Cruising Log for Week 1:  July 13 - July 21

Saturday 7/13:  Falmouth Foreside  Harbor Detail Chart

After much anticipation, we moved aboard the boat today.  It was anticlimactic, really.  The day began like any other, and I got up a little later than usual and spent a little time on my computer with morning coffee.  From the beginning, we hadn't been planning on really leaving, or going anywhere, today--Heidi just finished up with work on Friday, and we both figured some decompression time was in order.  As it turned out, it was a beautiful day, and I think probably both of us sort of wished we had been on the boat early with plans for a passage somewhere.  As it was, I found the morning to be long and fairly unproductive.  I did some last minute cleaning at the house to ready it for my sister, who is staying there with our dogs while we're away, and a final load of laundry to return to use the last T-shirts and such for the cruise.  Before long, though, these minor chores were done, and I was pretty bored.  I decided to go to the grocery store for our final fresh food shop--I had gone the day before but had forgotten some items and had not bought any lunch/deli stuff because I didn't know what Heidi usually bought.  (She does the grocery shopping, normally.)  

The store was not overly crowded and soon I was home again, with ants in my pants.  It was pretty obvious we were ready to do something--or at least I was.  The anticipation had been killing me all week, and I just wanted to get out to the boat and start this cruise that I had been thinking of and planning for for months--and preparations for which I had been living for the past few weeks as I readied the boat.  I knew the boat was as ready as she would ever be (with a raspberry to Lloyds of London--I still call my boat "she"), and we had only a few tote bags to bring out--fresh food, last minute items, and the laptop.  I abandoned a plan to head out with the gear myself and load her up, deciding instead to wait until Heidi was ready (and the laundry, too) and just bring the stuff out to the boat then.  Why waste time with a special trip beforehand, when it really wasn't necessary?

Speaking of preparations, I spent much of Thursday and Friday with the laptop at home, trying to get the website files properly loaded.  I needed to have the most up-to-date files on the computer so that the site will continue to upload properly whenever I do it, but I ran into a problem when I tried loading the site with a CD that I burned at home with the web files.  Instead, I tried to import the existing, up-to-date site directly from the Internet onto the laptop, but something went screwy and it replaced my homepage with a completely unrelated page in a random act of renaming.  It took a while to sort that out, plus the download time involved.  Finally, though, I was able to publish the site from the laptop, and all seemed to be properly configured.  What a pain!

After lunch, we were ready to go.  More or less.  It was hard leaving the dogs, and both Heidi and I became pretty choked up when the immediacy of what we were doing became real.  We had called my mom, who had offered to drive us to the boat so we shouldn't have to leave a car in the parking lot, and in the time it took for her to arrive we suddenly realized (not that we hadn't thought it previously) that we were leaving these great dogs for two months!  This was hard for both of us.  Finally, mom arrived and within minutes we were on our way to the boat.

Arriving at the club, we unloaded our four tote bags and said goodbye, then headed down to the dock for some ice and a launch ride out to the boat on the mooring.  It felt like a normal day, until I really thought about it.  Then, it felt weird, being out on the boat, all ready to go but going nowhere.  I was sorely tempted to head somewhere, but most of the options were too far away for this late in the day, or too far up inside a peninsula or river to head too--if we had to go up a river for an hour to get to a harbor, we were pretty much better off staying in Falmouth.  Besides, I had to try and cram all the food and ice into the icebox and stow the rest of the gear.  Heidi rigged the awning and stayed out of the way for the time being.

I tried to fit too much ice into the icebox--I guess I'm an ice hoarder and feel that more ice is always a good thing.  Try as I might, though, I could simply not fit all the food and ice into the space provided--a physical impossibility.  Finally, I removed a partial block of ice, some smaller chunks, and one bag of cubes, although I did pour some of the cubes into the spaces in and around the blocks and some of the food.  With the extra space opened up, I was just able to fit everything in and get the lid closed tightly.   Phew!  I dread having to get anything out now!  Drinks, anyone?  We have plenty of ice that's sort of going to waste...I kept it in the sink for the time being.  It'll last as long as it lasts.

