Monthly Archives: August 2012

14 August

Much has been written, infinitely more thought and felt, about the daily but often difficult task of saying goodbye.  After cruising Downeast from Rockport, MA, then sharing all that Blue Hill had to offer, Kate needed to get back to Richmond.  There had been, as you’ve read, 17 days of unforgettable moments aboard Steadfast.  It was a long, lonely drive back to Blue Hill from Boston where Kate caught her flight to River City.

There were goodbyes to be said in Blue Hill, too, again not easily done after such a relaxed and remarkable visit.  First, though, Steadfast needed to be made ready for the cruise back to Virginia.  Re-provisioning, of course, and laundry.  Re-filling the water tank.  More than that, after all her hours of dutiful service, Ms. Wes deserved to have that old black sludge flushed from her sump and enjoy a fresh couple of quarts of 30 weight and all new filters.  And with all those miles under her keel, Steadfast had developed quite an impressive aquaculture along her waterline.

So Steadfast slipped her mooring at Kollegewidgwok Yacht Club at 1052, bound for Center Harbor and the well-respected Brooklin Boat Yard.  Matilda the Seal swam out to bid farewell as Blue Hill was left in the wake.  It was sunny, 78 degrees and the bay a slick calm, Steadfast heading almost due south to Pond Island Passage, then up into Eggemoggin Reach.

By the time she turned into the Reach, a southerly wind had built to a helpful 10 knots and, with sails set, Ms. Wes got a break and Steadfast joined the many others sailing in both directions.  The clear standout was one of the famous Maine Windjammers heading Downeast under full sail.

Once in Center Harbor, Steadfast lay on the pier at Brooklin Boat Yard which handled the work in a matter of hours the next morning.  A steady and occasionally heavy rain held her on the pier an extra day, as if Maine didn”t way to say goodbye to her.

But she did.  The next morning, clouds lifted, sun appeared and the cruise back to Hallieford began.

More later but for now, Steadfast, out.

23 August

Ten feet off the stern, there’s the sudden sound of splashing.  Concentric circles ripple the slick surface of Center Harbor this early morn, siting the location but not the cause.  Then the black head of a cormorant emerges, clutching crosswise in its beak a slender foot-long elver.  The bird shakes his head violently, then plunges the elver below the surface.  The sequence repeats several times before the cormorant decides breakfast is ready, stretches his neck upward as far as it’ll go and swallow the elver whole in one big gulp.

The bird swims quietly away, gulping occasionally as he goes.

Breakfast on Steadfast is simpler: coffee, cereal, milk and fruit.  After the rains of the day and night before, the skiff needs bailing (don’t want to tow all those extra pounds), the cockpit needs to be toweled off to dry in the sun that now brightens the harbor.  Eight knots blow out of the nor’west, straight down Eggemoggin Reach.  There’s haze in the distance but no fog.  A good morning, in other words, to start the next leg on the journey home.

Steadfast clears the pier at 0826 and once out on the Reach, turns to a heading of 305-degrees, making 5+ knots as Ms. Wes churns at 2200 rpm.  An hour later, off Bucks Harbor, there are more boats but less wind; in fact, none.  Nearing 1100, she turned to port at Green Ledge to head down Penobscot Bay as a pair of porpoise frolicked off the beam.  The wind arose, gently out of the south, enough to encourage the sails to unfurl and Steadfast began to tack down the bay close-hauled at 3.5 – 4 knots.  As has been the case for much of the Maine visit, the afternoon breeze began to build and by 1350, its 18-knots was churning up a Chesapeake-style 4-foot chop that made spotting lobster buoys increasingly difficult.  There was a feeling much like a cormorant who’d tried to swallow more than he could consume in comfort.

So sails were furled, Ms. Wes called into action and Steadfast motored the final 8 miles into the broad harbor that fronts the quaint town of Rockland.

