and tree-lined shore with a few houses, rocky islets covered at high tide, a dozen small grey seals swimming around and very few people.  We explored in the kayaks, enjoying the sheltered sunny warmth and peacefulness of the cove.

Later in the afternoon, I had a couple of business calls which made me feel productive and as if I was living in the real world.

September 5, Seal Cove

We tried our luck at clamming this moring at low tide but didn't have the "digger" required to get to the clams buried deep in the mud.  I did manage to harvest a dozen-and-a-half fat mussels though. We spent the rest of the morning drifting back to Intermezzo in the dinghy, lounging in the sun and enjoying the scenery. I tried to line up the dinghy with wind and current so that we would drift directly to the boat with no rowing and actually pulled it off! We bumped right into one of the bows.

Later, Lisa saw a lobster boat pulling up traps and jumped in the dinghy to see if she could get some lobsters. She came back with two small ones which, together with the mussels, made for a nice dinner.

Early tomorrow morning,we set off for Portland where we'll put Intermezzo into slip in a marina for 10 days while I fly back to California for a business meeting and to visit family. It will be the first time lying at a dock since we left Strong's Yacht Center on July 14th. I'll have slept a consecutive 71 days on the water.

Seal Cove













Tuesday, August 25, 2020

Lovin' Maine

I'm loving Maine.

I'm loving the natural beauty, the lightly populated towns and small cities, the historic architecture, the many lighthouses, the seafood, the cool temperatures, the variable weather, excellent sailing conditions and the strong maritime character, both contemporary and in heritage. There is an interesting mix of progressive and libertarian politics which I can be in conflict, yet also compliment each other on some issues. Reported rates of COVID infection are very low and people are taking reasonable precautions to keep it that way. Though the tourism industry has suffered and I'm sympathetic to the people whose livelihoods depend on visitors, I also appreciate that there aren't the normal crowds of tourists in towns and more boats crowding the harbors.

Looking at the charts, one could spend a lifetime exploring the hundreds of bays, coves, rivers and islands here. If you include all of the islands, Maine has over 5,000 miles of coastline! I'm only getting a little taste of the giant cruising feast laid out in front of me.

We enjoyed a nice downwind sail, the main and jib "wing-on-wing", from Quahog Bay to Tenants Harbor on Thursday (August 20). We anchored in Long Cove, a well-protected lagoon about three-quarters of a mile from town and hunkered down for the evening, enjoying the scenery and peacefulness of the place.

In the morning, Lisa hailed a passing lobster boat, "Did you get any?", which caused the lobstermen to turn around and offer us two small lobsters for $10, just plucked from the bottom of the sea. They later made a nice dinner.

After breakfast and a few boat chores, we took the dinghy to town. Tenants Harbor is a pleasant little town, off the beaten tourist path and it didn't take long to explore on foot; a general store, a bakery, a couple of restaurants, two art galleries, a fishermans wharf, a little league field and nice, modest, tidy homes. We ventured beyond town a bit to get some exercise, me jogging, Lisa on the bike. After my run, I enjoyed a nice imported German pilsner at the local beer garden...two, actually.

The next day (August 22), we set off for Rockland, a big harbor with a pretty good-sized town. We anchored in the southwest portion of the harbor, just outside the large mooring field in front of town. We arrived midday, which gave us the afternoon to walk around town, visit the Atlantic Baking Company, where I picked up two delicious raisin rolls, and enjoy a nice IPA at the Liberator Brewing Company and listen to some live music, something I have been sorely missing in these days of COVID.

On Sunday (August 23), Lisa left for a week's break from the boat (and me) to visit a friend in Washington DC, taking the bus to Portland to catch her plane. I took her departure as an opportunity to do a huge load of laundry, which I hauled to the laundromat along the sidewalk in my big roller duffel. The COVID precautions at all the laundromats I've been to recently include prohibiting folding of clothes inside. Fortunately, this laundromat has a big picnic table nearby, which I used for my folding. The saying, "Don't air your dirty laundry in public" came to mind, but my laundry was clean, so it didn't apply.

Monday morning I cleaned the salon, mostly straightening up and polishing the woodwork. It's a lot of work keeping a boat clean and I've fallen behind, inside and out. Afterwards, I managed to lash the propane tank to the bike's luggage carrier and pedal it about a mile to get it topped up. It looked a bit unwieldy and I imagined getting a ticket for illegal transport of flammable gas or falling over and exploding into a giant fireball.

