“Is There a Problem, Officer?”

A sailboat is the ultimate slower traffic.

My Cape Dory 25 sloop tops out at about seven knots*, and that’s in the best possible weather conditions. The small outboard motor can push the boat at five knots in a flat calm. It takes most of two days to get from Bangor to Rockland, a distance one can drive in two hours.

I usually make this annual trip with crew. But circumstances this year forced me to do it alone. Which was fine – I grew up with boats in Maine, and ever since I moved back here from California at the turn of the millennium I’ve had one. I’ve also done a fair amount of single-handing, and my Cape Dory is nothing if not seaworthy.

Thus I was caught off-guard (I guess the pun is intended) on the second day out, when the orange powerboat coming up the bay kept turning in my direction. I had raised the sails and cut the motor and was working the light morning breeze for whatever I could get out of it, just south of where the Islesboro Ferry crosses to Lincolnville. It was about ten in the morning.

Continue reading ““Is There a Problem, Officer?””

A fine madness, at slow speed

To me, Maine is the coast. Maine is lobster boats and harbors and halyards clinking against masts. That’s the Maine I grew up in and the Maine I imagine, although I now live inland, 25 miles up the Penobscot River.

The Maine coast is closer to the equator than the pole. But it feels like we’re way up north on these long June days, which begin to brighten around 4 a.m. and don’t fully fade until after nine. A small sailboat is the quintessential slower traffic, slower than a bicycle, sometimes slower than walking. Still, you can go a long way on a long day.

The Native Americans who lived in Maine prior to the arrival of Europeans traveled up and down the river with the seasons, much as I do now for pure recreation. It’s a form of madness, really – to spend weeks preparing a boat to go slowly at great cost. But that’s not really accurate, is it? The wind is free. And you can have a whole lot of fun at five miles an hour.

This madness compels me to outfit my boat each spring for a trip from its winter home in Hampden to its summer mooring in Rockland. Sometimes the trip takes two days. It’s often convenient to stop at Fort Point State Park, where the Penobscot River becomes Penobscot Bay. There’s a dock, a good anchorage, and a lighthouse.

The fort was built by the British in 1759 during the French and Indian Wars. Signage at the park attests to the placement of forts at the mouths of Maine rivers for the purpose of keeping the Native Americans inland and disrupting their seasonal way of life. The rivers were their avenues, their thoroughfares. In the Automobile Age, they are almost forgotten as transportation arteries.

Future president James Garfield visited Bangor by steamboat in 1878, before returning by train to his home in Ohio. Yesterday’s boats and trains have given way to cars and buses and airplanes. But you can still travel the Maine Coast by water. Thousands of people do it ever year, on thousands of boats. Some are modest like mine; others are ostentatious and expensive, and a few are obnoxious overkill. The rising popularity of Maine as a destination for large cruise ships has several coastal towns grappling with issues of congestion and community character.

Rockland, the unofficial capital of Penobscot Bay, is blessed with a wide harbor and easy access to many of Maine’s best sailing grounds. It’s also ground zero for the ongoing argument over the character of the coast. Rockland remains a working port, with ferries, a Coast Guard station, a fishing dock, and some industry. Twenty years ago, there were few high-end sailboats and luxury yachts in the harbor. Now there are too many masts to count. The cruise ships want to come in greater numbers, and a private marina is seeking permission to expand its operation out into the area in front of the public landing.

All the effects and side effects of the medicine last for 4 to 5 hours buy viagra in australia http://cute-n-tiny.com/tag/dwarf/ which makes it unavoidable for one to have the diabetes. Diabetes is a challenging condition, but doesn’t have to interfere with or limit your capability to have reliable erections has brought them and their partners much sexual satisfaction and a general sense of well being. order viagra online This could be understood as the alternative of jellies and pills. viagra canada cheap Before knowing how to get free cialis samples online , you can consider vardenafil as an alternative medication to viagra. For now, there’s plenty of room for everyone, though budget boaters like me worry about being priced out of a desirable harbor. From Rockland, given enough wind and daylight, you can sail anywhere on the coast. It’s sometimes hard to get back, but when the wind comes around from the northwest, even my slow little boat can get there from Fort Point in an afternoon.

If you want dinner, though, you’d best get ashore before nine. That’s when all the downtown restaurants stop serving – even in June, on a Friday evening with the last glow of day still in the sky. Perhaps this is a vestige of the early-rising fisherman mentality, a sign that despite gentrification, Rockland is not yet cosmopolitan.