It’s a busy harbor, bustling with lobster boats, ferries, Coast Guard vessels and yachts of all sizes and descriptions.  On shore, there’s Hamilton Marine and the Wyeth Center at the Farnsworth Museum, two of many good reasons to visit.  But of more importance, being there put Steadfast 25 NM closer to home.

Steadfast out.

25 August

It’s a classic image: a fleet of sloops sailing into the morning sun.  And that was the view from cockpit as Steadfast headed past the breakwater leaving Rockland Harbor.

But as often is the case, the image belies the reality.  Lobster boats churned up the water as they headed to work.  The big ferries that run to the islands add to the challenge.  And as lovely and comforting as the sunlight may be, the sparkles on that light chop make it all but impossible to spot the lobster pots that litter the water between the harbor and Owls Head point.

The tension soon melted, however, when the heading shifted to 175 for the run down Muscle Ridge Channel.  Ms. Wes took a break and Steadfast glided down the channel, wing-and-wing, at a relaxing three-knots.  Rolling back the Bimini made it all the more enjoyable.

It was just early afternoon when the approach to Tenants Harbor opened to starboard.  With so much sailing time left in the day, thought was given to pushing on, perhaps to Boothbay.  But porpoise emerged off the starboard beam as if to say, “come this way,” and it was settled: Tenants Harbor it’d be.

An easy 15-mile day, made complete with a walk up the road to the Happy Clam, dining al fresco on THE BEST whole belly fried clams ev-ah.  Wicked!

Steadfast out.

26 August: Dream Catcher

“Yeah, VERY familiar with the Chesapeake.  I used to live in Gloucester!”

This statement was delivered with great emphasis by the bearded, bespectacled gentleman at the helm of the inflatable dinghy, his right hand firmly grasping Steadfast’s rail.  It followed his inquiry as to “whereabouts IS Hallieford, anyway?  It sounds familiar” and, of course, it was, given his years in neighboring Gloucester, Virginia.

The port of call “Hallieford, VA” on the transom prompts frequent questions anywhere north of Cape May but none have been so timely.  Introductions were made and it evolved that Joe and his wife would start tomorrow on their way back to Jamestown, RI, where they keep their 36-foot Cape Dory cutter.  Their Dream Catcher and Steadfast, it turned out, both planned to stop next in Boothbay Harbor.

Beautiful Boothbay Harbor, by the way, was a boyhood home of the sailor-actor-author Sterling Hayden (the last of his four dozen roles was as the police captain killed by Michael Corleone in “The Godfather”).  Hayden’s mother and step-father rented a house on tiny Tumbler Island on the outer harbor.  No doubt, the home that graces the granite now is a bit of an upgrade from what was there in the Thirties.

On the way east to Blue Hill, Steadfast cautiously stayed well off shore.  But Joe planned to “go inside” through a passage among some of Maine’s gazillion islands.  It made sense – fewer miles, more to see – so when Dream Catcher cast off at 0715 the next morning, Steadfast was not far behind.

Fog threatened to make it a tense passage past Mosquito Island but the fog moved more to the ocean side, giving way to blue skies, bright sun and a clear view ahead.  No wind but, given the day ahead, that was okay.

From wide open Penobscot Bay, Steadfast turned to round Mosquito Island and into the rock lined, relatively narrow and much shallower passage.  Lovely Port Clyde went past off to starboard.  A turn left to 247-degrees toward Griffin Ledges, then 260 for Seal Ledges, on to Eastern (not “Easter”) Egg Island and across Muscongus Bay.  By then, Dream Catcher’s longer legs put her well beyond sight but there was plenty of other company, both eastbound and west.  Together with the dramatic scenery and frequent course changes, the 27.4 miles went by much more quickly than would have been the case off-shore.  And it opened up similar possibilities for the rest of the trip.

Boothbay was not just a convenient destination.  Jim Crawford had “signed on” for a couple of days and would come aboard there the next morning.  After fueling up to ready for the next leg to Portland, Steadfast motored to the town side of the harbor and found an open mooring.  Looking up, there was Dream Catcher.

