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See where the voyage began:
Armdale Yacht Club, Halifax

First Voyage on Anna: Halifax to Portland

October 25, 2006

I am at present in Southwest Harbor on Mount Desert Island, Maine, waiting out a Small Crafts
Advisory before moving on to Portland.

My boat was delayed because of the engine controls, the original of which didn't suit me, so we had
a good wait for the new ones to be installed. There are controls both at the helm in the pilothouse
and outside in the cockpit.

I finally left Halifax, Nova Scotia just a few days ago. I was dying to get away and left even though
the weather wasn't good.

It was overcast and the wind was howling, but the weatherman said it would lessen in the afternoon
and then pretty much die at night. So I took a nap at lunch and left at 1:30 pm, the waves in Halifax
harbour not bad at all, but they worsened some as I reached the headland at the entrance to the
harbour, then in the open sea they were really nasty and I endured a very bumpy ride for about
three hours. Finally I got behind some islands that offered some protection and then sped up as I
wanted to reach my destination -- Lunenburg -- before dark.

Although the ride was extremely uncomfortable, a worse thing was that my dinghy -- stowed along
the transom on davits -- was taking on water from the waves smacking the boat, and I had to slow
the boat and go back in the cockpit in the pitching sea and bail the dinghy out every so often. And
an even worse thing was that my anchor light pole snapped because it was carrying the
considerable weight of my radar reflector, and that broken pole flopping around put some dings in
the pilothouse roof before I noticed it and was able to secure it with small line. And there was a
piece of wood trim that shook loose and fell from the pilothouse ceiling. And the shower sump pump
emptied its contents into my head (bathroom) so that it was a sloppy mess, and the trim panels in
the head which cover the electrical lines both fell in the floor and got wet. There was at least a
gallon of seawater in each engine compartment, too, even though they are supposed to be dry.

It was a very bumpy ride, let me tell you. It was hold on for dear life and just hope that the loud
slamming of the boat's hulls as it fell off a wave and smashed into the trough ahead did no structural
damage and that the engines kept running. The waves were irregular -- coming from here, then
there -- and up to about, I don't know, 10 feet, say (most people overestimate the size of waves).
And it was only about a 50 mile trip.

I think that this might well have been the most uncomfortable I have ever been at sea. If I had not
had the foresight to put on a scopolomine patch I am certain I would have fed the fishes with my
breakfast.

I spent the night at anchor off the highly picturesque town of Lunenburg. The next day was nice and
I did a long run of about 133 nautical miles (15% more than a land mile) from Lunenburg to
Yarmouth in generally pleasant conditions. It took close to 8 hours as I averaged a bit under 20
knots. Around Cape Sable -- the southeast corner of Nova Scotia where different oceans currents
collide, the seas were swirling and bubbling, but my boat cut right through it effortlessly.

At Yarmouth I filled up with diesel -- their marinas are all closed for the season and the docks taken
out of the water, so the diesel had to be delivered by tanker truck -- and spent the night on a
mooring buoy before checking out with the Canadian customs and immigration authorities the next
morning and leaving for Maine across the Bay of Fundy, with the highest tides in the world. The trip
wasn't too bad to start with, but storms came through and it rained and the pilothouse windows all
fogged up and so visibility was poor. The tide was rushing out of Fundy so it hit me on the
beam, and with the moderate wind it made for another lumpy, uncomfortable ride. Seas up to about
6 ft, I'd estimate. It took about 6 hours before I entered the relatively calm coastal waters of Mount
Desert Island (where Acadia National Park is located). I was glancing at a guide book about my
destination when I noticed a funny color and shape in the fogged-over window to my left. I stood
then, leaned forward and looked out the clear front window (I have a fan and wiper that keeps it
relatively clear) and saw a freighter I would estimate 700 ft long (my boat is 33 ft.) about a mile
distant crossing in front of me, so I turned off the autopilot -- I run most of the time on autopilot --
and steered aft of the ship so that it would clear easily. But had I not done that we could have easily
been in a collision. Then continuing on I had to keep the autopilot turned off and steer actively as
there were thousands of lobster pot buoys everywhere, starting in depths of 300 ft.

Anyway I made it safely into a nearly deserted marina, called US Customs who came to visit me in my
boat and checked me in. The trip yesterday was 103 nm, and all I lack is about 100 nm more to
Portland, as the crow flies, but I will likely deviate and explore a bit when I get a good weather
forecast.

