Prologue

s/v Kerry Deare of Barnegat is a 28 foot sloop built by Cape Dory in 1981. At the time of this story I had sailed her for 9 seasons. We had ranged from the Chesapeake Bay to southern New England, and I had completed a single-handed voyage to Bermuda. In July 1989 I and one crew departed New Jersey for Nova Scotia, intending to meet our wives somewhere in Maine. There we would change crew, and my wife and I would eventually return along the coast to New Jersey. This was our first cruise beyond Cape Cod and I had allowed 5 weeks for the trip.

Part One: Cruise to Nova Scotia

We arrived at Dennis Point in Lower West Pubnico on the southwest coast of Nova Scotia late in the afternoon on July 20th, 1989, having sailed the s/v Kerry Deare of Barnegat up from Toms River, New Jersey. We had made one overnight stop on Cuttyhunk Island in Massachusetts. The ship's log indicated that 497 nautical miles had elapsed between Barnegat Inlet in New Jersey and the Municipal Pier at Lower West Pubnico. Except for an interesting gale we'd encountered at the entrance to the Vineyard Sound, the voyage was largely uneventful with fair winds and slight seas.

The gale merits comment. I had originally planned to avoid inshore sailing by heading directly out to the Nantucket LNB "N," and then turning left for Nova Scotia. After studying the charts and pilots, I realized this plan added over 50 NM to the trip with little apparent benefit. I therefore elected to follow the old sailing ship route through Vineyard and Nantucket Sounds and on out through Pollock Rip, arriving in the ocean off Cape Cod. We would then head off "Down East" to Nova Scotia. The approximately 500 NM distance would be a 4 to 5 day voyage for our 22 foot LWL yacht, based on a non-stop transit (and my earlier experiences with this particular yacht). In fact we came quite close to this prediction, but not exactly according to the scenario we'd envisioned.

Part Two: Vineyard Sound Gale

We took departure from the New Jersey coast at 1900 on Saturday, 15 July 1989, into Force 3 - 4 SE. Conditions were quite fine and the yacht reached along on starboard tack, sailing herself under windvane to the northeast for about 24 hours. On Sunday evening we found ourselves southeast of Block Island, at which point the wind backed to a light head wind. The number one genoa was struck at 2200 in calm winds and a light drizzle, and we continued motorsailing under diesel and mainsail. Conditions were ripe for foul weather, but there was no indication from NOAA that anything peculiar was on tap.

At about 2230 we made visuals on the major lights at the entrance to Vineyard Sound, confirming the loran C position. As the ebb tide up the Vineyard Sound (favorable) would begin at 0200 on Monday, 17 July, our timing seemed rather good. This was my third cruise up the Vineyard Sound at night. I knew the area well so an increasing rain and a "heavy" feeling in the atmosphere caused little concern.

An hour later at 2330 the wind came up Force 5 ENE and in our face. The current had not yet turned in our favor, and with about 2 knots foul tide on the nose we had some very slow going. The breeze continued to build and I shortly decided that the mainsail had suffered enough, so it was handed at 0100 Monday morning. We were now about 1/2 NM east of Cuttyhunk Island and making very little progress. Since I didn't want to lose any easting I decided to try to go above the Devil's Bridge, a rocky ledge to starboard off Gay Head, and try for shelter in Menemsha harbor on Martha's Vineyard. At this point I should have just paid nature her due respect and run off before the increasing wind, but we decided to try for those last few miles and a safe harbor.

After another hour or so (at about 0230) we'd made little distance toward Menemsha and were about 1 NM above the rocks known locally as Devil's Bridge. We then came right about 60 degrees bound for Menemsha Harbor. This put us beam on to some considerable seas that had developed when the Force 7 breeze met up with the now contrary tide. It was at this precise moment, with the Devil's Bridge under our lee, that the Volvo MD7A diesel just quit. Apparently the rough motion had caused the engine to suck air from the fuel tank into the fuel lines, which of course stopped the engine.

I went into action pretty quickly. I don't know exactly how much time elapsed between my snapping on to the jacklines, going forward, double reefing and setting the main, and returning to the cockpit. Probably not much. We let draw and were off to the races, running before the wind and against the tide with sea room our major goal. Remember, this was supposed to be my vacation.

