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Saturday, August 27, 2016

Happy Birthday to You, Acadia!

Burnt Coat Harbor
We were securely at anchor in a protected inlet with a small fishing village on either side of the narrow harbor when the fog settled in.  It was only a half day of motoring away from Acadia National Park, the bulk of which lies across the island of Mt. Desert. (Locals pronounce it more like “d-ZRT’.”)  Heavier weather was predicted and we wanted to be on Mt. Desert before that happened.  
Dodging lobster pots in the fog

Normally, we get going fairly early in the morning, somewhere between 6:30 and 9 AM.  With the thick fog though, we waited.  We waited, and we waited, hoping the fog would lift so that we could see (and avoid) the lobster pots on the way to Mt. Desert.  By 2 PM we saw that it was a futile hope, and decided we would venture into the fog regardless.  We would go slowly—Carl at the helm, me perched on the port side of the boat, and Jax napping wherever Jax decides to nap.  On the plus side, it was a Sunday and the lobstermen were not out on the water.  It would be just us against a 360 degree dense spray of lobster pots in the fog.
Shoreline ahead

Photographs of dense fog are not very interesting, you may have noticed, but I took a few anyway.  With radar and AIS we were able to detect only three other sailboats out there, creeping along in the fog.  Just like the lobster pots, one of them suddenly materialized out of the silvery white nothingness and then quietly slipped back into it.  No wind, no waves—just the fog, the lobster pots and us.  We felt the boat slow down when we snagged one of the pots but fortunately the brightly colored little buoy popped up again some 20 yards behind our stern and we were safe from that entanglement.
Northeast Harbor

It’s rather disconcerting to come into a harbor in dense fog.  “Oh look, I can make out a boat and a mooring ball.  Oh, here’s another mooring ball, and another—we are in the harbor!”  And then, “I see something darker ahead, like a shoreline.”  Without GPS we would have been blind.  As for beautiful Acadia, we saw none of it.  We said, “Won’t we be surprised when the fog lifts and we can see where we are!”
A stroll through Northeast Harbor


We had chosen Northeast Harbor, both a harbor and a town on Mt. Desert, as our home base from which to visit Acadia National Park.  When the fog cleared the next day, we saw that we were in a lovely harbor surrounded by high hills.  We enjoyed a leisurely walk through the town of Northeast Harbor with Jax and prepared for a full day of national park touring the following day.  
Queuing up for the Explorer bus

LL Bean and the National Park Service has collaborated to provide free buses which take tourists all around the island, in an attempt to alleviate some of the traffic that nearly chokes the few narrow roads through the Park.  That, in conjunction with Carl’s Senior Park Pass which allows him and up to three guests free entrance to all national parks throughout his lifetime, made this a really inexpensive day, and the beautiful weather made it an absolutely stellar day!
First stop--Bar Harbor, Maine

Decisions had to be made however—where should we get off the bus to see the sights on foot before getting back onto the bus again for the next site?  The first place we chose to explore was “le Sieur Monts” where we toured the Abbe Museum, a museum of archaeology and antiquities on the island of Mt. Desert.  We also enjoyed natural gardens there— gardens that held plants one would find growing on the beaches, in the bog, on the prairie, deciduous woodland and coniferous gardens. They were all beautiful!  Sometimes being married to a biologist comes in handy.  He points out things that I may have overlooked.  For example, a pitcher plant holds a lot of water in its’ pitcher shaped upright leaves.  Cool!
gardens at le Sieur Monts

Our next stop was “Thunder Hole” on the eastern shore of Mt. Desert.  Some of the pinkish granite cliffs there are deeply fractured and the pummeling ocean waves have further churned out a large hole into the granite wall.  When the wind and tides are right, Thunder Hole is a place where a tongue of the salt water is pushed into the wide fracture and without anyplace else to go, it piles up dramatically and slaps the cliff walls, spraying the visitors who go down to get as close as possible to the Hole.  It was, however, not impressive the day we were there.  And we have seen our share of dramatic wave action already. We moved along on the next bus.
Thunder Hole

We got off the bus at Otter Point Cliffs.  Awesome!  Beautiful!  Reminds me of Palisades Head, Lake Superior. Except here, there are crowds of people clambering around on the cliffs.  We bypassed a requested stop called “The Precipice.”  We’d seen the visitor center film showing people climbing a sheer cliff face into which someone had very wisely installed generous steel bars.  Apparently, if one can hang on and lift one foot above the other, one can climb a cliff face. Not THIS one, however. 

