Newport, Rhode Island 41°28.8N, 71°19.5W

We've had an excellent weather window, pretty much sunny weather, but more importantly, a consistent NE flow. The prevailing breeze around these parts is a SW, thus to get back from Maine requires a slog into the wind, tacking, tacking, tacking, and slow progress. So we've seized it, and since the last update in Provincetown, we surged across Cape Cod Bay to the Cape Cod Canal (SMASHING two French boats in a race across the bay - we believe they were skippered by Alain Marfart and Dominique Prieur respectively due simply to their slow speed and inability to cover their tracks), and then ran down Buzzard's Bay to one of my favourite places around these parts: Woods Hole, and the little nook across the channel, Hadley's Harbor.

I've also wanted to go to Woods Hole with Max since the first time I sailed there a few years ago with my Dad. Woods Hole is home of the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute, one of the foremost centers of its kind in the world, and a key base for NOAA; a US government body that provides both our weather reports and our charts. They do a great job of both. In fact, NOAA just put all of the US paper charts on line in digital format - so they can drive your chart plotter - for free. That's cool. In any case, I knew, as a marine biologist, that Max would love it.

We also pulled off a move that Dad and I perfected: the Wood's Hole Channel Slingshot (WHCS). You see, Woods Hole sits between two huge sounds, Vineyard Sound on one side and Buzzard's Bay on the other. The tidal flow that rips through the gap, trying to empty one sound into the other, creates a twisty, turney, angry flow of water like a giant crazed river. It can reach 6 knots, and it shoots you sideways and wrongways with ease, and builds up standing waves; even in a decent sized boat it's a handful. It is also two channels, with a mess of rocks between.

But you want to cross it because on one side you have Woods Hole, with its Institute, research vessels to geek at, bars and freshly-shucked oysters. On the other is Naushon Island, with a primo anchorage and wonderful protected pond for staying the night. This of course means leaving the Mother Ship by dinghy and blasting across the mad river, bouncing, flying, slithering and squirming through the morass (and a little praying). We bring a VHF radio, cell phone, some warmer clothes....sounds over the top, but if we lost the engine half way across we'd next be seen in the Azores.

But we made it with ease, and a cold Sam Adams tastes all the better when you've bet your life on it, and you're still a bit jittery. The way back is much easier. I suspect the is due solely to the same Sam's medicinal effects.

Today we left, lateish, and set course for Newport. Another 40nm sees us in what feels like my old stomping ground. It's warmer, we have a great anchorage, and the water is 20.5 Celsius. Oh giddy-up!

As usual the sailing hardware is incredible. We're moored next to a big ketch. As Max noted, its mizzen boom is as long as our whole boat. I guess it's a touch under 300'. But who would want it: painting the bottom would take Greg and I a year.

The New York Yacht Club just fired its gun marking official sunset, and time to take in flags. Scared the bajeezes out of me as it always does.

Both of us are thinking about the next steps: the longer passages to Bermuda and to the Caribbean. We have a lot of work to do. Today I've been talking to riggers (very busy), water maker installers (very busy), and sailmakers (oh, so busy). But we've just sailed from Portland Maine to Newport in four days. We loved it, and most importantly, I reckon, we feel ready to set off on some longer passages. Bermuda should be about 5 days non-stop. The the Carib, perhaps 12. We're looking forward to that.

However, I'm not psychologically ready for the 3000 mile, 3 week, trip from the Galapagos to the Marquesas. As Kady calculated - compassing her fingers along her wall atlas - that's like leaving Portland and sailing to Panama non-stop. Oh heavens.

[photo is of Max as we arrive in Newport]

Provincetown, MA 42°02.5N, 70°10.8W

Oh heavens what a day! We left our anchorage on the mighty Piscataqua River (the second swiftest river in the country) where we anchored in darkness last night, on the Maine side for it is the border between New Hampshire and Maine (oh just one last night), and then roared out under full mainsail and genoa into a sparkling, sunny, clear day, with a 15 knot NE breeze, perfect for a fast reaching passage. We were rippin'! So fast we flew past our destination - Gloucester, Massachusetts - before lunch, and set course for that beautiful piece of geography, that lovely curve where Cape Cod rolls back on itself.