With that out of the way, I relaxed for a while before finishing up with the remaining non-perishables and other stuff.  Then, I hooked up the laptop (which draws only about 2 Ah when running off the inverter, by the way) and downloaded a proposed route I had set up with The Cap'n software to my GPS for  tomorrow.  We may even go further than planned, weather and whim permitting, just to get ourselves set up in a good position somewhere east of Muskegs bay and into the waters where we want to spend our time relaxing.  Then, I spent some time working on the log on the computer.  Later, I gave the engine a pre-passage inspection and check--oil, coolant, exhaust, mounts, etc.  All looked OK.  I opened the galley sink drain peacock, which I usually leave closed, and...now what?  All the prep work seems to be over.  I guess that means that it must be time to leave!  Hope the beautiful weather holds for tomorrow and beyond.

We went to bed early after a light dinner; it stayed flat calm all night long.  

Sunday 7/14:  Falmouth Foreside - Port Clyde (Rhumb Line Distance:  45.4 nm)  PDF Route Chart  Harbor Detail Chart

I was up at 0400, as we had planned  before going to sleep the night before.  I put the coffee on to perk and went about some other chores to get myself and the boat ready for the passage today.  At 0450, we dropped the mooring and motorsailed away from Falmouth in a glassy calm and relatively warm temperatures.  We wanted the early start to just get a jump on things while we knew the weather was favorable, and to express the boat nearly to Penobscot Bay in one fell swoop.  Leaving early also left open the possibility of traveling further than planned, but we wouldn't know till arriving at the end of Muscongus Bay whether or not we would choose to continue on past Port Clyde.

We had a favorable current most of the way out of the inner bay, which was fortunate because it was really running through Chandler Cove and Broad Sound.  With the ocean swell and strong ebbing current, the conditions were a little rolly, but not too bad.  With the main up to steady the boat, we averaged over 5 knots over the ground with no problems.  After three hours, we reached the end of Casco Bay (Cape Small), and I rolled up the chart and stowed it, since we wouldn't be needing it for a while.  The weather was sunny and pleasant, but the winds remained too light to sail, so we continued motorsailing across the mouths of the three rivers of the midcoast:  Kennebec, Sheepscot, and Damariscotta.  Almost exactly three hours later, I marked the time at the buoy at Pemaquid Ledge, signaling our entrance into Muscongus Bay.

While growing up and sailing with my parents on their boat, we always seemed to cross Muscongus Bay on gray, chilly, windy days--thoroughly unpleasant enough that such weather has always been called a "Muscongus Bay Day" in our family ever since.  Today, though, was the polar opposite of that, with sunny conditions and a calm sea.  Earlier, I had let the main out as the wind seemed to strengthen, and had run a preventer forward to hold the boom in place.  At some point I became aware that the gooseneck was looking less than happy, and closer inspection revealed that the forward-side loading of the boom being out had tweaked the track again, stripping the screws from their holes.  It seemed steady enough with the main sheeted back in tight again (the wind was too light to hold it out anyway), so I left it up, but I was very discouraged with this bit of news.  As we continued the pretty, but generally mind-numbing motorsail to our destination, I mulled over possible repair options for the gooseneck.  More on that later.

We aimed for Eastern Egg Rock, the southernmost roosting area for the Puffin, and passed close aboard, but didn't see any of the funny, unique birds.  We saw plenty of seals and even some dolphins frolicking nearby.  Once past the rock, we continued on our course towards Davis Strait, and Port Clyde beyond.  Some obnoxious huge power-piggy thing stormed by us in the opposite direction, plowing half the ocean ahead and tossing it haphazardly astern in a massive breaking wake.  I prepared for green water on the decks and told Heidi to hold on tight, but Glissando seemed to shrug the massive wake aside, and no water came on deck.  Way to go!  This surely will not be the last time that we find ourselves in this situation, jeopardized by selfish flatlanders with no business mussing our waters.  Sigh.

