The Five-Day Cruise that Took Five Hours

As my Summer Sabbatical Vacation (yes, in my mind, that's a proper noun) winds down, I cannot help but take stock: did I achieve my goals?

What? Achieving goals while on vacation? Vacation is time to relax, to just enjoy the people your are with, the places you visit! You don't need no stinking goals! (Apologies to The Three Amigos.)

Ah, but there's the paradox. The goal of a vacation is to have no goals. In fact, you can't even go on vacation without goals.

1. Pack the luggage.
2. Load the car.
3. Point the car toward your vacation spot.
4. Don't get a speeding ticket.

These all start as goals, as objectives. As you achieve them, they turn into completed tasks.

But I digress. Getting back to the goals of my Summer Sabbatical Vacation...

I had several goals for this trip that started on July 2, 2015. Among them, to explore some of the smaller islands on the Maine coast, taking Second Wind possibly as far as Vinalhaven Island in Penobscot Bay. I started that cruise last Thursday, August 13.

The sea breeze was a little late that day. I didn't leave the mooring until about 12:30 PM. The wind was from the south-southwest, so I had to work just a little bit, tacking to and fro to windward, to get out of Flanders Bay. The ebbing tide helped.

The wind freshened to about 17 or 20 knots after I passed Schieffelin Point. I reefed the mainsail and switched to the #3 jib, then headed for the gap between Calf Island and Ironbound Island. As I sailed through the mine field of lobster buoys that littered the shallow waters between the islands, the wind dropped to about five knots. Second Wind's speed dropped such that is was barely keeping up against the flood tide. The reefed mainsail and the #3 jib weren't enough to make progress toward my goal of anchoring at Cranberry Island by sunset. So I shook the reef out of the mainsail, set the autopilot, and climbed up on the foredeck to swap jibs again.

While I was hanking the Genoa onto the forestay, I glanced ahead to see a pair of lobster buoys about 20 feet dead ahead with a pot warp strung between them like a tripwire, only inches below the water surface. There was no way I could make it back to the cockpit to steer Second Wind away from them, and the power available under just the mainsail in this light breeze would not let me maneuver the boat well, anyway. I was resigned to snagging a lobster buoy on the three foot deep daggerboard.

I finished hanking on the Genoa and scrambled back to the cockpit, careful not to get tangled in the safety harness I always wore for solo foredeck work while under way. I quickly hoisted the Genoa to have better maneuverability, then took stock of where the pot warp was pulling on the boat.

This was the sixth or seventh pot warp that I've ever caught on Second Wind. Two of them got snagged on the kick-up rudder, the rest on the daggerboard, a 350-pound "blade" of cast iron that Second Wind needs for ballast and directional control while sailing. Yes, I could raise and lower the daggerboard, but the winch is very slow. It would take about ten minutes. I would have to lower the sails first, and the tiny island of Thrumcap was merely a hundred yards away. I could not afford to loose navigational control of the boat.

So I turned the boat toward the lobster trap that was pulling against the daggerboard from about 30 feet below the water surface. This usually serves to relieve the tension on the pot warp, allowing it to drop and hang idly under its buoy. But the lobster buoy appear to be wedged tight under Second Wind's hull, where I could not see it. But I could see the taught pot warp extending from under Second Wind toward the depths on the starboard side of the boat.

I reached into the companionway for the boat hook, extended it to its fullest length, and reached it into the bay to hook the pot warp and pull it up where I could grab it. Pot warp in hand, I pulled hard against the wedged lobster buoy, hoping to free it from the front of the daggerboard. It came free pretty easily, so I dropped the pot warp back into the water and steered Second Wind away from Thrumcap, trimming the sails to pick up some maneuvering speed, and certainly avoiding any more tripwires of lobster buoys.

As I cleared that minefield of lobster buoys, I took stock of the situation. The wind was only about five knots, enough to drive Second Wind at about three knots on the best point of sail, but my destination was straight to windward. I'd have to tack back and forth, close hauled, to make progress. I'd be lucky to make two knots toward Cranberry Island, and that didn't even account for the flood tide that was still pushing me away from Cranberry Island.

OK, so I conceded that I could not make it to Cranberry Island by sunset. With my daggerboard's propensity for snagging lobster buoys, I dismissed the idea of navigating in the dark. Even if I did, I would be blind to boulders and ledges in the bay where I intended to anchor. Even when such hazards are marked with buoys, the buoys are rarely lit. I would be depending on my GPS to guide me to a good anchorage.

And heaven help us if boats already there don't have their anchor lights lit. Unlit boats at anchor are quite common in Maine. In fact, boats under seven meters are not required to show anchor lights unless they are near a busy channel.

I had left the mooring about three hours later than I had planned. There was not enough wind. Now, even if I fired up the outboard motor and drove Second Wind straight to Cranberry Island, I might arrive by sunset, but at what cost? My fuel tank would be mostly depleted. My nerves would be frazzled. (I hate the constant buzz of long trips with the outboard motor.) I would not be enjoying my cruise.

So, at two-and-a-half hours into my five day cruise, I decided to abort the mission. I turned Second Wind around, pointed back toward Flanders bay, and got out my cell phone to text Stephanie, "Aborting cruise. Returning to mooring. Home for dinner."

On the cruise back to the mooring, I took stock of my reasoning. Now, I have 20/20 hindsight and the benefit of reflection. But at the time, having just foreclosed on my goal of cruising the islands between Frenchman and Penobscot Bays, and still feeling the adrenalin of that episode with the snagged lobster buoy, I was doubting my abilities as a sailor, skeptical of my courage. My manhood, my identity as a worthy husband and father was even at stake in my moments of self-criticism.

But, now with a week of retrospection and reflection, I was not a coward. I might be a landlubber (see yesterday's post about my affinity for a shower after a day of sailing). I might be overly cautious. But the better part of valor is discretion.

I was late getting the cruise started. I was in a boat not well suited to navigating Maine's waters littered with tripwires, err, lobster buoys. I was sailing alone, so even under ideal conditions, the trip would be a challenge of character and skill. But the conditions were significantly less than ideal.

Aborting the cruise was the wise thing to do. And my family was happy that I did, too.