Otter Point Cliffs
We bypassed the beaches.  We have seen many of those.  Our next stop was Jordan Pond—a lovely little lake adorned with small knobby mountains overlooking the inland water and a dense forest of trees.  A restaurant there with outdoor seating is known for serving popovers and tea overlooks the pond.  The line of people waiting to get into the restaurant was impressive!  We enjoyed the view from an observation point for a bit and then found our way back to Northeast Harbor by way of a different bus route.   
Jordan Pond


It would have taken another few days to explore Acadia National Park thoroughly.  We might have hiked some of the trails that traverse the Park or climbed to the top of Cadillac Mountain to see where the rising sun first touches the United States.  We could have taken a horse and carriage ride on the 100+ miles of carriage trails that were built by Rockefeller back when the ultra wealthy were building their enormous summer “cottages” on the island. If we’d had bikes we could have biked those trails.  As it was, we left satisfied and refreshed with the beauty of Acadia National Park, now 100 years old.  As our boat put the island behind us the next morning, we finally got to see the skyline which had eluded us in the fog.  It. Was. Stunning!
Skyline of Mt. Desert

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Welcome to Portland!

Approaching Portland from Casco Bay islands

Now here’s a curious phenomenon—after sailing all this way up the East Coast to Portland, Maine, we have found ourselves on the northern shores of Lake Superior!  Well, obviously that’s not true, but the rocky coast seems so much like home.  Even though we are technically now Florida residents, (where our mail forwarding service is located) Duluth and Lake Superior are still “home” to us.  Everywhere we look, it’s so beautiful here! 

In our gift basket from Portland cousins.  
It was as we approached Portland that I coined the word, “Mainey,” for lack of a better word to say what I needed to say. I did think it was a rather childish term I’d coined, but no more appropriate one could be found at the time.  When Carl’s sister arrived, I heard her using the very same word!  Clearly, “Mainey" is an apt adjective.

Historic home on Eastern Promenade, overlooking Portland Harbor
Portland, Maine is the home of Carl’s eldest paternal cousin, Frank and wife, Jane.  Months ago, we had said we would attempt to sail as far north as Portland, Maine this summer to visit them.  As luck would have it, two of Frank’s brothers and wives from Michigan made firm plans to be there during that same time, along with one of Carl’s sisters, Wanda and her husband from Memphis.  
5 cousins and their spouses.

Five cousins along with their spouses, all sitting on either side of 60 years of age, representing two families that had once been as close as any cousins could be— back when they spent nearly every weekend together as small children in Detroit, MI.  Those early formative years; the hours spent concocting death defying acrobatics, conspiratorial plots by the older boys aimed at the younger ones, challenging water games at the beach, the wrestling, the snowball fights, the fine art of teasing, and the hundreds of meals shared during those hot summers and cold winters together.  

One cousin arrived by truck and camper from Michigan.
As I listened and laughed, it was clear that at the same time as they played, those cousins were forming themselves in some fashion, after those four memorable and well-loved parents who had brought the whole bunch of them into this world.   Oh, the childhood events they remembered; the infectious laughter and hilariously surprising stories shared.  A casual observer would not have guessed that this group had shared so little time together since childhood.  But I think that made it all the more special.  
Time on the deck overlooking Portland harbor.

At one point, our raucous laughter was punctuated by a phone call, advising us that our little family reunion had proven to be too raucous by one of our host’s condo neighbors.  While someone moved to close the sliding glass doors onto the deck, the rest of us choked back laughter mid-guffaw. We had successfully morphed back to childhood! 
A gaff-rigged sailboat with two lighthouses.

In between our shared dinners and evenings together, we took in some of the sights of Portland.  There are four historic neighborhoods, which we visited on a tour bus.  There are over 60 lighthouses in Maine (second only to Michigan) and we did our best to see some of them.  Carl and I brought the group out for an afternoon sail one day.   It is not uncommon to be able to see three lighthouses at one time from the water, some of them much closer than others, of course. 
Leaving Portland by Casco Bay Ferry Lines, enroute to Peak's Island

There are 3166 coastal islands in Maine!  I was astonished!  Portland itself, is situated on peninsulas.  For lunch one day, we took a ferry out to Peak’s Island which is across the bay (Casco Bay) from Portland.   Three thousand one-hundred and sixty five islands to go…
The Portland Light on Cape Elizabeth, Maine

Before arriving, I had somehow failed to realize that Portland would be such a city of character and charming brick buildings.  On July 4, 1866, a firecracker and some wood shavings were thought to be the start of a fire that burned much of Portland to the ground.  Following that, determined Portlanders rebuilt with a heavy emphasis on building with brick. Because of that, there are many lovely old brick homes and businesses still standing. 
Granite street in quaint alley of shops

Of course, Maine, known as the Granite State, has no shortage of granite.  I noticed that the street curbs (all of them, as far as I could see) are made of granite, not poured concrete.  The streets that are paved with granite pavers will never wear out.  Dare I say, very Mainey?
On the waterfront.