A little later at about 0400 we hove to under double-reefed main on port tack. We estimated our position to be about 2 NM SW of Noman's Island to the south of Martha's Vineyard. With the helm lashed down the yacht was making about a knot through the water. When this drift was combined with the now outgoing tide, our speed over the bottom was about 3 knots. We both now had a chance to realize that the breeze had increased to above 40 knots (Force 8 - 9 Strong Gale), with higher gusts.

In the dark the seas seemed impressive. I was well under the weather by this time but my crew continued on in fine fashion (mal de mer hit him a few hours later, but by then I had recovered sufficiently). The rain remained heavy, yet except for our wet clothing very little water came below. It seemed that every 3rd or 4th sea broke right over the boat, and the wail of the wind in the rigging was tiring.

In the remaining hours of the dawn we ran off once again, hove to again on the starboard tack, and, when Buzzard's Tower seemed to loom a little too close, ran off once more and hove to again on port. Eventually we had only Spain to leeward. By around 1100 Monday a small patch of blue could be seen through the clouds, but the breeze continued at 40 to 45 knots sustained. My stomach had just about settled down by then and I sat in the cockpit enjoying the view. Vast, well-formed wave trains were marching in step downwind, often breaking into mounds of white foam. As the skies began to clear nature was showing off.

By about 1500 the breeze had retreated to about Force 7 so I made some sail, setting a 90% number 4 jib over the deeply reefed main. Within 3 hours we had gained the outer harbor at Cuttyhunk where an awful sight met our eyes. Four large yachts, two power and two sail, had been driven onto the rocks of the outer Cuttyhunk breakwater.  We were stunned and for the first time began to realize we had been dueling with a very dangerous storm. Meanwhile we still had no engine. The wind remained at 20 to 25 knots NE, so in addition to getting a CQR 35 and plenty of chain on the bottom I set up a 20H Danforth on the foredeck for insurance. The "fun" was over and we fell asleep quickly.

Part Three: Down East to Nova Scotia

We awoke next morning to clearing skies and a gentle southerly and when I bled the fuel lines and injectors, the diesel started right up. Up on deck it was "wet laundry city," with an army of clothing hung from every conceivable location. We motored in to the Cuttyhunk inner harbor and tied alongside to take ice and diesel. 

We now had an opportunity to exchange war stories with a few island residents. They had clocked sustained winds of just over 70 knots on the island. A friend who had been on Nantucket during the gale later told me he'd measured 60 knots during most of Monday morning. Frankly the numbers meant little to me. There had been enough wind and big seas, and boat and crew were safe. We let go the lines and headed off downwind to Nova Scotia.

We were now heading for the Cape Cod Canal, pushed along under the tri-radial spinnaker by a moderate southerly. There was little relation between this day's sailing and what we had experienced just a few short hours earlier. The remainder of the sail through Cap Cod Bay and across the Gulf of Maine was uneventful, or at least we think it was.  We saw very little in the thick fog that accompanied us most of the way. During the night we heard (but did not see) a nearby fisherman, but that was the extent of our social interaction until arrival in Nova Scotia.

The fog was quite thick approaching the Canadian coast. Visibility remained poor until we were within 1/2 mile of Dennis Point and the entrance to Lower West Pubnico Harbor.  Then the fog made up enough so that we could see the markers leading into the snug walled harbor, a type common along these coasts. We looked around for a float of some sort (the tides in this region are about 18 to 20 feet) but found none.  So we tied alongside a lobster boat. 

I informed my crew we would have to get up at 0400 next morning when the fishing fleet departed to relocate the yacht. I was not aware that the lobster fishing season in Canada had ended in May and that most of the fleet now remained in harbor. This meant we would not have to move the boat or tend mooring lines, a real advantage considering the tidal range. A representative from Customs in Yarmouth arrived shortly thereafter and cleared us through quickly (although there was a substantial fee for after hours service at an unauthorized port).

Part Four: The Pubnicos

By this time we had created a small fuss. Very few yachts visit the Pubnicos (or at least that was so in 1989). The fuss however was of a genuinely friendly nature and the people we spoke with were interested in the details of our voyage and why I had chosen Pubnico.

The reasons were not complicated. With about 5 weeks set aside for this cruise, I had initially intended to sail directly to the Nova Scotia coast. Then I would sail coastwise back to New Jersey via the Maine coast, Cape Cod Bay, and southern New England. Preliminary planning had revealed that 5 weeks were barely sufficient for a cruise of this distance considering our style of travel. We prefer to explore each port in detail rather than in a hit-and-run fashion. We figured that we would have time for at most two Nova Scotia harbors.

