On November 1st our weather window
opened. After waiting 11 days for its
arrival, consulting our tools, and reconsidering the results, we could cross
the Gulf of Maine. The oriface between
the clouds and sea widened and we were ready to plunge into it. Fully provisioned, fully prepared and full of
anticipation we departed at noon. In the
grey midday breeze, we loosened our lines, pulled away from the security of the
pier, and motored into the outgoing tide leading away from our community, our
province and our country ----forward to shores unknown.
Prior to departure from Gold River, as a precautionary
measure, Keith had professionals review the work he had done and perform
installations that he was somewhat unsure of.
The skilful David Evans
connected all of our electronics. Not
only is David’s work outstanding but he is such an interesting character. I could write a blog specifically about his accomplishments
and worldly experiences but that is for another day. Shortly before we were to leave Yarmouth,
David called Keith to follow up on some of the installation he had done for
us. He wanted to clarify whether or not
he had attached a specific piece of electrical equipment. With careful
direction relayed over the phone for location purposes, David asked that Keith
check to see if an ACR unit was mounted. The ACR or alternating current
regulator isolates and delivers proper charge to each battery bank. It was
determined that the unit was not installed. This was not a piece of equipment
that we had asked to have installed but one David thought would be an asset to
our system and had planned to put it in.
He informed us that he would be in Yarmouth the following day from
Lunenburg to do the installation. Upon
hearing our departure plans, David suggested we meet him in Gloucester, MA a
few days later for him to do the install, since he had been summoned to do work
on another client’s boat there. As we were about to cross the Gulf, Gloucester
would be the perfect destination for a number of reasons. We could check into customs there. It would be a short run to Cape Cod from where
we would enter Buzzards Bay to head down Long Island Sound to New York
City. David would have the installation
completed and the weather was still lovely there. It was decided. Gloucester was our
destination.
Although somewhat dull, it was a lovely afternoon. We motor sailed flying the jib only, fully
extended, and skipped along at 6.5 knots with ease. The sailing was smooth; the systems were
functioning properly; we were making great time and the evening approached
gracing us with a lovely sunset.
As the
evening began changing to night, we knew it was going to bring a further chill
but we were prepared for it. Both of us
took our station at the helm spelling each other off. The crossing was progressing as expected
until 2 am when the sky began to darken.
No moonlight behind the clouds, no visible clouds, no stars, no
satellites, no air traffic, just darkness.
Blackness – the water was black; the sky was black. The plotter, of
course, backlit, provided the only light surrounding our little vessel. The wind had risen somewhat, forcing it
directly to the nose of our boat and the wave height began to increase slightly. The situation was not of concern as we had
experienced these conditions before. We knew the boat’s capabilities and were
confident that all was fine.
And all was fine with the captain and the boat. Unfortunately, I was not. I am prone to seasickness and have developed
personal strategies to combat and manage it.
However, it is vital that each step of my strategy work in conjunction
for success. The slightest deviation
will alter my status and then the disintegration begins. One of the tools I employ (probably all in my
head but who cares-- it works) is to position a place of reference to my
eyes. It could be a jut of land, another
vessel, the horizon, a cloud, a star, anything that will give me a lengthy
point to view. Now 14 hours in, my
point of reference was quickly diminishing with the blackness around me. The sky had darkened and I knew I was going
to be seasick within a few minutes.
We were 125 miles offshore out into the Gulf of Maine. I was in full blown seasickness mode, totally
incapacitated. Keith had to manage the
boat completely on his own with approximately 35 hours to remain at the helm. Within the next 15 hours my condition
deteriorated. I continued to drink water
but because I was vomiting every 15 minutes, I was dehydrating and losing
consciousness, and was completely unable to assist the captain. The
limited relief I could offer at the helm required that I tie a bucket about my
neck and upon his return fall into the cockpit on my hands and knees, welcoming
the opportunity to hang my head. The
next time I lost consciousness, Keith decided that he needed to turn the vessel
back to shore, somewhere, to address my health situation. Due to my incapacity,
the captain had no opportunity to change his electronic chart courses. He gave the boat to the wind, giving her the
free reign gliding us northwest with the wind fully in her sheets.
The state of the sea was extensive but not unfamiliar to
us. We had experienced rough waters like
this before and the captain was in full control. The morning arrived grey; we were continually
being thrown back and forth, further exhausting the captain. (When this incident was all over, Keith
admitted to me that had he not been concerned about my state of health, he
would have enjoyed the challenge of the rebellious waters.) My condition continued to deteriorate and by 4
pm Keith insisted that he call the US Coast Guard for assistance. He knew we were closer to shore now but was
unsure of our exact location. Keith
radioed the Coast Guard on Channel 16 on the VHF radio to give them our
coordinates and my status. By this time,
I was now laying on the cabin floor between the two settees unable to carry on
any reasonable conversation, oblivious to reality.
