Pilgrimage to the Saco River, Maine

[Kyle]From Quahog Bay, we had a nice, easy, close reach in moderate winds to the entrance of the Saco River in Maine (just south of Portland).

The Saco River looks so different from everywhere else in Maine that we have been that it felt like we had already left the state. Granite rocks, pine trees and kelp had been replaced with grassy, rolling hillsides and big deciduous trees that has a constructed feel like the English countryside.

Most of the way up the river, we stopped for the night at the free Saco town provided moorings to enjoy a lazy afternoon/evening

At the head of the navigable river has a skinny channel that takes you through the moorings of a busy (private) yacht club and on to Rumery's boat-yard where we would spend our time.

At the head of the river (at least as far as us boaters can go) are the towns of Saco (on one side) and Biddeford (on the other). Biddeford is the new home of the Portland Pudgy, and so the one place in Maine that we had to go since we needed to replace our lifeboat exposure canopy, which has just spent too much time in the years since we first got it living in a corrosive salt water environment. I am confident Maryanne is skilled enough with a sewing machine to replace all of the necessary components, but she correctly points out that our inflatable lifeboat exposure canopy is too important to us to be something on which she wants to risk getting anywhere near a machine designed to punch holes into. Fair enough.

Dave Hulbert, who designed and built both of our Portland Pudgy(s), has recently retired and sold the company to Mike Metcalfe and family, Mike is an engineer/entrepreneur who loves to tinker with things. When we told Mike we wanted to stop by, he gave us recommendations on where to bring Begonia, and then told us to call and he would come pick us up.

It was a kind offer, but Maryanne and I were looking for an excuse to do a few miles of walking (exercise) and our sixteen-year, round-the-world path to Portland Pudgy could hardly be called a pilgrimage if we didn't at least show up on foot.

The new factory was quite interesting and much bigger than we had expected, knowing that the whole operation had basically started in Dave Hulbert's garage. The loft they had for making covers and exposure canopies (etc.) is way better equipped than our sewing machine/dining table. The rest of the building, where they do the finish work was equally well appointed. We picked up our new exposure canopy and after the tour, Mike offered to let us rummage around in one of their back rooms, which is reserved for discontinued spare parts and other experiments, to see if there is anything that could be of use to us.

Visiting the Portland Pudgy showroom and workshop in Biddeford, Maine

One thing that surprised me, because it just never occurred to me, was how they move and store the boats. For some reason, I was picturing a mass version of what Maryanne and I do on the beach when we need to lug the thing around. What they actually do is bolt them upright by their transoms to little wheelie platforms that roll around easily on the smooth floor. No lifting required. One person can move three or four of them at one time with one arm. The whole place is filled with good ideas like that.

One other thing I had never given much thought to is the Rotomolding process used to make the Pudgy. I guess I pictured the process looking like laying up fiberglass, except with no fiberglass mat and polyethylene instead of resin. They do that off-site, but for some reason, I have never bothered to look it up. Mike showed us a video of the setup. Basically, the mold sits on a big forklift-looking gantry in a steep attitude that you would never want to see on the actual boat because that would mean the wave that just hit you is about to flip you over. Then the thing goes into a big oven and starts a tumbling mode that causes the liquefied plastic to flow into the final hull shape. After the oven cools, still while tumbling, you're left with consistent thickness all around (there is even a video of the process in action.

Since he hadn't picked us up at Begonia, Mike offered us the consolation prize of lending us a car for a day. That way, not only could we get our haul home, we could make our whole list of errands even easier. I sense a giant watermelon in my future...

We were welcomed by Mike in his own boat as we entered the River Saco, and at his factory. Then he waved us off as we returned to Begoina

[Maryanne]We love our yellow Portland Pudgy, it gets noticed and starts conversations most places we go, and it has done a great job for us all around the world. Aside from the practical uses of getting ashore, we've also had a LOT of fun with the pudgy, sailing it in remote locations, using it for our snorkelling base and more. It was really nice to visit with the new owners, and see their enthusism for the boat, and their lovely premises. I'm so glad we've never needed it as a life raft, but having it there, and know it will work has been a huge peace of mind for us. Mike and his daughter were also extemely generous to us during our visit, giving us use of a car (which made laundry, and a giant grocery trip possible).

It wasn't all chores in Biddeford though, we did get some general exporing and relaxing time

The marina we used was a little on the pricy side (for us cheapskates) so we picked up a free town mooring ball in the river either side of our town visit (a little out of town, but perfect to then allow us the best use of our marina time).

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Saco Town Moorings location >> On google maps

Rumery's Boat Yard Moorings location >> On google maps

Quahog Bay, Maine

[Kyle]Quahog Bay was another one of our Maine favorites that we couldn't bear to miss (having visited previously in May 2008). A storm was forecast over the next couple of days, so the normally sparse anchorage was full of boats trying to find shelter from the approaching weather.