Once through the narrow strait, we were nearly at Port Clyde, and Heidi and I spent some time discussing whether to continue past to some further destination, or whether to stick with our original plan.  It was only 1245 or so, but we had been going since 0500  and both of us were pretty ready to call it quits for the day; after all, Port Clyde was our original choice anyway.  Seeing what looked like an odious bank of fog on the distant horizon sealed it for us, and we dropped the main just outside the harbor entrance at 1300--a very successful journey indeed.  With the major open-water bays behind us, we looked forward to more protected, scenic sailing in the weeks ahead, our main reason for wanting to get the boat to where we did on this day.  Inside the harbor, we picked up one of the many guest moorings provided by the Port Clyde General Store and relaxed with lunch.  We moored near another Triton that looked like it belonged here; someone was on board, but by the time we finished lunch and I was just considering rowing over to say hi, he disappeared in a rush, so no introductions were made.  (The boat was named La Sirena.)

I tackled the gooseneck by first removing the old track from the car (saving it just in case) and lashing the boom car every which way to the mast.  It seemed secure, but the first sail with the jury rig will tell the tale.  At least it will hold the boom up and in, and I could always reef the main (the reef hook is on the mast) to hold things better in place.  A new solid gooseneck is certainly going on the upgrade and repair list for this winter.

With that, my work was done, and I finished putting the boat away and making things shipshape.  The fog slowly oozed in around the outer islands of Burnt and Allen, and eventually filled the harbor; the sky remained bright, indicating that a short distance inland is probably bright and sunny--a classic tale of the Maine coast.  Eventually, the fog retreated once again, but it hung offshore all afternoon and through the evening, just visible beyond the outer islands.  We rowed ashore to pay for our mooring, only to be told that all the moorings were reserved for the night for the Boothbay Yacht Club cruise--which boats had already been on their moorings since before we even arrived that afternoon.  Fortunately, I had overheard one of the boats loudly telling their friends next door that they were heading back that evening, so I was able to tell the folks at the general store about that and allow us to stay on our mooring.  Anyway, there were two other moorings right next to us that remained empty throughout the night, and others throughout the harbor, so I didn't feel bad in the slightest.

We cooked dinner on the grill and turned in fairly early, heading below just about at sunset as the mosquitoes descended onto the boat.  We went to bed just after 2130 after a long, but satisfying, day.

Monday 7/15:  Port Clyde - Maple Juice Cove (Rhumb Line Distance:  3 nm)  PDF Route Chart  Harbor Detail Chart

OK, so this was a short day--chances are, if we travel any shorter distance in a day than this, it's because we dragged anchor!

We awoke early to the boat rocking and rolling in a slight swell, not to mention the numerous lobster boat wakes.  With an outgoing tide and incoming wind, the boat was sideways and riding up on the mooring ball, which was made of hard plastic and kept bounding against the hull in the most annoying fashion.  On top of that, the second bower anchor was a little loose in its roller and kept clanking against the other anchor--this bothered Heidi much more than me, as I was able to tune it out.  I got up briefly just after 0500 to see if I could do anything about the mooring ball (unsuccessfully), then returned to bed until 0700--late for me.  Since our original plan was to head for Perry Creek in the Fox Islands Thorofare between Northhaven and Vinalhaven, I wanted to get going fairly early if this was indeed to be the case.  Popping my head above deck after getting the coffee going, I saw that there was fog blowing in the harbor--spotty, but there nonetheless--and evidence of a nagging southerly wind.  Since the initial portion of our planned passage was exposed offshore, I decided there was really no need to beat our brains out, so I sort of universally bagged the idea for the day.  (Heidi was still snoozing.)  Looking for alternatives, I decided on Maple Juice Cove, a large, protected anchorage just a short way up the St. George river nearby.  The distance was only just over three miles, which didn't put it too far out of the way for continuing eastward tomorrow or whenever.  Later, mentioning the idea to Heidi, the plan was sealed.