I had learned via Instagram that an old friend from California, John Kuony, was working on his boat at the Lyman-Morse yard in nearby Camden. John apparently learned via social media that I was in Rockland. This led each of us to get in contact with the other and John invited me to take a look at his boat, Perseverance, and join him and his wife, Jeanine, for drinks and dinner.

I rode my bike the eight miles to Camden, mostly on busy Route 1 but with a nice stretch along a bike path through Rockport (home of L.L. Bean), and then through the scenic local streets of Camden. Historic Camden is a really nice looking town and its harbor is really lovely, as is Rockport's.

I met John and the Lyman-Morse yard where Perseverance, a Celestial 48 built in 1983, was blocked up inside a shed. John had been scraping away old paint for the last four days and had just finished the big, tedious job. I clambered up a ladder onto Perseverance's deck. She is a beautiful, tough, bluewater yacht that completed two circumnavigations prior to John's ownership. I toured below decks and was impressed by the layout, fit, finish and equipment. A proper yacht.  I would really enjoy a long-distance cruise on this boat.

John, Jeanine and I enjoyed a nice dinner on the Camden waterfront, eating outside but under cover as it was raining. It was great meeting Jeanine, catching up on life with John, and sharing sailing stories and dreams. John and Jeanine are really wonderful people and they love Maine waters and know them well. It was hard to resist their urging me to stay longer and consider another summer of sailing here.

John and Jeanine gave me a ride back to the dinghy dock as the weather was pretty gloomy. Thank goodness for a folding bike, which fit nicely in the back of their sporty Volvo wagon.

This morning I set sail singlehanded to Castine, about 25 miles north. I always get a little nervous sailing by myself. Not from a lack of confidence or being afraid of anything, more from not having anyone around that might catch my mistakes. Though I do enjoy having to think things out beforehand, move more purposefully around the boat and focusing on sailing and nothing much else.

The trip started off in foggy conditions. The fog was patchy, visibility decreasing to less than a mile and then opening up to several miles showing land shrouded in semi-transparent mist, the sea a steel grey. I was grateful for radar and for the automatic foghorn feature on the VHF/hailer, which I set to sound its one long, two short beeps for making way under sail. I blew the foghorn in the dense patches, turned it off when I emerged. I was the only vessel doing this, but better safe than sorry, in my book.

The fog lifted and we turned downwind for the main leg to north Castine. I rigged up an outboard sheet to fly the jib better "wing-on-wing" with the main which worked great, a big improvement of the normal configuration. It was easy sailing with pine covered islands in the distance on either side dotting the shores of Penobscot Bay, tall, rounded hills rising further away on the mainland shore to the west.

I practiced reefing the mainsail downwind by myself, easing the halyard from the mast a couple of feet at a time, then winching in the reefing line to stop the sail from billowing out by keeping some tension on the leech. Ease a little, tension a little until I could make fast the reefing cringle.  It worked like a dream under the calm conditions and I'm pretty confident this method would work pretty well in higher winds, too.

I entered Castine harbor and dropped the sails just as the thunderstorm predicted for the afternoon was building. I motored around a bit checking out places to anchor and selected a spot in Smith Cove called "Indian Bar", tucked behind a point of land that provides protection from the northwesterlies forecast to blow tonight and tomorrow.  Another beautiful scenic Maine anchorage.

Right after I dropped anchor, the thunderstorm came and dumped heavy rain but, thankfully, was accompanied by very little lightning. After the storm, I watched a seal fishing for its dinner, the school of fish breaking the surface of the water with a whooshing sound as they tried to escape. The sun set among the remnants of the storm's black clouds.

I'm loving Maine.

The mooring ball float I cut away from the propeller in Saco River, just before disposal

House in Tenants Harbor

Another nice house in Tenants Harbor

Scenery form the shores of Tenants Harbor

Low tide in Tenant's Harbor

Lighthouse on the way to Rockland

Foggy sunset in Rockland Harbor
Propane tank refill by bike

Lighthouse at the end of the breakwater in Rockland Harbor.
Sunset after the storm in Castine Harbor


Friday, August 21, 2020

Quahog Bay

After sorting out my debacle with the mooring ball on Tuesday (August 18), we motored partway, sailed partway to Quahog Bay, a narrow inlet about 15 nm northeast of Portland.

