Blog Hiatus

Katya flew in last Thursday evening to Portland, Maine, and Enis, our good friend who is staying on our boat in our absence, arrived a half day later than expected, on Friday. Katya, Peter and I left at 6 p.m. on Friday, bound for the annual family beach vacation. On Saturday morning, we stopped briefly in NYC at Fort Tryon Park to visit the lovely Heather Garden there and look at the Palisades across the Hudson.

Hibiscus trionum

Peter and Katya enjoying the garden

Lilium specious, showy lily

Echinacea purpurea, purple coneflower

Actaea racemosa, black cohosh

Stokesai laevis, Stokes' aster

Veronicastrum viginicum, Culver's root

Asclepias tuberosa, butterfly weed

We arrived safely in Ocean City on Saturday afternoon, and now the blog is on hiatus until we return to our boat.

 

The Goslings and Falmouth, Maine

We arrived in Falmouth, Maine, on Tuesday, June 19, after spending a night anchored at the Goslings on Monday and exploring those little islands on Tuesday morning. The cloudy skies and rain had disappeared by the time we woke up on Tuesday, and the brilliant blue of the sky and sea accentuated the shades of green on the islands around us. 

The Goslings on a bright blue morning

Peter testing the wires on the autopilot

After breakfast, Peter spent a couple hours continuing to work on the new auto-pilot, which is a beautiful piece of engineering, but he has not yet been able to get it hooked up successfully with the existing wiring in the aft lazarette. After the electrical tests with the multimeter did not produce the correct results, he put it away, and we took the dinghy to the beach on the northwest side of the eastern Gosling. The tide was rising, but when we landed, the two main islands were still connected by an arc of sand, pebbles and shells. We walked this dry path to the western of the two islands and walked around its perimeter. The connection was more narrow when we returned and then circled the first island, and by the time we were ready to go back to Mantra, the islands were no longer linked by land. 

The Goslings

Slender connection between two islands

Drying kelp draped over rocks on the islands

There was enough wind for sailing but unfortunately, we were heading directly into it as we made our way to Falmouth, so the iron ginny (the engine) had to work again. The 20 knot wind was gusting to 25, and we were skeptical that we could get on to the dock to pump out the holding tank and take on fuel and fresh water, but the wind lessened as we came into the lee of the hills of the mainland, and docking was easy. We pumped out, and just as we finished, the power in the area went out. We moved to the fuel and water dock and filled up with water, but the staff at Handy Boat could not pump diesel without electricity. Hoping that it would be restored soon, we stayed on the dock and delayed picking up our assigned mooring ball. However, it was a few hours until power was back; after taking on 50 gallons of fuel, we cast off and went down the fairway of the mooring field. Peter had assumed that the numbered balls would be in sequential order, but they are not. Darkness was descending and still we slowly puttered around looking for our spot. At 9:00, we finally picked up the pennant. 

Moored boats at Falmouth

We were positioned right next to a catamaran where a party was going on. "Ahoy, Mantra, do you want to come over for a nightcap?" we heard. We told them maybe later, but we were not planning on putting our dinghy in the water, so we weren't committed. However, within a few minutes, they had lowered their dinghy from their davits and came to collect us. We had missed the wine tasting part of the party but we were in plenty of time to join the dozen people for wine, hors d'oeuvre, socializing and dancing. Everyone was middle-aged or older, so the party did not last until the wee hours of the morning.

Surprisingly, I woke up and got up at 6 a.m. on Wednesday. We had no cereal, no fruit and no bread (although we had eggs), so breakfast consisted of granola bars. After doing some tidying, I went to shore in the launch and did a couple loads of laundry. Then I walked about a mile to a small grocery store and deli where there was not much available but I was able to buy bread, milk and chips. I passed many lovely and well-maintained houses and yards; most of the homes sat on at least a couple acres of land, and a few were almost small estates.

