There have not been that many cruising boats, a surprise: Maine is probably America’s most famous cruising ground, and we are in peak season. I expected many more. But today as we sail up the coast there are none. It feels like we have crossed a frontier; I know facilities for yachts from here are rare; and we have moved to a new chapter in The Cruising Guide to the Maine Coast. The introduction to the Down East section starts:
“As you pass Schoodic Point heading east, civilization falls behind, and you enter a more primitive world – one where fishing and lobstering are all important, and the affairs of Boston and New York seem far away and insignificant.”
We left Mount Desert Island early this morning, in sunshine, but with a gusty NW breeze of around 20 knts, with the occasional blast near 30, and started up the coast, two reefs in the main and a couple of rolls in the jib. The breeze was offshore, so waves had little chance to develop, and we tight-reached along quickly, hitting 9.3 knts at one point. Despite a fun hike in Acadia National Park yesterday, up Flying Mountain in pouring rain, it feels good to be sailing again.
Forty-two nautical miles later we reached Great Wass Island and very gingerly entered The Mud Hole, a wonderful, protected jungle pool that cuts deeply into the island. It’s hard to enter: there are two rocky ledges at the entrance (they’re hidden at high water), a rotting fishing weir to port, and the cruising guide warns the ‘kelp in the channel will fool your depthsounder and make your heart leap into your throat’. But once inside it’s the most spectacular place: absolutely calm, surrounded by trees (the island is a preserve owned by The Nature Conservancy) with lots of bird and sea-life. As we approached we were watched by floating seals gaping at us with big watery eyes.
We were joined by a small and lovely boat, skippered by Nick Brown and his family (including their seven month old) and an observant Oliver who seemed determined to take over the rowing. Nick manages the aquaculture facility at the University of Maine, and knew a lot about aquaculture in New Zealand, including colleagues in common with Max, so the two of them were soon enthusiastically chatting. Nick joined us for dinner (he’d eaten – who doesn’t like a double dinner!), and a couple of bottles of wine, and I think Max is keen to go and check out Nick’s facility when we are back down this way.
But the best thing about The Mud Hole came later: framed by this wonderful pond, the stars glittered across the horizon. Without the muting effect of city lights, the heavens have depth and layers and perspective, and deep clusters of light against holes of darkness. I woke in the very early morning, opened the hatch above my bed and gazed, dreaming, watching shooting stars and space hardware, with the boat rocking just perceptibly.
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