Docked, Sandwich Marina
Off Cape Cod Canal
Sandwich, MA

October 22, 2002

The personal stories of Gloucestermen, their wives, relatives and friends, compose the soul of this city, made real by a book and a movie, both called "The Perfect Storm."

As a business matter, these two works are the basis for tourism in Gloucester, but the subject is much deeper.  Fishing and lost fisherman permeate this small city, in which everyone knows everyone.  The Fishery is one of few business that honors its deceased through public plaques and statues.  It is one of few businesses that touches all of us daily as we observe fish of one sort or another displayed on menus of almost every restaurant.  We enjoy, but we are unaware of the labor and risks required to deliver the product to us.  We are unaware that fishing is the most dangerous profession in The United States.

John's heart was touched most deeply by the new statue honoring the wives (and children) of deceased Gloucester fisherman.  The work itself is powerful, designed  by the daughter of a Gloucesterman.  Like everything in Gloucester, it has a longer story.  On the day of its dedication (in 2000, I think), rumors circulated through the crowd that two more men had died, in this case by a Russian trawler than collided with a Gloucester fishing boat.  On that day, in the very crowd assembled to dedicate the statue, two more widows were created.

An old man walked up to us as we observed the statue.  A retired fisherman, he knew many of the deceased fishermen, including three of his brothers, many friends and working associates.  He also showed us the sidewalk brick, with the names John F. Kennedy, Jr., his wife and sister-in-law, who had contributed to the creation of the wives statue, before their own deaths just a few miles away near Martha's Vineyard.

The more famous statue of the boy looking out to sea, holding on to a helm, is just several hundred feet away from the wives statue.  In front of the boy, looking up at him, are plaques with the names of every known deceased fisherman, from 1626 to the present, including the five who died in 1991 as a result of the perfect storm. John sensed a similarity between this plaque and the Vietnam Memorial. (The movie, "The Perfect Storm," ends by focusing on this plaque.)

We attended mass in Gloucester, at St. Ann's, "the fishermen's church," the site of countless eulogies to deceased fisherman, including the filmed eulogy in "The Perfect Storm."  We also had lunch at The Crow's nest, where recently-returned fishermen, and those about to leave, gather for good conversation.

Salem is twenty minutes down the road from Gloucester, but it celebrates different aspects of The American Experience.  Salem was not a fishing town.  Instead, it was a merchant's town.  This town built hundreds of merchant ships that traveled the world.  At one point, customs duties collected in Salem contributed almost 8 % of the entire United States federal budget.  The town also celebrates its famous author, Nathaniel Hawthorne, who wrote "The House of The Seven Gables," and "The Scarlet Letter."  The town's greatest attraction this month is halloween-oriented events that recall the Salem witch experience of 1692 in which over 150 persons were accused, and 19 were executed.

We are grateful that former Indianapolis neighbors, David and Karyl Lipson, drove up from Boston to join us for dinner.  We became good friends when their daughter, Katherine, now a Ph.D. candidate, and our daughter, Laura, became best friends in grade school.

The trip from Gloucester to Sandwich was uneventful, but very cold.

43-07.817N
070-38.711W

Moored in York River, ME
October 16, 2002

So many decisions.  Go today, tonight, tomorrow?  Where?  How long?  Will it be safe?  If we do not go today, can we go tomorrow?  Might we be stuck here several days?  If we are stuck here, what do we do?  Solitaire on the boat?  Put down the dinghy, and go in?  Work on boat projects?

All day Monday, we debated whether to go overnight to Gloucester, the next location that is attractive to us, because of the book/movie "The Perfect Storm."
Winds were reported at 35 knots, seas at 10 feet, but forecasted to decline overnight.  Yet, it was cold, and overnights are tiring, and lobster pods are invisible at night.  What to do?  First final decision:  not to leave Booth Bay Harbor tonight, and not to try for Gloucester in one trip which requires an overnight.  So, how about Kennebunkport?  Certainly, the Bush family would like to see us.  We were on our way at 7 a.m. yesterday, Tuesday, and arrived outside the river entrance about 2 p.m., only to recall that the tide was low, too low to go in.  So, we wait until 5 p.m., right?  That was the idea, until we called a marina and learned that they charge $3.50 a foot for one night, the highest price, by double, we have seen on the east coast.  No way.  Where to go?  The chart says we can make York River before dark, and we do, the second final decision. Today, we will call George and Barbara, and apologize. They will be devastated.

Booth Bay is a delightful town, with kind people and good food.  In season, it must be filled with folks, and with good times.  We arrived on the last day of the season, and almost half the businesses were closing until spring.  We must come back.  Our best evening was spent with Sarah and Harry Starbird, who drove all the way up from south of Portland to see us.  Harry manages a retail musical instrument store, similar to Meridian Music in Indianapolis.  Over 600 students take music lessons there every week.  Sarah is a health care provider.  They have two children, ages 6 and 10.  Though we had previously met only be telephone, we hit it off right away, and they made us feel very welcome in this wonderful and unique state.

York River won our hearts last night.  The harbor master came out in his boat to personally lead us to a mooring.  That is the best, especially when you are tired after eleven hours of constant vigilance. No one has done that before.