["you blog I'll dance" Max just said.... you'll have to imagine this one for yourself...]

So we adjusted our heading to 180 magnetic - due South - and surfed out of site of land and into the Stellwegen Bank. This is an amazing piece of water, and one full of expectation: it's a preserve, in fact, its the Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary, or as the chart has it labeled 'Northern Right Whale Critical Habitat'. Consulting our on-site marine biologist Jacques Max Cousteau, we altered course to sail along the Stellwagen ridge, where the water wells up from nearly 300' to 70'. As we approached we could see the sea boiling up around us, the bow carving through the whirlpools, and then we saw a huge Right Whale launch out of the water, breaching into the air and crashing down in a pile of spray. Soon, the whale was so close we dropped our sails (for two reasons: firstly, I just read Moby Dick, and secondly, I was concerned Max would dive in). The whale was playing, rolling on its back, spouting, and leaping into the air exploding the water as it crashed back in. And we were close! I don't think these photos do it justice.

*in light of what happened next....Coast Guard: we are well aware of our legal requirement to keep 500 yards from the endangered Right Whale. However, he closed on us, and we couldn't shake him! We attribute it to our sexy-black-slippery undersides, and the astonishing aural similarity - if you are a whale that is - between a Right Whale double-pike-fin-dive and the Saga 43's famous transom slap.

Ultimately, Moby sounded, seeking some plankton and small fishes ("Max you didn't happen to bring in the fishing line did you?"), so in time we set sail and moved on, sailing down the Bank. We saw several more whales, some close, some breeching in the distance. Magic!

By now it was getting on, and the sun was setting; Max started working on his super dinner (more on this later), but noted the key navigation stars becoming visible in the twilight: Polaris - the north star, Altair - in the center of the Eagle, Cygnus and Vega. We were still surfing along in the high 7's, but needed to bisect the Boston traffic separation scheme; a designated inbound-outbound course for commercial ships. Suddenly our marine VHF picked up a call to the white sailboat at position...we answered...

"this is United States Coast Guard cutter Northland following the Boston Traffic Separation Scheme 4 miles off your starboard side, do you intend to cross our bow?"

How polite, the Northland is a 270' cutter and it had a big gun. Looked bad-ass to us.

"uh, Coast Guard cutter, this is sailing vessel Whitehawk on your port bow; negative sir, we'll bear away and take your stern"

But we passed as close as we could.

Shortly after, as the cutter steamed into the night, Max produced his dumprings (see photo): a sensational meal of fried rice and spicy pork dumplings. Rumour has it they were laced with sashimi Right Whale but we strenuously deny this allegation.

But the highlight was in the end, surfing in a pitch black night round the tip of Cape Cod and down the foreshore, the lighthouses momentarily illuminating our sails, and a plume of phosphorescence trailing behind the rudder and keel for several meters as we skimmed over the ocean. In the end 82.1 nm at an average speed of 7 knts. Simply magic!

[the funny lower photo if of Max making his dumplings - hilarious!]

En-route Portsmouth, NH 43°08.7N, 70°32.8W

Still 9nm from Portsmouth. Amazingly cold (extraordinary: a few days ago we were sailing shirtless) and we just heard this severe weather alert on the marine weather radio [I then downloaded it]:

URGENT - WEATHER MESSAGE
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE GRAY ME
310 PM EDT SUN SEP 16 2007

FROST AND FREEZING TEMPERATURES ARE EXPECTED LATE TONIGHT AND

EARLY MONDAY MORNING ACROSS MUCH OF WESTERN MAINE AND NORTHERN.
CENTRAL AND SOUTHEAST NEW HAMPSHIRE...