By early 1989 a new edition of the Cruising Guide to the Nova Scotia Coast, a joint publication of the Cruising Club of America and the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron, had been issued. I had used it and the latest Canadian charts to choose a landfall that seemed both interesting and easy to enter. I discarded Yarmouth since it appeared to be a "big ship" harbor with few advantages for a small yacht. It also seemed that many harbors from Yarmouth southeast to Cape Sable were either difficult to enter in thick weather or didn't merit a 3 day stay. Only Pubnico looked about right. I now think it was an inspired choice.

The Pubnicos (there are several) are fishing villages with closely knit community structures. Lower West Pubnico is an Acadian village where the predominant family names are two: d'Entremont and Di'on. As outlined in A Brief History of Pubnico, the village was established in 1653. With the exception of the period known as the Expulsion, a particularly harsh era of English colonial rule, this region has been inhabited since earliest times by the French speaking Acadian people. The Cajun people of southern Louisiana are descendants of Acadians driven from Nova Scotia during the Expulsion.

I first encountered the warm hospitality of these Acadian people shortly after arrival when I was invited into the home of Lery d'Entremont for conversation, hot coffee, and a hot shower. Lery and his brother own and operate a large fish processing plant in Lower West Pubnico, so we made plans to tour the plant the next morning. Afterwards the tour Lery planned a ride for us out to his lakeside cabin for lunch.

I have rarely seen a facility as clean or well organized as the processing plant we visited the next morning. The plant was being managed by the next generation (Lery's and his brother's sons had recently taken over day-to-day management of the operation). But the highlight of the day was a trip to Lery's cabin for lunch. The lunch featured moose steak, a first for both me and my crew, and it was delicious. I was never quite certain if the stuffed moosehead on the cabin wall was kin to our lunch, but my anxieties were eliminated by the peaceful surroundings of the lake. Total relaxation was inevitable.

Later that same afternoon we observed local fishermen prepare for a swordfishing trip out of Lower West Pubnico. Lery was going on this particular trip with a "share" in the outcome, in the fashion of a regular hired fisherman.

I was not familiar with swordfishing techniques and found the demonstration interesting. The fish are harpooned by a fisherman perched at the end of a long pulpit-like bowsprit.  He uses a harpoon with an attached float. Once a fish is harpooned, it is left swimming free until all the fish in that day's catch, in that area, have been caught. Initially the fish are spotted by plane, so swordfishing is usually only possible in clear weather. Unfortunately clear weather is a rarity along this coast. As testimony to our skill as kibitzers, we were awarded two swordfish bills from earlier trips.

Early next morning (Saturday) we joined the daily gathering on the dock for the ritualistic morning dockside conversation. People seemed truly interested in our trip and ourselves, and as a result we met another d'Entremont, Albert, one of the few cruising boat sailors in the area, who had recently acquired Tip Toe, a 32 footer.  He was fitting her out for a vacation cruise around to Halifax with his wife Myrna and two children, Lise and Serge. We traded a few cruising wrinkles aboard Kerry Deare, toured Tip Toe, and subsequently enjoyed the warm hospitality of dinner and homemade music at their home overlooking the Bay of Fundy. It seemed we had known each other much longer than only a few hours.

I found out later that their cruise was a great success. We spent the remaining time in Nova Scotia with several other new friends and finally left out in fog Sunday morning bound for Mount Desert Island on the Maine coast, a distance of 110 nautical miles.

Part Five: Mount Desert

On our departure from Lower West Pubnico we picked up a Force 3 WNW breeze that allowed a close reach at just over 5 knots. Sailing was pleasant enough in good visibility. However the breeze vanished at dusk so we continued on by motoring over the gentle swells of the Bay of Fundy toward the coast of Maine.

While underway we decided to clean our prized swordfish bills using the technique recommended by the Pubnico fishermen. It seems that swordfish are subject to a particular kind of fungus that grows in their bills. This is a rather unsightly growth, and one method of removing it is to drag the bills on a wire behind a boat for several hours. I drilled a hole in each bill and attached a length of stainless wire. I then trailed one bill from each quarter.

