Mackerel Cove, ME 44°13.9N, 68°48.6W

Today I satisfied one of the things I really wanted to do in Maine: sail up the famous Eggemoggin Reach! This roughly 10nm stretch of water runs perpendicular to the prevailing SW breeze, so it’s a fast reaching passage up what feels a bit like a canyon. At around a mile wide, and covered in tall trees running down to the water, it’s a great zoom: sheets cracked, flat water and a chance to power the boat up and rip through this famous piece of water. It’s also a racetrack where every boat takes on each other, and a wonderful place to see beautiful Maine built windjammers, boats from the Wooden Boat School on the eastern side, classic schooners and every kind of boat in between. So it was with some anticipation that we worked our way past the RW ER buoy (a red-white painted buoy that signifies safe water, and in this case, marked ER for Eggemoggin Reach) …only to find…that…as always it seems… we were on the Eggemoggin BEAT (sailing into the wind). Now we all know that gentlemen don’t sail to windward, but we made an exception today and short tacked our way right up the ‘Reach’ over several hours, leaving short and satisfying zig-zags on the chart plotter. Sure enough, we were soon in a duel with three other boats, each of us beating our way west and trying to win the cross. One was smaller than us, so we rolled him with ease, as we should, but we had a good fight with a similar sized sloop. Funny how a casual sail turns into a hard core few hours of trimming sails, steering to the jib’s tell-tails, and trying to squeeze every bit of height out of the boat. We won, but it was close and tough, and Max did a great job – loving it in fact! – confronted with this sudden change of tempo and rush of competitiveness! Now he understands why we’re trying to keep the boat light!

After the Reach we hit fog again, slipped carefully through the Casco Passage and anchored in a foggy but interesting bay called Mackerel Cove, on Swan Island. There’s a little town here with a wonderful name: Atlantic. Perhaps we’ll go in, but I think more likely we’ll have a gin & tonic, crank up the barbie and cook dinner, and otherwise enjoy the gentle roll on this (the leeward, and therefore protected) side of Swan Island. From here we’re in striking distance of Mount Desert Island and Acadia National Park. The real Maine! Yes!

The photos are of the plotter as we worked through Eggemoggin Reach, then one later that shows an afternoon's worth of tacking. The final one is the sleeping Outward Bound boat from yesterday.

I still have no internet, so write this in anticipation. Did you know too that you can click on any of these photos and they will enlarge. And you can also click on the ‘comments’ section below each update. It sends the comment to us first, by email, and then prints it on the site. We’d love to hear from you. Or you can just email me at tom_buchanan(at)mac.com

Barred Island, ME 44°09.3N, 68°53.2W

In the center of the little archipelago formed by Butter, Escargot, Bartender and Big & Little Barred Islands, is the most sublime anchorage. It’s surrounded by huge trees coming down to the rocky water’s edge, beaches, sea birds and islands stretching off into the horizon, and a protected pond of smooth water in the center. A magnificent spot. With the current full moon and the associated low tides, the bay is protected from almost every angle and it’s really a most strikingly beautiful place.

Max and I arrived here yesterday having left Camden in heavy fog. About an hour out the sun burst through and we had a slow and easy sail up through the islands, fishing line in tow. We were the only boat here, and anchored in the center of the pond. I took some photos and Max quickly donned his wetsuit and hood, and then leapt over to explore the coastline. We ended up with a crab and sea cucumber, and as he splashed around, I waded on Escargot Island and – perhaps confusingly with that name - twisted off a dozen fresh mussels (Max says there’s plenty of snails on the seafloor!). In keeping with our high-risk photography (frequent readers may remember Greg letting his hand be bitten by a swan), look at this hilarious photo of Max being pinched by a crab. HA! Max is a marine biologist by training, and was mid way through a discussion of the cove’s marine habitat, an ongoing adventure for us both.

Later a fast looking J-44 sailed in called Halcyon II. Before the anchor had snagged kids were leaping of the bows. The boat is owned by Keith & Kathy Longson, and there were three generations on board, all having a good time. They invited us for a glass of wine which was fun and cool; it’s always nice to meet enthusiastic sailing people, and to check out a nice piece of hardware. Afterward Max and I shot across the bay – racing along in the dinghy in the dark and fog – to a little beach. Here the waves gently lapped the shore and the whole scene was enveloped in a misty glow from the full moon, shrinking our world to this small patch of sand and water. A special and quiet place. (but nonetheless enhanced by Max’s kung-fu demonstration!).