This part of Maine's coastline looks to me like the long, streaking drips of wax from a melting candle. Long, narrow, closely spaced spits of land flow 10-15 nm southeast from more solid, continuous coastline, forming long narrow bays lined with rocky shores and dense trees. The spits of land are sliced cross-ways by water every so often to create long, narrow islands. Islets and rocks pepper the sea around the main spits,

The tidal range is over 10 feet, so the bays are wider at high tide, narrower at low. The shoreline is a plinth of rock from which the trees extend above and beyond at high tide. At low tide, golden-brown sea grass lying down on sloped rock creates a border between sea and land.

It all comes together as a place of rugged but serene beauty. We anchored Intermezzo in a pretty little cove formed by Snow Island. The water was flat, the currents and winds gentle and there was no mooring ball to deal with. Very, very peaceful.

Our first order of business upon arrival in the late afternoon was to launch the dinghy and speed over to Webber's Lobster Pound, about 10 minutes away at high speed on the opposite shore. When we landed, there was nobody to be found. We lingered for a while until a lobsterman's wife and kids who were awaiting the arrival of the lobsterman on his boat. We were told that if Linda wasn't around, we couldn't buy lobster and to try next door at the Quahog Inn. We dinghied there to find that no lobster was being sold as the proprietor was caring for her 97 year-old father and didn't want to take the chance with COVID. An investment banker (!) fishing from the dock told us to try buying lobster "at the store up the road". We walked up the road only to find that the "store" was Webber's, where we had just come from. The runaround paid off though, as Linda was now conducting business from her little shack on the dock.

We walked out on the floating dock with Linda where we raised a trap door to reveal a big underwater cage filled with lobsters. We were given our pick, scooping out two 2lb lobsters with a net. We paid Linda $22 for our catch and headed back to the boat to eat them. They were delicious.

We spent the next day kayaking around the bay, investigating little inlets and coves and exploring Little Snow Island, the island accessible to the public, all the others privately owned. It was a beautiful day and the scenery was lovely.

Back on the boat, we watched osprey's hunting and quarreling with each other in the air, a seal and cormorants fishing in the sea, fish jumping and splashing as they evaded being eaten or chased their own food. The sun set pink-orange among clouds and the dark night sky revealed the cloudy streak of the Milky Way, the cool air scented by the surrounding pines.

This was one of the best places we have visited so far on this cruise.

Lighthouse marking a rock on the way to Quahog Bay

Webber's Lobster Pound

Quahog Bay

An islet in Quahog Bay (It's about 40 feet in diamter and 10 feet high, a bonsai island)

Intermezzo at anchor from the shore of Little Snow Island


Thursday, August 20, 2020

Saco River and The Mooring Ball

 (Note: I'm catching up on blog posts as we didn't have sufficient cell service for the past couple of days.)

We arrived at the mouth of the Saco River late afternoon on Sunday (August 16) and picked up one of the City of Saco's free mooring balls. I don't like mooring balls as you seldom know what's holding them (and your boat) to the bottom or the condition of the chain and all the appurtenances that connect you to whatever's down there.

I much prefer the known quantity of my own anchor and ground tackle. But, sometimes you have no choice. Anchoring isn't allowed or there isn't room to swing at anchor or, as in the case in this location, both conditions exist. Furthermore, the currents from the 10 foot tides are strong enough to make anchoring with only one anchor a bit dicey as the direction of pull changes 180 degrees twice a day.

Also, moorings usually cost money, while anchoring is free, and I'd rather spend my money on lobster and beer.

Because I avoid moorings whenever I can, I don't have a lot of experience connecting Intermezzo to them. Tying up a monohull to a mooring is pretty straightforward. Tying up a catamaran is a bit more complicated because you want to keep the pull on the mooring centered between the two hulls as best you can. To do this, I attach Intermezzo to mooring ball pennants with a bridle, a Y-shaped arrangement of lines in which the vertical leg of the Y leads to the pennant and two diagonal legs lead to cleats on each bow.

