We left Castine in a light breeze, Windara eating up the miles despite the light air. By the time we entered the islands south of Eggemoggin Reach, the wind was all but gone – but not for long. It soon piped up enough that we put a reef in the jib. We tried to troubleshoot the aft head while we were still in open water, only to discover the pump didn’t seem to be pumping at all. It’s been giving us trouble for a while now, so another repair was added to the list. Every time Chris went below, though, we’d find ourselves in another dense lobster pot field, and I’m always terrified I’ll snag one.
By late afternoon I was fully in hangry mode, but it was still too breezy to cook, so I did my best to keep my mouth shut. As we approached the Fox Islands Thorofare, we rolled up the jib and I broke out the chips. We almost never keep snack food aboard, but we like having something on hand in case we end up having sundowners with other cruisers—we never like arriving empty-handed. Between the chips and the beautiful run through the thoroughfare, my mood improved considerably, and before long we were anchored in Seal Cove just outside Perry Cove.
Once we were anchored, we grilled up hot dogs and did our post-sail clean up, then launched Williwaw and headed over to the little brewery in North Haven. It’s a tiny place, but they brew excellent beer, and together with Calderwood Hall serving pizza upstairs, it’s one of the island’s gathering places.
Before hauling anchor in the morning, we dinghied down Perry Creek. There’s more room than it looks like, although I’m still glad we anchored outside. Maybe next time we’ll pick up one of the moorings – apparently there are free moorings with a request to donate to the Vinalhaven Land Trust. We also found a trailhead to come back and explore another time.
The forecast claimed that the morning would have the best wind, so we got moving relatively early. We ran the Fox Islands Thorofare – we’d never been out the west side of it before, and it was so pretty! I wish I’d had my good camera out, but I didn’t want to go get it for fear of obstructing Chris’s view of the pots and busy channel. I did break it out as we passed Vinalhaven Lighthouse though. Once we were clear of the thoroughfare, we rolled out the jib, but we couldn’t get it to draw and decided to motor. There wasn’t a breath of breeze the whole trip.
The anchorage was somewhat busy, which wasn’t unexpected given that it was a beautiful Sunday. We found a good spot and, once the anchor was set, fired up the watermaker. We don’t make water in Castine since Holbrook is a Superfund site – Smith Cove is probably fine since the river funnels the water out, but we figure it’s not worth the gamble. After we ran the watermaker for a couple hours, it was time to go ashore.
As I hopped off the dinghy, my feet hit the cold water and honestly it felt… refreshing. Once the dinghy was secured, I took a few more steps and stood there enjoying the feeling of waves lapping against my legs. We walked to the tidal pools on the back side of Birch Island where the water had been warmed by the sun, and I was reminded by the sharp shells just how much of a tenderfoot I’ve become. Hermit crabs scurried for shelter and baby fish darted for deeper waters as we wandered.
On our return, we met a couple who keep their boat in Rockland and had a nice chat (and got lots of love from their sweet dog). It’s funny how quickly total strangers become friends when you’re cruising. I suppose it’s because we’re all out here looking for much the same thing.
While we were ashore, most of the other boats left so we decided to reanchor closer. We’re not sure if we dragged while we were ashore or if the chain had simply stretched out as the afternoon breeze built, but we were definitely closer to the lobster pots than we had been. We reanchored and monitored our set for a while, and the breeze eventually faded off.
I could tell sunset was going to be a stunner, and it did not disappoint. As a near full moon rose off our bow, the sunset went from golden highlights and gray shadows to deep oranges and reds. There was barely a breath of breeze and the flat water reflected the sunset’s colors. There were only two other boats in the anchorage, and it was so quiet you could hear the ocean waves breaking against the distant rocky islands.
Overnight the temperature dropped into the 40s. When I got up it was 57° inside the boat, and WeatherBug claimed it was just 45° outside. So far, this has been an unseasonably chilly couple of weeks, and I’ve been wearing my fall clothes as much as (if not more than) shorts and tees.
Yesterday morning, a seal popped up right beside Windara, and we spent a few minutes checking each other out before he dove and swam off. We took our coffee ashore and walked the perimeter of Dix Island, and although it hadn’t warmed up all that much yet, I found I no longer needed my sweatshirt… maybe I’m finally readjusting to New England temperatures. I love that the owners of Dix still allow cruisers to share their little piece of heaven. I added a pinecone to the little granite obelisk as a token of thanks. After work, we went back for another walk on Birch (this time, we were smart enough to bring our water shoes). We walked from the rocky outcropping on the eastern side to the high point, and this time I remembered to sign the log book.
This morning, we had a thick fog roll in– so thick at times that I lost sight of the end of Dix and all but the one big clump of trees on Otter. Fortunately it lifted and now there’s just a distant haze.
Next we’re heading into Rockland for a couple of days. Jack has suddenly decided he wants to eat all the food, so we need to restock, and since the head pump has officially given up the ghost, we need to track down a replacement. We’ll also be there for the Lobster Festival, which I’m excited to experience (we just missed it our first year here). After that we’ll head to Camden for a pump-out and to rebuild the head. And if I’m lucky, maybe the little grocery will have blueberries.
The more time we spend cruising Maine, the more I fall in love with it, and the more it feels like home. I’m sad to see some of my favorite places getting busier, and I have to remind myself that I’m “from away,” too – I’m as much a part of that change as anyone else.