We also shared the bay with an intriguing but gorgeous spritsail ketch pulling boat; it glided in amid the soft afternoon light, catching the last puffs of the falling breeze. It’s from the Hurricane Island Outward Bound School, and we understand these little boats are seen all over the Maine coast, indeed up almost to the Canadian Border. It’s about 24’ long with its own dory, no engine, but a very seaworthy and graceful looking design. My Dad would love these. The amazing thing is how many people are on board. Ultimately, they – all teenagers by the looks - huddled together in the open boat, cooked dinner on a primus, and then all curled up – somewhere – and slept on the boat! Where did they all fit? We referred to them as the Swiss Family Robinson. This morning is beautiful but foggy: I was happy to see that they had rigged a canvas a cover over the boat by the morning. We said gidday as we left the cove, and these kids were polite, full of smiles, and looked like they couldn’t be happier.

Camden, Maine

A famous sailing town, Camden, Maine is beautiful. There's a full moon tonight, and it's setting over the islands, and the traditional windjammers beating back into the harbor for the night. It's Greg's last night on the boat for - well I don't know how long - perhaps a couple of months, so we're going into Camden for dinner, and with Greg in charge, will probably devour several Maine lobsters. Still having a lot of difficulty with internet access...it seems my provider, Sprint, doesn't cover Maine, but fortunately some unsuspecting Camdenite has left their wi-fi unprotected...

If you haven't been to Maine, here are few photos over the last few days. I'll tidy them up later, but it's a start. The one of the chart plotter shows five targets as we sailed up Penobscot Bay. The last is Greg looking sharp!

Pulpit Harbor 44°09.3N, 68°53.2W

This morning we’re in Pulpit Harbor on North Haven Island, part of Maine’s Penobscot Bay. It’s a stunningly beautiful spot, with a giant osprey nest in at the entrance, and the rolling Camden Hills in various shades of grey scale on the horizon. Absolutely calm, warm and clear as a high pressure system sits over us leaving clear and settled conditions. Paul Maxwell, my best friend from New Zealand arrived yesterday, and will sail with me indefinitely, you’ll hear more of him (and from him) in due course. Needless to say, it’s great to see him. For now we’re having a lot of difficulty getting internet access in Maine…we haven’t been able to log in for a week…oh heavens! What will we do? Perhaps take a leaf out of our cruising guide, it proposes to the yachtsman whose office keeps calling leaving the message “Sorry I can’t be reached, gone sailing. Press on regardless!”

Kittery, Maine 43°04.6’N, 070°42.4’W

Maine at last! A 10 knt southerly breeze and a long ocean swell helped us to glide up the coast and into New Hampshire, now our fourth state since leaving NYC. Our target was Portsmouth on the fast flowing Piscataqua river, but on arrival we decided to push on to Maine. In truth, it's only the other side of the river. So we anchored in the last light of the day with phosphorescent river water swirling around the boat, in Maine!

Earlier in the day we had the fishing line out. A lobster boat that we were passing port-to-port suddenly veered behind us. I tried to pull the line out of his way but it was too late - he snagged it and the line went ripping out with the ratchet on the reel whizzing. I have a safety knife mounted on the helm, and was able to cut it in seconds, but not before the monofilament had cut deeply into my hand, fortunately quarterising it at the same time. I motored up to him on his next lobster pot and said some words that only fishermen and sailors understand. It was almost certainly a genuine mistake, but totally unnecessary when it was just he and us on the whole ocean.

We have a spare lure on board the boat. I cleverly stored it in a special spot for fishing gear. I'm sure it will emerge one day - perhaps the next owner will find it, because the present one cannot.

So no fishing for us. However, the real theme on entering Maine is lobsters. The ocean is literally covered in their floats. In essence, a lobster pot is a wire cage that is placed on the sea floor. It's attached via polypropylene line to a float on the surface. These multicoloured floats, the lobstermen each have their own distinct colours, are everywhere, so many in fact that sailing near-shore with the autopilot is almost impossible. I've read that there are three million lobster pots in Maine, and right now that number looks conservative by at least half!