All in all the boat performs superbly for her size. She is a bit smallish for rough weather, though.

I'll keep you informed of any further adventure.

kw

October 27, 2006

Again, during the trip from Southwest Harbor on Mount Desert Island in Maine, to Portland, I thought,
why in the name of science am I doing this? It sure isn't any fun.

The weather outlook was for 15-20 knots of wind, building to 25, followed by ever heavier winds on
successive days, culminating in a big blow this weekend with waves forecast in the 15 to 18 ft.
height. Because of the adverse weather and the fact that all the marinas were shutting down -- the
one at Southwest Harbor where I stayed was in process of pulling their floating concrete docks using
a barge and giant crane -- and the further fact that I had been absent from home now already six
weeks, I decided to bite the bullet and make the what turned out to be 113 nm trip to Portland
across the Gulf of Maine, bypassing all the quaint fishing villages and quieter but lengthier inside
passage behind the hundreds of hilly and wooded islands. I also thought at the time that my wife,
CeCe, was going to fly to Portland at the first of the week and meet me, and I wanted to beat her
there.

So I paid the marina and left about 8 in the morning under an overcast sky that offered slivers of
glorious orange and yellow and salmon-color with the sun low in the sky, and being well protected
from the wind in the lee of several islands, I felt that this was going to be an enjoyable trip. Alas,
just out of the inside harbor I encountered lobster pots (buoys attached to traps on the ocean floor)
and so my attention swiftly switched from enjoyment to evasion. Lobster pots continued in my path
unabated the entire eight-hour passage. Two caught me, but luckily they were entangled only on
the skegs of the outdrives (like the lower units on inboard-outboards), allowing me to fairly easily
escape their grasp by lowering the dinghy off the davits into the water so that I could see, then
raising the outdrives and, ultimately after attempting to push them off with my hands, kicking them
off, unfortunately soaking my foot and good Red Wing deck shoes in the process. Actually I only
hung up on one lobster pot while underway, but while battling that one the boat drifted down on
another and it hung on the other outdrive.

I later discovered that I was missing my cellphone, and I assume I lost it during the struggle with the
lobster pots.

Lobster will never taste as good after that.

The wind was blowing so that whitecaps spread across the sea, making the job of discerning the
lobster pots even more difficult, especially the white pots. I've gotten rather accustomed to cruising
at 20 knots, but with these floating impediments causing me to wend through them and occasionally
to put the boat in neutral until I could find a path through, I ended up averaging around 16. Usually I
cruise with autopilot, a valuable tool throughout most of the world, but totally useless on the Maine
coast.

When I was in Southwest Harbor, a fishing vessel came in about 5:30 in the evening and tied up
directly across from me. Later, on return to my boat from supper at a small but expensive restaurant
with fireplace and wooden floors about a mile away where I had what may well be my last lobster dish
(a delicious lobster risotto with exotic mushrooms and asparagus) and several samples of an
excellent Italian wine, I found the captain outside on his aft deck and so greeted him and he asked
about my boat and soon one thing led to another and I found myself in the cabin of his boat drinking
rum and coke and smoking Pall Malls. He has been fishing since he was 28, which was in the early
1960's, and when I said that I never saw a lobster pot in Canada, he said yeh, their season is over,
but in Maine there is no season -- it goes on all year long.

Sailing in a sailboat must be impossible along much of this coast. I remember 10 years back or so,
when CeCe and I spent 3 or 4 days on a small -- 8 passenger, 2 crew -- windjammer schooner with
no motor (and no shower) out of Camden in Penobscot Bay and we noticed then the thousands and
thousands of lobster pots, but I don't recall the skipper being as concerned as I have been, perhaps
because the schooner was a lumbering heavyweight with a rudder-skeg designed to shed the
lobster pot lines readily. My boat, in contrast, is light and fast and nimble with skegs to protect the
props in all sorts of seas, but not particularly against fishing buoys, it such is possible at all.

One aspect of operating this boat that I have not mastered is keeping the windows clear. With
saltwater spray constantly hitting them, they turn hazy quickly and often. Then because the weather
has been cool and damp, causing condensation, they get wet inside and drip water and fog over. I
have a fan on the right of the dash at the helm that I can direct onto the front window or the right
angled window of the pilothouse to help keep them relatively clear, though it does not work like a
defroster in an auto, but really I need two more so that I can keep all three front windows somewhat
clear. Moreover, I need a real defroster or heater to limit the condensation. I do have a heater but it
is not working properly at the moment -- one of several warranty items the builder is supposed to fix.
I will work on the visibility problem before I go out cruising in this boat again.