With no hurry to leave, we spent a lazy morning on the boat, the only excitement coming when a nearby boat--which had anchored for the night after apparently being told, as I was, that there were no moorings available (the one they had originally picked up remained empty all night...), careened through a narrow space between the small powerboat in front of us with a panicked skipper/hubby on the foredeck, a frightened wife/mommy on the helm, and a lobster pot wrapped nicely around their CQR.  I jumped up because they were awfully close, just to let them know that I knew they were there, but they continued into the channel a ways, where skip/hub, in loud, scared tones, ordered his son and wife around as he tried to release the lobster pot.  In an explosion of harbor mud and rockweed, he released the line, finally, only to have the boat drift over the now-floating pot...but somehow it didn't get stuck.  I was already trying to figure out what my role in saving these bozos would be, but fortunately they managed to stumble out of the harbor.

By 1030, we were ready to leave on our epic journey, so we removed the awning, I did the final engine checks (oil, coolant, fuel, strainer) and we were on our way, threading out the narrow, but very scenic, northern entrance of the harbor.  We had an uneventful lazy motor the short distance upriver to Maple Juice Cove, where we promptly found "our" spot in the large, wide harbor with only a few other boats.  We dropped the CQR in 10' of water at 1145, an hour or two after low tide, and I let out enough scope to get the anchor to set in the mud bottom, then let out a total of about 110' of scope and set the anchor with the boat in reverse.  By 1150 we were shut down and ready for an early lunch.  

The harbor is huge and is surrounded with nice, tasteful, older houses and cottages--nothing overdone--including, on the northeastern shore, the farmhouse made famous by Wyeth's Christina's World; the farmhouse is undeniably Wyeth-esque.  Later, thunder rumbled in the distance while the wind seemed to change to the northwest as some black clouds rolled through--nothing drastic.   All in all, it was a very nice day to just spend relaxing at anchor.  After this little bit of unsettled weather passed, I went out for a row in the dinghy, taking it all around the edges of the harbor and past all the nice modest, simple--but very desirable--waterfront homes.  What a great place this would be to live...large, shallow, protected cove that remains deep enough for larger boats, scenic, and not filled with flatlanders' mansions.  As I finished up the row, the sun broke out again and we felt the first real heat of the day--steamy enough to contemplate a swim, although the 60° water put the kibosh on that. 

We were just getting ready for a relaxing evening with cocktails, when it became increasingly apparent that our weather woes were far from over--the sky to the west became black with approaching thunderstorms.  Before long, the rain began, and we hunkered down for what looked to be some impressive storms (according to Peach, our name for the female synthesized voice on NOAA weather radio, some of the storms were reported to be "pretty strong", and there were even reports of " a gully washer in Baxter State Park").  It amused us to hear an artificial voice with no inflection using such common, everyday slang terms.

The storm that passed over us took its sweet time, for sure, and was indeed "pretty strong".  Soon after the wind and rain and lightning began, we heard a clank...looking forward, I saw that somehow the CQR anchor rode had gotten caught up in one of the Bruce anchor flukes, which had pulled that anchor sideways and fouled the rode beneath.  Wonderful...a huge storm overhead with increasing winds, and a fouled anchor rode.  The captain (me) was not amused, so I spent the height of the storm ready for anything, as I worried about the anchor rode suddenly chafing through.  Fortunately, there were no waves to speak of despite the strong winds (probably 30-40 knots) and blinding sheets of white rain, so no further problems developed.  The storm seemed to last forever, much to my chagrin, and poor Heidi eventually moved into the head to stay out of my way as I paced the cabin looking out one porthole then another.  What a stupid problem, and I was so annoyed that I had let that happen.  I had even gone forward when the sky darkened to check the anchor rode (all was well at that point), and cursed the width of the flukes on the Bruce anchor.

