Month: September 2019

One thing you’ve got to give Maine, and that’s a bunch of cool islands.  With cool names.  Like The Cuckolds.

There’s got to be a good back story to that one.  The Coast Guard shut down the lighthouse on Cuckold Island and then auctioned the whole mess.  Some dude bought it and turned it into an inn, which he cleverly calls “Inn at Cuckolds Lighthouse.”

The place looks to be closed and the website’s down, however, so maybe it wasn’t as awesome as it sounds.

By contrast, the Seguin Light isn’t an inn.  It’s a museum.  This lighthouse is Maine’s highest, and having been established in 1795 it’s also Maine’s second oldest.

We also passed by the Sugarloaf Islands, Buttonmold Ledge, Spoonbowl Ledge, The Hypocrites, The Sisters, Brown Cow Island, and Bold Dick Rock.  Yup, we’d like to hang out with the dude who named these places.  Unless he’s also responsible for Bald Head Cove, of course, because that one frankly is a bit mean-spirited.

There’re surprisingly few trawlers up this way, but plenty of lobster boats and sailboats.  Today we saw a guy who couldn’t decide between the two.  Bizarre.

Just before turning up into Merriconeag Sound, we heard a sound.  It sounded exactly like we imagine spooling up a lobster pot into the hull might sound.  Long story made short, we backed up, then slowly pushed up to Dolphin Marina.  Then we paid Jerry to get in the 54° water, supervised by Mickey the black lab.

We indeed snagged something on the rudder, although it was a poor excuse for a lobster pot float.  The actual trap may have banged our bottom but thankfully did no damage.

This place turns out to be way cool.  It’s a family-run operation going back several generations, but it’s first-class all the way.  we missed the busy season, which was just fine with us.

Tomorrow we’re off to Kennebunkport.  Since Dana also is from Texas, maybe the Bushes will invite us over to the compound.

Supposedly Dolphin Restaurant delivers fresh muffins to the boats every morning.  Every morning, that is, except this morning.  No muffins, but we loved the place anyway even though it only was a one-night stand.

We left under brilliant blue skies and light wind, just as we like it.  We’re getting away from the sheltering islands now, which means more waves and less scenery.  Mostly it’s just Atlantic Ocean, but at least there’re fewer lobster pots.

Fewer lobster pots, but more upside-down picnic tables.  Okay we only saw one upside-down picnic table, but it was some 2 miles offshore where we’d sink about 300 feet if we hit it.  Hopefully it’ll wash up on a distant shore where someone can dry it out and use it for life-saving firewood or a driftwood sculpture or something.

A bit further we came upon a nun-shaped red navigational buoy.  Meh.  We’ve seen a zillion red buoys.  Wait a second.  This one’s not red.  It’s white and orange.

We’ve never seen one of these before, because we’ve never been past a “Presidential Security Zone” before.  And frankly we don’t understand this Presidential Security Zone.  The point apparently is to protect Walker’s Point and the Bush family compound.

We get that this is an important place.  Heads of State visited here.  And with the exception of Presidents who die in office, or are impeached, or who should be impeached or die in office, protecting them and their families is a good idea.  But look at that shoreline.  All rocks.  Too shallow for submarines.  It’s quite unclear what threat is being deterred here, and we didn’t see anyone patrolling the area.  We theorize the Bushes just don’t want to see a sea of lobster pot floats when they look out their windows.

We dutifully avoided the area anyway and went on up the Kennebunk River to Chicks Marina.  Kennebunkport is another cool Maine town.  Plus Kennebunk is another fun word to say.

Yes Doug flew the drone, and yes he wanted to fly over the Bush place but chickened out.

We’re going to explore the town more tomorrow.

Another state in our wake.  Maybe the most amazing thing is that we made it from Southwest Harbor to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, without stooping to the obvious puns.  As in “Lobster floats are a Maine in the butt” and such.

Last night we had quite the treat when Paul and Kathy—owners of Miss Elly—picked us up for a delicious dinner.  Big fun and we hope to see them again in New Bern.

We’d planned to stay one more night in Kennebunkport but decided this morning to head on out.  Mostly it was just a straight shot down the coast, past Cape Neddick Nubble and the Nubble Light.

We’ve seen hundreds of lighthouses, but none with a better name.  It’s such a cool lighthouse that in 1977 NASA sent a digitized photo of it into space aboard Voyager II as part of an informational package intended to educate any extraterrestrials who happened to intercept it.  True story.

We docked at Wentworth By The Sea, but failed to take a photo of the iconic hotel that was built in 1874.  We did, however, get one of the Portsmouth house—built in 1758—where Revolutionary War naval hero John Paul Jones lived for a while before he started jamming with Jimmy Page and the other boys from Led Zeppelin.

Portsmouth definitely is a town worth a few days.  Maybe we’ll come back but it’s a good travel day tomorrow.

Monday morning just after sunrise we took off for Salem, Massachusetts.  Not much to report on the short cruise.  Lots to discuss about Salem.

Most notably, Salem fully embraces what Salem is most known for, which is hanging townspeople who someone accused of witchcraft in 1692.  We find this a bit surprising, since in most places lynchings are frowned upon and old lynchings are things most towns try to forget.  Not Salem.  It’s all about witches around here.  But at least some of it’s historical.  For example, this is Proctor’s Ledge, where the good folks of Salem hung nineteen of them.

Judge Jonathan Corwin was on the panel that carefully weighed the evidence and determined that, in fact, these folks were witches.*  Judge Corwin’s house still is here, ironically looking like a house where witches might live.

Just down the street we found his grave.  Wait, another Corwin was the sheriff who likely had a hand in arresting and charging the poor slobs?  Yeah, that sounds fair.