“How’d it go?” Joe yelled from the rail.  “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

Indeed.  Another beautiful and rich day on the Maine coast.

Steadfast out.

28 August

This much we know for sure: people like to eat lobster.  That being the case, many other people fish for lobster, hence the truly impressive number of brightly colored floats bobbing on the surface of the water along the Maine coast.  (Or not.  Some stay below the surface, but that’s another story.)  Lobsters, it seems, huddle together where the water is 80 – 100 feet deep, or a bit more or maybe not quite so much; or so the people who fish for them seem to believe.  There seems no evidence as to what hours lobsters keep or how late they sleep in the morning but to this we can attest: those who fish for lobsters start early.  In every harbor from Sandwich to Blue Hill (and probably beyond), their big Cummins, Detroits and John Deeres rumble to life each morning no later than 0500 and the boats are on their way.

In Rockport, MA, the town wharf includes a spot where all the local lobstermen can unload their catch at the end of the day.  Of particular interest to those who sleep late in the morning, that spot also is used to load boats with gear at the start of the day.  Were either of those aboard Steadfast prone to sleeping-in, this would’ve been an issue since her transom was about a boat length away from the busy wharf.

Rockport was the third and final harbor Steadfast made with Jim aboard as crew.  He signed on in Boothbay where the dawn was cool and damp, with thick clouds overhead and a forecast for showers, all of which seemed to say it wouldn’t be the best day to try for Portland.  But by golly, Jim and Mary drove up to the pier and the sun came out!  Go figga.

The light southerly wasn’t much but enough to make the main useful, making 5-plus knots with Ms. Wes loafing along at 2000 RPM.  After turning Cape Small, Jim thought he might’ve seen a whale swim close to the surface about a quarter mile to  starboard but couldn’t be sure.  Steadfast again snaked through some snug passages and, with the Genoa open and drawing, too, motor-sailed past Jewell Island (notable as the seventeenth century home of one of the King family descendants; thanks for the info, Charlie.) that now is an undeveloped state park.

Steadfast was moored in Portland by 1700, in time for cap’n and crew to enjoy a fantastic Italian dinner ashore.

Another clear, sunny day followed but again, no wind.  Still, the day was stunning and the escort could not be better.  Just after rounding Old Anthony Rock, the sky was filled with the roar of a B-25 accompanied by five WWII vintage fighters.  It was learned later that this was a wing of the Texas Air Force headed to Kennebunkport to salute President G. H. W. Bush.  By coincidence, Steadfast and crew clicked off the last of 27 miles at Kennebunkport later this day–a lovely town, by the way–but did not have a chance to visit with George and Barbara.

Porpoise definitely were spotted on the leg to Kennebunkport and eyes were alert for more sightings on day three.  Instead, at mid-morning, about 5 miles north of Boon Island, a Minke whale swam through the swells just 60 feet ahead of Steadfast’s bow.  This event elicited a response from the skipper along the lines of “Golly gee!” but with somewhat more energy.

Other than the whales–more were sighted along the way, too–there was little traffic, just wide open ocean.  The Isles of Shoals were three miles off to starboard at lunchtime but, until Cape Ann emerged on the horizon, that was it.

Rockport Harbor was made in time to attend the day’s meeting of the 1630 Club, followed by (another) excellent seafood dinner at Roy Moore’s Fish Shack.

The next morning, there was breakfast at the Red Skiff–gotta do it–Jim loaded his gear in a rental car, good-byes were said and he headed back to Blue Hill.  It’s reported that his return trip took  less than three days.  Steadfast, on the other hand, continues pushing southward.

More later.

Steadfast out.

30 July: Ocean Isles

There are eight or nine “Isles of Shoals,” a cluster of small islands straddling the Maine – New Hampshire state line.  That is, if there is such a thing as a state line six miles out in the Atlantic.  Regardless, most are claimed by Maine but the preferred anchorage is Gosport Harbor on the north side of Star Island, considered part of New Hampshire.

