Northeast Harbor to Clark's Cove near New Bedford, Massachusetts

We left Northeast Harbor yesterday (Thursday, Sept. 29) just after 8 a.m. with sunny skies and crisp autumn weather. Once we exited the harbor, we found 1-3 foot seas and 12-18 knot wind from the north. With the peaks of the water sparkling like crystals in the sunshine, we averaged 8 knots of speed as we flew south with the favorable wind. 

Sunset in the Gulf of Maine

Mantra sailing into the sunset

The wind decreased and became light and variable around 2:30 in the afternoon, and we were forced to use the engine until after the glowing orange sunset, when the wind picked up again. We sailed through the night, taking turns on watch and sleeping when we could. Near dawn, the engine was needed again for a couple hours, as we were running down wind, but before 9 a.m. we were able to travel using the wind. We made better time from Northeast Harbor than anticipated, and we hove to and waited for the current to change before entering the Cape Cod Canal from the east. 

We had planned to anchored just after the canal, in Onset Bay, one of our favorite New England anchorages, but we chose to use the good weather to get a bit farther. We are now anchored near New Bedford, Massachusetts, in Clark's Cove. We may sit here for the entire day tomorrow, and maybe longer, because heavy rain is predicted to begin in the morning. The wind will continue to blow from the northeast--light tomorrow, from 6-10 knots with gusts to 22, and then it increases to 20-25 knots on Sunday and Monday, with squalls and gusts to 36. If we can find a brief window to reach Narragansatt Bay tomorrow, we may make a break for it. We are so close to our final destination, Portsmouth, Rhode Island; we can get there under sail or diesel power in about 6 hours. 

A red-breasted nuthatch was hitching a ride with us. Peter was particularly concerned that it didn't have a source of fresh water, but he didn't want to disturb the poor thing as it nestled in among the folds of the staysail on the foredeck. Unfortunately, it did not survive the trip and Peter buried it at sea after we anchored.

For now, we are cocooned down below. Even out of the weather, I wear my fleece beanie and wool socks almost all the time, sometimes even when I'm sleeping. Since the generator is still unreliable, we are using the space heater rarely and the built-in heater not at all. I am so thankful for the invention of the hot water bottle. Pure genius! 

Eastport to Northeast Harbor without ever leaving the boat

Peter had a great time at the Moose Island Marine Supply store in Eastport, where he went after finishing his meal and catching up on a few things on the Internet. He purchased a new Racor diesel filter unit because, I am sorry to report, the generator is still not quite right. When I met up with him, he was excited to have met knowledgable sales people at a store that was actually seriously stocked for boats. He decided he needed one more fitting, so we both went there. The salesman gave a lot of thought and devoted much time to finding a cone-shaped piece that would be perfect and was a bit dismayed when he could only come up with a part that would work well but could have been designed a bit better for the job. (It has to do with male and female cones pressure fittings and angles and things that Peter tells me are too complicated to write about in the blog. Personally, I think I am up to it, but you will have to find your own YouTube video.)

Around 5:30 that evening, we cast off from the Eastport dock. With no wind but current in our favor, we motored for an hour to reach Hersey Cove in the back bays of the far eastern coast of Maine. That evening was the calm before the storm. It began to rain early in the night and rained continuously all of Thursday, Sept. 22. White caps streamed past the windows as we stayed dry if not particularly warm inside.

The rain let up on Friday morning (Sept. 23). With Hurricane Fiona going by on her way to strike the Canadian Maritimes, high seas and stronger winds were predicted on the Atlantic Ocean close Maine’s eastern shore (sustained wind up to 60 knots with gusts up to 90); we were obviously not leaving the protection of the backwaters. Peter had learned from the marine supply man of an even better hurricane hole than Hersey Cove, so before noon, after the rain had stopped, we weighed anchor and motored through the wind and the waves to Schooner Cove. There was a substantial current flowing through a narrow passage, and our whitewater reading skills were put to use in determining the best place to enter the slot. In the cove, there are four enormous mooring balls, obviously intended to be used in storm conditions, but we chose to edge in closer to shore and drop anchor.

The wind continued to rise as the day went by and we passed the hours hiding from the hurricane reading, playing games and listening to the radio. (We hadn’t heard Science Friday on NPR in months!) Peter did some line splicing and minor jobs and I cooked and played word games on my own. Hurricanes are intense and the conditions outside are magnificently violent, but huddling inside can be immensely boring. 

