On my many boat trips up and down the east coast, I was usually accompanied by at least one other person, and sometimes three. Twice, I threw any vestige of common sense out the window, and made the trip alone. The number of things that could go wrong was practically limitless; however, as previously stated here, it is said that God protects fools and little children, and so it was. Running offshore, it was no big deal. I plotted a course to my next port, set the autopilot, and settled on the bridge. I usually ran offshore either to avoid congested sections of the Inland Waterway or to cut straight across a big arc to save many miles. I always picked my weather carefully, even more so when cruising alone at sea. It is hard to describe the feeling of being completely alone, sometimes 100 miles offshore, way beyond sight of land. A bit scary at first, and really eerie. Many solo circumnavigators of the planet have written about it, but it is just one of those things that must be experienced to understand. The longer you are out there, the more aware you become of the vastness of the sea. While no one likes getting beaten up in rough seas- and I’ve had enough of that for my lifetime- there is another huge benefit to cruising in a calm, and that is the number and variety of sea creatures one may easily spot.
In 1987, I had just built a dock in Chester Harbor, Nova Scotia, and I was itching to use it for the first time. Rather than take the long, but beautiful route up the coast of Maine, I decided to take a straight shot from Boston to Yarmouth, N.S., 240 nautical miles. I waited for perfect weather, and as my log reads for June 28, 1987, I got it. Early marine weather forecasts in New England were often known to be a bit removed from reality, so I waited until mid morning when one could get a more accurate look at that day’s conditions. Winds were light and variable, seas 2 – 3 feet, so we left Boston at 10:30 AM. The big Bertram sportfisherman, “Baby Max,” cruised effortlessly at 27 knots, which would enable us to reach Yarmouth in daylight. My wife and I were full of anticipation, and Neptune did not disappoint. Even Aeolus, the “keeper of the winds,” a lesser god in Greek mythology, decided to keep his winds in check on that day.
As we entered the Gulf of Maine, heading further and further offshore, a mesmerizing calm enveloped us. Wind and seas had dropped to zero, and remained that way for the entire trip. Here we were, give or take 100 miles from shore, with not a ripple in sight. The sun played tricks with the surface of the water, as Coleridge described it in “The Rime of The Ancient Mariner:”
“The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green and blue and white.”
Of course I had experienced such conditions many times before, but never that far offshore, nor for that length of time. And then began the nature show! That flat calm, as I mentioned, allows one to easily spot even the tiniest disturbance on the surface, and the creature that makes it. We saw pelagic birds that one rarely, if ever, sees near shore. Gannets, which are twice the size of Herring Gulls, Skuas, Shearwaters, and Murres, were abundant, and we even saw a few of the comical Puffins. There were large flocks of Wilson’s Storm Petrels floating lazily, a diminutive bird that spends almost its entire life at sea, making one wonder how these little creatures could survive the brutal sea conditions of the Gulf of Maine in winter.
At one point, there was a pretty large break of the water’s surface, which was made by a sea turtle coming up for air. It remained on top for a short time, and appeared to be a Loggerhead Turtle, although it was hard to tell. There were pods of porpoises, arching across the water at remarkable speed, easily keeping up with the boat. Dolphins and porpoises love to frolic and surf in a big boat wake, and often swim alongside, looking up at the humans watching them. And we saw many whales. The Coast Guard has very specific and rigorous rules about how to navigate near whales. You are allowed to approach them, but only at idle speed, and not any closer than 500 feet. Of course, the whales do as they please, and will often approach a vessel not under way, to the delight of whalewatchers. We saw a number of pods of Minke Whales, and were treated to the breeching of a Humpback Whale, not far from the boat. I immediately slowed and took the engines out of gear, as this giant was certainly less than 500 feet away. The great creature then decided to check us out! It swam alongside the Baby Max, being just about as long, and stopped to turn its head and look up at us with a deep, intelligent eye, evidently untainted by the centuries of carnage wreaked upon these magnificent creatures by mankind. I cannot understand how people could impale them with harpoons to die a slow and horrible death; but then, one need only to view the infamous photo of the oh-so-very fearless woman smiling and standing by the corpse of the giraffe (yes, giraffe) that she just shot, to get it.
The Humpback soon swam off, leaving us to resume cruising speed, more than halfway to Yarmouth, N.S. The seas remained calm, and we continued to encounter the profusion of seabirds. The ship’s log states that we arrived at 8:00 PM, tying up on the seawall of a small public harbor. It was high tide, but some locals reminded me that we were at the Bay of Fundy, with its dramatic tidal range, and should set very long mooring lines to deal with the 20 plus foot drop. I radioed Canada Customs, and was told that they couldn’t get to the boat to clear us until tomorrow. Most countries will not allow passengers to depart a vessel before clearing customs, but when asked, the agent welcomed us to “go ashore and have a nice dinner!” We cleared the next morning, took down the yellow quarantine flag, and flew the Canadian Maple Leaf pennant on an outrigger, then got underway for Halifax, unquestionably one of the nicest cities in North America!
keevingeller771@gmail.com
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