.....Tenant's Harbour and Two Coves....

The fall chill was in the air.  We had planned to have reached Chesapeake Bay and warmer weather by this time.  It was crucial that we move along.   The North Atlantic Ocean is unpredictable and certainly indecisive at the best of times.   In November, one must address it and Mother Nature with extreme caution and care.  Inevitably, we were about to tackle the American north-eastern seaboard, sail southward on it so our navigational focus became highly maximized.

Saturday, November 5^th we left Carvers Harbour, dumbfounded by the long run out to the Atlantic.  We had been ushered in by a Coast Guard vessel in darkness and under stress.  It truly was rocky, narrow, dangerous and absolutely beautiful. The daily ferry to the island passed us to our port side in the narrow channel with just feet to spare.   Although the wind greeted us face on, we slogged through the incoming tide in the warm sun.  The fall leaves were still vibrant in color, the rolling Maine Appalachian Mountains spectacular in the background.  The view continued for the whole day, a perfect backdrop as we pulled onto a mooring ball in the sheltered quiet of  Tenant’s Harbour.  We had motored in behind Southern Island to the mouth of the harbour  with the sun shielded behind the shoreline trees.  We saw no one, no boats moving about, other than the few rocking on other mooring balls, heard nothing but the breeze, purring through Bridlewilde’s sheets.  Even the water was still, tendering the expectation of a sound, easy sleep.  We did not leave the boat but dined in the cockpit, placidly consumed by the sweetness of Leonard Cohen’s voice, as it reverberated across the waters on its drift back to us.

Even though we had hop scotched our way around the dense concentration of lobster pot buoys along the coastline, we were captivated by this gorgeous harbour.  In preparation for charting a course, researching appealing locales helps us determine where we might anchor, moor, take a slip at a marina or tie to a dock.  Tenant’s Harbour was a planned position. We had arrived safely and were taken with its natural beauty and lack of “tourist” infiltration.

The captain dropped the mooring line in the morning mist the following day and by 7:30 we were slipping out to sea again.  The sun shone and the wind came to us from the north early.  It turned to the northwest by early afternoon delivering a smooth 6nm sail all day, affording us a swift 25nm run to the protected cove we were heading for.   We sailed through Christmas Cove in honour of Captain John Smith who first dropped his anchor in this little cove on Christmas Day, 1614.  Although we did not drop our hook, our passage through was 49 days shy of 402 years to the day.  Captain Smith noted in his log book that this cove was marked “for its excellent protection while requiring only a modest effort in navigation to it.”  Indeed, we noticed the same.   We sailed inward by scooting westward around Inner Heron Island toward the inner harbour.  The opening is very narrow,  only about 100 feet across but should one’s vessel have a much more shallow draught than ours, navigation upriver to the gut would reward the traveler with quite a scenic trip.  I was not disappointed however, for I had something far more special in mind to round out our day.

Sheepscot River runs northward from the Gulf of Maine to Wicassat and Newcastle on the west.   It and the Damariscotta River, to the east, outskirt the huge bay which is home to the community of Boothbay.  Boothbay Harbour and East Boothbay are located five nautical miles up the Sheepscot River.  Carefully hidden behind them is a beautiful secluded cove tucked in behind the tight Gosse Rock Passage to it.   We were charted there for our refuge for the night.  

As expected, it too, displayed its splendour in brilliant fall color.   The tight rocky passage leading us in was riddled with eddies of current that tugged heavily at the boats rudder, helm and hull.  Bridlewilde nudged smoothly across the pulling waters to a mooring ball where the captain snugged her bow securely to the mooring lines.  She rounded swiftly to port where she faced the colorful shore.  Nestled deeply in the shade of the deciduous display about us, we had come to rest for the night,

in Riggs Cove.