Mantra kept us safe, but the winds pushed her around a lot. When she was turned beam to the wind, we were heeled over as if we were sailing close-hauled or close reach. We avoided the full force of wind and rain on the Maine coast, but we still experienced sustained winds around 20 knots, and we believe that the winds were near gale force for a while during the night. Our instruments recorded a 37.8 high.

This shot of the navigation screen shows the amount of movement of Mantra. The dark red is actually dozens of overlapping lines. Normally, there is one or two lines representing changing tides, currents of wind. 

Stormy sunset before the rain

We stayed in bed late on Saturday morning (Sept. 24) because the wind was still howling and we were obviously not going anywhere that day. We spent our long hours similarly to the way we had the day before. By late afternoon, the wind had died down to a gentle breeze and slim streaks of blue sky peeked through the mottled gray clouds. The sunset was not spectacular but tinges of pink dusted the eastern horizon as night fell and our boat sat still in the water with only a pleasant and almost imperceptible rocking.

On Sunday, Sept. 25, under rain-washed clear skies, we moved to Cutler Harbor in Maine. As we left the cove, we could see the white water of reversing falls ahead of us; fortunately, we were not headed that way. (Reversing falls are more common in the northern Gulf of Maine tributaries than the hoopla about Saint Johns Reversing Falls might lead you to believe, but they don’t all have a bridge over them for good viewing.) We turned to port and headed out through the bay in a strong current. I was at the helm, and it was quite exciting reading the currents like whitewater to steer a 56-foot-boat, using ferry angles to cross the incoming stream and a large eddy to avoid the current.

After the storm

Once we were out at sea, the wind increased to 10-15 knots from the SSW, but the waves were only 1 foot. Unfortunately, southwest was the direction of our course, so we were fighting the wind. The water in the harbor was calm when we arrived at Cutler around 5 p.m. but the temperature had decreased and the blue skies had disappeared behind thick gray clouds.

There was a small craft advisory on Monday, Sept. 26, but that did not stop us; we are desperate to escape Maine. It was calm in Cutler Harbor, but as we passed by Little River Island, the wind and the seas increased. Out at sea the waves were five feet, coming in five second intervals. The wind was blowing 15 knots, then 20 then 25, and we were going against it. Conditions were chilly and not pleasant.

Dodging hundreds of lobster pot buoys as we entered shelter through Englishman Bay, we reached calm water and navigated into Shorey Cove on the north side of Roque Island. Later in the day, we could hear the wind whistling through the tree tops and through the rigging, but we were quite stable. (It had been a bit rocky at Cutler.) From the north shore of Roque Island, we could see the Gardner houses on the eastern side of the cove. That family has quite an impressive piece of property.

While I did some cooking and assessed our provisioning needs, Peter hanked on the staysail at the bow of the boat because he thought we would have done well with it that day and conditions were predicted to remain the same. (In the end, we did not use it.)

After we hauled up our anchor around 9:30 on Tuesday, Sept. 27, we all too quickly left the sunshine behind and headed into thick fog on the eastern side of Roque Island, fog which enclosed us in its white and gray mist until we reached our destination in Northeast Harbor. We used sail power as much as we could with the 10-15 knot southwest winds. Even though visibility was only 1/8 of a mile, and water condensed from the fog dripped everywhere and ran in droplets across the windows of the pilot house, and 5 foot waves were rolling under—and sometimes across—the bow every 5 seconds, and constant attention was needed because we found lobster pot buoys miles off shore in up to 200 feet of water, the sailing was great. The lobster pots were a nuisance, particularly because we only had about a boat length of time to maneuver around them once we spotted them in the waves and fog.

Sherri in layers of warm clothes

View looking forward in the fog

Peter at the helm in the fog

The rolling motion of the boat in the waves made me sleepy, so I had to take a nap down below for a while. Luckily, I had made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, as trying to prepare a meal down below would have been mildly nauseating.

At 5:45 p.m., we arrived in Northeast Harbor and picked up a mooring ball (after avoiding collision with other moored boats as Peter started to yell instructions at me when he didn’t like the course I was steering, and I don’t perform well when there is shouting). By the time we stopped, sunshine was just beginning to appear, but then the fog rolled in at sunset.