Before it arrived, though, we took to the kayak to explore all of the little inlets in the area, enjoying the blue skies and the pine-scented air.

Wildlife and scenery - Quahog Bay

And some socializing too when we were invited to join other cruisers at a sunset beach bonfire

We were somewhat glad to have a couple of days of nasty weather. First of all, our decks needed a good rinse of all of the salt accumulated during all of our recent upwind bashing. Secondly, we needed to do a bunch of boring, indoor stuff that has kept being pushed down the list by glorious sunny days. For example, Maryanne keeps asking me where we are going next, but I have barely had time to think of it myself. I know we're going south and I have an Idea how much time we have to get where, but as far as specific anchorages, I'm maybe staying only two or three steps ahead of the boat. I could really use the time to think up another half dozen or so. Maryanne's our administrator and she needs answers if she's going to get all of our paperwork in order in time.

I keep joking that we need to spend a winter in Nebraska to get caught up. That's obviously not a serious plan, but a rainy day or two in Maine (NOT on the plans) can't hurt.

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Burnt Island, Maine

[Kyle]Our leg from Matinicus Island to Burnt Island was a two-tack "V" that started in fog so dense that we couldn't even see the walls of the harbor as we left. That made us scrap another pass at Matinicus Rock to look for Puffins, as we could barely see our own bows.

Burnt Island is close enough to the mainland that it benefits from being in just slightly warmer air, which was enough for us to break out of the fog about a mile or so out and actually see our anchorage as we approached.

We were hoping it wouldn't be too crowded as we had read several reports that the bay is so filled with lobster pots that it is difficult to find space. So far there was only one boat visible and they seemed to be in the process of leaving.

Then a boat called "Pan Pan" (the level below "Mayday") to the Coast Guard, saying they had snagged a lobster pot, lost power and were adrift, giving their position as the northeast corner of Burnt Island. They asked the Coast Guard to contact one of the commercial towing companies and send someone out to get them before they run aground. After a bit of back-and-forth, it was determined that the disabled vessel had both an anchor and a working cell phone, so it was suggested they drop anchor to stop the drift and start making calls themselves to arrange a tow.

This all seemed a little odd to us, since we were clearly approaching and were by that point only about a quarter mile away. Why hadn't they reached out to us? Perhaps they thought we wouldn't be able to give any useful assistance. Perhaps they just didn't want to involve us.

After a short while, they called the Coast Guard again to say they were safely anchored and that TowboatUS would be coming to get them in three and a half hours. They no longer needed assistance. Thanks for the help.

Nope.

Three minutes later, the Coast Guard put out one of their standard scripted messages referring to our neighbor as "a vessel in distress" and asking any mariners in the area to assist if possible.

Crap!

The Code of the Sea is that you always offer assistance to a vessel in distress, unless you think you might be killed in the process (or something like that). Helping these people wasn't likely to be nearly that dangerous and since we were conspicuously the only other vessel, not just in the area, but right next to them, it looks like we're getting involved after all. Even though we knew they were no longer in any actual distress, The Coast Guard will be repeating their broadcast every ten minutes for the next, oh, three-and-a-half hours. If someone else comes around the corner and sees us blithely enjoying a glass of wine in the cockpit ten boat lengths away while every other boat in the state is being asked to help, well... it wouldn't be good.

We called the other boat and offered to pop over to see if we could clear the issue (but if we couldn't they still might need that tow, so don't cancel it yet). I called the Coast Guard and told them we were with the other boat and we would see what we could do. They relayed our response back to the other boat, which seemed a tedious extra step. Now they're going to be in the middle of the whole thing.

Of course, we knew what we had to do. Despite my proclamation just YESTERDAY that I wasn't going swimming again until we get below forty degrees latitude (or at least into significantly warmer water), I was going to be diving on the other boat's prop to try to clear it in water that is farther north than that in Matinicus Harbor.

Maryanne gathered my gear, I donned the full wetsuit, hood and all, and we headed over in the dinghy to see what we could do. The couple in the big monohull did not seem to be in the best condition for any cold, unplanned dips. When we arrived, they had their engine running in neutral, so they could at least charge their batteries while they waited. Maryanne went aboard and persuaded him that the safest thing would be to shut it off completely while I am near the prop. She handed me a sharp dive knife and down I went.

Their prop was indeed very fouled. They had picked up not the expected lobster pot float line, but a big piece of thick fish netting that had transformed their propeller into a hydrodynamically useless ball. The good news was that it wasn't very tightly wound, so I was able to slice it free with three quick cuts. I was finished in one breath. We had them start up the engine again and check both foward and reverse worked fine while they were still anchored (all good).