Having heard many recommendations on the order of “you’ve got to stop at Isles of Shoals,” and with a favorable if weak southerly in the forecast, Steadfast slipped her moorings at 1000 Monday morning and headed almost due north out of Rockport Harbor.  With a bit of a boost from the following two-to-three-foot seas, and picking our way among the lobster pots that litter the approach between White and Star Islands, it was just after 1400 when Kate snagged the mooring line (free! courtesy of Portsmouth Yacht Club) and Steadfast was set for the night.  A pleasant motor sail averaging five knots.

The relatively early arrival allowed time to row ashore for a walk around the retreat center compound that has evolved over the years at the site of the former Oceanic Hotel.  The small chapel, the many single-story stone residences, monuments to founders of the early community and the weathered stones in the cemetery all harken to the island’s hundreds of years as a settlement.

Views are stunning in every direction, with waves breaking on enormous slabs of granite that huddle shoulder-to-shoulder in defiance to the inexorable assault of the Atlantic.

But Blue Hill beckons so, anxious to make landfall in Maine, we started early Tuesday and set off on the 48 nautical miles to Portland.  Again, a light southerly belied the three-to-four foot swells off the starboard quarter that made hour-on, hour-off shifts at the helm the routine for the day.  An hour standing at the wheel, steering ‘tween lobster pots and the ever present (it seems) floating sea weed, and a person was ready to sit a spell!

Maintaining the heading became a bit easier in the afternoon as the thin charcoal chalk stripe that was Cape Elizabeth became more defined.  Steadfast made decent time, averaging five-and-a-half knots, and she rounded the Cape about 1530, passed Portland Head light, then turned at Spring Point Light to enter the harbor at South Portland.

From the mooring at Centerboard Yacht Club, Portland reveals her impressive waterfront and the skyline beyond.  We’re headed there by launch this afternoon to explore and, just maybe, see what’s on sale at Hamilton Marine.

Steadfast, out.

2 August

There was not a lot of movement on the waters of Portland Harbor this morning.  At least, movement that was visible.  Most of the moorings at Centerboard Yacht Club could be seen, and sometimes the clubhouse, too.  But the Old Port side of the harbor hid behind a grey velvet curtain and the only vessels we saw head out had radar guiding their way.

Along with lobsters and the rocky coast, fog is one of the defining characteristics of the Down East experience.  There’d been so little this trip  to date that its possibility was not part of the float plan.  That changed this morning and the cruise to Boothbay Harbor was delayed in favor of a walk to Hannaford’s Supermarket.

A return trip to J’s Oyster House on the Old Port side–we were there last evening–is in the offing tonight and, we hope, enough wind for the sail across Casco Bay tomorrow.

Steadfast, out.

03 August

To the north, where the village rolls up the hill, sirens–at least three of them–scream through the wind.  The lights flicker off, then on in the restaurants, shops and hotels along the waterfront, then die.  Far off to the west, beyond the stately homes that stand among the pines, the slate gray sky  is split by the brilliance of a jagged electrical charge that ignites the harbor.  NOAA’s “slight chance of a thunderstorm” has rolled across Casco Bay.

In particular, the chance became reality for the hundered or so work boats and yachts moored in Boothbay Harbor, ME.  Steadfast is one of ’em, by God, and her crew is glad of it!

This was the first time boat and crew probed the gloom of a Maine fog, slipping the moorings at 0957 beneath a bright sky, with the promise of 10-12 knot winds from the south, but a blanket of fog that kept secret all that lay a mile beyond the bow.  Oh, and the “slight chance of a thunderstorm.”

The departure for Portland was interrupted, though, when Ms. Wes began to smoke and gasp in a most unladylike fashion.  Her hollow cough was the first clue that something was amiss and most likely in the sea water intake line that helps her keep her cool.  A cove just beyond Spring Point beckoned with the secure mooring that fit the immediate need: a sheltered spot, away from the tug, tanker and fishing traffic, from which the clear the sea grass that continues to plague our dear Ms. Wes.