The great news is that the sun has been shining all day today, and I was able to walk around in bare feet once again. We opened the vents from the dorade boxes and some of the hatches—how wonderful it was to let fresh air in after being tightly closed up inside for way too long!

We needed diesel fuel; we have had to motor more than we would have liked. Around mid-morning, I called Clifton Dock to check their hours, and it is a good thing we didn’t wait a moment longer because the owner was just waiting for one other boat that had called ahead for fuel and then she was closing for the season! There have been many signs that maybe we are a bit late leaving this area!

Peter and Mantra at Clifton Dock

Clifton Dock

After we re-moored, we launched the dinghy and loaded it up with laundry, trash, books I have already read, grocery bags, mail, laptops, towels and toiletries and headed for shore. The launch service for the mooring field ceased seasonal operation a couple weeks ago, but the yachtsman’s facility with wonderful hot showers, extremely efficient washers and dryers, and Internet service is open. As soon as I put a couple loads in the washers (Should I mention that we ran out of clean underwear days ago?), I hesitated no longer in getting myself clean. After days of wearing a fleece beanie almost all the time, even inside the boat, I was suffering from severe hat head.

We have a shower on the boat and hot water after we have run the engine, the shower is hand-held. For us, it is luxury to stand under a shower head and have hot water envelope us in its warmth. We also have a washing machine but no dryer, so without any sunshine, it would have been futile to hand clothes on the lifelines, and it was so damp inside the boat that wet laundry would have never dried. Really! It takes the dishes hours and hours to dry in the rack and the towels we use for drying ourselves after infrequent showers remain damp for days.

Autumn has arrived here, and already there are brightly colored trees in shades of red, gold and orange contrasting with the deep green of the evergreens. If it could be sunny like this at least more than half of the time, the Maine coast would be more welcoming to me.

Tomorrow morning we set sail (and we hope to sail!) to cross the central and southern part of the Gulf of Maine, transit through the Cape Cod Canal and stop for a rest after a couple days on the water in Buzzards Bay in Massachusetts. I don’t like night sailing, but we both are feeling a strong urge to reach Rhode Island. 

Saint John River, Saint Andrews again and Eastport, Maine

On Thursday, Sept. 15, we spent another day on the dock at the Royal Kennebeccasis Yacht Club. When we had gone to bed the previous evening, the wind was blowing at 15 knots and gusting to 20. In the morning, the wind was 20, gusting to 30. The rigging on the dozens of sailboats was clanging and clattering all around, making the dock a very noisy place.

Simone, one of the lovely women at the club (on Mixed Blessing with her husband), stopped by to see if I wanted to go to the supermarket with her. At first, I declined, thinking Peter would be ready to leave soon. Then, when I asked, he told me he would be busy for two more hours, so I quickly changed my plan. Our supply of fresh fruits and vegetables was woefully low. On the way back from the store, Simone, who had bought us flowers for our boat, offered to cut my hair. She is a retired salon owner and hairdresser. I agreed that having an inch trimmed off would be a good idea, but by the time I had put the groceries away, addressed some birthday cards, put the flowers in a vase and had lunch with Peter, I had decided to go back to my old, pre-COVID hairstyle, which is short, with no need for blow-drying or putting it in a ponytail. Actually, I had planned to do this on I returning home in October, but then I thought, “Why wait?” She did an incredible job and I am so happy with the results.

Sunflowers in a Camelback water bottle

Sherri with her new haircut

Much more than two hours later, with help in the high winds from four club members on the dock, we cast off our lines and sailed up the Kennebecasis River. (The spelling is different from the name of the yacht club because of an error made in the documents from the Crown, and who would dare to correct the queen?) The electric windlass we use for raising the mainsail did not sound right, so we aborted that effort and used the genoa instead. A smaller boat with a larger genoa passed us, but we were side-by-side for a while and able to have a good conversation. All the people here are so friendly and genuine in their well-wishes for our journey. 

Sherri enjoying the sail up the river

We picked up one of the yacht club member’s mooring balls in Cathline’s Cove. The small, tree-covered hills on shore provided shelter from the wind, and it was quite peaceful. We had plenty of time for a game of Scrabble; Peter got all the good letters and won!

On Friday, Sept. 16, the northwest wind continued to roar and we stayed in Cathline’s Cove for the day and another night. Peter worked on the electric windlass, secured the hot water tank and did other jobs. I amused myself the best I could cleaning, reading, doing embroidery, coloring, cooking and playing games. It was brisk outside, and I stayed down below.