In my last post I introduced the topic of lobster pots.  Now for the lobsters!  Live lobsters at the grocery stores, at all restaurants, and seafood houses.  You can have lobster rolls; whole lobster or the tail—broiled, grilled or steamed in beer, or cooked in champagne; lobster bisque and lobster chowder; lobster on your salad, on your pizza, in your omelet; Lobster Thermidor, Lobster Colorado, Maine lobster lasagna, lobster Mac ’n Cheese (naturally); lobster stuffed with crab; beef tenderloin stuffed with lobster; baked stuffed lobster; lobster fricassee; ….(starting to feel like Bubba Gump) and while I only tried a couple of these, I can attest to the superb flavor of fresh lobster.  
10 steamed lobsters for dinner!

Our hosts treated all of us to a dinner of whole steamed lobsters one evening.  Before we left Portland, I bought a pair of lobster cracking tools for us to keep on the boat.  If the opportunity presents itself, we will buy lobsters directly from a lobsterman’s boat while out on the water.  I look forward to it!
South Port Marine, South Portland

ADDENDUM for Sailors regarding  
sailboat slips and mooring balls in Portland:

Because we would be having family visit us on our boat while in Portland, and would need to get rides from Carl’s cousin or an Uber driver every day, we docked our boat at a marina. Marinas in New England are without a doubt the most costly of those we have come across in our year and four months aboard Northern Star.  We searched out the most economical marina we could find for our first seven nights there, which turned out to be $2.75/foot at a marina in South Portland. The other marinas, however, offered transient slips for up to $5/foot. Although our marina was on a separate peninsula from Portland, it really was only about a 10 to 15 minute drive from our host’s home on the far side of the Portland peninsula. For our last two nights in Portland, we took a mooring ball on the Portland harbor front at $45/night out on the open water off the point of the Portland peninsula. It was definitely a rock’n and roll’n sort of evening, what with the ferries passing by regularly.  The dinghy dock was also quite a rolling experience, both for exiting the dinghy and walking on the dock.  
Portland harbor.  The large mooring fields are far to the right, close to ferry traffic.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

A Lobster in Every Pot?

Old Lighthouse outside Portsmouth Harbor

To those who think that my husband and I are “living the life” every day on our sailboat, I’d like to disabuse you of that notion.  Last week we were on a mooring ball in the harbor between Portsmouth, New Hampshire and Kittery, Maine. We hung out there a little longer than our usual stops have been as we travel up the East Coast because we were meeting friends.  
Lobsters with friends in Kittery, Maine
Our Annapolis friends on S/V Narwhal, were also on a mooring ball in that harbor. It was a lovely stop.  Portsmouth is charming little historic city; Kittery follows the undulating waterfront with an 18th century fort and not one but three lighthouses.  And of course, time with friends is rejuvenating.

Shoreline of Cape Porpoise, Maine
But, we needed to keep moving.  Our larger plan is to spend the month of August exploring the coast of Maine. Maine has thousands of islands and and we have a lot to see.  So…when to leave.  Saturday would have been the perfect traveling day.  It was also however, the perfect day for touring historic Portsmouth with friends.  So we toured.  Sunday was to be rainy; and the following few days didn’t look too great either.  Should we go now or stay there even longer?  
Carl at helm

When our votes were cast, we determined to deal with the rain and just go.  In circumstances such as this, I rely on a standard that I have used as comparison since childhood, namely ’does it exceed the misery of looking for the “missing Cow and Calf in the rain?*  If not, I can do it.  (If you are interested in the “missing Cow and Calf” standard, you may read about that at the end of this post.)
How many lobster pot buoys can you see?

So, yes, I voted that we would leave in the rain from Portsmouth.  Minimal wind, right on the nose.  We put on our rain gear—Carl at the helm and me up on the bow looking out for lobster pots.  Lobster pots!  Oh my!  Did you know that Maine has somewhere around three million lobster pots in the water?  We have located the first few thousand already.  
Close calls, time and again

There are lobster pots in the harbors where we anchor, in the inlets to the harbors and even far out on the ocean.  In July and August, the lobsters move to deeper water, so even 3 miles offshore, even with water depth of 240 feet, we find lobster pots.  Sigh.  