I suppose we had been dragging the bills for quite some time when at about 0200 I head a loud "thwang" from off the starboard quarter. I discovered that "something" had decided to have a post-midnight snack and in so doing had cut right through the heavy wire I had used. I never found out what the "something" was, but I suspect it was quite large.

Finally during the early dawn the hills of Mount Desert appeared in the soft glow of sunrise. I cut back the engine to prolong the sight and finally entered Southwest Harbor just after sunrise. Avoiding lobster pots in the dark and wondering about the midnight snacker had been the only excitements of the Fundy crossing.

This was my first visit to Southwest Harbor (and to Maine), and it provided an occasion to lay alongside the famous Hinckley Yachts float. It was however a very brief stay. We had wanted to lay alongside to inflate the dink as easily as possible, but even though it was only 0530 I was quickly and unceremoniously informed that there was no room at the inn for strangers. However I was then directed to one of the Hinckley moorings for a gratis short stay. There were worse locations, for Kerry Deare was shortly moored directly behind Windigo, a 1930's Hinckley with a noble racing heritage.

We squared away on board, somehow set up the inflatable, and went ashore "Down East." The Maine Cruise had begun.

Part Six: Southwest Harbor and Environs

Southwest Harbor is an ultimate destination for many sailors, and the reasons are clear. It is a major yachting and boat building center and it certainly has its share of beauty. Yet after arriving from sparsely populated and slower paced Nova Scotia, it almost seemed that I had stepped off the subway and into lower Manhattan. There was a "bustle" about the place that we had not missed while in the Pubnicos. Our wives arrived safely and on schedule later that afternoon and we began to adjust reluctantly to the faster pace.

Our three day layover in Southwest Harbor was filled with the mandatory tourist (especially boat tourist) visits. Included were the Hinckley Ship's Store (not exactly K-Mart), a cruise up Somes Sound (better than reported), a trip to Northeast Harbor (more gilt-edged than reported, but quite friendly), a tour of the Morris Boat Yard (my favorite builder), a pleasant encounter with visiting friends from New Jersey cruising aboard their Bermuda 40, and lotsa lobster (reasonably priced), all of this to the tune of excellent weather.

We enjoyed all this but were looking forward to a slower pace, so shortly after bidding farewell to our friends and to the "delivery" crew (also close friends), my new crew (i.e., wife) and I headed out the Western Way for a the short sail to Burnt Coat Harbor on Swans Island.

Part Seven: Maine Islands

This was my first actual sail along the Maine coast, and it met with excellent conditions. Initially I had some difficulty with visual identification of each small island or islet, and of course I was concerned about ledges and shoals in these as yet unfamiliar surroundings. But we played it quite conservatively and presently we sailed under Hockamock Head Light at the southwest end of Swans Island and on into Burnt Coat Harbor. I had wanted to visit this harbor just for its name alone.

I was beginning to believe that Maine lighthouses - each more charming than the last - had been built primarily as visual delights for sailors rather than as beacons for safe navigation. The lighthouse on Hockamock Head was no exception, and Burnt Coat Harbor itself proved to be a pretty and quiet overnight anchorage with good holding.

After an early chat with some local fishermen at the lobster car the next morning, we left out for Stonington on Deer Isle. Our pace somehow seemed hurried, but as I was to learn many years later there's never enough time available along the Maine coast. Although we anticipated only a 12 mile day, this day was to be one of the sailing highlights of the cruise.

We motored out from Burnt Coat Harbor on the ebb with calm winds and about one quarter mile visibility, maintaining our speed at about 4 knots to avoid the clusters of lobster buoys that guard the harbor entrance. Soon a light WSW breeze filled in an allowed us to make sail, so I set the number 3 (110%) genoa over the main and was able to get just over 5 knots.

After a bit we entered into a part of Deer Isle Thorofare populated by many small pine covered islands separated by deep (so said the chart!) bays. The wind was ahead but we wanted to continue under sail, so it looked like some short tacking was in order. Although we were strangers to the area we decided to tack well outside the marked channels and keep on sailing to avoid firing up the diesel. In several instances we sailed right up to the bold rocky shores while still in 50 to 60 feet of water before coming about. We were making progress to windward, and to Stonington.

Then with Stonington almost in view and the Thorofare narrowing considerably, we were met with the impressive sight of 3 members of the "windjammer" fleet departing Stonington Harbor.  They were running wing and wing and making straight down on us. We now had to tack to avoid both moving "targets"  (the windjammers) and stationary "targets" (rocks). This we did with little fuss, as it happens. 

