Month: September 2018

  September 29-30, 2018 

     The heavy rains we had been experiencing provided repeated opportunities for rain catch, thanks to the brilliant design and integration of a gutter system mounted to the overhead solar panels by Tom Chalkley.

     However, the rains were a double edged sword.

     Simultaneously, while we eagerly collected water without having to leave the boat, we lamented at our inability to charge our batteries with free solar power.  And without solar charging, we had to fall back on our diesel consuming generator.

     The biggest problem lie in the fact that our house battery bank was dying.  The batteries were eight years old and obviously on their last leg.  We had begun to have problems with the electronics starting to shut down while we were under sail in cloudy weather or even overnight.  The massive power draw from our anchor chain windlass was also forcing us to run the engine for a while before starting to bring up the chain.  

     We knew the batteries were living on borrowed time when we purchased Exit; now it appeared their demise was growing very near.  We had already replaced the two starter batteries in Charleston, SC one month ago when we began to have problems starting the Perkins engine and had to run jumpers to the house bank.

     Our boat speed indicator had also become inaccurate again.  It was earlier in Charleston that we had also first found barnacle and marine growth on the hull around the transducer paddlewheel to be causing the problem.  The growth surrounding the transducer caused turbulence around the paddlewheel which, in turn, affected its’ performance.

     Having a functional speedometer was not imperative, but we found it to be exceptionally helpful in the continual  process of adjusting our sails.  We could see increases or decreases in boat speed as we fine tuned both the mainsail and the genoa.  Without an accurate speed display, we were having to do a lot of guessing.

      We hoped the batteries would last long enough to get to Harrington Harbor North, just beyond Annapolis, where we had purchased Exit and planned to do our haulout.  

     The speed indicator, on the other hand, was a simple fix.

     So, at 7:00am, just before we set out from Block Island, I undertook the “invigorating” task of jumping into much colder water than I would have liked to first thing in the morning to scrub the underside of Exit’s hull right around the transducer.

     Thankfully, the job only took a few minutes.  Even more thankfully, once we got underway, we were immediately rewarded with a fully functional and accurate speedometer.

     We had finally committed to take the Long Island Sound route to New York City, not so much out of fear for inhospitable offshore weather, but rather on the hope that the forecasted wind direction (and anticipated wind shifts) would allow us more sailing than motoring through the Sound.

     It did require that we adhere to a rather tight schedule in order to benefit from favorable currents.  If the timing wasn’t right, we’d have the current against us much of the way.  

     As we set out with the Big Apple awaiting us nearly one hundred twenty five nautical miles away, or just over twenty four hours, I noted in the ship’s log:  it looks like we will have to really work for the wind, but it’s a beautiful, sunny day; not cold at all.

     Erratic wind shifts certainly made the day challenging.  At times we found ourselves doing nearly eight knots in eleven knots of wind followed by a struggle to make four knots in fifteen knots of wind.

     At one point, we saw a one hundred twenty degree shift in wind direction with breezes that went from five to fifteen knots in only a couple of minutes time.  The wind forecasts we had studied seemed to apply to an entirely different area than we were in.

     In addition, currents seemed to vary considerably, which also added to the overall inconsistency of our success at being able to sail rather than motorsail.

     Though, to our amazement, we found ourselves nearly three hours ahead of where we anticipated being by evening, we were rewarded with the unpleasant reality that this fact completely screwed up our timing with the tidal currents.

 

     Consequently, during our passage to NYC, we ironically ended up racking up close to as many hours running our engine as we had in all the combined time of traveling some twelve hundred miles since we had left Charleston.  The only silver lining we could find in this was the fact that our terminally ill battery bank seemed happy with the constant charge being delivered from the engine alternator.

     Despite the depressing aspect of so much motorsailing, we were fortunate to not encounter any seriously hostile weather during the entire passage.  We even found that the nights required minimal layers of clothing to stay comfortable. 

     By the time we reached the East River, which would lead us straight under the Brooklyn Bridge to the Statue of Liberty, it was 5:00am, and our schedule based upon currents had gone completely out the window.

     We ended up having to temporarily drop anchor until early afternoon, as the currents in the East River reach five knots, requiring a sailboat to pass through only when those currents are favorable.