The next day (Sat., Sept. 17) was cold but sunny. Peter puttered and I did various unimportant things until noon, when we gracefully slipped off the mooring ball in Cathline’s Cover after raising the main and set off without using the engine. Then we raised and set the genoa to sail down the Kennebecasis close-hauled, turning up into the Saint John River, only using the engine briefly when we had a stretch that took us directly into the wind. With one reef, we were flying along , heeled over, past the verdant low hills on either side of the river. At 4:30 p.m., we picked up the mooring ball of Mixed Blessing, from the Royal Kennebecassis Yacht Club, and settled in with about half a meter under the keel.

The leaves are beginning to display their autumn colors

Peter was concerned about the zincs under the stern of the boat, so he put on his swim suit and dove under to inspect them. (Both are still there.) Since he was wet, he took a shower on the swim platform. I followed suit, although the warmth factor in the late afternoon was marginal. 

The shores of the Kennebecasis and Saint John Rivers that we have seen are sparsely populated and covered in new-growth trees. The leaves on some of the deciduous trees are just beginning to turn autumn colors. (There was a frost warning for the coming night, so more changes in hue are on the way.) When it is not overcast or raining, the clarity of the air is amazing here. The air quality index hovers between 1 and 2. The air is so clean, and everything appears so vivid. I find this to be the most attractive feature of the area.

There are more ferry crossings than bridges around here. We believe that this was the first time we had crossed over ferry cables. 

Two ferries crossing the Saint John River

Although it rained into the early afternoon on Sunday, Sept. 18, after the skies cleared and we had lunch, we began our southward journey just before 4 p.m. There was no wind, so we motored downstream to reach McCormack Cove at the mouth of the Kennebecasis, picking up another convenient mooring ball. Luckily, we had the small space heater running while we motored downstream, so after we settled in, it was warm down below. 

On Monday, Sept. 19, the fog was dense and visibility was poor, less than 2 miles. There was no wind and the sea was like glass. We motored down the Saint John River and out into the ocean for three hours, from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. By then, the wind was up to about 7 knots and the current was in our favor, heading south, and we were cruising on a port tack, close hauled for an hour at 5 knots. An hour later, conditions changed; the wind died and the current was no longer pushing us, so we lowered the main and continued on with the engine and the genoa. By 3:30 p.m., the fog had lifted and visibility was good, and we hoisted the main and lowered the genoa and picked up the same mooring ball in Saint Andrews Harbor just after 6 p.m. and just before the rain.

Sailing into the fog

Tuesday, Sept. 20, we were trapped on the boat all day. It rained continuously. Peter spent some time reprogramming SSB stations. We played a lot of games and turned on the heat intermittently to keep the chill away. I went from three layers down below to four, adding my down jacket, which actually helped a lot. 

Today, Wednesday, Sept. 21, we have returned to the United States, getting a cruising permit for our boat and clearance for us in Eastport, Maine, the farthest inhabited area in the country. We passed by Old Sow again at a non-treacherous time, but we could see the whirlpool beginning to form.

Old Sow beginning to form

We are having lunch and enjoying Wi-Fi access at the Horn Run Brewery in Eastport after walking along Water Street and visiting a few shops and small museums. The brightly colored statue of a fisherman holding a fish, dedicated to a reality TV show winner who lost his life as a firefighter at the 9/11 attack, is a major feature of the working waterfront. Eastport is a busy working lobster and fishing port, but it is no longer the major shipping port it was in the mid-19th century, when it rivaled New York City. The town suffered three major fires in the the 19th century, so the edifices date from the late 19th century.

Museum of the Quoddy Dam Project, a proposal to use the tides for power

Fisherman statue

Water Street in Eastport

The Tides Institute and Art Museum

The Peavey Library

Former bank building

Display in the Tides Institute

Displays in the Tides Institute

I actually do not mind being active sailing the boat in chilly weather; it’s being inside and shivering that bothers me. So southward we go! Bahamas or Bust!

Sorry, there are no photos due to technical difficulties. I will try to add them later.

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I fixed the problem. I also edited HTML earlier on this post! I am so proud of myself.

Mistake Island, Roque Island and Cutler, Maine; Saint Andrews and the Royal Kennebeccasis Yacht Club

I'm back! We have finally reached a place where we have a reliable and strong Internet connection, and I have been able to catch up on downloading, editing and labelling photos and now it is time to bring the blog up to date.