First aid applied, she surged back to life at full strength, pushing off into the fog and swells of windless Casco Bay on a heading of 082 degrees, bound for Boothbay Harbor.  Not long after, a pair of porpoise crossed her bows as if to say, “don’t worry about a thing, it’s gonna be great!”

Not long after passing south of Halfway Rock, about 1300, a single sea lion swam slowly across the path of Steadfast.  The crew again kept diligent watch for lobster pots and the streams of sea weed that seemed always to threaten to choke Ms. Wes once again.

By 1500, Cape Small was abeam and the decision made–despite the “slight chance of a thunderstorm,” Steadfast would pass Sebago and push on toward Boothbay Harbor, another couple of hours beyond, at least.

The fog ahead seemed to thicken, just as Steadfast left the open waters of the Atlantic and came closest to the rocky shore.  But after rounding the outcrop called The  Cuckholds, the fog lifted, the sun warmed the cockpit and–guess what?–two porpoise leapt across Steadfast’s bow.

Waddya think?  Same two as up by Portland Head?  Naw, couldn’t be, no way.

At 2020, the wind’s laid down, rain moved on  and laughter now can be heard aboard “Lucky Seven,” the 90-foot motor yacht at the pier.  The lights are on in the restaurants, shops and hotels of Boothbay Harbor.  And Steadfast rocks quietly to the easy rhythm of the tide.

Steadfast, out.

05 August: Long Term Tenants

It’s early.  Either the sun has yet to rise or it’s raining.  The steady “splat” on the hatch overhead suggests the latter.  Rising from the bunk, peering through the droplets that cling to the outside of the port, the fleet that had filled Tenants Harbor the night before has disappeared.

Fog.  Not your average, run-of-the-mill what-you-think-of-as-fog-in-Virginia stuff.  This is Maine fog which, contrary to forecasts and sailors’ hopes, is about to consume this Sunday on the west side of Penobscot Bay.

True to the forecast, there is wind this morning, a perfect ten-to-15 so’westerly for a sail north to Buck’s Harbor, the intended next stop for Steadfast.  But instead of blowing the fog away to the east, this wind seems only to blow more fog into the harbor.  The morning hours pass and the only part of the day that becomes clear is that Steadfast will not sail today.

Those whose boats and homes are here on Tenants remain undeterred.  Fog is a fact of life on the Maine coast, after all, and life goes on.  So a red kayak slips quietly past the bow.

A cheerful “Good morning!” receives a like response.  A yellow companion boat reveals itself from behind the workboat moored off to starboard.  Then a handsome old wood catboat carries a laughing crew spanning three generations.  Six paddlers propel dark green canoes, then another catboat, an eight-foot dinghy and, moments later, a 13-foot Boston Whaler skiff scoots noisily past.

“It’s the Long Cove Regatta,” shouts the gentleman at the helm of the Whaler.  “Come on along!  Whatever boat you have, doesn’t matter.”

A cannon charge explodes off the far bank, somewhere in the fog, to signal the regatta’s “official” start.  And as quickly as they appeared, the mongrel fleet disappears again, and moments later the fog swallows even the laughter.

Hours later, a dark hulled thirty-something-foot sloop emerges from the gloom that still shrouds the harbor entrance; an Island Packet 38 does likewise later.  Half a dozen other yachts seek shelter here as the afternoon–and the fog–roll on, each boat displaying a common installation in its rigging: a radar dome.

On the Maine coast in fog, radar’s like American Express – “don’t leave home without it!”  Lacking either, Steadfast swings securely in Tenants Harbor.  The next harbor waits ’til another day, when lobster floats and rocky shores are clear to the eye of her crew.

Steadfast, out.

