Last days...

At long last, we are finally leaving Gloucester. After my dehydration episode of this morning we are both anxious for a change of scenery. We’re going to the Isles of Shoals, a place Rick is clearly looking forward to. One drawback about the place is that the bottom is very rocky and kelp-covered and thus difficult to anchor in so the ideal plan is to take a mooring there. Rick is all business today, mostly because we are off to such a late start and he’s worried that all of the moorings will be taken by the time we get to our destination.

We motor over to the opening of the Blynman Canal which will take us through to the other side of Cape Ann. The start of the canal is punctuated by a bridge that is much too low for our mast to clear. The normal procedure here is to contact the bridge man on the radio. Rick has what he calls a “handheld,” but what I have come to think of as “the weather radio” because he gets the marine forecast through this device. It also happens to work as a handy CB radio. But just when he needs it most it is, of course, out of battery. I don’t know why in this day and age you can’t just call the guy with a cell phone. It turns out that Tortue has a built-in radio, but it is inconveniently located down below. Rick leaves me to steer us to the bridge while he talks CB language to the bridge man. “Blynman bascule bridge, Blynman bascule bridge, this is Tortue, do you read me, over!” Rick finally makes contact and the bridge starts to open. We have to wait for the line of boats from the other side to pass before we can go through.

This canal is much narrower than the other ones we’ve been through on this trip. The boats move along in single file, very similar to the traffic on a two-lane country road in a no-passing zone. We come to another drawbridge but this time there is another sailboat already waiting so thankfully we don’t have to repeat the CB routine. The “Trinity” has a very cautious captain, and we are stuck behind her for the duration of the canal trip.

When we reach the end of the canal and hit open water, the shore is completely filled with people trying to stay cool on this extremely hot day. Rick motors us out of the boat traffic and we go for a quick swim ourselves. There is hardly any wind which seems to be par for the course on our travel days, and we will have to motor to our destination if we are to have any hope of getting there tonight.

I’m still feeling a little shaky from this morning and the sun is just too strong for comfort, so I spend most of the afternoon down below. Rick calls me up periodically when he sees a whale. All the whales we see today are grey in color and very big; Rick estimates them at around fifty feet long. We see a group of at least three at one point, their spouts sending up water like geysers. They are all frustratingly far away when we see them and Rick tries to head in their direction but they are much too fast for our boat. Rick maneuvers the boat in a zigzag pattern to try and mimic a whale in distress - he was able to attract a group of whales this way a couple of years ago but these whales are too smart to fall for his ploy. At least he doesn’t try singing again…

We pull into Isles of Shoals as the light is fading and sure enough, all the mooring balls are taken. We cruise several times around the area, looking for a place to anchor. On top of having a weedy bottom, it is also a bit deep for anchoring and Rick is having a difficult time deciding which spot will give us the best chance at a relatively worry free night. We finally settle on a spot, and then one of the other sailors tells us that our particular spot actually has a muddy bottom and that we’ve lucked out. Our old friend the “Trinity” pulls in while the sun is setting, and we watch while her captain tries to find a place to anchor in the dark.

 

The Shoals are a charming set of small rocky islands eight miles or so offshore from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. I can see why Rick likes them so much. One island has what looks to have been a huge resort hotel, but the entire island has been bought by some religious group and the buildings are used for some kind of retreat compound. The moorings, quite a number of them first-come-first-served moorings maintained by the Portsmouth Yacht Club, are all in a protected little area between the islands, and there are a great number of motor cruisers who have rafted up, some no doubt to party, but many simply to share moorings which are in great demand tonight. Some motor cruisers have a nasty habit of running their engines all night in order to fuel their generators. I don’t know why their batteries aren’t  full from all the motoring they did during the day to get here. Maybe they need it for their AC or their televisions. In any case, it is completely obnoxious behavior in close proximity to other boats and sure enough, we have one such offender just a few boats away. One sailboat owner finally gets fed up and gives them a what-for. We hear angry phrases like, “This is shared space!” and “Just turn it off!" and finally the engine is off. After a brief few moments of silence the place erupts in spontaneous applause.

In the morning the wind is up and we head out for what promises to be a great day for sailing. We’ve done a lot of motoring on this trip so I’m very confident in that department, but setting the sails is something I still don’t know about and Rick uses the perfect conditions today as an opportunity for teaching. He talks me through the process but makes me do everything myself, and eventually all of the tasks are completed and we are under sail! It’s a pity that it took most of this month-long trip before I got a chance to learn.

We are on a very comfortable point of sail for almost the whole day, and Rick and I spend much of the time up on the foredeck. We don’t see any whales today, but we see many seals. One seal is lounging at the surface right at the bow of our boat, and he nonchalantly lets us pass, not more than a few feet away from us. One very frustrating thing about wildlife sightings on the water is that the animals make lousy subjects for picture taking. You only get a moment to snap a photograph, and unless you have your camera ready to go and happen to be focused on the very spot in which the critter appears out of nowhere, you will undoubtedly miss the shot. When this seal is so accommodating by basically sitting still and even looking up with his big warm, shiny eyes I think, “This time, I’ve got him!” The trouble is, even though the seal isn’t moving, we are. I can’t get the camera to focus amid all of the bouncing, and yet again, no photo. David Attenborough would be very disappointed in me.

Near the end of the day we pull in to the Wood Island harbor at Biddeford Pool. This is a lovely little anchorage and we enjoy one of our last on board cocktail hours sitting at the bow and watching the sun go down. There is a bittersweet feeling to our time here because we know that our voyage is almost completed. We have spent almost every moment together for a month, and have spent the vast majority of that time exclusively in each other’s company. We've been a couple for more than eleven years, and yet we've never spent this much undivided time together. Some of the experiences we’ve had have undoubtedly been difficult, but we’ve developed a level of intimacy through those experiences that makes it hard to see our time on the boat together coming to an end.

Early the next morning it is foggy and still, charming in its own way, but by the time Rick wakes up it is clear and sunny. We have one last music making session, this time outside in the cockpit – modesty be damned! Rick does a certain amount of solo practicing first while I putter around, and by the time we play our duets together he has perfected his part and we actually sound pretty good!

We both know that today is an ending of sorts because this is the last small anchorage we will stay in. After a good long look around, we pull up the anchor and motor out of the harbor, on our way to Portland.