For us, they're a menace mainly because they're easy to snag with a bulb keel (which we have), spade rudder (which we have) and unprotected propeller (which we have). The prop is the most dangerous, as they can wrap around the shaft and stall the motor, or worse. In any event, now I've seen with my own eyes how many there are, it's a virtual certainty that at some point (probably in the cold Labrador current, in fog, after dark) one of us will be diving overboard with a pocket knife in our teeth. [Personally, I vote for Greg].

We flew the kite for a good part of the day. At one point the wind died to a barely perceptible movement , painting the sea with cats paws (isn't that a beautiful expression - it means those tiny undulations that first appear on the ocean's surface as the first whispers of breeze, just the faintest eddies, first blow across it). We pumped up the dinghy, and Greg took these shots of us ghosting along under the chute. Cool aren't they?

Today we're working our way up the Maine coast, passing Kennybunkport, the summer residence of George Bush snr (or 43 as he likes to call himself). The chart shows a 'Presidential Security Zone'. I can see it out the port window. We won't stop, instead we're heading for either Biddeford Pool - where the owner of another Saga 43 called LUMEN lives, and with whom I have been corresponding by email - or we'll push on to just south of Portland to a little place called Seal Cove. The Cruising Guide to the Maine Coast provides a lovely description and it sounds great.

As I write, we're cruising along at just under 6 knts under full main and genoa, it's sunny warm and pleasant (although the temperature drops amazingly at night), and the water temperature is 19C. It's 172' deep and there are still lobster pots! The GPS suggests we have 17nm to go; easy by nightfall.

Gloucester, MA 42°36.6’N, 070°39.4’W

Something excellent happened between Boston and Gloucester. We changed from the big city to the working countryside. Gloucester is a magical place! Straightforward-get-down-to-it-no-messing-around-fishing. And lobstering, lobstering, lobstering.

So after being invited for a drink on the back of another cruising boat (a huge yacht, but at this stage with no masts), we went into town and had an outstanding bowl of clam chowder. Even Greg, an expert in these things, reckoned it was top notch. Before long we were chatting with the locals, met a bunch of cool people, and a most pleasant time it was too.

Today we're heading further north. We have a 5-10 knt southerly which is favourable, but a little on the light side, so it should be a gentle cruising day. I may finally get further than page one of Amsterdam, by Ian McEwen, which I have stolen from Greg despite that he is on page 24. I figure that by the time he notices, I can be on page 25, and I will then exert some form of squatter's rights over it.

Boston, MA 42°21.531’N, 071°02.847’W

Joy and Peter, Greg's sister and brother-in-law, joined us a for a fun and fast sail around the Boston harbor islands yesterday. Peter is a keen sailor: it's always fun to have good sailors on board as we can really make the boat fly. Boston harbor is beautiful with a number of islands (including a new man made island built from the soil removed from Boston's 'Big Dig' underground highway system), some imposing, tall lighthouses, and tons of sailboats, ships and other traffic.

Happily, and not by that much, we avoided going under a bridge marked on the chart as having a 150' vertical clearance, but which was actually somewhat less than our 70' foot spar. That wouldn't have been fun.

We finished up back on our mooring under the financial district, and had a typical French barbecue to celebrate Bastille Day including hamburgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob, and some wonderful Dutch cheese that Peter and Joy brought for us.

Today, when Greg wakes up, we plan to continue north, perhaps to Marblehead, but perhaps instead to the famous (think of 'The Perfect Storm') fishing village of Gloucester. I'm fascinated by fishing boats (well, really boats of any kind), and with real working harbors, and in Gloucester we get both.

Boston, MA 42°21.531’N, 071°02.847’W

Two nice spinnaker shots that Greg took on the way across Cape Cod Bay, and the boat under the financial district in Boston.

Boston, MA 42°21.531’N, 071°02.847’W

No whales. But we covered the 45nm from PTown to the marker off Boston Harbor pretty quickly; most of it around 8 knts, with the bow tearing the waves open and flying off the tops. Fun too to have a chat with my mate Steve Jancys half way across Cape Cod Bay out of sight of land - still amazes me you can do that.