8 August: Back Underway

A three-second slur-r-r-sh, then pflitt, pflitt, pflitt.  A brief pause and the sequence repeats.  And again and on.  It’s the rhythmic sound of the skiff sliding along behind as Steadfast sails gloriously up Penobscot Bay.  She’s making five-knots or more on a broad reach, the 10 knots out of the so’west pushing her along at first on a broad reach, then a dead run, sails “drawing full and by,” as they say.

This had been NOAA’s promise when, after being graced with the hospitality of Mary and Jim at East Anchorage for a couple of days, the fog lifted on the drive to Tenants Harbor and the mooring pennant slipped off at 1027.  Dodging lobster pots and clumps of seaweed, the turn was made to 050-degrees to run up Muscle Ridge Channel.  There were boats out there, lots of ‘em, workboats and yachts for the first time.

Ash Island went by to port at noon, the lovely harbor at Owls Head at 1241 and not long after, the so’westerly breeze picked up and the heading shifted to 060′ to run up the east side of Isleboro Island.  It was a glorious four-hour sail, first on a broad reach then a dead run, “wing-and-wing” with main over the port rail, genoa to starboard, making a steady five-knots.

Rounding Green Ledge, the heights of Western, Pond and Hog Islands were enough to block the most of the wind, but Ms. Wes woke from her nap and finished the rest of this leg into Buck’s Harbor, yet another lovely little anchorage with handsome homes standing watch from the steep rocky banks that ring the shore.

With these 30-plus miles under her keel, Steadfast now is just a day’s sail from Blue Hill, her ultimate goal.  Buck’s Harbor staged a dramatic sunset as if to celebrate.

Steadfast, out.

9 August: Friends

Picture this – a fairly narrow 12-mile long passage between the mainland and a string of islands to the south, running roughly southeast to northwest, or vice-versa.  That being the case, with the prevailing so’westerly winds, a sailing vessel transiting this passage would be on a “reach” in either direction.  Hence, it is suspected, this passage became Eggemoggin Reach.

The east-bound sailor takes Eggemoggin from Penobscot Bay to Blue Hill Bay.  The Reach presents iconic images of the Maine coast, with towering pines lining the shores of its rocky harbors, while the steady breeze fills the sails of classic yachts of all types and sizes.

That is, when there is wind and no fog!

On this Thursday morning, Buck’s Harbor awoke under a damp blanket of fog.    But after a row ashore to Buck’s Harbor Market for coffee and muffins, bright sun filtered through the pines, boosting confidence that visibility on the Reach would not be a problem.  In fact, boats passing a mile off could then be seen clearly from the harbor.

So with showers in the forecast and a light southerly barely stirring the harbor, the crew conferred and the decision was made: Blue Hill beckoned.  Steadfast bravely motored off her mooring at 1050 and headed out into Eggemoggin Reach.

A quarter-mile-long suspension bridge spans Eggemoggin Reach at Bayard Point, a couple of miles east of the turn out of Bucks Harbor.  It’s a handsome bridge, or so we are told.  All that could be seen of it from the deck of Steadfast was the north tower!

But, hey, that’s from a mile away.  That mile “hole” in the fog will move with the boat as she goes along.  Right?

Well, not exactly.  As the fog closed in, Ms. Wes slowed to just 2 knots and Kate moved to the bow to stand watch for lobster pots and, worst case, other boats.  Some west-bound boats did emerge slowly from the gray but few.  There were no “close calls,” they and Steadfast cautiously moving from one landmark, one buoy to the next.

Fog lifted, shorelines emerged, then after teasing for fifteen minutes or so, disappeared, playing hide-and-seek down the length of Eggemoggin Reach.  The turn nor’east into Pond Island Passage was made at 1342, then–after picking her way between pots, weeds and rocks–Steadfast turned into Blue Hill Bay on a heading of 350′.  But the fog wasn’t done!  Visibility shrunk to just a few dozen feet in any direction, just enough so Kate on the bow could warn of pots when those popped up.  And there are quite a few at the southern end of the Bay!