Finally, the storm passed enough that I felt safe going forward, so I was able to remove the Bruce from its fouled position; I lashed it upside down to the bow pulpit to prevent a reoccurrence later.  Obviously, I will have to do something to prevent this from happening routinely...perhaps the upside down thing is the way to go.

With the storm past, it became amazingly calm and quiet in the anchorage, and when the sun broke through the clouds we were treated to some of the dramatic highlighted scenery with the dark clouds in the background.  A rainbow started to appear but never became anything secular.  After a drink and dinner, we retired early, as usual, and enjoyed a calm, uneventful night, although I awoke a few times early on when wind started up from one direction or another, only to quickly die, and when the boat started rocking in a huge "mystery wake" that appeared out of nowhere.  

Tuesday 7/16:  Maple Juice Cove  Harbor Detail Chart

We had planned to get going pretty early this morning, but upon awakening at 0515 I noticed that it was densely fogged, so I returned to bed for a while.  By 0630 the fog had pretty much cleared out, although I could still see some outside the harbor, and with an unsettled weather forecast we eventually decided to relax and stay put.  Oh, how I love having no schedule!  In the blink of an eye, we can just change our original plans and feel good about it.  Besides, this is a nice place to be anyway.  Once we had made the decision to stay put, I was happy and relaxed for the day.

By 0830, the sky was once again darkening, and I was glad we had hung around as another, albeit weak and disorganized, thunderstorm passed overhead.  No drama this time, but it was still nice to be safe and sound.  The winds remained light through most of the morning, with a sort of soft gray feel to the sky and day.  However, throughout the day we were plagued with showers--some heavy, some light--and a general unsettled quality to the air.  We were glad we had stayed put, and relaxed on board all day, ducking inside whenever the showers would hit (usually just after the cockpit cushions and such had dried out after the last shower!).  I went on another row around the harbor, up to the northern side this time.

Finally, it cleared out in time for cocktails in the cockpit and dinner cooked out.  After our enjoyable, relaxing day, we were definitely ready to move on somewhere else, though.  Bed early; it was a calm, crystal clear night with a half moon.

Wednesday 7/17:  Maple Juice Cove - Perry Creek (Rhumb Line Distance:  28 nm)  PDF Route Chart  Harbor Detail Chart

We got going early again this mooring, as we wanted to get to Perry Creek early enough to ensure a good spot.  (More on this later.)  The day dawned perfectly clear, warm, and flat calm, so we considered ourselves lucky.  By 0700, I was pulling the anchor up--no problems getting the CQR aboard, although the chain was very muddy--and we made our formal departure at 0710.  We motorsailed down the St. George River and back through Port Clyde the way we had come two days ago, then rounded scenic Marshall Point Light outside of Port Clyde and headed offshore towards Muscle Ridge Channel.  There was virtually no swell and no wind whatsoever, making this a pleasant, if boring, trek.  Once inside the channel, however, the interest level picked up, as there is much more to see and plenty of other boats and lobster boats.  We had a very enjoyable trip up the channel, against the tide--though we were still able to make good 5 knots or so (sometimes a bit less).  Near the top end of the channel we passed a familiar boat--Snow Goose, from our yacht club, but there was not even a glimmer of recognition from those on board as we received a cursory wave.  Oh well.

As we passed Owl's Head light and turned towards Vinalhaven and Fox Island Thorofare, the wind came up and we were able to have a glorious close reach across, in deep water with no lobster pots and barely any traffic whatsoever.  What fun!  As we entered the Thorofare, things got a bit busier, and once around the corner where the passage narrowed--just past the Sugar Loaves--we started the engine once again after a very pleasant two hours under sail.  Inside the passage opposite North Haven town proper, we lowered the main and motored the rest of the way around the corner to Perry Creek.  The cruising guide had indicated that there were "a few permanent moorings" here, but we were not prepared to find virtually every part of the creek filled with (empty) moorings using up all the available anchoring spots--or nearly so, at least.  I hate that this happens--isn't there any regulation for this sort of thing?  What gives these weekend warriors the right to place moorings willy-nilly in all the best places?  You can't claim a piece of the bottom for yourself even when you're not there, which is basically what is happening.  (And no, these moorings do not belong to people who happen to live in the creek--that would be OK and understandable, but there are no houses on the creek once you get past the entrance area.)  We finally found a tiny area where we thought we could anchor and swing freely as needed, but I put out less scope than I might have otherwise.  (It was only 8' deep at low).