On Sunday, Sept. 4, after a nice stay in Northeast Harbor, we left the mooring field and headed to what is called the Bold Coast, first destination Mistake Island. We had good wind for sailing on a broad reach and made good time, although we did have to heave to and disentangle ourselves from toggle lines connecting two lobster buoys twice! At least it was good practice in stopping the boat and drifting backward--useful for man overboard recovery.

We arrived in Mistake Harbor (the name supposed to be a corruption of a Native American name), rounding the southeast end of Mistake Island, passing the Moose Peak Light, heading NW with Knight Island on our starboard side and turned in to the Eastern Bay, anchoring with Mistake Island to the east and Water Island to the west. Only one other boat was in the anchorage. It was very peaceful and the scenery was lovely. We thought of kayaking to shore before sunset but felt like relaxing. This may have been a mistake because rain set in that evening and we stayed on board all day on Monday as the rain continued, and we never explored the land.

Passing by Knight Island

Buoys in the passage

Moose Peak Lighthouse

Seal in the harbor

On Tuesday, Sept. 6, the winds were light, so we motored to our next stop, Roque Island, the site of the greatest beach in Maine. The white sand beach stretches for a mile along the crescent-shaped shore. After lunch, we kayaked to the shore and took our time strolling in the fine-grained sand and observing the features of the island.

Peter walking along the beach

Patterns made by the ebbing tide

Roque Island beach

Peter and Sherri enjoying the beach

The native Passamaquoddy Indians used the islands of the archipelago for seasonal camps. It was intermittenly settled by whites in the late 1700s, and in the early 1800s, Joseph Peabody of Salem, Massachusetts acquired the deed to the island. His descendants inherited it in 1844, particularly his daughter Catherine, who was the wife of John Lowell Gardner of Boston. Though previous to Peabody's death the land was used for shipbuilding and farming, these activities ceased and the island became a summer retreat for the family. One family member was the wife of James Gardner, Isabella Stewart Gardner, whose museum I visited with Louise in early July.

The family, organized as a corporation since 1940, still owns the 2500-acre, nine-island cluster. Members of the board of the corporation must be 18 years of age and direct descendents of George Ausustus Gardner. There are over 60 board members now, and family vacations must be scheduled far in advance for the three houses on the main island. 

Peter and Sherri bundled up for sailing

Little River Island Lighthouse from Mantra

Buoy showing the strength of the current

We enjoyed a very peaceful evening in Roque Island Harbor and then pulled up anchor before 9 a.m. to use the current to reach Cutler, Maine, the last stop before Canada, on Wednesday, Sept. 7. At noon, we anchored south of most of the moorings and were still on deck when a man and his son motored up in their skiff. Kurt, the father, is also an OCC member and had seen our burgee; he and his wife recently completed a circumnavigation. The two came aboard to chat, keeping us informed about every lobster boat that came into the harbor. Before they left, they invited us to their house on the hill overlooking the harbor for lobster dinner (pasta for me). This was very kind of them, and we accepted, although we hadn't planned to launch the dinghy. Not a problem. Swen, the son, would pick us up at 6. 

After lunch, we launched the kayak and paddled to Little River Island as recommended by Kurt and Swen. The light station has been owned owned by the American Lighthouse Foundation since 2002 and cared for by the Friends of Little River Lighthouse, although the Coast Guard still operates it as a navigational aid. There is a boardwalk through the woods to the ocean side of the island and the buildings. The 41-foot lighthouse was built in 1876 and was a three-man station until 1973, when it became a one-man station. The actual light was moved to a skeleton tower in 1980, but, through the efforts of the American Lighthouse Foundation, it was restored to the top of the lighthouse in 2001. 

Little River Island

Staircase to the top of the lighthouse

View from Little River Island

Little River Island Lighthouse

We met the man who is the caretaker, who was cooking in his kitchen. Terry Rowden first came to the lighthouse in 1968 and served as the lightkeeper there until 1970 as a member of the Coast Guard. Now, he and his wife are in charge of maintenance and the operation of the facility as a guest house. The inside of the house still retains its mid-20th century appearance, with a formica-topped kitchen table and older appliances, rag rugs and mid-century furniture.

