We’ve been on the move very steadily since May when we left Thunderbolt, GA
Things fall to the wayside when we are a boat in transit. Sleep, work, and meals take the priority, while everything else takes the backseat. I’ll go into detail of the most recent leg of the journey, so you can get a taste of the overall rushed feeling of things. Keep in mind Paul is working 8-5pm every week day as well-
We returned from a visit home to California and landed at JFK on a Thursday morning after a red eye. We took an early morning Uber to Port Washington, and sat in the rain for awhile. It was too early to hitch a ride back to the boat. It was cold, and I was falling asleep on my bags. Then we lucked out- A friend was on shore to walk his dog Sassi and gave us a ride to Bluebelle with all of our bags. We only got moderately wet. But we were wrecked after sleeping sitting up in a tiny seat, and Paul had to work.
We spent Thursday and Friday prepping the boat and recovering, and left June 20th, a Saturday morning, from Port Washington, NY. Prepping the boat usually means doing laundry, changing the sheets, getting a new propane canister if necessary, grocery shopping and making some meals ahead of time, topping off on water, getting the trash off the boat, and enjoying the last moments of the current place. We planned to sail all night through the Long Island Sound, and on to the next stop.
Unfortunately, we had not done our homework and discovered while in transit that we’d need to time our LI Sound exit through “the race” which meant we’d need to anchor for a few hours to time the outbound current. This provided us the gift of sleeping together for 4 hours, anchored at peaceful Duck Island with two protective break walls.
We up anchored at 4am on the longest day of the year and set sail through “the race,” a deep channel with a very fast current connecting the sound to the Atlantic Ocean. Since we timed it properly, it was no big deal. Past Connecticut, past Rhode Island, and then through a second “race”, this one at Woods Hole, MA.
This race was much more serious, and had a lot of rocky surprises tucked inside, but again, timed properly, we were safe. Instead of anchoring in the famous Eel Pond at Woods Hole, we found the loveliest, most perfect hurricane hole called Hadley’s Harbor.
I don’t want to write about it because I loved it so much, and I don’t want it overrun. It was an Eden. Horses in a paddock, wild coyotes calling under the nearly full moon, giant fish under the boat, free moorings, a daily ferry to wave at, green waters, green trees, quiet. Tiny sailboats, and kids jumping off the dock. We jumped in the water here on a perfect summer day and dried off in the sunshine. Perfection.
The Elizabeth islands that surround the area are owned by the Forbes family, and I’m grateful that they decided to let the public use the private moorings they installed. It goes with my feeling of fairness, that the water is a shared public place. The only caveat was if they asked you to move, you had to, and you can’t go to shore here uninvited. No one asked us to move though (or invited us ashore), and we were good guests; quiet and appreciative. We waved at the people staying in the house across the way, and they waved back. Their conversations over coffee traveled to our boat, and I’m sure they could hear us as well, it was that quiet.
We stayed Sunday to Thursday. We took the dinghy into Woods Hole multiple times, to walk around and enjoy gorgeous Cape Cod style mansions, blueberry pie, and hydrangeas. The dinghy ride was a bit perilous, as it required going through the race each way sometimes with the wind against the swirly current, and we wore our full “foulies” in and out to prevent waves soaking our shore going clothes.
Thursday we cast off and sailed for the Cape Cod Canal- a piece of infrastructure marvel- and another timed event. The Canal current runs fast between Buzzard Bay and the Gulf of Maine, with a very short slack between switches. And we were going through close to the full moon, when tides/currents are even more dramatic. We made it to the Merchant Marine Academy with Lindsay at the helm, right after Paul’s work ended for the day, and rode the 3 knot current to Sandwich, MA together.
We booked a night at a marina, a luxury for us, and bought fuel, before tying up to the dock. We must be on a run, or the sailing gods are looking favorably at us, because Sandwich Marina was a dream- kind people, dry humor and great accents, gruff in nature but kind in spirit. A grey seal snagged a striped bass in front of us and showed off his gorgeous long face. We walked to a Stop and Shop grocery and our cashier was a lovely woman from Fountain Valley! A man in the parking lot offered to help me with my groceries! Paul bought wine and our Uber driver talked about the world cup with us. Sometimes the world is so rosy.