So the difficulty we had today was that we set off for Marblehead. Normally I plot out the day's course over a cheeky glass of sauvignon blanc in the evenings, then load them in the plotter and GPS for the next day, and yesterday was no exception. 'Cept shortly after leaving PTown we changed our mind and decided to sail to Boston. Sure, I've been to Boston a number of times with work, but sailing? I knew the harbor was a cluster of islands, shoals and and an airport, with a 9.5' tide and consequentially large tidal currents. We were still trying to work out an anchorage as we passed the outer lighthouses, and this with gusty 25 knt breezes pretty much on the nose.

[and we overheard this conversation with the United States Coast Guard:

Boat: Coast Guard, you out there? I'm taking water.
CG: Boat taking water, this is United States Coast Guard sector southern New England channel 16, go ahead Captain.
Boat: I'm taking water!
CG: Boat taking water, this is United States Coast Guard sector southern New England. Roger captain, can you give me your position?
Boat: Position? How would I get that? What position? What do you mean by position?
(I love this bit - very unusual the CG crack)
CG: Look, where you at?
Boat: Oh, BAWSTON HABAH!)

Ultimately, we passed the sure (but boring) bet of a safe anchorage in an out of the way place in the hope we could sneak a little bit of after dark anchoring somewhere right in the heart of the place. So we spent an hour or two short tacking up the harbor, between the islands, in a stiff breeze, waving at the ferries and trying to beat all the other sailboats.

There's something special about sailing into a major city. We tacked right up under the sky scrapers of the financial district, just for a look. Here we saw a guy hanging on his boat with his headphones on....I was able to yell out to him, and ask whose moorings these were...the end result is that we are moored 40m from the Boston cityscape. Yay!

What's also fun is that we're under the offices of a former client with whom I worked a while back, Grantham Mayo van Otterloo, or GMO. They have spectacular offices looking out over Boston harbor from Rowes Wharf. This client was a good guy, and a sailor too, but I remember him most because he has the 'hot seat'. This is a seat that gets the direct sun in their office building's meeting room, and if you're in it - as I've found to my peril - it gets pretty damn uncomfortable. GMO are a major investor, and many a disappointing CEO I suspect has found themselves directed to the hot seat with the task of explaining why it will be better next quarter.

But for me, looking up from the sea, there's something else that's special. Many a meeting in those offices, try to concentrate as I might, I gazed out over the harbor, and thought, one day, just one day, it would be fun to sail right in here, right under these buildings, RIGHT IN HERE!

Provincetown, MA

Disproving the old dogs new tricks theory, we caught two fish (both bluefish, one pretty big, so now all we need is a Red Fish) on the way from Cuttyhunk to the Cape Cod Canal. We let them both go. A brilliant day sailing up Buzzard's Bay to the Canal, arriving for the change of tide. With around 4 knts behind us, we roared through into Cape Cod Bay in a couple of hours, and in the late afternoon light, set our course to 060M and Provincetown, Massachusetts. P-Town is on the northern end of Cape Cod, in that bay created where the Cape rolls back on itself. Have a look on a map: it's a spectacular piece of geography. The photo above is of our chartplotter, with the boat about 1/3 of the way across Cape Cod Bay.

The bay is windy, but protected from the Atlantic by the huge, long white beaches of Cape Cod. As tends to happen, we got shot out of the canal with another boat of similar size. As also tends to happen, it quickly turned into a race. We put a mile on them early, but they picked up a nice easterly wind shift and pulled well ahead. We gained on them all afternoon, then set our spinnaker and lifted our speed from 4 to 7.5 knots. Later skater. Although the kite was very shy, with the pole almost resting on the forestay, we were able to carry it full but it took some serious concentration not to backwind it. We have a nice photo of the other boat way on the horizon behind us, silhouetted by the setting sun. Later we saw them on their mooring and said gidday to the crew: some MIT students, and very pleasant they were too. (BTW, I think we're sailing the boat pretty well now, and this boat is very lithe, but we don't always win these duels: a while back we were SPANKED by a Swan 48 while sailing up Vineyard Sound...I think the other guy had his feet up in front of the telly by the time we got to Woods Hole in the failing light).

Now, P-Town, much to the amusement of my friends, who I note had not mentioned a thing until now, but had chuckled when we said we were going here, turns out to be largely a gay resort for older couples. Now we have no problem with that, of course, but it was a bit of a surprise when we went out for a drink. Fortunately Greg was with me, and acted somewhat like a decoy...(he's going to be so mad when he reads that! HA!).