After chatting with Terry, we took the spiral staircase up the inside of the lighthouse. The views from the top are amazing, and we observed that everything is meticulously maintained. We were able to crawl through the hatch to the outside for unobstructed panoramas. We walked above the sea among wildflowers and evergreen trees before returning to the dock, which was partially submerged in the water with the high tide. 

Peter at the partially submerged dock

View of Cutler from the kayak

At 6 p.m., Swen picked us up and, from the dock, we climbed the 80 stairs to the sloping lawn and found Kurt busy in the kitchen. Their home is lovely, and we had a particularly relaxing and enjoyable time with them, enjoying the good food and wine and beer and interesting conversation on a variety of topics. Kurt's wife is already in Newport, Rhode Island, and Swen and Kurt were sailing off the next morning to Narragansett Bay. Like us, they are taking their boat to New England Boatworks in Portsmouth, RI, for work, so it is possible we may meet again.

To take advantage of the current, we set off a dawn on Thursday, Sept. 8, for New Brunswick. We were expecting waves from recent hurricane activity around Bermuda, but the sea was glass, although we could feel gentle swells. There was absolutely no wind, so we motored. We crossed into the Atlantic Time Zone, so it was 11 a.m. at our destination, Head Harbour Public Dock on Campbobello Island. From there, we contacted Canadian authorities by phone and cleared into the country. 

Head Harbour Light

At 2 p.m., we cast off the dock lines as the tide continued to ebb, and went to Doctors Cove on Deer Island where we anchored for an hour and a half to wait for a favorable current to take us to Saint Andrews. Around 4:30, we raised anchor and rounded the southern tip of Deer Island and passed by the Old Sow Whirlpool, the oldest one in the western hemisphere. At this place, there is a 20 foot tidal range and the waters of the Bay of Fundy and Passamaquoddy Bay are exchanged. This, along with the particular bathymetry of the seafloor in this location, causes a vortex that can be 250 feet in diameter. Of course, this is not what we saw because we chose our time for minimal turbulence. We could feel the currents shoving the boat and see a vortex a few feet in diameter, but safe passage necessitated not heading up the Western Passage of Deer Island at Old Sow's peak.

Old Sow

In Saint Andrews Harbour, we picked up a large mooring ball at 5 p.m. As Peter was securing the lines, a man came by in his dinghy to tell us that we were welcome to use the ball (In fact, he was coming to us to recommend it before we snagged the pennant.); a friend of his owned it and was not using it this season.

The next morning (Friday, Sept. 9), we set off in the dinghy for town. We were overdressed for the weather on shore that day and for at least some of the time felt sweaty in our jeans and t-shirts; our fleeces were tied around our waists. At the dock, we took showers and then left our toiletries and towels on the dinghy to walk around. We strolled up King Street (named after King George III), passing old buildings and churches. In 1783, at the end of the Revolutionary War, the town was settled by American Loyalists wanting to remain part of the British Empire. It was laid out in a typical grid. Except for Water Street by the shore of the harbor, the streets are named for governors of the colony parallel to Water Street and, perpendicular to Water Street, for the children of King George III. (There are 13 cross streets.) 

We spent three and a half hours at Kingsbrae Horticultural Garden, 27 acres of beauty. It is divided into many sections. My favorite was the large perennial garden; Peter's was the Secret Garden. We both enjoyed the Sculpture Garden, with dozens of pieces of art situated in lovely planted area. We had lunch on the terrace of the cafe with views across a lawn to the hills on the far horizon. The food was superb and filling, and we enjoyed it the shade of a large oak tree. 

Perennial garden

Orchard

Edible Garden

Hydrangea and black-eyed susans

Dragon sculpture

Peter walking in the garden

View from the cafe's terrace

Cafe and gallery

Leopard sculpture

Top of a sculpture tree

Sculpture Garden

Sculpture Garden

Sculpture Garden, our favorite piece

Secret Garden

After spending hours in the garden, including a short stroll through the undeveloped Acadian forest, we walked southeast down the hill to the Pagan Point Nature Preserve. The preserve is the last undeveloped shoreside wetlands in Saint Andrews. The pebbly beach exposed at low tide is abutted by rich marshland with ponds and dense native plants, many of them still flowering late in the season. Its wildness was a contrast to the human designed, carefully planned and maintained Kingsbrae Garden; both abounded in treats for the eye, large and small.