The US Coast Guard staff were absolutely amazing to deal
with. Their direction to us was kind,
thorough and comforting, in a very difficult situation. The commander of their recovery vessel identified
their plan for us including the deployment of a helicopter to come and pick me
up from the vessel. However, I refused
to leave Keith and Bridlewilde. With this
consideration taken into account, it was then determined that their
representative would radio our vessel every 15 minutes to monitor my
condition. Our radio is positioned
inside our cabin and with the captain unable to leave the helm, I positioned
myself between the cockpit and the cabin so that I could respond to the
calls. The Coast Guard personnel
identified our position, informed us that we were still about 30 miles offshore
with a position heading toward Carver’s Harbour, Maine. It would take at least another six hours
before our arrival in the pitch dark, in treacherous waters un-navigable,
without local knowledge or daytime passage. The Coast Guard rescue vessel staff informed
us that they would be coming out to meet us bringing medical attention to me
and to provide navigational information for our travel into the harbour. It would be three and a half hours before we
would see them; it would be dark and they would provide safe passage into the
Carvers Harbour for us.
It was a very welcomed and thankful first sight of that
coast guard vessel’s arrival. After
recognition that I would not leave our vessel to board theirs for my recovery
process to begin, it was agreed that we would fall in behind them, staying
close to follow their lights in toward shore, around the craggy narrow inlet
into the harbour and to a dock where we were to tie up. It was another three hour ride, for which I
have little recollection; other than I was brought back to consciousness and
reality by the constant shrill beckoning of the VHF, intended to keep me in the
now. I was still very sick but being
awakened to this actuality was a sense of security for both of us; and although
still retching, it was at these times that I forced myself to drink water. The captain had doused the sails; Bridlewilde
was under power and the captain remained exhausted at the helm following the
coast guard ship in.
Our arrival to the dock at about 10:30 pm is a
semi-conscious blur to me. I was whisked
off our boat to an awaiting ambulance that the Coast Guard people had
previously arranged, my vital signs dealt with immediately, and then taken to
the small outport nursing station at Carvers Harbour, thirteen miles off the
Maine coastline. Keith was left at the
dock to deal with moving Bridlewilde to a safe protected site for the
night. He would be transported to the
nursing station by volunteers ready to do whatever was needed to assist. The nursing staff had arranged transport for
me to the hospital on the mainland should I need it. Before that was to take place local volunteer
nursing persons provided expert attention to me. I was intravenously re-hydrated and drugged
for re-stabilization and within hours I was able to talk coherently, walk and
feel human again. Keith had arrived at
the nursing station by this time and Bridlewilde had been secured. We were treated so well by all the people
that dealt with us with such consideration and care. We felt relieved even though we knew that our
journey to Cape Cod was now going to take a sail down the New England coast, a
sail we had attempted to avoid with the Gulf of Maine crossing. Once I was stabilized and it was determined
that it would not be necessary for me to be transported to the mainland, one of
the nursing staff asked us to return to her home to spend the remainder of the
night, have warm showers and breakfast with she and her husband. The offer was so tempting but we declined to
return to our beloved vessel, the vessel that had safely returned us to land, the
vessel that was awaiting our return, the vessel that was our home. We were so
appreciative however, for the hospitality and concern offered to us.
We were given a ride back to the boat. Keith had previously cleared a path for us to
make our way to our bed. I was shocked to see what real mayhem had occurred
inside. Supplies had been thrown from hatches, drawers had been emptied, books
were strewn, dishes were splayed everywhere, cushions and settee mattresses
were disheveled. She was a mess, a mess
that would be addressed on another day. The boat rocked in silence, our pillows
were fluffed and our bed swaddled and inviting.
We fell into it drained, lulled to sleep by the lap of calm waters
trickling against the hull of our sailboat.
The next day was spent putting Bridlewilde and ourselves
back together. We went to the fire
station for showers; we went to the local coffee shop for breakfast, we went to
the nursing station to provide our medical insurance coverage where we were
told to “ forget about that – it was what
we do – help fellow citizens of the world who need it.” We were so impressed with this community
spirit – the volunteers with the ambulance, the nursing station, at the pier, at
the fire hall, the provision of the wifi café, providing us with a mooring ball,
and the professionalism of the Coast
Guard---such selfless acts are commendable.
Bridlewilde has continually delivered us to ports
unexpected and unknown. We decided to spend a couple days recovering and to become
familiar with our surroundings Carvers Harbour is located on the southern coast
of Vinalhaven Island in the mouth of the Penobscot Bay in the North Atlantic
Ocean. Looking at the harbour, the number of the lobster
fishing vessels moored, rafted, tied, moving about confirms the significance of
their presence. They fish lobster and
lots of them. Unlike the short timeframe
of the Nova Scotian lobster fishery, these fishers in Maine may fish year round.
Vinalhaven Island is the largest of
Maine’s offshore communities. There are
about 1200 permanent residents, half of whom are involved in the lobster industry
with the other half involved in businesses supporting them.
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| Refueling before departure from Carvers Harbour, Maine |
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| Carvers Harbour |
We walked about the small town. We stood on the bridge
overlooking the reversing falls that run underneath a home right in the midst
of the falls, discovered the work of local artists, visited the free wifi café,
and ate at the friendly lunchroom across the harbour from the mooring ball we were
given. Although this charming little community had smitten us, we knew we must
move along. After a quick visit to the
fire hall to make a donation in honour of the safe haven this community had
provided for us, we fueled our tanks and
pushed Bridlewilde out of this harbour
toward the sea again.
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