We were tight-lipped determined, as determined as one can be, to sail across the Bay of Fundy from Boothbay, Maine to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. We had failed in the last two years because of fog and light airs, but not this time, in 1973. We had fitted out in desperate haste and had even signed up a charter party to meet us in Yarmouth.
So here we were at last aboard our 32-foot Friendship sloop Eastward, in choking thick fog not far not far off Boothbay Harbor and on our way to Nova Scotia. It was July 4, late in the afternoon, but we were actually on our way. We had a fair southerly wind and could fetch our course of East Southeast for Monhegan, Matinicus and out across the Bay of Fundy. Because of the persistent fog during the last week, I had not been able to check the accuracy of our compass, but it had been all right last fall.
Who were “We”? Roger, skipper, his wife, Mary, mate; his brother, Donald and Donald’s ‘teenage daughter, Nancy. They had agreed to come as watch standers.
We pushed along through the thick fog with the sea occasionally throwing a dash of cold salt water at us over the weather bow. After the busy week of breathless preparation, the comparative peace of sailing was a relief. Determination was paying off at last. We made the buoys off Monhegan with great satisfaction and pressed on toward Matinicus, 20 miles away. Our compass was accurate on a course of ESE anyway. All was well.
As it began to get dark, the skipper fired up the Shipmate stove. It misbehaved and blew smoke back into the cabin, but an empty bucket over the stovepipe cured that. We had an excellent supper of stew brought from home and eaten by turns.
The skipper and mate took the 8 to 12 watch. The wind continued to increase as the night turned black dark. We carried a cloud of red fog ahead of the port sidelight and a green cloud to starboard. Wave tops were phosphorescent. The wake was a track of fire. Schools of small fish made milky-way clouds under water, and an occasional larger fish left a trail. It was all very exciting.
Our Loran machine gave us Matinicus to port, and by 10:40 p.m. it was abaft the beam. We must have passed between Matinicus Rock and the whistle and saw neither, although we did hear a bleat from the horn on the Rock well on our port quarter. We rushed on toward Yarmouth. As it breezed up some more, we decided it was quite enough, put on safety belts and took in the topsail. That was quite an adventure in the black dark, but we had put it up there and knew how to take it down.
At midnight Donald and Nancy took over and Mary and I went below. The wind continued to increase and we must have been doing 7 knots. Considerable water was coming over the bow and down around the edges of the fore hatch. Sleeping on the lee bunk, I got quite a dousing, so much so that it even showed phosphorescence. In a lake on the lee side of the cabin floor floated two duffle bags. The bilge pump wouldn’t catch so I took it apart by flashlight, and by getting Donald to ease the main sheet, Eastward sailed more upright and the reorganized pump took hold. The watch below lay down for a while, knowing it is important to rest even if you can’t sleep.
About 3:30 a.m. it breezed up a lot more and the cresting seas bared their teeth. Menacing flickers of lightning showed in the north. At 4 a.m. with all hands on deck we took in mainsail and jib and washed along under staysail to see what the weather would do. Donald and Nancy went below. The wind gradually moderated some and the sea was smoother. We set the mainsail again and continued on our way through the dismal fog.
About 5:30 a.m. Donald came on deck looking rather white. It occurred to me that the chances of getting the crew dry, warm, fed and comfortable as well as enthusiastic about Yarmouth were dim. But fire still lurked in the stove, so the skipper fired up. However, the prospect of a cup of tea and a boiled egg met with little enthusiasm. Petrels and shearwaters, dark birds, soared and skittered over wave tops, wondering what these mad people were doing out here in the fog.
Granted, 5:30 in the morning is a bad time to make significant decisions, but several pertinent facts presented themselves. An RDF bearing on Mt. Desert Rock gave us about 90 miles to go to Yarmouth. With this variable wind, we might be spending another night at sea, probably in the fog. The prospect of making a landfall on an unknown coast at the end of the day was not attractive. The chart showed “heavy tide rips” north of the Lurcher Shoal buoy. The accuracy of our compass except on an ESE course was in doubt. The charter party would be all right in a motel in Yarmouth. Our families were not expecting us to be home soon. This cruise was supposed to be fun.
On the other hand, we seemed to be in no great peril. There were radio aids off Yarmouth and along the Nova Scotia coast. Probably tomorrow would be better. We had talked big about crossing to Nova Scotia and we hated to chicken out. So with all these good arguments for carrying on, we tacked, bore off and headed for Mt. Desert Rock and the Maine coast.
Eastward was much easier with the wind on her quarter; but the skiff was making heavy weather of it, charging down the face of a following sea and taking a big drink. We hove to and bailed her out. As the water shoaled up and we saw pot buoys, we did not see or hear the horn on Mt. Desert Rock. We made Great Duck, Little Duck, Gotts Island, and Long Ledge gong; and about 2 o’clock we came alongside a float in Southwest Harbor. Donald and Nancy went ashore. So ends this cruise in fog rain and failure.
I was ashamed of myself. At the mature age of 37, I had given way to “what ifs,” to possibilities which might never have occurred. I had to admit that I was not the intrepid mariner I had hoped to be. Eastward was not a world-girdling ocean cruiser. Yet it was the sensible thing to come back. Who does sensible things? Sensible little people. Great men are not always sensible. They take chances. Yet it would have been punishing everyone to have gone on. Great men punish everyone.
A regular contributor to Working Waterfront, Roger F. Duncan is the author of Maine: A Maritime History, and other books.