Pagan Point Nature Preserve (with heron on right side of pond)

Fawn and doe

Deer

Our next stop was the Algonquin Resort situated on the hill overlooking the harbor. The elegant, expansive hotel opened in 1889, in Canada's first seaside resort town. In 1914, the original building was destroyed by fire; the current edifice opened in 1915, designed in semi-Tudor style with a bright red tile roof. We had drinks (afternoon tea for Peter and a hard cider for me) accompanied by a small but tasty creme brûlée with berries. 

Algonquin Hotel

Down the hill, we stopped to visit the Saint Andrews Blockhouse, one of three defensive structures constructed during the War of 1812 to defend the harbor. Its existence was apparently was enough to keep the privateers away from the port; it never saw any action.

Saint Andrews Blockhouse

Unlike a lot of places we stop, Saint Andrews has a supermarket within two blocks of the dinghy dock. Peter took a right at the wharf to get our grocery bags from the dinghy and I proceeded to the store to pick out items. After our grocery run, we returned to Mantra and put our feet up; they were tired from so much walking. 

We observed the dramatic sunset from the wharf and then watched the full moon rise in the east shortly after that from the deck of Mantra. The spring tide was 24 feet, laying bare extensive mud flats in front of the town.

Near low water at spring tide

Sun sinking in the west

Full moon rising in the east

The next day (Saturday, Sept. 10), we stayed on board. Peter finished installing the new Tiny Pilot system and in the afternoon we dropped the mooring ball and squeezed through the narrow opening into the Western Channel to drive in circles and calibrate the system.

Around 7 p.m., we began to think about dinner and decided to go to shore for a meal out. We didn't hurry and we arrived after 8 p.m. Our first choice of restaurants had stopped serving (on a Saturday evening!) at 8 p.m. and the waitress informed us that was usual for all the restaurants. Across the street, the Red Herring was serving until 8:45, so that's where we ended up. The service was excellent and the food was ok but nothing to right home about. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the evening.

It was another early start the next morning (Sunday, Sept. 11). We were off the mooring ball before 7:30 and motoring (no wind again!) toward St. John. Even though we timed our departure according to the currents, we still found ourselves being pushed around through L'Etete Passage between the mainland and Deer Island. The water was turbulent and behaving like whitewater on the rivers. We anchored around 1 p.m. behind Gooseberry Island in a bay just west of the Musquash Estuary.

Whitewater in the passage

Peter had work to do on the boat, so it was approaching sunset we we took the kayak to shore. The mosquitoes were swarming everywhere, but with repellent we were relatively safe from bites if not the annoyance. Part of the shore is sand and part is covered in polished, round rocks approaching the size of bowling balls. On the eastern side of the bay, there are ledges of various kinds of rock, some with quartz seams. They created perfect places for rainwater to be retained as nurseries for the pests.

Mantra from the shore

Sand and rocks

Tumbled stones

Mosquitoes clinging to Peter's shirt and flying around his hat

We stayed until after the sunset and then made a hasty retreat. Paddling as fast and hard as I ever had, we were still unable to shake the mosquitoes and I had to stop occasionally to rake them out of my hair. We resorted to chemical warfare with bug spray in the cockpit and sealed ourselves down below as quickly as we could.

Pulling up anchor around 9 a.m. on Monday (Sept. 12), with death wishes for the mosquitoes, we motored once again to a new destination, the Royal Kennebeccasis Yacht Club situated where the Kennebecasis River flows into the Saint John, eastern Canada's largest river. We had to time our passage through the famous Reversing Falls for slack tide, so, just like the giant Old Sow whirlpool, we were unable to observe the series of rapids that flow inland twice a day and toward the Bay of Fundy twice a day with a difference in tidal level of about 28 feet. Navigation for anything other than whitewater kayaks and canoes is inadvisable when the natural wonder manifests itself. 

We arrived at the yacht club just after noon and were greeted warmly by three members on the dock who helped us tie up. We have now been here two days and have met many of the friendly and knowledgeable members, all of whom are effusively enthusiastic about their prestigious club, which has a royal warrant granted by Queen Victoria in 1898, as well as the area of the Saint John River. This evening, Peter crewed in the Wednesday evening sailboat race, which was a lot of fun for him. 

Peter (in yellow shirt) on Mustang heading off to race

Tomorrow we continue up the Saint John River, probably taking advantage of mooring balls offered to us for our use by members of the club.