Port Clyde and Blubber island.

Serafina
Rob & Sarah Bell
Tue 7 Aug 2012 01:45

43:55.85N 69:16.03W

 

 

Sun & Mon – 5th & 6th Aug

 

Woke up to a lovely morning and with a planned 40 mile passage ahead of us we rushed around getting ready to head off. But as we did so, the first fingers of fog wafted through the dense fir trees standing sentinel all around us  and we soon lost sight of the far side of the bay where the long fingers of land ran down to the open Atlantic. We opted to wait a few more minutes and soon we were alone in the dense swirling white cloud and all thoughts of sailing ‘east’ were shelved in favour of getting a few jobs done instead.

 

By midday though the fog began to lift and sunshine flooded into the clearing and with visibility improving with every minute we revised our plans and raised the anchor and set off on a shorter than planned trip. Sadly we only made around 400 yards before we ran straight into an impenetrable bank of fog that was sitting firmly in the long fjord-like entrance to the inlet. Only being able to see some 20 metres maximum was simply not safe in such a narrow, shallow and busy waterway, so we retraced our steps and dropped anchor pretty much where we were before.

 

By 1400 hours the fog had cleared completely but it was now too late to move off, so we sat back and having completed some worthwhile jobs on board (you know – laundry, rebuilding a toilet pump, that sort of fun thing), we simply enjoyed watching the comings and goings of our little oasis. The mother and young bald eagle, nested behind us dominated the soundtrack as the youngster demonstrated more pique that your average human child! Eider ducks swam around in clusters (could the new collective noun be a ‘tog’?) seals hunted and the local sailing club laid out a race course that seemed to feature Serafina as an important midpoint/obstruction.

 

The weather forecast for Sunday night and Monday  morning bode grave tidings of a summer storm and up to 35 knot winds and as usual these were accompanied by ‘sensible’ advice as how to stay safe/warm/cool/dry/alive! As usual we were taken in by all this and were resolved to spending another morning in this wonderful spot before venturing out around midday as the winds subsided.

 

In the event Monday dawned sunny and dead flat calm. So we reverted to plan A and set off for Burnt island. As we sailed clear of the fingers of land jutting out  into the Gulf of Maine, we found ourselves on a converging course with another yacht that turned out to be Saltwhistle III who had been at anchor up a nearby inlet and had suffered all the same false starts as us on Sunday. We had a chat over the VHF radio before heading off to our respective destinations.

 

The gaily painted lobster pot buoys are now becoming denser and ubiquitous and so even long offshore passages now require a very vigilant helmsman (sadly Sarah is the wrong height to spot these and stand behind the wheel to steer, so I get all the fun!!) and the autopilot has been given time off. Seals came and went as did another pod of harbour porpoises (we saw some on Saturday as well), but no whales and only endless bits of seaweed were snared by the fishing lure.

 

Although the wind never ventured above 10 knots all day, there was a very large swell running in from the open Atlantic and this made the trip uncomfortable at best. We arrived at Burnt island to discover that these rollers were curling around the headland and sweeping across this empty anchorage and so given that the bay was also chock full of lobster pot buoys (of course) we changed our plan and made our way three miles north, through the thickest masses of these buoys yet, round to the northern side of Port Clyde which is by Blubber island.

 

Here we anchored in splendid isolation with lovely views across an open expanse of water to the north and again surrounded by islands and dense woodland, but with the tiny fishing town of Port Clyde behind us.