      While we awaited the current change, in the distance we could see the rough and tumble buildings of Queens and the Bronx on opposite sides of the East River, with multi-million dollar homes lining the shoreline of Long Island right next to us.

     Our navigation down the East River proved rather uneventful, though exciting.

     We were surprised how little boat traffic we were encountering as we passed under the Bronx Bridge, under the La Guardia Airport landing flight path, followed shortly afterwards by the formidable and intimidating looking prison housed on Rikers Island.

     Just beyond Harlem was Hell Gate, a choke point in the river where currents reached five knots and the surface chop resembled an ocean more than a river.  It was here that we started having to weave amongst power boats moving in both directions as well as ferries traveling at a staggering rate of speed.

     During this entire time, as Exit bucked and pitched in the substantial chop of five knot currents battling against an opposing fifteen knot wind as well as the wakes of passing boats, we had the breathtaking Manhattan skyline looming above us on our starboard side.  

     Then, with Hell Gate behind us, we passed first underneath the Manhattan Bridge, followed by the Brooklyn Bridge, upon which we had been pedestrians only nine months earlier.

     Before we knew it, the East River spit us out into the mouth of the Hudson River.  Just on the opposite side, stood the iconic Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

     We had made it… aboard our sailboat with New York City all around us… spectacular.

   

September 23 – 28, 2018 

     We had made it to Maine, and now were coming to grips with the reality that we weren’t going to be going any further north, or east for that matter.  The implacable sound of the ticking clock was quickly being drowned out by the sound of alarm bells.  The time had arrived to get moving. 

     The plan was essentially to retrace our previous path.  Seguin Island, Onset, Cuttyhunk, and Block Island would all provide potential bailout points for temporary rest; but the strategy was to keep moving as quickly, efficiently and safely as possible with Annapolis and then Harrington Harbor North Marina as the destinations.  The only detour we had planned was a mandatory stop at New York City.

     We ultimately had to make the decision if we were going to get to The Big Apple via Long Island Sound and the East River, or go all the way around the outside of Long Island offshore.  Offshore added a bit of distance but afforded the simplicity of us not having to account for shifting currents nearly as carefully as going inside.  Changing tides would have a much more profound effect on currents through Long Island Sound, and especially the East River.  Three to five knot currents in places on the river would be great as long as they were in our favor.

     For now, that question could wait a bit.  Immediately, it was all about making a run for Block Island, before a final verdict was needed.

     Though we were determined to sail to Seguin Island, the unrelenting fields of lobster pots, combined with a mediocre breeze trying to remain nearly dead on our bow, eventually forced us to surrender to the necessity of supplemental engine power.

     We arrived at Seguin utterly exhausted from dodging lobster pots.  Concurring that we were not mentally prepared to continue overnight, we decided to grab a mooring ball there for the night.  In truth, that decision had probably already silently been made long before our arrival at Seguin.

     There was only one other boat there, and it left the bay just as we were approaching… awesome.  

     However, conditions today were much rougher than during our previous visit.  Waves were breaking over the submerged rocks at the tip of the of the rocky peninsula that made up the east side of the small bay, right next to our mooring, resulting in rather substantial swells entering into the bay.  We were mostly abeam of the swells, causing Exit to roll back and forth continuously.

    Dena and James had also left Robinhood Cove, and arrived at Seguin shortly after we did, proudly sailing aboard their new sailing yacht S/V Cetacea. 

     Technically, the name hadn’t been officially changed from Island Moon, so James jokingly referred to themselves as Island Buffoon on the VHF.  Nevertheless, Cetacea was technically a sailing yacht as Dena and James had purchased a small oriental carpet which sat at the bottom of the companionway steps (apparently the sole factor that distinguishes a sailing yacht from a sailboat)… pretty posh.

     We were quite keen to have one final big shindig together, as this would likely be the last time we would see our sailing soulmates for quite some time.  On the other hand, we were much less keen about going through the hassle of getting the dinghy’s outboard engine out of the locker, where it was stowed, and hoisting it into the dinghy.  The solution:  we dropped the dinghy into the water and commenced with a special forces style assault of Cetacea, rowing like hell through the waves.