I was able to make a spicy bean and rice dish with the canned and dried food that we had. Yesterday evening, we had dinner at the Dockside Grille, a restaurant that is part of Handy Boat. Peter could not finish the large platter of spare ribs with blueberry barbecue sauce that he ordered. It was his lunch today; I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, actually one of my favorite foods. 

Today, Peter has been doing various small jobs, trying to shorten his extensive list, while I spent the entire morning cleaning the boat and organizing items to take to the Rodgers family beach vacation in Ocean City, Maryland, which starts on Saturday. After lunch, I went to shore and got a Lyft ride to the Portland airport to pick up a rental car. From there, I drove to Trader Joe's to get provisions. I happened to notice a man whom I had met yesterday by the laundry room, and we exchanged greetings. A mintue later, I started to wonder how Joel had arrived at Trader Joe's so I found him in the next aisle to ask. He was using Uber, so I offered to give him a ride to Falmouth and he happily accepted. After each of us had about eight bags of groceries, we drove to the dock, watching as a thunderstorm was approaching from the west. Luckily, the dock hands and the launch driver were on hand and eager to assist us. We loaded everything into dock carts and they got everything on the boat as I drove the car to the parking lot. I made it to Mantra without getting wet and Joel reached his boat before the rain. I think that even the launch driver and the dock hand made it back to shore before the very brief shower started. 

Our daughter Katya is arriving at the airport at 10 p.m. Our friend Enis, who will be living on our boat during out 10-day land vacation, is supposed to arrive even later, but his plane out of Minneapolis has been delayed, so he may not make it until tomorrow. 

I am excited to be making ravioli with pesto sauce and fresh tomatoes tonight--something different.

Quahog Bay, Cundy's Harbor, Potts Harbor and the Goslings

Although we have been within 20 miles of Portland, Maine--the most populous city in the state--since we arrived in Casco Bay, we have felt far removed from city life. Most of the time over the past three days, I have had one or maybe two bars of cell phone coverage and not enough bandwidth to support an Internet connection from my hotspot. So we have been mostly incommunicado. 

After our second night anchored in Cocktail Cove at Jewell Island, we got up early, kayaked to shore and hiked the short distance to the other side of the north end of the island to the Punchbowl, a large oblong body of water separated from Casco Bay during low tide. Throughout Casco Bay, low tide reveals the underlying geology of the area. The rock formations lie in a northeast striking belt from Cape Elizabeth up the coast to south of Bangor, lying in a long linear ridges. This rugged landscape was, over 400 million years ago, a flat stretch of land comprised of volcanic deposits and sedimentation. During the Paleozoic era, in the slow process of plate movements, a microcontinent called Avalonia pushed up against the landmass that later became North America (It was in the southern hemisphere at that time.), creating a syncline. These parallel folds in the earth's surface formed in periods of tectonic movement inspersed with long periods of geological rest as well as volcanic activity. Ice, water and wind have continued to erode the exposed sedimentary and metamorphosed rocks over millions of years, and the softer stones and younger rocks on the crests of the ridges have disappeared, revealing the older rock formations. While standing and hiking on the islands and while navigating up and down the many smaller bays separated by the islands and ledges (It is almost impossible to get to any place as the crow flies.) the troughs and waves of the ancient folds and the northeast orientation of the islands and ledges create a pleasant rhythm to the environment.

Peter walking by the Punchbowl

Young seal at the Punchbowl

Meadow and forest by the Punchbowl on Jewell Island

Peter near the Punchbowl

In the Punchbowl of Jewell Island and in tide pools and exposed land at low tide throughout the islands, golden-green kelp lies matted down and a multitude of limpets and snails cling to the encrusted rocks. The kelp fans out and floats as the tide rises, protecting the shoreline and dampening the waves. Surprisingly, we have not encountered fish of any size; we thought that the shallow water would be a nursery, but perhaps the large tidal fluctuations make this impossible. What we did see on the outer rocks of the Punchbowl was a young gray seal, separated from the sea and probably its mother from the open water. I almost did not notice it at first; it had been sunning itself and was dry and the color of its coat blended in with the rocks. Unfortunately, I could not get my phone out of its waterproof pouch to get a photo before it immersed itself in the shallow water. 