We finally came to anchor under sail between two more windjammers in Stonington's eastern anchorage. I freely admit to a smug feeling at that moment. If we didn't impress our audience, we at least impressed ourselves.

Shoreside time at Stonington was unfortunately limited without outboard dinghy power. The old 2 HP had quit at Southwest Harbor and rowing an inflatable dink the 1/2 mile into the float was difficult in the prevailing brisk southwest winds. These pre-frontal winds made up during the night, but several glances out the companionway showed that we and the windjammers were holding well. The expected cold eventually front set the stage for superb weather at our next port, Camden.

Part Eight: The Camden Hills

I had planned an early start next morning for the 20 mile trip to Camden. However a look out across Penobscot Bay from the west end of Deer Isle Thorofare, into dark clouds, rain, fog, and generally tough conditions, convinced me to pick up a mooring off Moose Island to wait for better weather. We did just that and a bit later went alongside at nearby Billings Marine. It was time for showers, laundry, first aid for our ailing outboard, and just plain warmth.

The shower/laundry venture was successful, but the same could not be said for the outboard repair. After a friendly mechanic and I spent an hour rebuilding the 2 HP carburetor and generally fussing with the beast, we gave up. By this time, about 1200, the fog had made up so we decided to brave the few remaining thunderheads on the horizon and head for Camden.

I chose a route above North Haven Island rather than through Fox Islands Thorofare. I was a newcomer and had little to go on, but this route seemed more direct (if not necessarily recommended for strangers), and because we might possibly pass through the Thorofare later. Despite threatening skies and a scarcity of navigational aids off North Haven, we enjoyed an interesting ride through the area, as we practiced identifying each island from its representation on the chart. This new exercise in visual Down East piloting was quite instructive.

Originally I had planned to bypass Camden Harbor due to the crowds, but the crew labeled it a "must see" stop so off we went. As we approached the outer harbor, with the well known church steeples in the foreground and the Camden hills in the background, I began to get into a "Camden" mood, although the crowds still had me worried. We continued on into the inner harbor, where we found an array of small floats filling the central part of most of the available space. Not having any other ideas, we pulled alongside a float nearest to a busy waterfront restaurant. As it happened, the owner of the float hailed us and came alongside in a dink. He was planning a weekend trip with his boat and offered us free use for a few days. That seemed to take some of the teeth out of the crowd issue.

In addition we had unknowingly arrived on the eve of the Camden-Castine Race, a local classic, and 90 additional yachts were preparing to leave Camden Harbor for the weekend. Thus we ended up on a convenient gratis float in the inner harbor with the fleet was heading out and taking most of the crowd along. The Camden visit was now beginning to look like a shrewd choice, and I haven't yet figured out why it took everyone else so long to see things the Captain's way.

Looking back I would say that Camden is a mandatory stop, even though the usual moorings are far out in the outer harbor and the waterborne and shoreside traffic are hectic. There are shops and marine facilities of every type, and photo and food opportunities galore. We replaced the now dead outboard at Wayfarer Marine, got personalized tours of several windjammers, devoured more than a barrel of superb clam chowder, and had a ringside seat from which to observe the harbor. Of course we managed to devote time to awarding grades for compulsory boating maneuvers. Average grades were quite high compared to other harbors we have visited (and tested).

Part Nine: Matinicus and The Rock

We finally (and somewhat reluctantly) left out of Camden Harbor on Monday morning at a civilized 1000 and joined a parade of 4 windjammers enjoying the sparkling weather while heading down Penobscot Bay on their weekly cruise. As we motored along in the light head wind we were eventually joined by 7 additional windjammers out of Rockland. Quite a sight.

Our destination was Matinicus Island, about 25 miles ESE of the bell off Camden and about 15 miles off the mainland. Matinicus Island and nearby Matinicus Rock were two of the major goals of this cruise and I was getting a bit steamed up in anticipation. I was particularly interested in visiting the Rock and observing first hand the famous colonies of puffins and razor billed auks. Within an hour the daily southwest breeze filled in allowing us to set the number 3 genoa for a pleasant close reach. We were still blessed with good visibility and warm weather, and frankly we were beginning to take it for granted.

Matinicus presently appeared on the horizon and after we threaded our way through the entry buoys and lobster pots off the northeast corner of the island and on into the harbor, I was surprised to see two other visiting yachts inside. I had chosen Matinicus largely for its remoteness; to arrive to such a "crowd" was a mild letdown, but somehow we survived.