That's what I did when we arrived at Saco. All looked good, though the combined length of the bridle and pennant looked a bit long to me. Still, the boat seemed to settle nicely on the arrangement, so we launched the dinghy and went to shore to look around and have dinner at an outdoor seafood restaurant.

When we returned after sunset, the flood current from the incoming tide was running strong, I'd guess at close to 2 knots. The wind was blowing in the same direction, so Intermezzo was pulling with some force against the mooring. I went up to the bows to take a look and everything looked great.

At about 0200, I was woken up by a mild banging noise accompanied by a grinding sound against the hull. I lay in my bunk figuring it was just the mooring ball rubbing against the hull as the current reversed itself.  It didn't sound good, but nothing unexpected or out of the ordinary. Then, suddenly, there was a big bang, the whole boat shuddered and then swung violently.

I leaped out of my bunk, pulled on some clothes, grabbed a flashlight and dashed to the bows to see what was going on. The mooring ball was underneath the boat between the two hulls, my bridle and the pennant hopelessly twisted around the mooring ball chain, the lines tight and pulling backwards across the aluminum cross beam that connects the two bows of the boat. Not good at all.

The current had reversed but Intermezzo hadn't swung around the mooring ball to lie in the opposite direction and pull away from it. Instead, the wind, stronger than the current, was pushing the boat forward and over the mooring ball. I hadn't considered this possiblity when I set up the bridle and now we were in a bit of a pickle.

The problem was that I had made the diagonal legs of the Y-bridle too long when I initially set it up. During slack current and diminished wind, the middle leg of the bridle and the mooring ball pennant sunk and, as Intermezzo pivoted around the mooring ball, they wrapped themselves around the chain below the ball leading to whatever was holding us to the bottom. So, now with the lines all twisted together, my only option was to try and shorten the diagonal legs to limit how far under the boat the mooring ball could go and try and keep it between the two hulls and not let it pop out, get on the outside of a hull and then pop back inside, the source of the big bang and violent swinging that woke me up.  Shortening the lines put more stress on the cross beam, which I wasn't thrilled about, but the tension on the lines was within what I could pull with two hands, so seemed okay.

I returned to my bunk and slept fitfully as the mooring ball occasionally banged on the hull. Fortunately, it was a soft plastic ball and stayed between the hulls; no more big bangs. I got up to take a look when the current went slack and everything looked okay. By early morning, the wind and current were in the same direction, Intermezzo was pulling away from the mooring ball and everything was fine except for the tangled mess of lines.

When the current went slack again around 1030, Lisa and I tied a fender to the bridle lines for a float, dropped the bridle into the water and temporarily moved Intermezzo to the mooring ball next door. We launched the dinghy and popped over to the original mooring ball, untangled all the lines and recovered the bridle. Then we brought Intermezzo back and reattached in a different configuration. This time we hauled the mooring ball pennant up through the anchor roller near the center of the cross beam, threaded a line through its eye and led it back to a cleat in the anchor locker at the center of the boat. Now we had only one line that couldn't sink and tangle up with the chain and the mooring ball's movement was limited by the short length of the pennant beyond the bow.

This configuration worked great. Regardless of the direction and strength of current or wind, the mooring ball remained between the two hulls and could barely touch them. No rubbing, banging, popping, violent swinging. Just the occasional gentle rubbing of the mooring ball on a hull as the boat swung and settled itself. This is how I will attach Intermezzo to a mooring from now on.

The mooring ball was not finished with me, though.

After getting the mooring sorted out on Monday morning, we went grocery shopping. This required taking two public buses and, as a result, took most of the afternoon but replenished a seriously depleted larder. We changed buses at Old Orchard Beach, a seaside town that reminded me of something between a New Jersey shore town and the Southend-on-Sea seafront in England, near where my parents' grew up. A beach of modest quality, gift shops, fast food stands, ice cream shops, a small amusement park and mostly working-class visitors from nearby Portland enjoying an affordable mini-vacation.

We got a good night's sleep with no mooring ball drama during the night. I felt satisfied having cleaned up my oriingal mooring mess and having figured out a good way to attach to moorings in the future.

On Tuesday morning we got the boat ready to depart for our next port of call and Lisa went forward to release us from the mooring ball. She untied the line, let me know we were free and I proceeded to motor out of the anchorage. I put the engines into forward, slowly opened the throttles and then, suddenly, the port engine stopped turning. To my horror, I knew exactly why.

