Simply because I was jealous of Max’s wetsuit and his ability to explore the water world, we sailed back to Southwest Harbor so I could get one too. Turns out the marine store (they’re great up here: miles of lobster line, pots, net fixing tools and spindles, but no fancy Gore-Tex breathable foul weather gear: here they use Grundens – hard core plastic fishing gear that makes us look like sissies in our brightly coloured Mustos, then acres of blocks and hooks and nets).
Turns out they only had two wetsuits: a 7mm steamer (full arms and legs) that would be fantastic, but it was very expensive. I ultimately bought the other, a much cheaper 3mm wetsuit with long arms but that goes into shorts. Strikes me as kind of stupid – shorts! - and, strangely, I feel a bit embarrassed, more like an Italian porn star, when wearing it. Still, I took Max’s advice and bought a hood to go with it (now can you imagine the look? Oh dear!) and I think I’ll be able to stay in for a while at least. This wetsuit model is called ‘The Carribbean’, so perhaps not that long after all.
We stayed the night in the only fjord on the East Coast, Somes Sound, in a cool spot called Flying Mountain. Here St Saveur Mountain plunges 640’ down a cliff into the water, quite striking, but as Max comments ‘it’s impressive in these parts, but it ain’t Fiordland’. It’s deep and difficult to anchor, so we tied up to the CG (Coast Guard) mooring – not really done around here - in the confident knowledge that they would rather be home with their wives and sweethearts (may they never meet) than spinning in circles under Flying Mountain’s katabatic winds.
Max dived in as he does every morning, despite the chilly water...Flying Mountain, Diving Maxwell.
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