At 11 a.m. on Friday morning (July15), we pulled up anchor and had a great time sailing a couple hours first on a beam reach, then on a broad reach and then wing and wing, averaging 6 knots of speed in winds up to 12 knots. We passed a treeless1-acre island rising to 40 feet from mean sea level with what looked like from a distance an obelisk. As we drew closer, we realized that the monument on Little Mark Island was a steep square pyramid-shaped structure made of local granite, probably quarried from the island itself, with black lines painted vertically on the faces. The 50-foot pyramid is now a day beacon maintained by the Coast Guard, but it was built in 1827 as a shipwreck shelter. There were three of them constructed in Maine, but this is the only one surviving. The interior of an inner chamber rising to the apex, which was originally open to allow smoke from fires to escape. When in use as a shipwreck shelter, it was stocked with supplies for mariners seeking refuge there.

Little Mark Island in front of Haskell Island

Our next stop was in a cove on the northwest side of Yarmouth Island in Quahog Bay. We were surrounded by densely forested islands, open water and lobster pot buoys, near absolutely nothing, which pleased Peter. Me, not so much, particularly since there had been a lack of Diet Coke for nearly two days. It was time to launch the dinghy to search for a store. Getting the grey rubber dinghy ready to go entails winching it up from the foredeck with a halyard and lowering it into the water off the starboard bow; then using the same halyard to raise the outboard motor from the forepeak storage, across the lifelines and into the stern of the dinghy, when Peter climbs down from the gunwale and slips down four and a half feet of freeboard (something I don't think I could do) in order to position and secure the engine to its mounts; and getting the heavy fuel can from a foredeck box and taking it to the swim platform to get it into the dinghy. Peter and I can now manage to complete the whole process in under 15 minutes. 

First we motored to a cove on the west side of the farthest east peninsula that makes up the town of Harpswell. (Harpswell is composed of 24 square miles of land and 216 miles of coastline.) Google Maps indicated that it should be a short walk from the dock there to the store on the east side of this finger of land. When we went up the ramp of the floating dock to the higher land, the only person we encountered was a big-bellied man probably about our age standing outside his lobster shack and workshop by his truck and a case of Bud. He pointed in the direction of the store to the east and then told us, "You can't get there from here." He qualified that by stating that we could walk a mile north with a lagoon to our right and then make a 180 degree turn and walk down the other side for a mile. Then, he glanced at his cellphone to check the time and said, "But they're closed now." When we inquired about other places to shop, he shook his head and said there wasn't anything from the water. 

Peter had seen a marina on the chart at the head of Quahog Bay, so we dinghied to that destination, arriving around 6 p.m. The marina was small and the boatyard was large, but the only two people around, except for a man fueling up his boat and fishing from the dock (It took him less than a minute to land a big one.), were two women from New Hampshire who keep there boat there and drive up for the weekend. With their local knowledge, they were able to tell us there was a good restaurant right across the road, but it is only open for breakfast and lunch, and a small store lies about three miles away along the paved, two-laned road but they did not recommend walking along it as all the local people are crazy, speeding drivers (in their opinion). The marina did not even have a vending machine for sodas. 

Defeated in our efforts, we returned to Mantra, Peter happy in the wilderness and me grumpy without caffeine and carbonation. The highlight of the afternoon was seeing a bald eagle perched on an exposed rocky ledge as the daylight waned. It was a really quiet place to spend the night. 

