Carpe Scenum!

At this point, we have been in Maine for more than a week, and only two days out of eight have been free of rain and fog. When we’re stuck in the boat, waiting out the rain, we find things to do – reading, cooking, playing fiddles, etc. – and it can be very charming, snuggled up in our little cocoon with the pitter patter of rain drops on the cabin top. The fog even has its own still, quiet beauty. But you know, it does get a little old.

When we get a day (or a few hours) of blue sky we know we need to take full advantage. The first clear day we get is after three days in Rockland, and it’s beautiful and sunny, but unfortunately without much wind. We’re not waiting around for something better – we fire up the engine and head out. Twenty miles north, we find a little spot to anchor between two tiny islands – not difficult to do here because there are little rock and spruce tree islands everywhere.

It’s such a scenic spot, we have to go ashore for the cocktail hour. Rick decides not to bother with the outboard and just row the dinghy in, but someone (ok, I’ll admit it, it was me) forgets the crackers and insists that Rick go back to the boat to get them. Well, you just can’t have cheese and crackers without the crackers, right? It’s a loooong haul back to the boat against the wind and current, made even more fun when one of the oarlocks decides to give out and break. For the return trip, Rick scraps the oars and uses the outboard to bring me the crackers.

The next day is of course rainy, foggy and cold again. The beautiful spot we chose to anchor in yesterday is now unrecognizable – we could be anywhere.

View from inside the cabin

Black Guillemots - so cute, even in the fog

Mt. Desert Island, which includes Acadia National Park is relatively close by, but we want to time our voyage around the perimeter of this island on a day with good visibility. We check the weather reports every day, but they’re not always accurate beyond a couple of hours – and even then… After another day sitting at anchor and waiting out the fog, we decide to skip Acadia entirely this time around and go directly up to Bar Harbor to re-provision. We have plenty of fuel and water, but we’re practically out of food. Worse yet, we’re almost out of gin.

The weather looks as though it’s going to be foggy and miserable for the next week, so we might as well go somewhere where we can do a grocery run and then go further north. We can hope for more scenic weather on our way back south in which to experience Acadia. But as we approach the famous Somes Sound, the fog miraculously clears. Let’s not wait – who knows what tomorrow might bring. Carpe Scenum!

The Somes Sound is actually a fiord, a long, narrow inlet with steep sides or cliffs, created in a valley carved by glaciers. Perhaps not as dramatic as those you might find in Norway, it is nevertheless a beautiful stretch of scenery, dividing Mt. Desert nearly into two halves. We motor between them, passing little sailing school pupils and some pretty impressive vacation homes. We even spy a loon swimming along in the water.

At the end of the sound, in the sort of cul de sac, there’s a race going on involving a class of very colorful old wooden boats. We enjoy watching them, but try hard to stay out of their way.

It is already starting to cloud over, but we feel lucky to have gotten this clear weather window to experience the Sound. We anchor near Southwest Harbor in a sweet little spot near a cottage I find particularly charming. Rick points out a sailboat nearby as a Hinckley Pilot 35, his former aesthetic ideal. She is a beauty, a true dreamboat, but a seasickness nightmare. That boat has a habit of “hobby horsing”, bobbing forward and backward, along with being extremely tippy. Luckily for me, Rick’s tastes have matured.

Hinckley Pilot 35

The next morning dawns clear and bright, not a cloud in the sky, and there’s even enough wind to sail on. We head out, around the perimeter of Mt. Desert, and it is a scenic wonder. The areas around Southwest and Northeast harbors are still privately owned, with some mighty impressive old-style mansions parading as cottages. But it is immediately obvious when the publicly owned coastline of Acadia National Park comes into view – no more houses. Just beautiful natural coastline, backdropped by Cadillac Mountain.

Acadia National Park