     Dena secured our dinghy painter to Cetacea as we came alongside and promptly declared Kris The Queen of Understatement.   Kris had indicated to them over the VHF  that conditions in the bay were “a bit rolly” not too long before.

     Copious amounts of Kraken were consumed, and a raucous time was had by all. 

     But, alas, in due course it became time to make our way back to Exit to prepare for our departure the following morning.  Sad but enthusiastic “until next times” were exchanged and, with much effort we eventually managed to haphazardly and semi-effectively row back to Exit.

     Early the next morning, Cetacea had already sailed away by the time we untied from the mooring ball.  It would be regular texts keeping us in touch until our next meeting.

     We set a course for P-Town.  Though the rhum line we were following was straight, the track we made on our plotter looked more like a rum line.  It zigzagged erratically, like a drunken sailor.  Only, in this case, it wasn’t last night’s rum that was to blame; it was the damn lobster pots.  

     We’ll forever remember Maine for its ruggedly beautiful landscape, guarded by a never ending gauntlet of lobster pots.

     As we approached Cape Cod Bay, we decided to bypass P-Town entirely, opting instead to head straight for the Cape Cod Canal.

     Ten to seventeen knot winds allowed us to sail for twenty one of the twenty three hours it took to reach the canal entrance.  Then, to add to a perfect day of sailing, that night a stunning full moon lit the way for us.

      We arrived at the canal entrance a couple of hours after sunrise; but an opposing current forced us to drop anchor for two hours in a bay just off the entrance while we waited for the current to shift in our favor for our trip through the canal. 

     Just before noon, we set the anchor at Onset, in almost the exact same spot we had occupied one month before.

     We still had plenty of provisions and a nearly full fuel tank, so the next day all we needed to go ashore for was a quick fill of our four water jugs to supplement the rain catch we had gotten the night before, as well as a return trip to Marc Anthony’s Pizzeria.

     When we departed Onset we headed for Block Island, the last stop in our push for New York City.  Once again, a following breeze between ten and twenty knots allowed us to sail almost the entire fifty seven miles.

     Just before the sun began to set, Exit entered the large bay of Block Island, known as the Great Salt Pond.  We were flabbergasted to find that, instead of the hundreds and hundreds of boats we had encountered previously, we were now one of only four boats anchored in the entire bay. 

     While we sat in the cockpit enjoying sundowner drinks, Kris pointed out that, without all the ambient noise created by thousands of people aboard hundreds of boats, we could actually hear the surf on the the opposite side of the small island.  It was a completely different experience this time.  In many ways, it seemed like a completely different place.

     Heavy rains forced us to delay our departure from Block Island for an extra day; not a problem.  We had been making good time and it looked like we would still make New York City by the end of September.

September 23, 2018 

     It had started as a faint spectre, barely perceptible if you really listened.

     But more and more recently, it had moved into the foreground, becoming impossible to ignore.

     The shifting colors of the leaves on the surrounding trees, from green to brilliant reds, oranges and yellows, had slowly been creeping further down the trees.

     Evenings in the cockpit had been all but abandoned, not because of a lack of stunning sunsets or an excess of descending mosquitoes, but rather descending temperatures. 

 

So far, we had only fired up the heater one night for an hour, but the discussions regarding not needing the heater were becoming far more frequent… a therapist might interpret this as denial.

     An extra blanket was brought out for the bed.

     Louder and louder the ticking grew…

     We had decided that Harrington Harbor North… ground zero… where it had all first come together, made the most sense for our haulout.  We knew, from experience now, it would provide access to just about everything we would need when it came to materials or services.  It was the logical choice.

     We were certain (often a risky perspective) that our time on the hard would be shorter than last year’s six weeks.  One to two weeks seemed reasonable.  However, we also had intimate experience with the potential can of worms being opened up nearly every time we set out to do something on the boat.  

     A few surprises followed by a few delays… always keeps things interesting.

     Our biggest concern was making sure we got south of the Chesapeake earlier than we did last year.  

     By the time we left Annapolis on November 12, the cold had taken a firm grasp.  It chased us all the way to Norfolk, where we found ourselves stranded for the week after Thanksgiving.  Now, even if we left Harrington Harbor by November 1, it would be pushing it. 