Obviously, we needed to move the next morning. At 10:30, the anchor was up and we proceeded around the southern end of Yarmouth Island, West Cundy's Point and Cundy's Point, finding a lovely spot to anchor near the village of Cundy's Harbor just north of Malaga Island. We had towed the dinghy, so we were ready to set off just after we dropped our anchor. Hallelujah! The small general store, Holbrook's, had Diet Coke in 12-ounce cans and 2-liter bottles. We bought a can for immediate consumption (as well as a bottle of iced tea for Peter) and three 2-liter bottles to take back to the boat. Peter stowed the bottles in the dinghy and we took a stroll down the main (and only) street in the town after having a nice talk with a couple from Phippsburg about the area. The waterfront is lined with working wharfs for lobstermen and fishermen. The street has pleasant houses and an inviting library where we stopped to chat with the two volunteers staffing it that day, learning a bit about the history of Harpswell (in which the village is included). 

View from the restaurant

House in Cundy's Harbor

Great blue heron ready to take flight

Cundy's Harbor waterfront

Beside the little general store and above the docks, a waterfront restaurant where you order at the window and eat on the large deck beside the water. The restaurant, as well as the wharf, the general store and a large mid-19th century wooden Italianate house have been owned by the Holbrook Community Foundation since 2006. Local people oraganized the foundation and raised funds when the property was put up for sale in 2005, fearing it would be purchased by wealthy people who would not want to preserve it as a working waterfront. 

It seems that the lobstermen and fishermen still predominate. There are significantly more working vessels than pleasure craft around Harpswell. Although varying in size and color, the lobster boats seem to be all built along the same lines. The cabin is on the port side and the winch for hauling up the pots is on the starboard beam. That section of the hull often does not have a gunwale and is scarred by the pots being banged and scraped against the side. Often there are pipe structures along the stern and aft port side to keep the traps on board. There are rafts floating in the bays that are used for storing gear, and stacked pots can also be found along the shorelines of the islands, even uninhabited Malaga Island. 

Lobster boats in Cundy's Harbor

We had lunch at the restaurant, with Peter enjoying a large meal of steamed clams and lobster, strikingly attractive with it flamboyant red shell. 

Peter getting ready to eat his lobster and clams

Returning to Mantra to refrigerate the precious bottles of Diet Coke, we became surrounded by gray seals, curious and playful. Later in the day, they all hauled out on a nearby rock ledge, and we could hear their mournful-sounding calls all evening. Peter did a call and response with them using his conch shell. 

Seals everywhere!

We set off for Malaga Island, a previously inhabited island that is now belongs to the Maine Coast Heritage Trust. Of course, the island was used by Native Americans for over 1000 years before European colonization. Then, sometime during the 1860s, a small, racially mixed community was established on the north end of Malaga Island by descendants of Benjamin Darling, a free African-American who owned and resided on a nearby island. By 1900, about 40 people lived in the fishing community--black, white and interracial families--but all 47 were evicted from the island in 1912. Nearby townspeople did not like having them as neighbors; they believed the poor islanders to be inferior. Racism, growing public interest in eugenics and muckraking journalists from throughout the state all fueled the idea that the people on Malaga Island were immoral, degenerate and incapable of being self-sufficient. The State of Maine had a miscegenation law dating from 1821 (the year after the state was created) which stated that no "white person shall intermarry with a negro, indian or mulatto; and no insane person or idiot shall be capable of contracting marriage," so their relationships were shockingly illegal. In addition, economics had an influence on the local communities' and Maine's interest in removing the people from the island, as the property was seen as potentially valuable as a summer resort for wealthy tourists. Declared wards of the state, Malaga islanders were forced to leave their homes by July 1, 1912. Those who could moved their houses to the mainland. The island's missionary-run school was dismantled and relocated for another use on Muscongus Bay. Those buried in the island's small cemetery were exhumed and re-interred at the Main School for the Feeble-Minded. Eight of the former islanders were forcibly institutionalized. 

A walk around the northern end, guided by an informative brochure, leads to the foundations of some of the houses and the location of the school as well as stone-lined wells. It is possible to walk around the entire perimeter of the island, through quiet mixed-conifer forest on dried pine needle-cushioned paths. At the southern end, rocks jut out into the water, sparkling with quartz and other minerals, tilted at about 60 degrees, revealing multiple thin layers of metamorphosed sedimentary rocks with granite intrusions. Flotsom had washed up to the high tide line, including a large black trash bag which Peter used to collect and carry out offensive foam, cans, bottles and other garbage. 