Now, like anyone, I don't like making a mistake, especially a boneheaded, stupid, amateur-hour, embarrassing one. And I don't like writing about and publicizing my mistake, either. But I do believe in owning my mistake, learning from it and perhaps helping someone else avoid making a similar one. So here's what I did wrong.

As I mentioned earlier, I prefer anchoring over taking a mooring. When we raise the anchor, the person doing the raising lets the person at the helm know when the anchor is up. It's out of the water and out of the way and we generally proceed forward. When Lisa told me that we were free of the mooring ball, that's exactly what I did out of habit, motored forward.

Only the mooring ball was between the two hulls, not out of the water, nor out of the way. I proceeded to drive over it and as I turned the boat to starboard, caught the pennant with and wound it tightly around the port propeller.

Fucking idiot!

I didn't have time to further curse myself as the current was flowing pretty strong and the boat was being held fast to the mooring ball by the propeller and the not-very-strong aluminum sail drive to which it was attached. I had to relieve the force pulling on these mechanical components as quickly as possible to avoid damaging them.

I told Lisa to get me a line and we attached one end of it to the port stern cleat. Then I leaned out from the stern quarter and reached down into the water to try and thread the other end through the eye at the bottom of the mooring ball. It was quite a way below the surface and my arms were barely long enough to reach, but with some grunting and straining and Lisa's help with the boathook, we were successful and led the line back to the cleat, forming a double-purchase loop that we could tighten and relieve the strain on the prop.

Now I had to unwrap the line.

I went quickly below to get my wet suit, a trip that took long enough for me to thoroughly insult myself for my stupidity. My language was, let us say...creative.

I quickly donned the wet suit, put on my mask and snorkel that Lisa had at the ready and jumped overboard into the swiftly flowing, chilly (66℉) water. I dove below the boat and saw that nearly the entire 6-foot long, 1-inch diameter pennant line was wrapped around the prop, along with its floats on their smaller diameter lines. Quite the mess.

I dove a couple of times to try, but it was impossible to unwrap the end float line, so I cut it away with my knife. Fortunately, the main pennant line then unwrapped without much trouble. However, the line cutter on the prop had come loose and was dangling loosely on the propeller housing like a necklace. It had tried, but 1-inch line is well beyond it's capability to cut through. With Lisa's help handing me tools, it took only another half-dozen dives to remove it.

I inspected the propeller and its connection to the sail drive and was relieved to find no damage. I got out of the water, dried off, started the port engine and then tested the transmission. Everything was working fine. Thank goodness.

Lisa slipped the line through the mooring ball eye and we were free and on our way. I looked at my watch and was surprised that it took only 25 minutes from when the propeller got wrapped to when we were free. Amazing what the combination of problem-solving focus, adrenaline and cold water can achieve.

The lesson to be learned is a simple one I expect sailors with more experience than I with mooring balls do automatically: When leaving a mooring ball under power, always reverse until you have it in sight.

It was a stupid, embarrassing mistake, but I will admit I am pleased with how efficiently we corrected it, grateful for Lisa's teamwork and that there was no damage.

Lesson learned.

Sunday, August 16, 2020

Isles of Shoals

We waited out a northeast blow on Saturday at a mooring in Gosport Harbor nestled among the desolate Isle of Shoals. It was windy, overcast and cool (cold, for summer), the temperature never getting above 70 degrees F. We had motorsailed the 38 nm from Gloucester on Friday.

The Isle of Shoals consists of nine small islands that straddle the Maine-New Hampshire state line. The islands are all privately owned, the largest, Star Island, has a big hotel, a church and several other large residential structures. Apparently, religious meetings are held there, but the island was signpost as "Closed for 2020", probably due to COVID. The islands are rocky, low-lying with very little vegetation, windswept and bashed by waves. On a nice sunny day I expect they would be quite spectacular. On a grey day, they just seemed cold, exposed and lonely.

We landed the dinghy on a beach at low tide in a cleft between Malaga and Smuttynose Islands. Malaga is the only island on which you are allowed to walk on. We climbed its summit (about 50 feet above sea level) and hiked its perimeter (about 1000 feet), which took about 30 minutes walking slowly and stopping often to admire the rugged scenery.