     Which meant getting to Harrington Harbor by mid-October was imperative.  If we counted on a relatively painless procedure with the haulout, we had no more than three weeks to reach Deale, MD.

     The sound… growing louder… incessant and persistent.

     … the worst possible sound for a sailor to hear.

     Not wind… or waves… or creaking lines… but, rather…

     … a ticking clock.

     

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September 3 – 22, 2018

     One of the many bonuses we found after purchasing Exit was the extensive library that was left aboard.  A book entitled A Cruising Guide To The Maine Coast summed up Robinhood Cove with the following observation:  You won’t have much company of the human kind, but the mosquitoes might throw you a party.

      Not only humorous, we found this to be an astonishingly astute statement.

     The main part of the bay, approximately a half mile in diameter, was occupied by dozens of unoccupied boats tied to mooring balls, just off Derektor Robinhood Marina.  To the south, Robinhood Cove narrowed to not much more than a thousand feet wide, but extended for more than three additional miles.

     It was along this stretch that we found Dena and James at anchor aboard Nomad.  We dropped anchor slightly farther south of them, the only boats there except for a small power boat and another sailboat, both unoccupied and sitting on mooring balls.

     There was certainly cause for celebration.

     Dena and James had just committed to buying a Baba 30 and had already started the process of finalizing the purchase.  In addition, James had previously corresponded extensively with a guy in California, named Ed, who had been following their blog Sovereign Nations for quite some time.  Ed was convinced he wanted to buy Nomad, and was currently flying over to take a look at her there in Robinhood Cove. 

     If they successfully made both deals happen (buying a new boat and selling theirs simultaneously), it would be pulling the proverbial rabbit out of a hat.  We had written this same scenario off as virtually impossible when we were still looking at boats eighteen months ago, leading us to buy a boat well beyond our initial capabilities… a decision which we have not regretted for a moment.

     While we chilled out, awaiting the final thumbs up that they could begin moving aboard their new sailboat, currently named Island Moon, we enjoyed the tranquility of near complete isolation, with the exception of the regular traffic of seals passing by.

     Much less social than the numerous dolphins we had grown used to seeing further south along the East Coast and in the Bahamas, the seals always kept their distance from us.  For the most part, the solitary head of a seal, possibly glancing over at us as it passed by, was the extent of our contact.  Occasionally, a splash in the distance would reveal to us the presence of one leaping part way out of the water as it hunted through a school of fish.  

     Overall, we ranked the dolphins as far cooler… but we still always greeted the seal with a “hello” and a smile.

     Once Dena and James solidified the purchase of their new boat, they were able to begin the arduous task of moving their belongings from one boat to the other by dinghy.  Though, in the end, one load was all our dinghy was needed for, we made certain to provide maximum assistance in the boat-warming party department.

     One day, we made the mistake of procrastinating our storm preparations on Exit when a weather advisory for potential gale force winds was issued.  The first blast of wind hit us while we were still securing things on deck. 

     Trapped between the opposing forces of a two knot current pulling in one direction and thirty knots of wind pushing in another, Exit momentarily listed precariously to one side as she struggled to find a balancing point.

     One of the stern rail-mounted solar panels, which had not yet been lowered and secured, swiveled upward as it was caught by the gust, causing its support strut (a $5.00 Walmart extendable squeegee) to slip out.  A loud bang emanated from astern as the panel swung back down against the stern rail.

    Looking back from amidship, it took me a few seconds to process what had happened.  Then I saw the squeegee bobbing on the surface of the water, drifting quickly away from us.

     For some unknown reason, our dinghy was still in the water, with the engine still mounted, tied off to the transom (normally we would at least stow the engine in case the dinghy flipped or we needed to sink it during a storm).  In this case, it was fortuitous.

     I quickly gained Kris’ no-contest-consent more than approval (she is typically much better at distinguishing between rationally improvised quick responses and poorly thought out, foolish, knee-jerk reactions) before hopping in the dinghy to retrieve a $5.00 squeegee in rough waves and twenty five to thirty knot winds… hmmmm. 