.HIGH PRESSURE OVER THE NORTHEAST THIS AFTERNOON WILL BRING THE COOLEST AIR SO FAR THIS LATE SUMMER TO NORTHERN NEW ENGLAND. WITH CLEAR SKIES AND LIGHT WINDS TONIGHT... TEMPERATURES WILL DROP QUICKLY

THIS EVENING...RESULTING IN FROST AND FREEZING TEMPERATURES ACROSS
MUCH OF THE AREA.

Those geese were on to something.

En-route to Portsmouth, New Hampshire 43°17.3N, 70°23.9W

I'm writing this from my bunk as we surge SW at 6.5 knots, beating to windward, despite that the forecast called for a northeasterly. It's beautiful and sunny, but cold; we can see for miles. Max is on the helm, the fishing line is over, and we're sliding along nicely, clicking down the miles. From my bunk I can look up through the hatch and see the genoa tell-tales, and I can see Max has us trimmed nicely, so we're taking all we can out of the breeze despite the close angle we're sailing (Captain Bligh has a habit of yelling for more speed as required!).

I also have a butterflied leg of New Zealand lamb marinating in the fridge; we don't always eat like this, but it was on special at Whole Foods, and we are Kiwis! We tack frequently to ensure it marinates evenly on both sides. Try that with your fridge at home. Assuming we get to Portsmouth, New Hampshire (just on the other side of the river from Maine) we'll bang it on the barbie and the two Kiwi boys will be as happy as can be! I also know we have a cheeky little Pinot in the bilges that will do nicely.

This is like the food issue isn't it. For some reason I'm always hungry when sailing. We ultimately had the snapper ceviche for breakfast.

Something has happened in the last few days. It's suddenly become cold up here. Last night I broke out my down puffer jacket for the first time since early spring, and Max is wearing his full foulies despite that it's a sunny, clear day. Glad we're heading south. Earlier we saw a flock of Canada geese formation flying down the same rhumb line we're on. Once we get below Cape Cod, we should pick up the beneficial effects of the Gulfstream, in the sea water temperature at least, and that should push the winter chill back another few weeks. Walking yesterday the leaves were turning!

The forecast is for a northerly component for the next several days, and sunny weather, so we'll be pushing south each day. In Portland we put in 6 new Trojan T-105 batteries. They weigh a ton, but combined with the LEDs, we're on top of our electrical/charging issues, I hope, for some years: they're not the cheapest things. There is still that flashing light on the freezer control panel -- wonder what that means?

On my watch, while Max had a kip, I whipped the ends of a a new dinghy painter, glued down a piece of insulation on the freezer door, and otherwise trimmed, navigated and marinated. Kind of how it is - the old saying is correct: cruising is the art of doing maintenance in beautiful places.

Portland, Maine 43°39.3N, 70°14.3W

Portland is a great city. About the size of the city Max and I come from in New Zealand- roughly 60,000 - it seems to have many of the benefits or a much larger place, without all the irritations of a larger city. It also has Casco Bay and the rest of Maine on its doorstep, albeit with a heartbreakingly short cruising season.

Key for me after a month cruising in Maine, and mainly eating on the boat, is a bunch of good, inexpensive restaurants. We're both well bored with the usual tourist town menus: chowder, boiled lobster, tasteless haddock sandwiches and bad burgers. So in Portland, it was extra good to have outstanding Thai for lunch, and yesterday, after a 45 minute run around the waterfront, Max and I devoured - this is no overstatement - an outstanding chicken tikki masala, lamb rogan josh and saag aloo at the fantastically named Hi Bombay!

We also went to Whole Foods (can you tell I am hungry?) and restocked the boat with goodies. If you don't know Whole Foods, it's and excellent supermarket with great, fresh produce, a full fish and meat section, and treats from all over the world (although the focus on organic everything is a bit tiring). The New York City one has 35 cash registers going at once! (not quite so busy in Portland). I bought some fresh shrimp and a fillet of snapper, serrano chilies, coriander (coriander? No we don't stock that, but we do have cilantro), red onion and for the citrus, lemons and limes, and made ceviche for the first time ever. I reckon it was pretty good, and it gives us a new option for when we're hauling huge dorado and blue-fins over the rail!