Malaga Island

Malaga Island

South end of Malaga Island

The next morning, with warmer temperature allowing for shorts and t-shirts, we dinghied up the mouth of the New Meadow River and into the Basin, a large body of water with a narrow entrance and four miles of coastline, a perfect hurricane hole. Past the entrance, the watery surface stretches far and wide, the shoreline punctuated by many coves, the whole area encompassed by the green foliage of evergreens, their tops all pointing into the blue sky. Cut off from the open water, the Basin appears to be a high mountain lake. 

We were searching for the trailhead to the Mica Mine Trail. We landed the dinghy in a promising looking cove. I jumped out into a few inches of water to pull it through the mud to dry land and immediately began to sink into the mire. With muck up to my knees, I had to push myself out with my hands, so they also became coated with black, viscuous slime and my shorts and the bottom of my shirt were soaked in the water. I was not a happy camper. As I stood on a rock in the sunshine, after cleaning myself off, trying to dry, Peter went towards the woods to find a trailhead. About 10 or 15 minutes later, he returned. He had not found a trail, but he believed that we could bushwhack our way to the unseen road that would take us there. We could have motored to another cove, but we really did not know exactly where the trailhead was, so that might have not improved things. With me muttering about the situation, the two of us made our way through the underbrush, which was thankfully not dense nor infested with poison ivy, with no horizon or landmark in sight. After about 15 minutes, after climbing up the ridge, we encountered the road. Peter had enough cellphone service to use Google Maps, so we easily found the beginning of the trail, which is part of the Nature Conservancy's Basin Preserve. From the dirt road, winding up the hill, we hiked along a path that became more and more glittery, large chunks and thin slices of mica shimmering among the pitch pine needles. Magical! Soon, the abandoned pit mines, worked in the early 20th century, appeared on our left, the exposed layers still revealing lustrous ore. (There are signs stating that prospecting is unlawful, although it must be tempting.) 

Mica in Sherri's hand

Abandoned mine pit

Peter and Sherri on the trail

Trail covered in mica and feldspar

When we returned to the shore, Peter removed his shirt, hat, shoes, watch and glasses and plunged in the bracing water of the Basin to retrieve our dinghy, which was out of sight in the next cove. We did not care to bushwhack back to it, and Peter had some invigorating exercise. We were thirsty, hungry and in need of showers; we chose lunch first. We dinghied past the seal encampment and Mantra to another seafood restaurant, this one across the water from the southern end of Malaga Island, Water's Edge. Peter enjoyed more local catch, scallops stuffed with crabmeat covered with a parmesan sauce. (I had a veggie burger.) We were tempted by and indulged in the desserts, peanut butter pie with an Oreo crust for me and bourbon walnut pie for Peter. 

Peter swimming in the Basin

After our showers on the swim platform, we pulled up anchor around 4 p.m. and motored around, with no wind, to Pott's Harbor and anchored in Ash Point Cove. Peter has been exploring other options for a mooring ball than the dense field at Handy Boats in Falmouth as a place to keep the boat, with our good friend Enis on board to tend her, while we go to Ocean City, Maryland, for the annual Rodgers beach vacation. As we went by the marina at Basin Point in Harpswell, I noticed that I had no cell service, so that place was nixed because Enis will be working while living aboard and needs connectivity. I think that the reservation I made a few months ago will work just fine. 

The air became misty around sunset, and the islands and mainland became smudgy. The moon rising over the pines later at night was a pumpkin orange ball. The mist became dense fog by mid-morning, and a small craft warning is in effect for tonight. With visibility poor, we relied on the GPS and the radar to navigate around Basin Point and then north to the Goslings, two little islands just off the point of Lower Goose Island. The water vapor composing the thick fog condensed into liquid, and it began to rain shortly after we anchored here. Tomorrow, the sun is supposed to return and we hope to expore the Goslings, which are part of the Maine Coast Heritage Trust. 