Okay we get the history stuff.  But that’s not all.  Salem proudly claims the nickname “Witch City.”  There are witches—real admitted witches—around every corner.  At The Cauldron Black, they purvey not just occult goods, but fine occult goods. Only the top-shelf stuff.  No pedestrian books of curses or magic potions like they might sell at Omen, the Witchcraft Emporium (where the Ghost of Doug appeared in the window).

Apparently every October witches and others of questionable sense travel to Salem from around the world to celebrate Halloween, or the Harvest, or the moon, or whatever strikes their fancy.  Bizarre.  Know who—besides us—wouldn’t come to Salem for Halloween?  The Reverend Dan Reehill, who recently banned Harry Potter from Saint Edwards Catholic School because the books contain “real spells” which, when read, can “conjure evil spirits.”  Yup, Father Dan partying like it’s 1692.**  (In fairness though, he did consult with “several exorcists” before passing his judgment.  Although that’s about as objective as Judge Corwin consulting with Sheriff Corwin.)

Happily, we found more to Salem than just witchery.  Nathanial Hawthorne was born just down the street from our marina in 1804.  We previously commented on The Scarlet Letter, which he conceived while working in the same customs office building that we passed every time Oscar went over to Derby Wharf to pee.  Clearly Natty was fantasizing about things far more salacious than just levying customs duties.

Hawthorne’s birthplace is hidden behind a paywall, but we were able to sneak around on the street to photograph the House of the Seven Gables, which somewhat obviously served as his inspiration for The House of the Seven Gables.

We also toured the Peabody Essex Museum.   We didn’t just tour it though.  We actually participated in one of those modern art things.  This one was designed to show how multiplying a small individual achievement can lead to big things.  And in fact, when a large bunch of people make a small clay ball, the total is a large bunch of small clay balls.  Ours are in there somewhere.

Later we popped over to Gloucester.  Ever since reading The Perfect Storm, this has been a must-stop stop.

Anyone who read the book will recall that Billy Tyne and his crew hung out at The Crow’s Nest bar the night before they left port, and the families all gathered there during the search efforts.  Doug stopped by for a beer mostly to say he stopped by for a beer.  It’s still just about the same as it was in 1991, although now that back wall has photos of the crew.  The owner is Gregg, whose brother-in-law was on the Andrea Gail.  He intentionally hasn’t used the story to market the bar, even though George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg and others frequented the joint while filming the movie.

Gloucester has lost thousands of fishermen, all of whom are listed on plaques surrounding the Fisherman’s Memorial.  We’ve seen scores of memorials along our way, but this is one of our favorites.

We topped off our stay with a visit from George and Judi, who were traveling aboard their Nordic Tug Done Tacking when we first met them at Shady Harbor.  Very enjoyable dinner and trip over to Jubilee Yacht Club.

The plan is to leave our nice slip tomorrow and head to Boston.

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* In another post we wasted a reference to the classic Holy Grail witch scene.  That was quite poor planning, since this obviously is the most appropriate place possible.  If only Judge Corwin had thought to weigh the evidence in a more literal way.

** What about the witches in Macbeth?  Ban Shakespeare as well?  What about Bewitched, with Samantha and Darrin and then replacement Darrin?  Where does the madness stop?

Yup, we made it to Boston.  Beantown.  Home of Paul Revere and Whitey Bulger and that closet genius Will Hunting.  Full of people who don’t seem to care about how utterly offensive those cheating Patriots and their dirtbag owner are to real Americans.

The short cruise down from Salem was uneventful, just as we like it.

The Salem ferry zoomed up from behind at thirty knots.  We got out of the way.

The Waterway Guide warned that entering Boston Harbor is scary and dangerous with boats and confusing markers and such.  Meh.  Piece of cake.

 On our way back from the pet store we stopped at Bunker Hill.  There’s quite a monument here despite the fact that the good guys lost the battle, perhaps because the loss rallied the revolutionary spirit and we kicked the British back across the Atlantic shortly thereafter.  Although we didn’t see anything connecting the hill to Archie and Edith or Meathead’s wife, we still went up and down the 294 steps, which seemed at least double that number to us because we were carrying sacks of canned dog food.  (We might’ve left the bag unattended at the entrance but folks around here are a bit touchy about that sort of thing.)

Since we’re tourists after all, we also stopped by the Old North Church.  The place that gave us “One if by land, two if by sea.”  There was a large number of other tourists milling about in our way, but it’s a great bit of history anyway.

The story we learned as children is that Paul Revere was watching from his house for the lantern signal, then leapt on his horse for the midnight ride to rally the troops from the countryside.  After seeing how his house is surrounded by Italian restaurants and condos that completely block the view of the church steeple, however, we find that story a little implausible.

The marina where we’re docked is part of the old Navy Yard, and the USS Constitution is just down the street.

The Constitution is a commissioned naval ship still in active service, although it’s made of wood and the cannons are plugged so it probably won’t be of much use in WWIII.  Well worth the tour of the museum and the boat anyway.

We didn’t actually plan to visit a place where everybody knows our name, but found ourselves in such a place by accident.  Sort of.  Doug would’ve had a beer just to say he had a beer, but we were tired and ready to go home.  Plus this is just a replica Cheers so why bother?

Unfortunately the places made famous by Al DeSalvo and the Tsarnaev brothers were too far away to walk.  And after what the M.T.A (now known as the M.B.T.A) did to poor Charlie, we weren’t taking any chances on the subway.*  We wouldn’t have had time anyway after Dana waited what seemed like hours to get cannolis from Mike’s.

Boston is a fascinating town and the view from down our dock is awesome.  We’d love to stay longer but we’re moving on to Plymouth tomorrow.

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* Everybody sing along!