Burnt Coat Harbor, Swans Island 44°08.3N, 68°26.7W

Today we beat to windward from Northeast Harbor in a strong breeze, dodging the rocks, and less successfully, the lobster pots.

You see, in this area the line from the pot comes to the surface where there is a float, like everywhere else. But here, attached to this float, is another line of about 20’ connected to the lobsterman’s distinctive colored float; this rig floats on the surface like a trip line. In currents these pick-up floats all lie like arrows telling you which way to steer around them, but occasionally you find yourself in a swirling current, or a dead end where there’s simply no way out, no matter how aggressively you swerve the boat.

We have a bulb keel and a long spade rudder - both almost designed to foul these things - so we catch a few. You don’t want to cut them (although many boats fit ‘spurs’ - spinning blades that connect onto your propeller shaft) as somebody’s livelihood is relying on them. So we’ve developed The Devils Back Zig-Zag (or DBZZ for short). The Devil’s Back Zig-Zag involves a crash tack to windward slowing the boat and pulling the lobster line tight around the keel. Then, as the boat stalls, we wiggle the rudder hard from stop to stop, just keeping enough steerage way on to start falling off into a gybe, and this when the boat is almost stationary. As we swing back round through the gybe and onto a beat, our original heading, more often than not the pot releases, popping to the surface in our wake, although on occasion you need to do it twice in quick succession. Now two tacks and two gybes in a big wind requires some pretty snappy crew work, but Max has mastered the high-pressure double 360, and I think these days almost looks forward to it. In nearly two months of sailing up here, we’ve only cut away one trap.

We’re now anchored in Burnt Coat Harbor on Swans Island (not Swan’s Island, I think Martha’s Vineyard is the only spot to have a recognized possessive apostrophe). Swans Island is more out in the Atlantic than most Maine islands, and it feels remote. It’s a lobstering village, and the lobstermen’s co-op is the main feature of the town. There’s a beautiful lighthouse as you enter (who doesn’t like a good lighthouse?) so Max and I went for a hike up to it, and had a good look around the island.

Later, after dark, we watched a movie that I had downloaded on my laptop, Letters from Iwo Jima. Part way through the movie, I stepped outside. The bay was absolutely still, the lighthouse flashing at the entrance, and the heavens filled with bright stars. A wonderfully tranquil scene…punctuated only by for the noise of machine gun fire, explosions, dive bombers and people getting blown apart coming from the cabin. I couldn’t help but laugh.