Matinicus is the furthest offshore Maine island inhabited year round. Its people have a reputation for independence, and our cruising guide had prepared us for a neutral welcome at best. But my first trip ashore suggested the guide had taken a pessimistic attitude. We were greeted in a friendly manner and offered walking maps of the island complete with hand written notes on special places to visit. When I mentioned wanting to visit nearby Matinicus Rock to see the puffin nesting sites I was carefully instructed to visit before August 1st, the normal departure date for these rara avis. And when we began the first of several walking tours of the island, we had to refuse several offers of rides from island drivers. In a word, hospitable.

We spent the next 2 days or so walking the island and enjoying visits with both island folks and some of the relatively rare visitors. We did manage a visit to Matinicus Rock, I think. We dropped our mooring in Matinicus Harbor at 0700 on August 2nd and motored out in thick fog for the 5 mile run to the Rock. Aside from zero visibility and several near misses in the lobster pot derby, the trip was easy.

When we arrived in the vicinity I heard (but never actually saw) the waves breaking on The Rock. We eventually stumbled onto a USCG mooring buoy on the west side of the island. I decided to pick it up, brew some coffee, and wait for the fog to make up so we could experience the puffins. Well, we managed to pick up the mooring and get the coffee going, but the fog somehow got even thicker. While we could hear the puffins (and what I thought were razor billed auks), visibility was definitely not on the agenda. In fact I was becoming concerned about even finding Matinicus Island again.

We returned to the island without ever actually seeing The Rock, although we'd been moored not more than 75 feet offshore. Maybe next time. [On a subsequent visit to this area years later, I had about 10 miles visibility and a wind that allowed circumnavigating the Rock in comfort under sail.]

Part Ten: Boothbay Harbor

After a week of relaxation at Matinicus I slipped the mooring early one morning and headed west toward Monhegan Island and Boothbay Harbor. I made sail just south of Matinicus and Kerry Deare was soon footing along with the lapper and one reef into a Force 5 southwester. Visibility was fine for about 3 hours as I watched the flashing light on Matinicus Rock recede to the southeast. Eventually the wind went light off Monhegan Island and on came the diesel. Monhegan looked majestic in the now darkening skies, and waves crashing on her bold southern shore added an eerie touch. I regretted not having time to visit.

We continued along in decreasing visibility toward Booth Bay, and eventually found our way into the Harbor and alongside the municipal float. By then the fog had become quite thick. On the way into Boothbay Harbor we had passed 4 Connecticut yachts who seemed to be endlessly circling buoy "HC" in the fog at the entrance to Booth Bay. We had narrowly avoided the Monhegan ferry, as he slid by at top speed with his radar antenna spinning.

Although pretty, Boothbay Harbor itself offered little beyond showers and chowder. It was crowded with shops filled with every type of useless item. We sensed that we were definitely returning Up West (instead of Down East), and the day-tourist orientation of the community was evident.

We took leave the next day at 1200 for Robinhood Cove off the Sheepscot River for a planned Cape Dory owners' rendezvous. Though not worth a side trip when cruising along shore east or west, Robinhood is a pleasant and safe anchorage with good facilities and a major boat building effort. It is also a good place to start from when using the inside route to Bath and the Maine Maritime Museum. Once at Robinhood, the Osprey Restaurant is a must.

Part Eleven: Returning Home

Within a few days we were bound west to Portland as the trip home truly began. Once again visibility was poor leaving Robinhood Harbor and on the lower Sheepscot, and I actually went inside Seguin Island without seeing a thing. Later, studying the charts in front of the fireplace the following December, I was mildly alarmed at having gone through this rocky passage in such poor visibility. Of course it seemed like a reasonable idea at the time, but my impression even then was that in all but the mildest weather the passage could be difficult.

My wife took a plane back to New Jersey from Portland to meet prior obligations, and I brought Kerry Deare back down the coast solo. I had fine sailing (including an easy overnight from Portland to Gloucester) and after stops on the southern New England "circuit" (read Cuttyhunk and Block Island) I arrived in one piece in New Jersey.

Kerry Deare's lockers were empty of stores but filled with new memories. This first Maine cruise was complete, successful, and enjoyable, and a fine prelude to further adventures Down East.