Mist, Pott's Harbor

Unfortunately, my connection is not strong enough for photos to be uploaded, so they will appear later.

Jewell Island, Maine

We left Stage Island Harbor yesterday morning, after experiencing a delightful rain storm two evenings ago, with heavy rain, thunder and lightening and a double rainbow stretching from Stage Island to Cape Island. Pulling up anchor, we maneuvered out of the harbor without the instrument displaying the course through the entrance working so it was a bit of adventure at the helm navigating past all the lobster pot buoys and the rocks below water level, but we made it without hitting anything, not even a single pot!

Thunderstorm at Stage Island Harbor

Rainbow and lightning at Stage Island Harbor

Negotiating past rocks on Trott Island

Since Peter had worked on the engine again, we used it for a while at high revs to burn off gunk and see how it worked. He is convinced now that the shaft must be slightly bent, but that cannot be fixed now. As soon as there was sufficient wind, we killed the engine and sailed along nicely at 4 to 5 knots, sheeting the sails out to fly wing and wing for the last part of the trip to Jewell Island. 

At Jewell Island in Casco Bay, everyone anchors in Cocktail Cove, which is long but narrow. Because it is necessary to allow enough room to swing when the wind changes, larger sailboats have to drop in one behind the other while smaller sailboats and powerboats scatter about. Two other boats arrived in the cove later in the day and dropped in behind us out to the entrance of the cove. We were visited by people from the two boats in front of us who were sailing for a week together out of Beverly, Massachusetts. The wooden boat just ahead of us was owned by Ed, and his brother Mike and his wife Jessica were on the next vessel. They came on board to see our boat since it is fairly unique (Only 26 Sundeers were built.), and we stopped by Mike and Jessica's boat for drinks after we had hiked.

The island, along with others in Casco Bay, was part of the U.S. military's defense system during WWII with three coastal artillary gun batteries and submarine watchtowers. Its purpose was to guard against mainland attacks on Portland, Maine, the closest U.S. port to Europe, as well as the South Portland Shipyard, which produced 236 liberty ships from 1941 to 1945. We climbed the highest of the towers for spectacular views of the bay, the Atlantic Ocean and the mainland. 

Halfway Rock Light from Jewell Island watchtower

View of some islands in Casco Bay

Trail with soft duff

Jewell Island before sunset

Somehow, we have neglected to stock insect repellent on the boat, and the mosquitoes and other insects love the Maine woods. Fortunately, although they stayed with us, often making that annoying sound near my ears, they did not inflict any harm. The trails on this unpopulated island (with the exception of a summer caretaker) are well-maintained and parts of them are covered with fine duff, making them soft to walk on.

This morning, around high tide, Peter and I kayaked to the south end of the island and then along the west side of Little Jewell, which becomes its own block of land in high water rather the skinny side of a horseshoe, with the cove open to the Bay from the south as well as the north during those times. The tidal range is increasing; it is now 12 feet. 

Outcrop of rock on Jewell Island

Eroded metamorphic rock on shore

Mantra in Cocktail Cove, Jewell Island

Peter has worked on the generator today--he thinks that after four and a half years he has finally pinpointed the reason it stutters out seemingly randomly but nevertheless reliably. There is a small arm on the solenoid that appears to be either temperature or vibration sensitive; he removed it, and the generator ran smoothly for over an hour, until it quit under our command rather than its own will. Also, he equalized the house batteries (whatever that means--and, no, I don't know what a solenoid is). 

It is very peaceful and slow here, and there are no mooring balls. We have spent some time identifying birds, including herring gulls in their third year, olive-sided flycatchers and arctic terns.