The couple seemed surprisingly blasé about the news, as if they thought, perhaps, my job was going around from anchorage to anchorage, cleaning other people's boats. Perhaps they were still in shock, coming down from their previous adrenaline surge. I definitely had a feeling like we were being seen as 'the help'. {Maryanne: They really were not the usual cruiser-level chatty before or after the fix, I think they were somewhat distressed by the whole thing, so it was good we were able to help them.}

They asked what the fee would be, Maryanne managed to very diplomatically mention that, typically in these sorts of situations, a cold beer or some other small token of thanks might be given. That's when the poor guy seemed to come to, said 'thank you' to both of us, shook our hands (one wet, one dry) and then disappeared below to retrieve a nice bottle of red. I'm sure he was especially glad to no longer be subject to a major delay and a $500 towing fee.

Newly re-powered, they pulled up anchor as we were returning to Begonia. Then they went in completely the opposite direction from where they told us they were trying to get to tonight. Perhaps they had changed their mind. They did that for about a mile and then turned to steam the other way.

Oh, my...

At least we finally got the Coast Guard to issue a "Cancel Pan Pan" message.

Burnt Island itself is half administered by the Maine Island Trail Association and half by Outward Bound. We did one big loop on the western side that crossed between boundaries before it started getting too late in the day, and with a threat of rain. We determined to get up early the next morning to have enough time to do the entire perimeter trail, plus any other interesting side-trips, before making the row back to Begonia in the afternoon. The Summit Trail was good exercise, but the long perimeter trail provided the best ever-changing views as we rounded each headland. We did cross paths with various Outward Bound groups getting their dose of wilderness; they were swimming (brrrr!), hiking, solo-challenges (overnight camping), and rock climbing.

With only two trips ashore, we had managed to see pretty much the whole island. That was good, because the weather was about to turn and we needed to be out of that anchorage before a swell builds and swings us into some of the pots clearly surrounding us.

Burnt Island

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Note that there are SEVERAL Burnt Islands in Maine - this one is part of the George's Islands, in Muscongus Bay.

If you are planning to visit the islands of Maine, it is well worth the membership of the Maine Island Trail Association where you can find details of trails and anchorage in the area and support a good cause.

Matinicus Island, Maine

[Kyle]Once the weather cleared at Hells Half Acre, we had half a day of sailing in light headwinds to Matinicus Island, ten miles from the entrance to Penobscot Bay and billed as Maine's most remote island community.

Before we arrived, we did the five mile detour to Matinicus Rock, home to Maine's largest Puffin colony, in the hopes of spotting a few of the adorable seabirds.

We were not disappointed. Although we could not land, we circled the little island twice and saw hundreds of them bobbing around in groups on the sea around us. I had the easy job of driving the boat while Maryanne tried to get good shots of the birds from a rolling and pithing platform.

The harbor at Matinicus Island is much too small and crowded with local lobster boats for anchoring, so we picked up one of the available visitor moorings. The system for paying is to go ashore, ask around, and see if you can find the right guy. Or you can put money in the attached canister. Just for the fun of it, Maryanne dug out our checkbook (I didn't even know we still had one!) and wrote her first check in what must have been a decade. With that done, we went ashore to have a little look around.

We enjoyed a day of simple, fun, quirky, idyllic island living!

We really would have liked to find a cafe or a pub as our way to contribute to the local economy, but alas, they have neither. We had to settle for an honor bakery where you take what you want and leave your cash in the box with the rest where we were able to pick up a fresh fruit popsicle (and pastries).

Fortified for the day, we decided to walk literally every trail on the island. We saw mossy forests and rocky sea cliffs and even found a little fairy village that seems to have been a school project.

Then we went to the library (One room. Just let yourself in and shut the lights off when you leave) for the only internet on the island. While we were in there, we noticed a lot of the islanders stopping in the middle of the road outside to check their messages.

One more stop at the bakery shack for an afternoon snack pretty much exhausted the available entertainment options on the island, so we made our way home for the night. This is when Maine's big tides got us. When we had arrived, the dinghy's gunwales had been almost level with the pier. It was easy to step off. Now our little boat was a tiny, half-grounded speck of yellow at the bottom of a long, slimy ladder.

When we got back to Begonia, I decided that between all of the sweaty, dusty walking, and the coating of seaweed slime from the ladder, I was going to follow the lead of some of the revelers on a nearby charter boat and try a refreshing swim/bath.

Well, those people are crazy. This water is still way too cold to be going into it for fun.

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Mooring location >> On google maps - payable by the honesty system (instructions in the screw top jar on the mooring setup).