The rest of the time, we spent lounging on the boat, reading, writing, napping, watching a movie. It felt like staying home sick from school as a kid, only without being sick. The wind blew, the boat tugged at its mooring. There were several other boats in the harbor, but everyone seemed to be hunkered down and keeping to themselves.

I took a calculated risk this morning and decided to head on to the Sasco River, about 35 nm north-northeast. The wind was forecast to be coming from the northeast at 5 to 10 knots in the morning and then veer come from the east in the afternoon at 10-15 knots, which would let us sail the second half of the passage. But, nope. The wind blew from the northeast at 10-15 knots all day and even backed a bit north sometimes, making it a 6 hour bouncy, chilly motoring bash for six hours. Not pleasant at all.

We entered the Saco River around 1530 and took one of the city's free mooring balls near the town's jetty. Saco seems like nice little place. We took a short walk and had a seafood dinner of chowder, haddock and scallops, eating outside in blustery conditions.  The weather doesn't look good for tomorrow, so we'll stay put and do some much-needed grocery shopping.

Smuttynose Island, Isles of Shoals

Dinghy landing at low tide, Isle of Shoals

Blustery weather

Rugged, exposed Isle of Shoals

View of Star Island from Malaga Island (Intermezzo in distance, slightly right of center)

Walking on nature's artwork
This gull made himself at home on Intermezzo


Friday, August 14, 2020

Gloucester

 I enjoyed our stay in Gloucester (pronounced locally as “glosta”), a famous, slightly down-and-out fishing town with good beer and delicious lobsters.

On Wednesday we sailed from Provincetown to Gloucester, motored actually, as there was very little wind. It was a straightforward passage in calm seas, nothing much to do but stay on course. That and kill flies. We were overrun by many dozens of biting black flies that required manual extermination with the fly swatter. Lisa killed over 50 while on watch, I sent over a dozen to their demise in my cabin and the master head compartment was the site of major carnage, the flies being trapped in a small space and thus victims to a human whirlwind of determined swatting.

Arriving in Gloucester harbor, it took us a while to find a place to anchor where we wouldn’t  run afoul of one of many, many mooring balls dotting all of the protected anchorages. We ultimately found some room in the southeast part of the harbor, not far from the harbor entrance in about 37 feet of water. Taking into consideration the rising tide and the height of Intermezzo’s bow above the water, we had to pay out over 200 feet of chain to achieve a 5:1 scope. Our location was open to the south, but winds were light and shifted north during out stay, so we enjoyed calm waters except for the occasional rogue swells (one set big enough to break a cup and emptied a locker) and boat wakes.

In the morning we took a leisurely dinghy tour of the harbor. Gloucester is famous for its fishing fleet, much diminished now since the collapse of the cod fisheries but still the most prominent feature of the town. A dozen or so big trawlers were tied to the town’s piers, along with many more lobster boats on the surrounding docks. The big Gorton’s fish processing plant hummed away on shore, making fish sticks and other prepared frozen seafood. There are quite a few historic sailing vessels, too. I don’t think I’ve seen as many wooden masts in such a small area before. This is the port of the famous “Gloustermen”, the legendary fisherman who would brave all conditions to land their catch, a story most recently told by the book and movie, “The Perfect Storm”.

As we slowly motored towards the end of the harbor, a lobster skiff passed by us. I decided I’d keep an eye on where it was headed, as I figured it would be selling its catch. Up ahead was an old warehouse, paint peeling, surrounded by lobster traps, its main doors open to its dock. I got a whiff of slightly sweet, salty, fishy air and told Lisa, “It smells like lobsters to me.” Sure enough, the skiff pulled up to the dock and unloaded its catch of lobsters. Manned by what appeared to be father and son, we asked how was their catch and were told, “Okay, enough to pay for the bait and fuel”, which didn’t sound that okay to me. We figured this might be a good place to buy lobsters for dinner, but needed to explore the local lobster market further.