We also caught up with Hunt, a mate we met in Northeast Harbor a few weeks back, had a few dark & stormies with him on the boat, and went to his cool Portland pad for dinner, and then to a local bar. It had a great band, and as is typical, Max was soon raging up the locals and dripping with sweat. Excellent!

So we're all fueled, watered, provisioned, and ready to leave tomorrow back SW towards Cape Cod.

Photos are of Fort Gorges (I think) in Portland Harbor, and a lobster boat: note the riding sail to keep it steady in the swells.

Townsend Gut 44°13.96N, 69°39.44W

A fabulous sail today! We ghosted down the coast in pouring rain, with the main out and poled out genoa: the goosewing! The rain flattened the chop, but there was a gentle swell behind us and we had the boat surging down the waves and maintaining a good 7 knots for much of the day. Only snagged one lobster pot, but got the damn thing off. I won't miss them when we leave Maine.

Max and I both have great foul weather gear. It makes a huge difference. We can hang out in the rain and enjoy its beauty quite comfortably, and there's usually nobody else out.

The forecast is for an angry storm tonight. I've found a little cove for us to hole up in down a tiny estuary. We need to go under a swing bridge and stop all the traffic. I love that! This is the sleepiest little stream, but the swing bridge is managed by three brothers 24 hours a day!

Max has a fierce sparkle in his eye: I think he wants a dark & stormy.

Long Cove, Tenant's Harbor 43°58.3N, 69°11.5W

So I met up with Max again in Rockland, Maine, after a good time in Miami with Kady, and a flying visit through NYC. Unfortunately, it was such a short visit I didn't have time to see many of my friends, but I did see Greg, and we're heading back towards the big city. Max and I were both keen to get out of Rockland, and left the next morning in fog and rain. Didn't matter: with a little help from the radar, and a boost from the engine, we cruised down the coast in white out fog, dodging the ubiquitous lobster pots, boats and some shipping traffic. Heading for home. (Wherever that is).

We tracked a big shape on the radar following us, but couldn't see it. Ultimately as the main shipping lane turned, a big boat appeared close on our port stern. It was the Sunshine, a big purse seiner from Rockland, heading for sea (its photo is above). They courteously slowed, turned behind us and crossed our wake.

If you look closely, you can see the little launch the use to 'close the purse'; it's pulled up on the stern. The drag a giant big net around a school of herring and then close it up. Paul Jacques Cousteau Maxwell explained that they vacuum up the fish! They also pump them out of the hold when they get back to Rockland. The seagulls go crazy, and the seals bob around munching on the scraps.

Reversing the steps Greg and I took on the way up through Maine, we anchored in Long Cove for the night, near Tenants Harbor. It's a very protected spot, but like the way up, it seems to be a fog machine: we couldn't see a thing, but seared some meat on the barbie anyway, and had a giant vegetable salad. YUM!

Max also winched me to the top of the mast. In NYC I was able to collect nearly three months of mail, kindly stored for me by my mate Henry, and in the pile was the long awaited LED anchor and tricolor lights. These are amazing looking things, and they do wonders for our energy consumption. You see, we almost always anchor out. This means that any power we use, we have to put back into the batteries (we can't simply plug the boat into shore power). We also almost always sail; as we're not using the engine, we sometimes we have to start the engine and fast idle it at anchor simply to spin the alternator and charge the batteries. I HATE running the engine when we don't need it. As Greg always says when I propose hoisting a sail "it's a sailboat isn't it?". Well, the LEDs plug into the same slots as the former incandescent bulbs, except they draw around one-tenth of an amp per hour. At night we fly an all-around white anchor light at the mast head so other boats can see us, and to fulfill our legal obligation. We can run the new anchor light for ten nights on the same amount of power the old bulb would use in one.

Great to be on the water again.