All this time, Ms. Wes kept turning her faithful 2,200 times a minute.  The main was raised on the Reach, less for the wind and more to make Steadfast more easily seen by others.  But now the main began to draw, the fog lifted and–for the final five miles to Sculpin Point–Ms. Wes rested and Steadfast glided quietly up Blue Hill Bay, wing-and-wing, a stately conclusion to her grand Down East cruise.

At 1648, she was riding pertly on the mooring ball marked “Crawford” at Kollegewidgwok (yes, that’s how it’s spelled) Yacht Club.  Mary rode the club launch out to greet us and, by golly, we’d made it!  How crazy is that?

One other detail worth noting: Mary’s welcome, while gracious, was not the first we received on our arrival.  Blue Hill’s resident seal, Matilda, had broken the surface with her nose, then swam playfully to greet Steadfast as she entered the harbor.  Ah, but it’s great to have friends!

Steadfast out.

15 August

Those who’ve been anywhere in Maine know it is a world unto itself.  The coast is a little different.  The towns are a little different.  Mainers are a little different, too, “Ay-ya-a-a-ah.”  For natives of the Maine coast, life has required they be resolute, resourceful, hard-working and…early to rise.  The summer sun is up at 0430 and the lobster fishermen crank those big Detroit diesels with first light.

Of this remarkable world, Blue Hill may as well be the capital–a just-the-right-size village on a snug hurricane-hole-type harbor–and for the Kings, anyway, East Anchorage is the White House.  East Anchorage is Mary and Jim Crawford’s summer home wherein evolved, a year ago, the crazy idea to sail Steadfast to Maine.

The visit included a hike to the peak of 900-foot Blue Hill with panoramic views across the bay to Mount Desert Island and beyond; lots of fresh Maine blueberries; daysail on Jim’s classic wooden sloop “Molly Bawn”; ice cream at the Fish Net drive-in; lunch on the patio watching the Atlantics racing; and, well, you get the idea.  Among all the unique and wonderful experiences and places, picking the most outstanding is difficult if not impossible.  But Perry’s Pound is a strong candidate!

The pier is on a cove east of East Blue Hill that harbors a handful of pleasure and work boats, offering a stunning view across to Newbury Neck (I think).  The lobstahs are in tanks under the tent.  Customers are at well-worn picnic tables under the bright umbrellas.  The waitress is from Georgia.  The food from heaven.  Buckets of steamers to start, then the lobstahs, cawn-on-tha-cob, etc.  And it’s BYO so you know the wine is delicious!

Wonderful, unique, unforgettable.  Choose an adjective.  Or just say, in so many ways, “Blessed.”

More later.  Steadfast out.

 August 16

Oh, Kathryn.

The walk from East Anchorage, down the drive to the left then up the Ho Chi Minh Trail, seemed like a good idea at the time.  It was mid-afternoon and the others were getting ready to board Molly Bawn for a sail, the wind just filling-in and all.

And the partnership of a steady breeze and bright sun would make the perfect time to let our little Steadfast breathe.  The poor girl’d been choking for days, what with the fog Saturday morn, then the dreary drizzle Sunday.  So it’d be good to open her up, all around.  Let her get a good breath of air.  Good.

And, the thought was, it’d be good for her skipper, too.  Get busy, do something productive instead of moping about, feeling lost.  Which basically is how he felt, despite the breeze and sun.

But after the turn up the ‘Trail,’ here’s what he saw.

Slender pines reaching–no, struggling to reach, yearning to reach–the heavens.  The forest floor below them dank, dark, the sun favoring these trees or those with its light and warmth. This isn’t the happy image that was hoped for.  But it suits.

Yes, I miss you.  I can’t think of these past two weeks without breaking into a grin.  Oh, what an adventure we had, just you and I.  Oh, what fun fog can be.  Oh, how hard it can be to say good-bye.

Oh, Kathryn.  I love you.

Good night.