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.