Disasters

We are, at this moment, on a mooring in Isle of Shoals, right on the border between Maine and New Hampshire- in fact, our boat is moored in New Hampshire, and the boat next to us, with whom we could converse without raising our voices, is in Maine. The state line runs between us. So we have officially left Maine, even if only by a few feet.

I’ve been looking back over the posts I’ve written over the last six weeks, during our “Summer Cruise in Maine”, and noticed that I have, unwittingly, gone down the same worn path that other sailor types do- relating the disasters and hard times over the good.

There is a famous (among sailing folk) couple named Lin and Larry Pardey. They built a small wooden sailboat back in the late 60’s/early 70’s, and took off, circumnavigated the world a few times, and wrote about it, along with many “how to” articles in magazines, etc. They are famous because they know what they are doing and free with their advice.

In one essay, Lin Pardey wrote about how she came to notice that whenever she related her sailing experience to anyone else, whether it was her family back home, or other sailors in an anchorage, the first thing that was brought up was… the hard stuff- the disasters:

“Oh my god, we were hove to for three days in a Force 8 gale”…

“It must have been the wave action on the boat that stirred up and dislodged the crud in the bottom of the fuel tanks that blocked our fuel filters and killed the engine just as we were motoring into a tight channel”…

“So there we were, eight miles off of the Dead Head Light, and the fog socked in so thick we couldn’t see the bow of the boat. That’s when we discovered that the radar was on the fritz”…

And so on- you get the idea. Of course, sailors aren’t the only ones who are susceptible to this. I think it is a part of human nature. Consider these:

“Jeez, I tried to leave the office early enough, but I couldn’t beat the traffic- I was stuck for HOURS on <the Turnpike/the Interstate/Mopac>!”

“I can’t believe that a place like this can’t provide adequate WiFi for their customers”…

And so on. Maybe it’s some sort of evolutionary adaptation to ensure group cohesion and tribal identity- shared adversity? I have no idea, but it’s a pretty common thing, and I realized that I’ve tended towards the same thing on this blog. Oh sure, I’ve made a big deal out of the #%!! lobster pots, hopefully to humorous effect (although I am SO glad we are past them now), but when I look back over these posts, I realized that I’ve emphasized a lot of the negative, at the expense of the other end of the spectrum. Maybe we are compelled to share what scares us.

I’m paraphrasing here, because I don’t have her book in front of me, but Lin Pardey wrote something like, “I don’t know why I don’t lead off with stories about the GOOD times, when everything goes right, and it is all just perfect.”

So rather than tell you about any more lobster pot buoys, here is how our day went today: We woke up when the sun peeked into our window, made coffee, stretched, and then got to work moving the boat. Anchor up (no fretting, no fuss), and on our way. Motored out of the harbor in Portland (what a beautiful city!), past a few of Maine’s famous lighthouses, and in an hour, rounded Cape Elizabeth and pointed the boat towards our destination, the Isle of Shoals.

Very soon, the wind began to build, from the perfect direction for us to set sail and get on a beam reach (which is Gabrielle’s favorite point of sail), and stay on the same course for eight solid hours. The autopilot worked flawlessly- Kate passed time knitting the blanket she’s making for the new grand-daughter, I fussed (in a good way) with boat stuff… It was a glorious day of sailing.

We rounded into the harbor at Isle of Shoals to find plenty of free moorings available (on a holiday weekend!), picked one up, and settled back to watch the sunset. Went down into the galley and whipped up a batch of Carne Guisada that was better than you can get in any restaurant…

OK, yes, today was pretty perfect. I guess if I had to complain, I could tell you about the boat full of drunken yahoos who were nearby when we came in, with their stereo cranked up to 11, and playing “Sweet Home Alabama” several times an hour- but they left when the sun went down. We’ll be waiting out the weather here as it’s supposed to get snotty tomorrow, but we’ve got boat chores to do, and books to read, and love to make.

And VERY few lobster pots.