Still, Perry Creek is an attractive place to be, despite the fact that we spent the afternoon maddeningly swinging around in circles as the gusty, fluky wind battled with the incoming tide for control of our boat.  This was frustrating, to say the least.  Cruising is not always a bed of roses.  With possible thunderstorms predicted, I wanted to make sure we were secure, and we seemed to be.  I debated picking up one of the many moorings and even rowed around for a look at some of them, but in the end I decided to stick with my own ground tackle rather than a mooring that I knew nothing about.  As the afternoon wore on into evening, more and more boats continued to pile in, most of which picked up moorings as if they belonged there.  The place was really quite full by 1900, but the spot we had carved out with our anchor between four of the moorings remained free.  When the tide started going back out, we finally seemed to settle into the proper orientation, which was a relief.   We did see a bald eagle, though...this thing was absolutely huge, and perched on a spruce tree on the shore for hours, immobile.  Eventually, he flew off somewhere, though we didn't see him leave.  What a sight...we watched him through binoculars on and off during the afternoon.

NOAA had been predicting possible thunderstorms "late in the evening and into the night", so we were a bit apprehensive about that prospect after the strong one we had endured the other day.  So our night's rest was not necessarily all it could have been, at least at the beginning, and I was up several times during the night.  It ended up being calm and fair all night.  One time I got up to stop an annoying squeak where the boathook (stored on the shrouds) was rubbing against the dinghy mast stored on deck; I noticed phosphorescence in the water when (ahem) nature called.  

Finally, both of us fell into a nice sleep by 0430 or so, only to both be rudely awakened at the same time by a loud "swoosh" sound.  I couldn't figure out what it was, and I asked Heidi, "Did we really hear that, or were we imagining it?"  She was sure we actually heard it, and we finally agreed (for lack of any better reason) that it must have been a seal surfacing nearby (they make similar sounds when they come up to breathe).  

When I got up at around 0700, I was preparing the coffee pot and glancing out in the cockpit when I noticed that Heidi's SOSpenders inflatable PFD had blown up during the night, apparently triggered by the dew or something--this was the sound we heard!  I had to chuckle.  Good to know it works, I guess!  Fortunately, I had spare bobbins and CO₂ cylinders on board to rearm the PFD.

Thursday 7/18:  Perry Creek - Bucks Harbor (Rhumb Line Distance:  16.5 nm)  PDF Route Chart  Harbor Detail Chart

After a relaxing early morning aboard, we weighed anchor  (it was dug in nicely) and departed Perry Creek at 0930, bound for Bucks Harbor at the western end of Eggemoggin Reach.  We chose this port for a couple reasons:  first, Sven on NOAA had been predicting northerly or easterly-component winds for later today and Friday (this actually changed later), which meant that many of the possible places we had been considering in Merchant's Row might be less suitable for anchoring comfortably and also we needed ice--which we could have gotten in North Haven, and would have, but this way we took care of everything at once.  Before leaving, I added the contents of one jerry jug of diesel to the tank to replace what we had used to date.