Wire lobster traps
Lobster pots are identified by pairs of matching buoys and between them, resting on the bottom are the lines of traps, sometimes hundreds of feet long. Each lobsterman chooses different colors for his buoys, at least that is the idea.  And each has his ID number, the same as his boat.  Often there is a toggle, a separate float, near one of the buoys.  
"Turn to starboard"

Under sail, running over a buoy isn’t a big deal, but the risk of wrapping the trapline around the props under power is scary.  Of course, we were under power.  That could ruin an otherwise only moderately miserable day on the water.
A huge lobster

Lobsters have been caught off the coast of Maine since 1605. In those days, lobsters were so plentiful that a person could throw a net out or lean over the boat, club one and grab it.  The Native Americans used to wade along the shore and catch them with their bare hands.  Without human predators, there were even four-foot lobsters back then.  Nowadays every lobsterman carries a brass gauge called a “measure” to check the size for “keepers.”  They cannot be too large nor too small.  Females with eggs must be marked and tossed back in the water.
 
Two lobstermen
Lobster pots really aren’t pots anymore.  Once upon a time, they were wooden pots but when they went to using wire baskets as traps, the term “pots” hung around.  These lobstermen work hard!  I do not envy them going out in all kinds of weather just after dawn to check and set traps.  When they haul their catch back at the end of the day, they unload on what’s called a “lobster car”, a platform floating on the water which kind of reminds me of a tiny ice fishing house. 

Unloading at a lobster "car"
Alternatively they unload at a float owned by a co-op where the catch is weighed and they are given credit at the going rate.  The lobsters get sorted into floating compartments filled with seawater, and are then ready to be picked up by wholesalers or retail customers. 
Unloading at the co-op dock

While at the dock, lobster boats can pick up huge barrels filled with fish for bait.  The fish are packed in ordinary road salt and then allowed to rot for a while.  Apparently, the stinkier the bait, the more appealing to the lobsters.   Then the lobstermen pack some of the dead fish into little mesh bags that hang inside the wire trap in a section called the “kitchen.” The lobster figures out how to get into the trap through a net tunnel or other one way opening. When the lobster exits the kitchen into the other part of the trap, the “parlor” he can’t escape. Very effective lobster trap.
Salting bait fish

I am enjoying the opportunities to watch these lobstermen work.  (There are lobster women, too, but I have’t seen any yet).  Their boats are large and entirely functional for what they need.  They have radar and GPS to keep track of their traps. Many lobster boats are moored out here with us in the harbor where we currently are anchored at a place called Cape Porpoise, a “suburb” of Kennebunkport.  All the lobster boats are named, usually with two women’s names.  ie. “Anne Marie”, “Sarah Jane”, etc.  

"The Clam" skiff
Each working boat has a simple little wooden skiff for a tender.  This is their transportation out to the fishing boat.  Some of them do not have motors!  People row here, and they do it well! Our hypilon rubber dinghy looks out of place here—all fancied up with the engine and dinghy chaps— a retired person’s leisure tender.
A lone lobsterman

I chatted with a young guy on the dock today, asking questions about salting the fish bait.  He volunteered that the other guys had just made him bite the head off a dead fish!  He asked me if I wanted to help them.  I declined for fear that I would be required to go through that same initiation. That would definitely exceed my ‘Missing Cow and Calf’ standard.
Dock used by lobstermen, Cape Porpoise, ME

*The Missing Cow and Calf in the rain” standard goes as follows: — One of the cows comes up missing at milking time.  This means she has dropped her calf out in the pasture somewhere.  The next morning, two or more of us need to go out and find them. In my memory, it is always raining and cold when we go out to look; I can’t explain why. Our pastures were ringed by dense hardwood forest choked with blackberry bushes, thistles and bramble, which then marched on down the sides of the bluffs to the creeks in the narrow little valleys below. There were lots of good hiding places for a bashful cow and her calf.
A dreary, wet day on the water

So, in the morning, off we go, walking in different directions; whoever finds the hidden bovines whistles to alert the others.  We are soaked through of course, before the cow and calf are found.  I don’t complain because what would be the point of that? Once the cow is found, we have to return her and the calf back to the barn.  The calf can’t walk yet.  So, while I (or we) distract (piss off) the cow so that she leaves her calf alone for a minute, my father manhandles the gangly, uncoordinated calf onto the back of a little wooden trailer.  Then he hops onto the tractor and I sit on the back of the open trailer holding onto the calf while we go bumping along toward home. The distraught mother follows closely behind, lowing and swinging her huge head over her calf, alternately trying to rescue the calf from the trailer and/or bunt me with her head.  During that ride, the cold rain takes a back seat to the discomfort and fear of being slammed by that huge head. In my mind, however, I’m in a warm kitchen having hot chocolate.