     With the precious squeegee recovered, we hunkered down and waited out the rest of the wind in the security and comfort of the cabin below, knowing our Rocna anchor would hold fast and hoping our rusty and decrepit chain would hold (James had staunchly insisted that we need to replace it sooner rather than later).  

     Fortunately, Robinhood Cove provided enough protection that we never saw winds higher than the initial onslaught that hit us right at the beginning.

    We thought we had come out completely unscathed until we realized that we had foolishly left the aluminum bench for our dinghy on Nomad’s deck when we helped Dena and James move to their new sailboat.

     A search of Nomad quickly confirmed that the bench was indeed light enough to be lifted up and carried by the winds we had experienced earlier.  A more lengthy dinghy-based search and recovery mission along the shoreline for more a mile in both directions proved fruitless, confirming only that, if aluminum dinghy benches even do float, ours never made it to shore.

     After the storm, we became even more determined to get out anchor chain sorted out.

     It had confounded us for months.  

    The quantity of rust the chain was shedding on the deck both created an absolute mess as well as stained the aluminum, on deck as well as running down the side of the hull where a rust streak marked the location of the deck drain.  

     Some of the wear points in the chain links were substantial.  It had now gotten to a point that, when setting or bringing up anchor, the chain was beginning to chronically jump out of the gypsy track (both a safety as well as equipment damage concern).  

     James had described the condition of the chain as a critical safety issue.

     The challenge: as a French built boat, Exit was equipped with a windlass set up for 12mm chain.

     The problems:

1. 12mm anchor chain is unbelievably difficult to get in the States.
2. Goiot discontinued our windlass model years ago and has no current parts or information support.
3. We haven’t been able to find a replacement gypsy allowing us to switch over to half inch chain.
4. Obviously, we can’t be at anchor while we replace the chain.

     The variables:  There is 145 feet of spare G4 chain in the bow locker that was lashed to the secondary anchor.  It appears to have never been used.  The Lyman-Morse Boatyard, who maintained Exit for fifteen years, has a record of Exit receiving half inch chain in 2015.

     The theory:  The chain skipping is potentially due to a worn chain as well as some wear to the gypsy itself.  Half inch chain is closer to 13mm than to 12mm.  Hopefully, the potential wear in the gypsy will accommodate the slightly over-sized chain.

    With more time than money, we committed to pursuing the potential option of a free resolution to the ongoing chain dilemma.  

     After digging some of the unused (and previously untouched by us) chain out of the locker and fitting it to the gypsy, we concluded: it was possible that maybe we could unconvincingly verify that the half inch chain might feasibly work in the current windlass gypsy.

     A few days paying to be on a nearby mooring ball gave us the ability to experiment.

     We pulled the entire new chain up on deck, measured and marked it, and did a few additional experiments to try to bolster our confidence that the chain fit on the windlass correctly.  Definitely G4 chain… stamped right on the links.  Seemed to be 1/2″ diameter… seemed to have never been in the water.  Seemed to fit the windlass gypsy better than the old chain.

     We were ecstatic to learn that the extra 165 feet of line already spliced to the end of the chain was actually unused 5/8″ yacht-braid (a quite expensive line designed specifically so it could be run through the gypsy just like a chain.

     Three hundred ten feet, or nearly one hundred meters, of anchor rode… sweet… as long as it works.

     Our first hurdle appeared as we tried to disconnect our Rocna anchor from the existing chain.  Not only were both screws on our $75 Lewmar swivel completely seized in place, but they were also completely stripped.  The only way the swivel was going to come off was with a hacksaw.

     I suspected it could take me thirty hours to completely saw through two stainless steel pins larger than half inch diameter.  Surprisingly, it took less than thirty minutes.

     We had already foreseen the predictable calamity of, after having just cut free the chain, watching our precious unsecured anchor slide off the bow roller, splash into the water, and promptly sink to fifty feet.  We had already taken precautions.

     James and Dena, who came by to lend assistance with connecting the new chain to the anchor, laughed when they saw the anchor, secured not only with two separate lines to the bow roller and deck, but also attached to a spare halyard hung from the top of the mast… possibly overkill.

     As for the now useless swivel, we were stuck.  We couldn’t find the same swivel anywhere in the area, and were told alternatives would cost hundreds of dollars.  