The sun is getting low in the western sky and we are enjoying drinks in the pilot house. For the first time since we left Boston, it is warm on the water, although not hot. We were able to kayak in just swimsuits this morning. It is cooling down some as the daylight wanes, so we have on fleeces on deck. 

Stage Island Harbor, Maine

Stage Island Harbor is a scenic place and we are enjoying our time here even though the boat is rocking constantly. The motion is great for sleeping! Perhaps doctors should prescribe time on a boat for insomniacs.

Peter is getting a lot of work done down in the engine room, again fine-tuning the engine mounts and working on the generator, and I have been painting and reading and doing laundry. There is a small craft advisory until tomorrow, so we are not venturing on until then.

On our way here, Peter spotted the first whale we have seen. Although it was relatively close to us, it only surfaced briefly a couple of times, so we could not make a definite identification of the species, although our Guide to Marine Mammals suggests it was a minke whale.

The entrance to this harbor is narrow and made more challenging by the closely spaced lobster pot buoys in the open water and in the anchorage. I was at the helm, maneuvering for the entrance between two rocky points while trying to avoid the mine field of colorful buoys when a sudden thud pronounced that the cutting device on our propellor had severed a line connected to the pot resting on the bottom. When we arrived, there were more than a dozen boats in the harbor, so we dropped anchor near Cape Island on the more exposed southern end. In a few hours, most of the Sunday day trippers had left and we chose to move to a spot behind the shelter of Stage Island slightly to the north. We had drifted back from where we had dropped the anchor and did know that a buoy was under our stern. A reverberating clunk-clunk alerted us as I pushed the throttle forward, and we immediate cut the engine and dropped the anchor. We could not see a free-floating buoy and assumed one was still beneath us. The water was clear but cold and there was current--not good for free diving, so our only option was to restart the engine and throttle forward again to cut the line. An neon orange and white buoy popped up and drifted away from its pot. We re-anchored and by sunset, Mantra and another sailboat were the only vessels left.

Lobster pot buoys at the entrance to Stage Island Harbor

As we go farther north, the tidal range increases; it is about 10 feet at our current anchorage. At low tide, many of the islands surrounding Stage Island Harbor and neighboring Cape Porpoise Harbor to the southwest are no longer isolated pieces of land but are connected to the each other and the mainland by rocky ledges or vast stretches of sandy beaches. Kelp colonies are exposed and snails and other creatures cling to the granite blocks. It is possible to walk from one small town to another. 

Yesterday, we kayaked in to the beach. Peter went to an abandoned shack on Little Stage Island for shelter from the wind to spray paint a piece of the engine block that he had filed in order to prevent rusting and I roamed the shore barefoot, across vast stretches of fine dark sand and through tidal pools. I was able to walk to Bickford Island and get a view of Goat Island Lighthouse to the southwest and then north as far as Nessler Point. Homes that were far from the water at low tide became waterfront property later in the day at high tide. Some of these properties have wooden ramps or staircases that end in the air at low tide and then disappear in the water at high tide. We saw small boats--lasers or similar craft--gliding across shallow water where I had been walking a few hours before. 

Mantra and another sailboat in Stage Island Harbor

Stage, Cape and Trott Islands on the horizon from the beach

View from the sand toward Nessler Point at low tide

Cape Island from Trott Island at low tide

Snail leaving a trail under an inch of water

Colorful low tide on Trott Island

View from Trott Island showing high tide line on rocks of Stage Island

Life revealed at low tide

Sand and rocks between Trott, Redin and Brickford Islands

View toward Nessler Point at high tide; all sand at low tide

Narrow opening between Little Stage Island and Cape Island at high tide

View toward Bickford Island at high tide; all sand at low tide

While it was shorts and t-shirt weather a week ago in Boston and it is still in the high 70's or low 80's inland here, it is nippy out here on the water, necessitating sweatpants and fleece tops on board for me. (Peter still wears shorts.) 

Now I must prepare lunch. Our supplies of fresh food are runny quite low, and I am stretching them a much as possible and getting inventive with cans of beans, rice and pasta.