We motorsailed the whole way in nonexistent winds and a light swell from astern, a very pleasant trip to be sure.  Our course took us up east Penobscot Bay from the eastern end of Fox Island Thorofare, up past Eagle and Butter Islands, and finally past Pickering Island and Little Deer Isle at the western terminus of the reach.  These underutilized islands in the eastern part of the bay really attracted us, as it looked like one could anchor there and be all alone, with the only caveat being that there are few really good anchorages or harbors--you have to choose where to anchor based on the current wind direction so that you are in the lee of the island, and be prepared to leave at any time should the wind direction change your safe anchorage into a lee shore or make it otherwise untenable.  But we were really taken by the wild beauty of these islands off the beaten path, and vowed to return.  We even saw another eagle in flight off Pickering Island.

We arrived at Buck's Harbor by a little after 1300, and after unsuccessfully trying to find one of the Buck's Harbor Yacht Club guest moorings, ended up renting one from the nearby Bucks Harbor Marine.  ($27...ouch!  but we got showers out of the deal too.  I guess it was worth it.)  Once secure on the mooring and a little settled, we rowed over to the yacht club and walked up to the Bucks Harbor market for ice cream...homemade strawberry.  Yum!  We devoured that on the front porch.  Buck's Harbor is, of  course, immortalized in Robert McKlosky's children's book "One Morning in Maine", along with Condon's garage where our fearless protagonists found the spark plug they needed for their outboard.  It's a sleepy, low-key place, and we enjoyed it very much.  The yacht club is basically a nice dock, where you can keep your dinghy and load your boat, and a simple, summer clubhouse with a great front porch overlooking the harbor.  My kind of place.

Later, we were relaxing in the cockpit when, from a boat nearby, I heard "Is that Glissando?"  It turned out that this fine young fellow with a Bristol 27 had been following the site, and happened to see us when he was visiting with friends on the boat tied up to the mooring next to us.  We invited him on board and spent some time talking boats (my favorite).  He lived aboard in the harbor and worked at the yacht club in the summers.  What fun!

The evening turned out to be absolutely cruising perfection, with flat calm, comfortable temperatures, and clear sky.  The sunset was beautiful, and the evening was only marred by the presence of plenty of mosquitoes and no-seeums, forcing us to retreat below earlier than we might have liked.  We spent a calm, flat night with no problems.

Friday 7/19:  Buck's Harbor - Pickering Island (Rhumb Line Distance:  4 nm)  PDF Route Chart  Harbor Detail Chart

The morning began with some clouds and sun, but ended up staying mostly cloudy.  I enjoyed my coffee and reading for a while, then rowed ashore to get rid of our trash, buy a jerry jug of diesel, and one more bag of ice cubes that I thought I could cram in.  Then, after depositing the ice and diesel back on board, I rowed over to visit my new friend Andy on his Bristol 27, which he enthusiastically displayed; we chatted for some time before I had to row back so that Heidi and I could get going.  With a very short run planned for the day, there was no hurry, but by 1030 or so we were ready to get moving.  We departed in a light rain shower, and headed south for the hour-long run to isolated, wild Pickering Island--under power, again.  Sigh.  OK, there is supposedly a house or two somewhere on the island, in the eastern cove, but at the western end, it seemed completely remote and beautiful.  Osprey flew around overhead calling their  haunting cry, and we were all alone.  It turns out there is a single mooring in the cove, and we saw no reason not to pick it up, although anchoring would have been easy.  The rain showers had passed, but it remained mostly cloudy throughout the afternoon, although the sun tried breaking through several times.  Not an unpleasant day, but hardly an image of perfection either.  Sure beats working, though!  I took the dinghy out around the cove on a nice row, exploring everything.