     Using a shackle in place of the swivel was an option.  Both methods have their proponents and critics.  Ask a group of surly sailors:  when connecting an anchor to chain…swivel or shackle?   Then stand back and watch the entertainment begin.

    After locating a shackle, already aboard, that James and Dena assured us was more than sufficient strength, James helped get everything attached properly.  It was agreed that, for the long term, it would be best if we used a slightly different bow shackle; however, everything was golden for the immediate future.  

     Rather than use Loctite, which would be a bitch to break free in the future, we followed our Sailing Gurus’ recommendation to mouse the threaded pin with stainless steel wire, preventing any possibility of it inadvertently backing out, but still allowing us to get it off easily when it came time to switch to a different shackle.

     Before getting off the mooring ball, we lowered the anchor where we were, as a test run.  Though the chain jumped slightly on the way out before the anchor hit bottom fifty feet below, it worked like a dream on the way back up.  Our confidence began to grow that we had actually found a solution which had been on the boat the entire time.

     We returned to our original anchor spot and dropped the hook.  This time it seemed to work even more smoothly as the chain was paid out.

     Woohoo!  We were now brimming with enthusiasm.  Our rusty chain was secured in the bow locker (where it would stay until we were 100% sure we didn’t need to use it as an emergency fallback) which meant that our rust stain woes were nearing an end  pending one final removal process of the current stains.  We had a brand new G4 anchor chain that was twenty five feet longer than before.  We had an extra one hundred sixty five feet of unused 5/8″ yacht-braid attached to the end of that chain which had been confirmed was perfectly safe to deploy if needed (which also ran through the gypsy).  Our gypsy seemed absolutely content running with the half inch chain.  And, to top it all off, we still had two thousand dollars in our bank account that would have been spent otherwise… gotta like that.

     True, at some point we would need to acquire additional chain for our secondary anchor.  But, at least it wasn’t an emergency (we had never had the need for a second anchor during our first year aboard Exit); and it appeared that half inch chain was now an option as well.  Happy days!

      Shortly afterwards, we received word from Dena that Ed was going to pull the trigger on Nomad… he was buying the boat immediately.  They had pulled off the impossible – successfully buying and selling two boats, in the same location, in less than one week’s time! 

     True magic… no sleight of hand, no safety wires… our heroes.

     There was undoubtably cause for big celebration, which the four of us undertook in fine form.

     Other than Derektor Robinhood Marina (and a restaurant above the marina office), there were no facilities for miles.  Fortunately, since the boat Dena and James were buying was on a marina mooring ball, they had access to the marina showers and courtesy car, which meant plenty of opportunities for provisioning.

     When they rented a car for a few days, we tagged along for a much appreciated one day road trip, an excursion to explore Portland and Boston.  We may be seeing a pattern developing… a reunion with Dena and James mandates a bit of Road Trippin’.  Lobster rolls in Beantown… yum!  But what’s with all the mayo?!

We also had plenty of time to explore farther up into Robinhood Cove by dinghy, which slowly transformed into more of a creek and eventually a marsh.

     The last project we felt compelled to do prior to a haul-out, which was now becoming imminent, was an attempt to clean our dodger and bimini covers.  

     Though very durable, a year on the water had begun to take its’ toll on the Sunbrella material.  The bright white had slowly morphed to a dull and dingy gray, eventually starting to show the black specks and dark stains of the relentless assault from the elements.   Now, even shades of green were becoming visible in places… algae.

     Without fully removing either the bimini or dodger cover, we spent the better part of two days carefully applying and rinsing a bleach/water mix, trying to minimize dripping on the teak or aluminum (generally a no-no on both).   Though we were dubious that anything short of a complete removal of the covers from the frames, followed by an aggressive cleaning off the boat, would have satisfactory results, we decided to give it a try.  

     During the process, Kris saw a post on one of the cruising forums, asking for advice on cleaning bimini covers.  Kris replied with a summary of what we were doing and how it seemed to be working.

     Forty eight hours later, with the bimini and dodger covers fully dry, we were stunned at how clean they looked, almost new even.  It had turned out far better than we had imagined possible.