We tied the dinghy up at the harbormaster’s dock and began a wandering tour through town. From the harbor we headed north along a main street dotted with vacant storefronts and struggling businesses, many unusually closed on a weekday. I don’t sense that business was good before the pandemic and now it is decidedly bad. Yet, just like its fishing fleet, it seems that Gloucester is no stranger to tough times. I get the sense that the people here just hang on, get by, deal with it. The houses along the residential streets are modest and faded, but in serviceable condition. The streets are clean, patched up but free of potholes. It’s like the city has figured out over the past 400 years how to keep going, no matter what happens, without much ado or drama. I like and respect this sort of town spirit more than I do the Disneyland-like main streets of Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard and Provincetown given over to tourism, more prosperous but a big departure from their historic roots. I like the grittiness, authenticity, survivor instinct of Gloucester.

Gloucester does have a small tourist area with a few cafes, restaurants, shops and modest hotels. This part of town seems to be doing a bit better economically. We stopped at a restaurant to satisfy my noon beer habit and I discovered a delicious IPA that was on special for 16 ounce pours. It was good enough and priced right for me to have two glasses, much to Lisa’s dismay as unofficial ship’s dietician. Every glass of beer, every rum sundowner, every cake and cookie that I have is closely monitored and regulated. Two pints of beer put me way over the daily allowance and I expect I will be put on short rations over the next few days.

We stopped by several seafood wholesale places and checked prices. We asked locals where was the best place to buy lobsters. All pointed to Captain Joe’s, the old warehouse we had reconnoitered in the morning. We brought the dinghy round to a nearby public landing and walked a short distance to Joe’s. More lobster traps surrounded the building on the land side. We entered the big open doors, into the dark, dank coolness of an interior lined with tubs full of lobsters. We were asked what size lobsters we wanted, two-and-a-half-pounds-plus, and a blue plastic tub was yanked down off a rack from which we could have our pick. We picked two of the bigger ones which together weighed 5.2 pounds, for which we paid $39, less than the price of two small lobster rolls in Provincetown. We carried the lobsters back to the dinghy in a big plastic bag and brought them back to the boat where they were put into a five gallon bucket of salt water to spend their final hours.

Five-plus pounds of lobster is a lot for two people to eat. We boiled them up one at a time and ate them with corn on the cob and salad. The meat was tender, sweet and tasty. We did messy dissections of the heads and bodies to make sure we got every last bit of meat from among the biomatter of various colors and textures that inhabits the front portion of a lobster. It is nice eating lobster on a boat, where you can discard the empty shells overboard and rinse your hands and plates in the sea as you go. We were both quite gorged full as we finished the last morsels. I expect quite a few more lobsters will meet the same fate as we travel northward to Maine.

This morning we upped anchor and motor-sailed against a northeasterly breeze to Isle of Shoals, a group of small islands about six miles offshore that straddle the New Hampshire-Maine border. We arrived this afternoon and hooked up to one of the free mooring balls in a cove between two of the largest islands. It’s not clear if we are allowed to go ashore on the main island, which has a big old hotel and other interesting looking structures on it. We might only be allowed on a much smaller uninhabited one. We’ll figure that out tomorrow.

It looks like we may be here a couple days, as a cold front is supposed to be passing through and with it some high northerly winds.  No point in beating against the weather if we don’t have to.



Old paint factory, Gloucester harbor
Members of the modern Glouster fishing fleet





















Classic wooden gaff-rigged boat in Gloucester harbor
Vintage Gloucester diner
Gloucester's modest version of Eureka's Carson Mansion (Ingomar Club)
The real Ingomar Club in Eureka
Captain Joe & Sons, best place for lobster in Gloucester

One of the yummies, pre-disection
Gloucester schooner

Thursday, August 13, 2020

Provincetown

 I don't have much to write about Provincetown. It's a lively town surrounded by nice beaches.

We biked up the hill to the Pilgrim Monument (the pilgrims landed here first, then went to Plymouth) and then to a trail that led through marshland to the beach. It was very hot and humid.

When we returned to Provincetown, I had a beer, a lobster roll, oysters and a painkiller. It was still hot and humid.

Ice cream in Provincetown is $5 for a single scoop. I didn't buy any. Even thought it was hot and humid.

I bought Q-tips at the CVS drugstore. The were not in the ear care aisle. That annoyed me. Probably because it was hot and humid.

I returned to the boat, where it was not hot and humid. Lisa remained on land where it was hot and humid until the evening, when she returned to the boat where it was not hot and humid.