But the city has become friendlier to its non-driving residents and visitors. Signs along Main Street advise drivers that bicyclists may occupy a full lane of traffic. And there’s a new local bus, the Downtown Area Shuttle (DASH), that runs between Pen Bay Medical Center in Rockport to the Thomaston Wal-Mart, with stops at the ferry terminal and other convenient locations, five days a week, from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m., year-round. Watch this blog for more on this new service.

On the Concord Coach bus back to Bangor, two days of sailing roll past the window in two hours. Why spend two days on a boat going somewhere you can drive in two hours? Madness, I tell you.

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You can drive around the block, but not around the world

Although he died in 1994, Bernard Moitessier keeps popping up in my life.

For those who care about such things, Moitessier is famous for participating in, and then withdrawing from, the 1968-69 Golden Globe Race, the first solo sailing race around the world. The rules were simple: Leave from England, sail south and then east around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope, Australia’s Cape Leeuwin, South America’s Cape Horn, and back up the Atlantic to England – without stopping and without assistance.

Moitessier did not simply withdraw. He rounded Cape Horn with an excellent chance of winning. But instead of aiming his boat toward England, he kept going, detouring long enough to slingshot a message onto a boat in Cape Town harbor that he was abandoning the race “because I am happy at sea and perhaps to save my soul.” He finally dropped anchor at Tahiti, after sailing alone nonstop one and a half times around the world, a total distance of more than 37,000 miles.

I first encountered Moitessier in a book about the race by Peter Nichols titled A Voyage for Madmen, published in 2001. Earlier this year, while browsing at the Bangor Public Library for something to read, I picked up a novel about a fictional sailing family: Before the Wind, by Jim Lynch. The family’s two sons are named Bernard and Joshua, after Moitessier and Joshua Slocum. But it is the daughter, Ruby, who is the preternaturally gifted sailor, and who breaks her father’s heart by pulling a Moitessier in a local race, purposely failing to finish. It’s a good novel, and I highly recommend it to anyone interested in boats and the sea.

The April 2017 edition of Cruising World magazine, which I picked up in a waiting room this summer, mentions Moitessier in an article on Cape Horn. I had never read The Long Way, Moitessier’s book about the Golden Globe Race, until I spotted a copy at the Rockland Yacht Club a few weeks later, lying in wait for me to borrow.

Moitessier was born in Hanoi in 1925 to French parents, and spent much of his youth crewing on Chinese junks all over Southeast Asia. He was something of a mystic, and he lived life on his own terms. During his months alone at sea, he often fabricated conversations between himself and some unnamed devil’s advocate presence, perhaps another part of his consciousness. Some of these conversations appear in the pages of his book, including this one:

“Yet it is thanks to the modern world that you have a good boat with winches, Tergal sails, and a solid metal hull that doesn’t give you any worries.”
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 “That’s true, but it is because of the modern world, because of its so-called ‘civilization’ and its so-called ‘progress’ that I take off with my beautiful boat.”

“If we listened to people like you, more or less vagabonds and barefoot tramps, we would not have got beyond the bicycle.”

“That’s just it; we would ride bikes in the cities, there wouldn’t be these thousands of cars with hard, closed people all alone in them, we would see youngsters arm in arm, hear laughter and singing, see nice things in people’s faces; joy and love would be reborn everywhere, birds would return to the few trees left in our streets and we would replant the trees the Monster killed. Then we would feel real shadows and real colors and real sounds; our cities would get their souls back, and people too.”

Moitessier wrote these words in 1969 – before the first Earth Day, before the Arab Oil Embargo, before drive-through ATMs and drive-by shootings. How prophetic they seem now. As Houston flooded and bumper-to-bumper traffic crept northward out of Florida, one could not help but wonder if things could have been different. Had we not been busy for the past five decades paving over wetlands and building freeways and burning fossil fuels without a thought to the impact on the ecosystem, perhaps Harvey and Irma would have been smaller and less devastating.

And perhaps if a significant number of us bicycled in our cities and lived closer to our workplaces, we would be less frazzled and fractious in our dealings with one another, less inclined to assume the worst about those with whom we disagree, and more appreciative of the daily wonders our planet provides for us, despite our abuses.

It makes one wonder: Who are the real madmen?

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