     Later that evening, while we reveled in the cockpit drinking sundowners, beaming with pride and basking under the cover of our now gloriously clean dodger and bimini covers, Kris read a followup post on the cruisers network which lamented…

     … Just had to replace my bimini and dodger covers.  The bleach ate through all the threads.    

     Kris closed the laptop and we made another toast.  You can’t win ‘em all but some successes taste extra sweet.

September 2, 2018

    Our destination of Linekin Bay was only eleven miles away, so it afforded us a late start… something I thoroughly enjoy whenever possible.  

     However, heading nearly into the wind with very little wind, not to mention a plethora of lobster pots to navigate through, made for especially difficult sailing.   

     Even if we did get the engine shut off for a while, sailing through the pots quickly became exhausting and stressful.  The autopilot was on standby; manually steering by hand was the only way forward.

     Also, sailing inside a true wind angle of less than sixty degrees gave us very little ability to steer to the right to miss lobster pots without losing all our speed and steering as the sails luffed, or having to tack completely around to a different point of sail.

     In the end, we found ourselves having to do a lot of motorsailing… those dastardly lobster pots.

     And it seemed that, as we got closer to land, the numbers of lobster pot floats kept growing exponentially.  It reached a point that it appeared they had been placed more with the intention of catching boats than lobsters!

    We passed right by the very popular Boothbay Harbor without even blinking, precisely for the reason that it was very popular… more of a destination for the marina and mooring ball dwellers.

      Our intended anchorage was Lewis Cove, just around the opposite side of Spring Point.  It appeared that it would be much less crowded, yet still easily within walking distance of all the facilities located in Boothbay.

     A sound idea… but we crapped out on the actualization of that plan.

     In Lewis Cove, we were delivered three strikes – mooring balls everywhere, lobster pots everywhere, and low tide depths of greater than thirty feet anywhere there was a gap between balls or pots.  We would have to find an alternate location.

     After nearly an hour, we settled on a quiet corner of the bay further north… no lobster pots, no mooring balls in the immediate vicinity, and depths of fifteen feet.  

     Immediately suspicious and skeptical, we were wondering what we were missing.  However, the anchor set perfectly and all seemed good.  We had our own secluded spot, with very few houses along the shore and only a handful of unoccupied boats on nearby mooring balls.  The only uncertainties were shore access and whether we were miles from any facilities.

     A dinghy ride to one of the private docks netted us twenty two gallons of water, after gaining permission from a man of few words who didn’t seem to entirely get why we were anchored so far away from civilization without access to a car… oh well, free water is free water.

     A bit further along we found a public dock with dinghies tied up to it.  However, an exploration of the area uncovered only one small general store with nothing we needed.  I passed on the $25 lobster roll.

     Trying to give Dena and James all the space they needed to work things out, instead of being a distraction, we spent three peaceful nights at Linekin Bay.

     During that time, we met a immensely friendly local resident named Charlie, who stopped alongside Exit in his dinghy.  He gushed compliments at us for our choice of boat, pointed out that cruisers almost never anchor here as it’s so far away from anything, passed on information regarding lobster fishing as well as advice aimed at avoiding being fouled by the lobster pot lines, and gave us permission to fill up with as much water as we could hold using the spigot at the dock we had gotten water from earlier.

     Once again, we were amazed at the hospitality and helpful nature of some people we stumbled across.

     Even stranger was the exchange we had when we were visited by two women and a man rowing a pair of kayaks.  They had seen our hailing port of Pullman, WA on the transom and couldn’t resist coming over to talk to us.  

     We were stunned to learned that the man and woman were actually from Pullman, on vacation in Maine visiting their friend (the third person).  They had lived in Pullman for fifty years and, though we did not know them personally, we immediately recognized the street they lived on.

     Then, as if that wasn’t enough of a small-world-holy-shit-moment, further conversation revealed that their daughter Jennifer and I had actually graduated in the same high school class!  We have had some pretty bizarre crossing orbits in our travels, but that one has to be near the top of the list.  

     Later that afternoon, we received a text with the news we had been anxiously hoping to hear.  Dena and James were buying a new boat.  Woohoo!

     We immediately decided to lift anchor the following day and head straight for Robinhood Cove, just twenty nautical miles to the west… right after filling our water tanks.  Thanks Charlie!