After we had been moored for a couple hours, a large cruising catamaran came steaming into the cove, and proceeded to drop anchor very quickly behind us.  Almost immediately, a hard-bottom inflatable was launched, and within mere minutes from their arrival the two men aboard were in the dinghy.  They motored the short distance over to us.  "We just wanted to let you know that we're not here to spoil your tranquility", the driver said, "but this is my favorite musseling spot and it's low tide now."  Hey, it was fine even if they had stayed, but we appreciated their coming over nonetheless.  We watched as they headed over to the rocky shore for mussels (I had noticed numerous mussel beds earlier during my row), and we decided that we would head in for our own batch of mussels later.  After the catamaran departed, we rowed into the shore and I picked a bag of select mussels, only the smaller ones.  It was fun!  I've never actually done that before, although we enjoy mussels very much.  In a short time I had picked a nice bag full--there were thousands of mussels everywhere I looked--and we headed back to the boat to hang them off the side in a mesh bag before rowing into the beach at the head of the cove to explore the island a bit.  We didn't go far inland, but enjoyed the beach and wading in the comfortable water.  I took lots of pictures.

Back on the boat later, we had a couple false alarms when two separate boats threatened our isolation and tranquility...fortunately, the rocket launcher I keep on the bow frightened them off, although I had to fire a warning shot across one of the boat's bow for them to really get the point.  Just kidding, of course...it turned out that neither boat was actually coming into the cove, so we looked forward to our night of solitude.  Despite being so close to civilization, of sorts, we felt completely removed and alone.  More light showers passed through later in the evening as we prepared dinner (mmm...mussels don't get any better than that!), but with the heavy clouds it was a very dark night indeed.  There was no wind, and the sea was absolutely still...I don't know when I've been aboard a boat that moved less!  We were completely still, with no wind or water noise at all.  Beautiful!

Saturday 7/20  Pickering Island  Harbor Detail Chart

When planning to come to Pickering Island, we had intended to stay a whole day in the cove, so this morning was very relaxing, with no plans to go anywhere.  A light northerly breeze was blowing when I arose at 0700, and it was cloudy.  Still, it was not particularly unpleasant, and the wind was lighter than I had imagined when lying in my bunk listening to the burgees flap.  Everything sounds 10 times worse from down below...the smallest noise, like the mooring pickup float rolling ever so slightly on the deck above, sounds like a major issue, and the same goes for flags flapping and wind blowing.

The morning remained mostly cloudy, although the forecast was for sun later in the day.  At one point fairly early on, the sun did break through some large holes in the clouds, but the clouds soon filled in again.  The wind out of the north--the most exposed direction of the cove, of course--was generally light, but for a time picked up a bit to 15 knots or so.  Still, the day was mostly pleasant, with no rain and generally warm temperatures.  I did spend a bit of time below during the morning, though, mostly working on the log on the laptop.  Heidi slept in for a while, then read in the vee berth.

After lunch, I was a little stir crazy and rowed into the beach again, by myself this time.  I walked around the cove on both sides, enjoying the view and taking more pictures of the boat, the island, and the cove--or all three at once.  I got a cool shot of the boat and the cove through some of the trees on the northwestern point of the cove.  I won't bore you with some of my other repetitive pictures, but I'll probably post some more later after we return (a long time from now, thank you).

Earlier during our stay, Heidi and I had noticed a curious protrusion from the high bank on the southern side of the cove, coupled with some bulging rock.  We joked that it was probably a huge mole hill, and that the reason no one came here was that "Molezilla", as we called our imaginary monster, devoured all cruisers in his path.  Later, while on shore, I ventured close enough--at high personal risk, mind you--to Molezilla's lair to snap a photo for posterity.  Amazingly, I made it out alive.

Despite the weather forecast, it remained cloudy throughout the afternoon, but finally, by about 1700, we could see a line of clear weather in the distance, and by 1830 the sun had broken through, leaving us with a gorgeous two hours to hang out in the cockpit for drinks and dinner.  The wind died, the sun was very warm, and it was immensely peaceful and beautiful.  Once the sun dipped below the horizon, though, it promptly got colder and the mosquitoes were out in full force.

With nasty winds forecast for Monday night, Tuesday, and into Wednesday, our plans for the next few days revolve around a nice safe harbor in which to hang out till the winds subside.  Unfortunately, you'll have to wait for next week's log to read about what we end up doing.  We have now been aboard for a week, and the first week's log is now complete.  

Continue to the log for week 2.