The most important piece of equipment on this boat (after the engines, at least) is the wiper for the
front window. It stays on virtually full time -- at least in the seas I've been in. It has a washer that is
connected to the freshwater system which allows me to wash off the salt cake that accumulates, and
I dare say that it uses more freshwater from my tank than any other single use, including taking a
shower. The wiper stays on but every 30 seconds or so I press a button that emits the freshwater. I
had always noticed a noticeable knock in the wiper, but on this trip the knock became louder and
ultimately the wiper stopped, so I put the boat in neutral and ventured out on the foredeck to
examine it and when I picked it up it moved again. It had been stuck on a bolthead that attaches the
front window to the boat, and when I held it the wiper was released. After returning to the pilothouse
and resuming the voyage, I detected the wiper having difficulty overcoming the bolthead, so I would
occasionally turn it off, not so much as if letting it rest would solve the problem, but more because I
wanted to delay the inevitable breakdown as long as possible, since visibility is so important in
lobster-pot infected seas. The wiper began sweeping in an ever more eccentric arc, and I tended to
it outside again before it finally broke completely, the arm bent and separated from the blade
attachment. Fortunately I was not far from Portland and could stop the boat and go out on the
foredeck in more protected waters and clean the window with a freshwater soaked rag.

Without any problem surfacing, being alone on a voyage in Maine waters in my particular boat,
therefore, entails constantly keeping an eye peeled for lobster pots, frequently hunting for the wash
button for the wiper on the busy dashboard and pushing it repeatedly, and occasionally quickly
rubbing with a towel to rid a window of condensation. If I need to plot a course or refer to a cruising
guide, or if I want to grab a quick drink or bite, then I must first stop the boat, for to not do so would
be to risk hitting a lobster pot and entangling its line in a propeller, which could be major task to
unthread or cut out, especially in pitching seas. There is certainly very little time to take photos, and
I must say that I have few to show of my trip this fall, except for the time spent ashore.

On a positive note, on all these arduous passages, I have never really tired, but have been alert the
entire time, which passed remarkably quickly compared to, say, an equivalent trip in a car. I bought
an IPod before the trip and loaded it with mostly classical music and some other favorite songs, but
found that it is just one more thing to deal with, not worth the effort, especially the classical which is
either too quiet or too loud. I do remember on the one normal, lobster-pot-free, relatively easy
voyage from Lunenburg to Yarmouth, however, the music was comforting, but controlling the volume
was still a bother.

I reluctantly admit that of my brief time sailing this boat -- saying "sail" a boat is proper whether the
boat has sails or motors -- 90% has been arduous and only about 10% enjoyable. I did not buy this
boat -- whose cost is less than my lake cabin -- to suffer such strain on a constant basis. An
occasional tough slog due to weather is acceptable, but not 3 out of 4 trips. But I am optimistic.
Where the late launch of the boat and the end of the boating season this year left me with little
choice but to hunker down and move it as quickly as I could from Halifax to Portland, an early
departure next year should offer me the opportunity to cruise leisurely from port or anchorage
onwards only under decent weather windows, stopping in beautiful places and going for hikes,
visiting picturesque fishing communities, and the like.

That is the dream, and while I was unable to experience but fleeting instances of anything near it this
year, I have hopes for the future.

Tomorrow, though, is not set to be one of my dream days: it is forecast to blow a sustained 45 knots
(51.75 land miles) an hour with gusts to 65 knots (74.75 land miles) per hour. So I have prepared
by using almost every line I have to secure the boat in its slip at the marina. And it turns out CeCe
is not coming to Portland after all, so I coming home early.

My boat will be hauled next week after I leave, winterized and put inside in heated (55 deg.) storage
until my return in May or June. Then I will resume my dream, a year tardy.

By the way, the country up here and in maritime Canada is beautiful and people very friendly, even
innocent and naive, and almost all of European heritage, including French-speaking Acadians, first
cousins to Cajuns. Crime is low. I recommend highly this area to visit, though prices are
relatively high. Portland, Fredericton in New Brunswick, Charlotteville on Prince Edward Island, and
all of Nova Scotia should not be missed. I am even considering buying property up here and living
part of the year, I like it so much.

kw

See where the voyage ended:
Maine Yacht Center