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| Village of North Haven in the Fox Islands |
The morning of August 21, we exited Hurricane Sound through
Leadbetter Narrows, between Leadbetter Island and Vinalhaven, and
motored north toward the entrance to the Fox Islands Thorofare. “Fox
Islands” is the name given to the group of islands in the middle of
Penobscot Bay that includes large North Haven and Vinalhaven plus
numerous smaller islands such as Hurricane, Penobscot, Leadbetter,
and the White Islands. The Thorofare is a well-marked
channel passing east-west between North Haven and Vinalhaven and
lined with large homes and cottages. We had thought of stopping in
the picturesque village of North Haven to go ashore and look around,
get a cup of coffee (we've been pretty disconnected from the world of
commerce lately!), and buy fuel or food. Bill had described a
friend's mooring that might be available to us for a quick stop, but
as we motored slowly past the mooring field, we weren't able to spot
it. We could have anchored, or brought
Cilantro up to the town
dock, but in the end we didn't really feel like bothering. “Do we
need anything?” asked Sue. “Let's keep going and head for Seal
Bay,” said Curtis, referring to an anchorage we had in mind for
Tuesday night.
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| Goose Rocks Light |
A light NE wind was picking up as we
continued east through the Thorofare, so we raised the main and
staysail and motorsailed toward Goose Rocks Light, where we unfurled
the genoa as well and turned SE on a reach into eastern Penobscot
Bay. With the engine off, sailing was slow but relaxing. It was around 11:00 a.m., skies
were cloudy, and the wind was still very light but gradually picking
up. We saw a few other sailboats in the distance, and Sue was
reminded of Bob Steneck's comment that, if there are two boats under
sail, it's a race. “We're moving faster than that one,” she said
to Curtis, pointing to a sloop with lines similar to
Cilantro.
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| A schooner in eastern Penobscot Bay |
As we neared the
entrance to Winter Harbor, from which you can access Seal Bay, we decided
to keep sailing instead and make something out of the wind that was trying to
develop. We turned E and sailed on a beam reach for a while, making
3.5 to 4.0 knots and enjoying a little sunshine as the sky began to
clear. Sue spotted a dark bird sitting on the water to starboard and
grabbed the binoculars. It had a black back mottled with white, a
white throat, and a thickish, short bill with a small lump at the
tip. “Razorbill?” she queried. This would be a life bird for Sue,
but the plumage didn't look quite right. A second bird popped up
nearby, with an all-black back, same white throat, and larger bill
with a more prominent bulge – an adult. Curtis, meanwhile, had
found his binoculars too. “Razorbill!” he agreed. By this time we
had sailed past the two birds, but after consulting our Sibley field
guide (and getting
Cilantro back on course), we were certain
of the ID: one adult and one first winter (“winter” plumage
starts in August, so it was this year's bird).
On our next tack,
we retraced our route fairly exactly but saw no razorbills. They were
obviously not static decorations on Penobscot Bay! Birding by
sailboat turns out to be a tricky business. You can't just stop to
look at something, so you either see the bird or you don't, as you
pass by on a reach or a run or close hauled. If you focus too much on
the bird, the boat wanders off course and you look like a terrible
sailor, sails luffing and lines dragging in the water. If you do
manage to tack back to the same location (never guaranteed), it's
been long enough that the bird has probably moved on. In this way
it's not exactly like land-birding, where you can usually stop and
stay still or go back as needed.
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GPS track from Hurricane Sound (lower left) through Fox
Islands Thorofare (top) into Seal Bay; note our sailing
detour to the east into Penobscot Bay |
We continued on
toward the entrance to Seal Bay, which lies within the entrance to
adjacent Winter Harbor. It was relatively early afternoon, maybe
1:00, as we poked our way along, following the narrow twisting
channel into the anchorage area. As we rounded the final turn, we
were somewhat disappointed to see about 15 boats already anchored in
the farthest embayment. Reading the Maine cruising guide had led Sue
to expect a remote and unfrequented spot, but obviously other people
had read the guide too. Curtis picked out a spot to anchor that was
tucked in between a small island and a shallow area. He figured no
one would want to squeeze in next to us. The very next boat to
arrive, however, dropped anchored and back down so close to us that
we could see right into his cockpit. Curtis groaned. “I have 90
feet of scope out; he's going to end up right on top of it.” The
cardinal rule in anchoring is first-come, first-served, but there's
no particular rule about a second person anchoring too close to you.
Basically, if you don't like how someone anchors next to you, it's on
you to pick up and move. So we did, about 60 feet away and with less
scope; we were closer to the shallows but still with a safety margin.
We know that people
typically put out less scope in crowded anchorages, in order not to
swing too close to other boats, but all things being equal, we still
like to use at least 3:1, and 4:1 if we can get it. The other thing
we noted was that most of the boats in Seal Bay – and in fact, most
of the real cruising boats we've seen this week – are using
all-chain rode for anchoring (and electric windlasses), rather than
the mix of chain and nylon that Cilantro was outfitted with.
With all chain, the weight of the chain itself (about a pound per
running foot) is a big factor in your holding ability and allows you
to use shorter scope. All-chain would be unmanageable with our
current manual windlass, but we are considering upgrading to an
electric one and switching to all-chain rode at that point.
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| Seal Bay |
So, Seal Bay, the
gorgeous remote anchorage, has apparently been discovered by
everybody. Boat after boat kept arriving, and then the dinghies
started to travel back and forth for greetings and cocktails and
dinner. A helicopter went over, dogs barked, and then there was the
sound of a vacuum cleaner. Vacuum cleaner? “Probably someone
inflating a dinghy,” Curtis suggested. It was a very friendly
scene, and there was lots of waving and smiles from people going past
Cilantro, but Sue couldn't help feeling disappointed by
the crowdedness. Curtis suggested we go for a dinghy ride ourselves,
which was just the thing.
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| Semipalmated plovers in Seal Bay |
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| Short-billed dowitcher in Seal Bay |
We rowed to a nearby shallow inlet,
where we found black-bellied plovers, semipalmated plovers,
greater yellowlegs, and short-billed dowitchers. Then we beached the
dinghy on Hay Island and went for a walk. The middle of the tiny
island was wooded, but the woods was ringed by a solid hedge of
poison ivy, so we walked the perimeter instead, stepping on clumps of
salt-tolerant grass. A sparrow flushed from the grass ahead of Curtis
and landed in the poison ivy. It was a Nelson's sharptailed sparrow:
with a drably spotted breast, buffy yellowish face and eyebrow,
stripes down the back of the head, and narrow notched tail. It was
also another life bird for Sue – two in one day! She felt better
about Seal Bay, just like that.