From here, we plan to sail across Cape Cod Bay, heading northeast, to Boston harbor. In doing so we will cross one of the most prolific Right Whale breeding grounds. Expect good fishing shots tomorrow. (Just kidding: they're endangered and you're not allowed closer than 500 yards). I do hope we see one - I've only seen one real-life whale before.

Have to fly...

Cuttyhunk Island 41°25.6’N, 070°54.8’W

Last night we sailed from Newport to Cuttyhunk Island, the most westerly of the Elizabeth Islands. We left late and about an hour out ran into dense fog, but worked our way along the Rhode Island and then Massachusetts coastlines, slowly beating to windward and against the ebbing current. Although mid week, there's still lots of traffic around, mainly commercial, and especially approaching Buzzards Bay, a major shipping channel with its own traffic separation scheme in effect. To facilitate safe passing in the fog, we chatted with two ships: first with Otter, an ocean going tug that was pulling a disabled fishing boat, and then, Libre Ocean, a giant car transport ship, that was incidentally the largest blip I have ever seen on the radar. Although we passed both with around 0.25 nm clearance, we saw neither (although you could smell the exhaust from the larger ship, and we distinctly crossed its wake). Needless to say, we crossed the inbound/outbound shipping channel with a lot of care, and kept the nearby shipping familiar with our intentions via 'sécurité' broadcasts on VHF channel 16 .

It was still very dense fog, and pitch black when we arrived in Cuttyhunk, around 10pm. I have been here 4-5 times before so know the approach pretty well, a slow southward arch upon reaching Little Penikese Island. Still, when we were 0.10 nm from the breakwater, we still couldn't see it (despite that it has a red flashing light) and the bell marking the entrance was very close, and not a little scary. Although just ghosting along at less than a knot, we still came within a boat length or so of some anchored sailboats: that was enough - rather than risk the channel we found a shallow spot in the lee of the island and anchored for the night, flying our anchor lights (and a few others) and relieved to have a good radar reflector.

Amusing this morning to wake up: Cuttyhunk harbor has about 200 sailboats in it, there are six outside, and we are between two islands, one fairly large with houses on it, and there's even a seaplane tied up. For all we knew last night we could have been on a different planet.

If you have Google Earth, and want to see where we are, copy this this lat/lon and paste into the 'fly to' section:

41°25.6’N, 070°54.8’W

Today we're up early, and will continue to sail - now in beautiful sunshine with a 10-15 knt NW breeze - up Buzzards Bay.

Newport RI 41°29.10’N, 071°19.28’W

Fishing has never been a big part of sailing for us. But today we didn’t catch a fish. We came close, so close I was able to snap this photo, and despite Greg reeling it in with lots of noise, and Dan waving an old, broken boat hook around and shouting advice (if you can call it that), the cheeky little blighter snuck away. I think it’s a bluefish: apparently they are very aggressive and will attack a tin can towed behind a boat, so even with our total lack of skills we had some chance (albeit not enough in this case). The wasabi remains unopened.

We’ve just arrived back in Newport after a rolly day sailing and motoring in fog, and listened to a Coast Guard chopper trying to rescue people from a sinking fishing boat. Sailing in fog remains exciting, but has lost the complete fear factor from pre-radar days. As Greg likes to say "fog happens". This morning we also pulled the windlass apart and fixed it (yeah!) and gave the boat a clean up.

Dan just left for Boston and will be missed: he's full of enthusiasm, rivals Greg for inventive cooking, has an easy laugh, and this despite a mischievous streak that seemed to find a happy home with us, and Greg especially (I'm more of the quiet type you see). We hope to meet Dan in Panama later in the year (In about a week Dan is planning to drive his truck to the West Coast, then south through Mexico and down, down, down to Panama). As the sun sets, Greg and I have anchored in Newport harbor and we will set off tomorrow up Buzzards Bay, working our way towards Maine.

But now I will take my first shower (well, dive in, soap up, dive in, quick rinse in freshy) in four days. We do swim a lot which (otherwise) helps.

[Editors note: I do hope Greg does the same.]

