These are our last days on the water, at least for this year. We’re
headed south to the Casco Bay area and will be meeting up with friends and
family. This has been the best sailing summer ever. I have loved my time on the
boat and it’s difficult to see it coming to an end.
So, what makes this summer so much better than last year? The truth
is, I’m not completely sure. We have definitely suffered through a great deal
more boat “issues” this season – more expensive ones too. And then of course
there’s the foggy, rainy, cold weather that just keeps coming back, every other
day or so.
Even though we’ve had some bad weather days, we’ve also had a number
of magnificently beautiful ones too. Maine is lot like that little girl with
the curl in the middle of her forehead. The weather up here is either very,
very good, or absolutely horrid. On the good days, we’ve enjoyed some pretty
fantastic sailing. And even a bad day can bring an incredible sight that cannot
be seen so expansively on shore - a rainbow.
I’ve been almost entirely free of my previous seasickness worries,
which has allowed me to learn more actual sailing and navigating skills this
year. I wouldn’t say that I’m a real sailor yet, and I rely pretty heavily on
the modern equipment aboard the boat to read the charts along with the wind.
But I’ve been slowly and surely taking on more of the sailing responsibilities,
and that feels pretty great.
We also have been sailing in some less densely populated areas up
here in Maine. Seaside tourist towns certainly have their charms, but I’ve
really enjoyed the numerous opportunities for exploring small, uninhabited
islands.
The main thing that is different this year might just simply be that
both Rick and I have relaxed a bit. The boat was unfamiliar last year, and so
many systems seemed to be going wrong. A bigger boat with more sophisticated
equipment means more things to go wrong and more repair work that needs to be
farmed out when it does – a difficult pill to swallow for a do-it-yourself-er
like Rick. I think we both have come to accept that owning a boat is not a
static experience, and that the joy derived from sailing will always be offset
to some extent by the time, trouble and money that is necessary to keep that
boat afloat. Totally worth it in my book. In any case, a happy Rick is just a
lot more fun to be around. I’m sure the same is true for a happy Becky.
(Here's a video of Rick happily doing sailorly stuff: http://youtu.be/54ss1bf5OIA )
I don’t think I will ever pass under another bridge without
remembering Rick’s encounter with that railroad bridge back in June. But I
think we are both past that enough to just laugh about
We’re planning on landing in Falmouth tomorrow for the usual Boothby
family gathering. There will be hiking, barbequing and bocce ball playing, and
then I will be flying home and leaving Rick to find his own way home on
Valkyrie. This is our last night of cruising and we both get a hankering for
the fried clams at Holbrooks – a little waterside joint where we enjoyed clams
as a little snack last year.
We pull in at what a Mainer would call “wicked” low tide, and I’m
sure we are very close to running aground, but we’re both anxious to get away
from those beef stew left-overs which we’ve been eating for days, so obviously
worth the risk.
It turns out that Holbrooks has a pretty extensive menu and we
order EVERYTHING! Three lobsters, steamed clams, fried clams, sweet potato
fries, corn, coleslaw – the works. While we are waiting, we meet a set of sixty
or seventy-ish twin sisters, just finishing their meal. A real couple of
characters, they are obviously locals and are very interested in our boat. It
turns out that they’ve done a bit of sailing in their day and we have quite an
exchange of sailing stories. When they learn that we sailed up here from
Baltimore, anchoring in small inlets and coves, one of the sisters exclaims
excitedly, ”Oh, you’re gunkholers!”
Excuse me? Apparently, “gunkholing” is an actual term for seeking
out scenic and isolated coves to anchor in, rather than simply going to the
more popular and crowded marinas. The “gunk” refers to the mud that one tends
to find in shallow creek beds and coves. Rick says he knows the term, but I’ve
never heard him use it. It sounds like something you wouldn’t say in polite
company. I wish I’d known about this when I wrote the “Muscongus” post awhile
back!
When our food arrives, we pull out our chilled bottle of champagne
and plastic wine glasses we brought ashore from the boat (it’s ok, this is a
BYOB place). What a feast – the perfect way to spend our last evening cruising
(gunkholing)!
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