43-57.823N
069-12.370N

Moored
Tenants, Me
October 9, 2002

Do not read this . . .

                              if you are looking for a reason not to sail.

Time:  1 p.m.
Place:  4 miles east of Tenants
Sound:   Grrrrrrmmmmmmmph
Conclusion:  A line from a float to a lobster trap has wrapped around the propeller drive shaft

Yuk.
Only one thing to do.  Go in the water.
But the water is coollld.
John tries first, naked.  The cold knocks his socks off.  Not really.  He already had taken his socks off.
How about a wet suit?
OK.  Chichi has a wet suit, so in she goes, but she runs out of  breath before she can remove the line.

No other choice.  Call The Coast Guard.

And an hour later, two guys who had spent the day fishing are next to Pachamama, and one of them unwraps the line in a couple of minutes (with a complete, total body wet suit, and an air line).

In all these commentaries, here is the first negative.  We would not again sail Maine.  Too many lobster pods.  Let them have their business.  Let us have peace.

(But please come to Maine, by land or air.  It is beautiful.)
 

44-16.370N
068-18.317W

Docked
Dyserts Great Harbor Marina
South West Harbor, ME

October 7, 2002

The great trees and the flat landscape merge with the giant cliffs of the sea to form an incompressible beauty, and a lesson in geologic history.
Here, in The Acadia National Park, even the most casual student of nature can see the effects of time, erosion, the constant battering of waves and salt water, and even the effects of nature's powerful, though random and sporadic, conquest of itself by massive forest fire.

The one-way loop road, past The Visitors Center, past Sandy Beach, past Gorham mountain and Otter Cliffs, provides a solid and comfortable platform for any traveler to see this panorama.  The groups of hundreds on large tour buses, the twosomes on tandem bikes, the couples in cars, and the walking back packers, move together to discover this glorious place.

Unfortunately, we had to dedicate a substantial portion of our time to the necessities of boating:  changing the oil and oil filter, the automatic transmission fluid, the raycor fuel filter, and cleaning the salt water filter.  We needed water, and clean clothes, and a clean deck, and a clean cabin sole, jobs that consumed two days.  But we also could escape to the park, and to the companionship of Todd and Linda Dunn, whom we met on the amateur radio frequency of 3.900 on a referral from Mike, Liz and Paul, whom we met in Provincetown.  Such is the world of boating.  One person leads to another.
Mike is a retired professor of earth sciences; Linda a retired professor of German.  They own Seaquestor, a 37-foot sail boat permanently moored here near their home.  Wine and beef stroganoff made for a stimulating evening on Pachamama.
 

44-16.370N
068-18.317W

Moored, Hinckley Mooring Field
Southwest Harbor, Maine

October 1, 2002

We are tired.  Writing is difficult.

We moored in Southwest Harbor about 11 a.m.  By noon, we were asleep, deep asleep, hardly able to move.

We left Provincetown at 7 a.m.yesterday.  That is 28 hours of continuous sailing, with Chichi and John alternating two hour watches, except when things went wrong, which was frequent.  The problem is that we do not yet know how to sail, or motor sail, downwind, with the wind directly on the stern, and with a following sea.  As winds built to 20 and 30 knots, and waves built to 7 feet, we had more and more difficulty understanding the needs of Pachamama, how to make her happy.

In downwind motor sailing, the main sail never is happy.  She needs a slight angle to the wind, say 10 degrees, enough to force variation from the planned course, and to require tacking back and forth across the course line.  Meanwhile, the sail is so tender that she will protest the slightest error, flapping and banging and generally griping about poor treatment.

Chichi believes that we would have been better off sailing wing on wing, without motor.  The problem is that we never have set up the boat this way.
The main is pushed out as far as it will go on one side, then restrained from a sudden, unwanted "accidental jibe" to the other side by a block and tackle called a preventer.  Since last month, we have the preventer.  We just have not used it.  Then, the Genoa is pushed out to the other side, and held there by a substantial device called a whisker pole, another item we have yet to use.  So, we debated, and debated, and decided that winds were too strong for us to make this the first time for wing on wing.  Instead, we put three reefs in the main, pulled her in tight, and motored, making a healthy 6 to 7 knots, but always waiting for the sound of the next mini jibe.  Then we got a big lesson.  The brake, or clutch, that restrains the mainsail furler from unfurling is not strong enough to hold the furling line in downwind, reefed conditions.  At about 1 a.m., it released  two feet of furling line, and the foot of the sail spilled over the boom.  How to get that back in place?  Lots of work, including a turn into the wind.  LESSON:  secure the furling line in two places.  If only we could learn without pain!

We are safe and quiet, planning to visit tomorrow with Indianapolis friends Ron Block and Patty.

By the way, Provincetown is a secret known to everyone, but us.  Like Key West, Provincetown celebrates the free and open life; it is the place where The Pilgrims first set foot.  Edie was our favorite.  Her (his?) 8:30 show was fun, made more so by her famous drink, the Edie Tini.  Next day, we biked through The Cape Cod National Sea Shore, finishing the day satisfied, with slightly aching legs, and more good memories.