We now had a boat full of fresh food, full of fresh water, we used the dumpster to dispose of our trash, we slept soundly on a motionless dock, and woke up to a grey drizzle, and a happy seal.
Paul cleaned the boat while I did all the laundry- then ran to the bakery for sandwiches- it felt like a requirement when in Sandwich, MA. We cast off at noon, – the current running against us, but only a half mile to go to the Gulf of Maine. A man photographed Bluebelle on our way out and called out that he’d post it “on the internet”. How sweet.
The Canal is great for waving at everyone, so we waved goodbye to Massachusetts, and eagerly pointed toward Maine, set the asymmetrical spinnaker and the main sail, and enjoyed the overcast day and the New England accents on the radio. I have never heard so many f-bombs on Channel 16 as I have in New England. They love to rib each other; they also love to radio check on Channel 16, a no no- and then cut each other down for that. “Radio checks on Channel 9, GENIUS. (pause). Thanks for that radio check”
All day we saw whale watching boats and fishing boats, but at sunset we finally saw whales; first one, then two, then five, then more. Blowing water toward the heavens, smacking pectoral fins, smacking tails, breaching fully. The right whales were out in force.
The sound traveled over the water, and we could hear the crashing, see the shine on their backs, sometimes hear their inhales of air. Paul wanted to gybe to get closer, but I thought it was best to hold course, and luckily the whales decided to come to us.
We saw whales until the sun set- as well as a large (white? basking) shark fin. We saw a grey seal. We saw the crepuscular rays as the sun set behind huge clouds, and then intense darkness in the gulf as storm clouds closed in.
It was a dark, windless night, necessitating motoring, and it rained on me while Paul slept, and then the fog descended on Paul while I slept. As it was close to the Summer Solstice, the dark hours were short, but very cold and damp. Every time Paul relieved me, I fell asleep instantly, and every time I relieved Paul, it felt like a tiny gift to let him rest. I consider it the highest honor to keep the boat safe while he sleeps. The next morning, the water was blue/green, like glacier water, and we felt like we were on another planet.
More whales, and a wibbly wobbly mola mola fin, as well as a seagull who caught a ride for an hour, preening his feathers and resting on our bow.
We reached our destination: Eastern Egg Island, and saw our first puffins. Tiny little bite size pretend penguins who fly exactly like the green parrots in Long Beach. More seals, a green jelly fish, a purple jellyfish, and then finally to the destination we chose in transit- St George, for a mooring and the opportunity to sleep together again.
Sailing in Maine requires a shift in perspective. The water is so much colder, the psychological stakes feel raised. There are serious rocks, serious currents, cold water, dense fog, ocean swell, and to sprinkle one more hazard; more lobster pots to snare in your propeller than you can count (3 million by some estimates). But I love it. The water is emerald-green. Like California, it feels rich in life. There is kelp again, and seals poke their inquisitive heads up to ask you questions with their cartoonishly wide eyes. Rocky outcrops host colonies of smelly bird colonies. The sun is out and I have my parka on.
We made our self-imposed deadline; we will be in Maine for July 4th, and then maybe on to Canada, the most north we’ll go in Bluebelle for many years. We are treasuring this time.
A Few days later:
We have found another free mooring, this one at Isle Au Haut, the bottom of Acadia national park. The full moon finally rose on us, and we hiked on the granite mountains so famous in this area. We are surrounded by nature and bird sound and cold green water. The tides are tremendous again, and Paul and I sleep deeply under a feather comforter, while we still managed to sweat through our shirts during the day. Heaven.
Last update: We arrived to Bar Harbor, Maine on June 30th, in time to spend Independence Day with the joyful and sometimes rowdy Mainers. In 100 days, we sailed over 1300 miles, while working full time, cleaning the boat, and even squeezed in a trip to California. It wasn’t just skill, as the weather conditions worked in our favor this time. For that, and for so many other reasons, we realize we are the lucky ones.
Love,
lindsay and paul
TIBURON MARINO 