A log book was very useful to a coastwise cruiser before the invention of radar and GPS as a record of courses steered and distances run. Should fog shut down, he can retrace his steps on the chart and at least give a good guess as to his position. Capt. Hugh Williams in 24-foot Helen G. and I in 28-foot Dorothy were cruising in company with crews of boys under contract to teach them how to have a good time on the coast of Maine in reasonable safety. We kept a log in each vessel. We had reached Prospect Harbor when the fog shut down thick for four days. There follows an account of the fifth day with excerpts from Dorothy’s log as kept by boys in turn.
July 22, 1938
Prospect Harbor to NE Hbr.
9:20 Up anchor in light rain and light breezes. Off on port tack
9:38 Tacked ship to starboard with fog coming in. SxE breeze
9:54 Tacked ship to port in fog
11:00 Fog was too thick so started back to Prospect Harbor
12:06 Dropped anchor in Prospect Harbor behind Hugh
2:27 Took Hugh in tow and up anchor.
Now let me tell you what happened. After four days at anchor in the fog, we had exhausted all the educational and recreational resources of Prospect Harbor. On the fifth day of fog, we gave up and headed west. That failed. After we had furled wet sails and had a lunch, two girls whom we had met in the last four days rowed by. “What did you come back to this dump for?” No answer. No answer possible. We hauled anchor, started Dorothy’s engine, and took Helen G. in tow. She had no engine. We had used up Prospect Harbor.
2:37 course SxW1/2W at bell
3:10 saw red spar off Old Woman [ledge]. Log running about right. 1 ¼ miles from bell
3:15 changed course to SWxS3/4 S to run 2 miles plus 3/8 run by spar before turn
3:47 changed course to WxS ½ S for Schoodic Whistle
Louis was steering. Dan was forward as lookout. Bob was studying the chart with me, plotting the course to Old Woman spar, estimating how far to run by it and deciding when to turn and run for Schoodic Whistle.
3:55 Schoodic Whistle ahead
Dan called, “I hear a motor and a horn.”
“Point to it and blow your horn.” An asthmatic peep from our little fish horn and a healthy toot in reply, and out of the fog glided a husky power boat with the vertical stripes of the Coast Guard flag flying astern.
“You guys in trouble?” asked the officer in command.
“No. He has no engine.” I anwer
“I’ll twitch him into Southwest Harbor if you like.”
“No. We’re traveling in company to teach these boys something about fog. We better stay together. We can sail if there’s any wind, What do you guess for tide running up Frenchman Bay?”
Lots of tide. Better figure 1 ¼ knots. What are you headed for now?”
“Schoodic Whistle”
You can hear it from here. You’re all right.” The vertical stripes flapped off into the fog.
4:30 Schoodic Whistle Log 6. Course W ¾ N for bell off Otter Point.
“Now, Louis, you steer for half an hour. The course is W ¾ N. Keep her right on it – close as you can. I know she’ll wander off a little one way or the other, but those will cancel out. Just stay as close as you can.
“Dan, you go forward and look out. There isn’t much to see, but report everything – logs, pot buoys other boats if any; and listen. You will be away from the sound of the engine. You may hear a horn, a bell, surf, the sound of an engine. Tell me, whatever it is, and point to it.
Bob, we’ll give you a rest for a while. Then we’ll check that course across the Bay. I don’t believe 1 ¼ knots. Make it ¼ knot.”
We had left Schoodic Whistle bleating behind us and were headed out across Frenchman Bay. For a while we chugged quietly along in the fog, carrying our own little circle of visibility with us. The gentle seas shouldered majestically out of the fog to port and disappeared to starboard. Helen G. followed on the end of the tow line, yawing a little as her helmsman or ours got a little off course.
Dan blew his horn from time to time and kept a sharp lookout. Once he called,”Cap, there’s something ahead to starboard. Looks like a raft or a bunch of logs. Keep her off to port a little. Oh, it’s just a raft of weed.” We all looked as it slid by our starboard side, an empty beer can and a few derelict paper cups bobbing in the midst of it. I glanced at the compass over Louis’s shoulder and saw he was back on course.
On we chugged, the towline occasionally rising out of the water, dripping with the tension. Every half hour, “Relieve the helm and lookout.” Bob went forward to look out, Dan took the helm, and Louis drew breath and rubbed his eyes. From Helen G. a few notes on Capt. Hugh’s cornet.
“Was it `Anchors Aweigh?’ I asked Louis. He hailed Helen G. David answered,”No. “Steamboat Bill.'” Can a cornet carry a note of scorn?
We motored on. The lookout called back, “Two porpoises to port.” We looked in time to see their shiny, black backs and dorsal fins as they rolled to the surface and to hear the quick puffs of their spouts.
After two more changes, about 6 o’clock, Capt. Hugh hailed. “Ahoy Dorothy. How are we coming on?”
“Pretty good, Cap. I figure about half an hour to go. ”
“We better stop and listen pretty soon. No bottom at 15 fathoms.”
“Give it another few minutes. Dan, listen sharp now. We’re almost there.” We all listened, and after a few minutes, I shut off the engine. The throbbing of the exhaust ceased. Gradually the wash under the bow died away, and the ripple ceased alongside. Silence. We all listened intently for the sound of surf on a bold shore. Or for anything at all that might tell us where we were in this nothingness. Silence. Then — the distant and unmistakable clang of a bell. We all heard it at once and shouted,
“Dan, point to it and keep pointing. Louis, follow his finger.” The towline came taut and we pressed on cautiously following Dan’s finger. When the great red-and-green bell buoy swam into our circle, we could have embraced it in our relief.
We found Otter Point and rounded it. “We’re home free, now, boys. Steer west, Dan, `til you sight a large continent, the other side of Otter Cove.” General expressions of satisfaction and relief.
We had just lost Otter Point in the fog astern when “ROCKS” shouted Bob. “ROCKS AHEAD!” We all saw a great white ledge under water, close ahead. “HARD A-PORT! BACK HER.” We tried to swing clear of it, but Capt. Hugh astern on the tow line swung Helen G. hard over too and the towline jerked our stern around. Both of us worked ourselves clear and neither touched bottom, although we were close to it. I was sure I saw weed growing on the rock. Breathlessly, we pushed on cautiously. Then rocks again and more rocks. We seemed to have fallen into a nest of ledges. But the chart shows no ledge in Otter Cove. Were we indeed in Otter Cove? Had we found the wrong bell buoy? What about that 1 ¼ knot of tide? There was a gong buoy two miles north, but it couldn’t have been that. Was our compass all right? No bucket next the binnacle. Our confidence was shaken. We didn’t know where we were. We were lost.
However, we worked cautiously along to the south and were relieved to find ourselves clear of the ledges. The chart showed the shores bold and the waters deep. Out of the murk materialized a rocky shore with a white pyramid on it. We recognized it as East Bunker Ledge. We knew where we were. Our confidence was much restored.
7:40 passed spar off Long Pond Shoal. Headed for Bear Island and Northeast Harbor.
8:25 Dropped anchor in NE. thick as all git out.
The next day I hitched a ride with a Park Ranger.
“We saw ledges in the middle of Otter Cove yesterday. Scared the devil out of us. What’s going on?”
“Ledges? Oh, they’re doing some road work up Otter Creek. What you saw was clay and sand washed down into the Cove.
We all learned something that day.
Roger F. Duncan is co-author of A Cruising Guide to the New England Coast and other books.