Gardiner's Island Sound 41°06.3’N, 072°12.5’W

Dan's pancakes, while underway, Gardiner's Island Sound...

Port Jefferson, New York 40°57.5’N, 073°04.8’W

The last few days have been a blast. After the fireworks on 4 July, we picked up Dan Pasette, and sailed to Port Jefferson. This was eventful for two reasons: first, a good run with the kite up. Second, Greg, in the pursuit of journalistic fame, allowed his finger to be bitten by a swan to catch the photo. This is harder than it sounds. I had a go, carefully held out the cracker, waited, but when the giant and angry swan came up, I simply could not overcome the reflex to remove my hand, shriek like a girl and run below. Here is the photo. It'll be with Magnum shortly: you saw it here first.

Dan is holding up a fabulous improvised meal. I won't run through what's in it, but it tasted great despite looking...well, you can draw your own conclusions dear reader.

Cold Spring Harbor , 40°52.6’N, 073°28.7’W

Independence Day! We sailed over and anchored 200 meters from the barge that launches the fireworks in Oyster Bay, to windward of course (I had a vision of our sails burning). By nightfall there were 200 odd boats circling around, jostling for position, but we were safely anchored in pole position with a wonderful, LOUD, view of the crackers. Great fun with Heidi and Greg, as always. Naturally we cooked hamburgers and hot dogs (my favourite New York word for which is 'tube steaks'! HA). Greg's photos really sum it up.

Lots of novelty diving off the bow, music, and Greg laughingly telling me that I should take in the NZ ensign: in his view, should the locals see the Union Jack in the flag's corner, they'll probably think it's a British boat, and after a few Budweisers and full of Independence Day revelry, would likely call in an air strike from Homeland Security! I complied, I think he may well be right.

Tonight we're floating gently on anchor and Greg has slapped some crab cakes on the barbie. Tomorrow Dan Pasette joins us via the Long Island Rail Road and Oyster Bay station, and we'll start off up the East Coast. The first step toward 'Down East' Maine, and our trip for real!

Maine could be the most famous US cruising ground, perhaps even ahead of the Pacific Northwest and, maybe, even the US Virgin Islands. Although Maine is only a few hundred miles long, in a straight line, it has more than 2,500 miles of coast line, more islands than the Caribbean, and, truly, more islands than even Polynesia! But, quite apart from its striking beauty, there is a remote, straightforward directness, we hear, from its small population, many of whom work the coastline as lobstermen and fishermen, plying the cold (this is the domain of the Labrador current) and foggy coastline almost no matter the weather. It'll be a good test for us too: in addition to navigating in fog, Maine is rocky, barren, has hugely strong tides, and the further east you get, becomes quite genuinely remote. So tomorrow we'll hoist the anchor, catch the tide, and get swept back up Long Island Sound towards the Atlantic, and off to a new adventure...

Cold Spring Harbor 40°52.6’N, 073°28.7’W

Back in the water! Finally fixed the stuffing box (including adding a spare seal to the shaft for next time) and the boat was launched today by the highly efficient staff at Nichols Yacht Yard, and their 50 ton travelift. These guys, and in particular, Dennis McCarthy, the GM, are truly excellent, and I think without their advice and encouragement we would never have done such a good job.

I sailed over to Cold Spring Harbor on Long Island - and she is fast with a super smooth new hull! - and anchored in12'. I know it's thick, black, oozy mud - doesn't sound nice but great holding, and met Greg and Heidi for dinner. We're going to chill today and watch the fireworks for Inpendence Day, and otherwise - I hope - do nothing.

Forecast is not so good with a small craft advisory: still, we're in a sheltered cove so shouldn't be an issue. Tonight most every speedboat and moron in Long Island (famous for its speedboats and morons) will be out so we'll try and keep out of the way.

SMALL CRAFT ADVISORY NOW IN EFFECT FROM 2 PM EDT THIS AFTERNOON
THROUGH THURSDAY MORNING

TODAY
SW WINDS 5 TO 10 KT...BECOMING S 10 TO 15 KT WITH GUSTS UP
TO 25 KT THIS AFTERNOON. SEAS 1 FT OR LESS...BUILDING TO 1 TO 2 FT
THIS AFTERNOON. A SLIGHT CHANCE OF SHOWERS AND TSTMS LATE.