Wrapping up in Cape Cod, preparing to head south.

The boats are out of the water: Andrew's Hobie on his trailer, the Rhodes 19 on Cynthia's spare one.

This was the first time that I removed the boats from the water without the help of the primary owner or a pro, but Cynthia and I did just fine and found it very satisfying... then found a deep puddle to drive through to rinse her car.

So much to do this winter on both boats: replace a connection point high on the mast of the Hobie, a long list of broken or stuck or loose bits on the Rhodes. Frankly, I am looking forward to working on both of them, but don't have the time now. I'll wait until after Thanksgiving when I am back here.

Yesterday we finished wrapping the Rhodes, bought 12lbs of cranberries at a roadside stand, then walked in the dunes near Provincetown and picked another 4.5lbs of wild cranberries! They look a bit smaller than the commercial berries, but a bit riper/darker. Can you spot the difference?

 The dogs delighted in the open dunes, sniffed the bogs in fascination, then competed with us to see if they could eat cranberries from the plants faster than we could pick them: no signs of indigestion so far.

The winds are strong, the skies changed from clear to thunderous in an hour this morning, the leaves are changing color, the mercury has been dropping for weeks so now seldom gets over 65degF... and will get down below 50degF today: fall is here. We waded waist deep a few days ago, important bits eventually and happily becoming numb in the cold cold water, but the few littlenecks we found taste wonderful.

I look forward to warm water, hunting lionfish, sailing in my little home, seeing Cynthia there soon. I already miss my gal and her pups.... as well as fast internet, unlimited inexpensive water, good fresh food, and shellfish.


PS: I wrote the above yesterday, before packing and seining for silversides... and accidentally putting on Cynthia's outfit. Well, these things will happen: at least she found mine old one quite comfortable as well, as you can see:

Now I'm sitting at the JetBlue gate, missing my gal & looking over pictures of our last adventures.... like sailing with Deb and Heather and the pups.

We collected a great quantity of delicious hard apples under a couple trees and Cynthia made them into wonderful apple sauce and hopes apple butter turns out as well. We shall see. I love having the tart tasty spicy sauce (better than commercial!) with no added sugar or the high fructose corn syrup so inescapable in commercial sauces.

 And we took a sunset walk recently with the dogs. They love the cool weather, although they are both learning to use the cool ocean when they get overheated in the summer.

 Ah, good memories! I look forward to creating many more.

Final Maine blog post: sailing in Penobscot Bay!

My folks have loved sailing this bay for over a half century, although they haven't gone sailing here for a decade or so, so when they invited us to join them in a 3-hour cruise on Bufflehead, we jumped at the chance.

This addition to our plans meant we needed to leave Lubec early, in the gray dawn twilight, in order to get to Rockland for the 10:30am charter. We had mostly packed the night before and, with only a little interpersonal flaring, managed to get onto the road and heading south-west, coffee in hand. The drive went uneventfully, other than my losing my google map while trying to get phone service (it turns out that AT&T does not serve Rockland), but used Cynthia's Verizon phone to get us the final quarter-mile. We dropped my folks at the dock, parked the cars, and ran to the boat with no time left on the clock.

No worries! Daniel, the captain, made us feel welcome and relaxed and navigated us out of the industrial harbor with a running commentary than encompassed history, fishing, news, etc. It covered the wooden one-off sailboat we sailed, the lobstermen who worked for harvest or tourists, the cement plant on shore, and people he had met on his boat.

Since his assistant, his 7-year-old daughter, had to stay ashore that day, I got to help raise sails, handle lines, and man the tiller. I loved the simplicity and authenticity of the old wood boat, even to the use of wood blocks with bronze sheaves and securing lines to a board with pegs rather than to cleats. I loved the simplicity and learning ways that one can build more things on a boat rather than needing to depend on manufactured items.

So, we sailed out of the harbor under blue skies, Bufflehead moved beautifully and easily, and the cold water tempered the fall heat to make us comfortable. We sailed out to the traditional first-night anchorage my folk's always used on their charters, said hello to the lighthouse there on the point, and headed back, sipping coffee and enjoying leftover wild blueberry pie Daniel's wife had cooked.

Very, very nice.

Should we be more like dogs?

People say we should be more like dogs, living in the moment, not constantly checking email and logging on to facebook..... but I've seen dogs walking along on a beautiful day stopping at every tree, bush, and rock to check pee-mail.... and occasionally logging on to fece-book.

Enough joking. I DO love the way many dogs adapt to life, the enthusiasm they have for their joys ("YES! Dog food AGAIN! Score!"), the happiness they show when the one(s) they love come home. I love the way they appreciate attention, a loving cheek and ear scratch.

And they always take advantage of a warm sunbeam on a cool day....

Lubec mackerel madness

Buried under multiple blankets and quilts, we sleep well and wake happy & ready for adventures.

We spent most of the day on Campobello Island where we climbed scary rusted stair/ladders,

  crossed slippery rocks to visit a lighthouse,

enjoyed a nice lunch on the porch of a delightful deli,

and the weaker sex took a nap while the other two walked and watched wildlife.

Then we headed back.

After crossing into the USA, we decided to relax and watch the tide, boats, and birds. Cynthia, however, saw something even more interesting: people on a dock casting lines and pulling up STRINGS of fish! She investigated and discovered that these little fish were mackerel and we could catch them each day near high tide.

I had suggested that we NOT bring any toys, including her wonderful collection of fishing gear, so (after an admirable minimum of pointed comments) she visited the Lubec Hardware store (a truly wonderful place!) where she purchased rod, reel, sinkers, and a rig of four lures, all for about $30... and, an hour or so ahead of high tide the next day, had her line in the water.

Once she figured out how to present the lures the only problems were aching wrists and hands. I caught fish. My mom caught fish. Even my dad, using only a drop line, pulled in four fish at a time!

And Cynthia? She refused to stop when she filled a five-gallon bucket, so I brought a bin from the car: we estimate she caught about a hundred fish. Here are a few...

That night we grilled several and found them absolutely delicious. And we stayed up late in the darkness, gutting fish and packing them in ziplocks buried in ice, finally cleaning our frozen fingers and groaning at aching backs and taking hot showers before crawling into bed happy and satisfied.

Of course, when we got home we had fish to process. It took us about three days to fillet, smoke, package, and freeze them all.

Some have already gone into a delicious pâté, a few wonderful salads, gifts to friends, dinner hot from the smoker, and random snacking. Delightful stuff, but SO much work. Maybe next time we will find some more alternatives. One thing I know: Cynthia will be there on the dock most days, fishing with her GOOD equipment, catching buckets of fish, bringing home enough for delicious meals and giving away much to locals. And I'll be by her side, casting and catching, coming home covered in scales, trying recipes, gaining more sweet memories.

I love the intertidal zone!

Given that Lubec has tides as high as twenty-eight feet, huge areas get exposed. Some of these are mud, but most are gravel and sand. The distance from the cottage to the water can be as little as a couple hundred yards... or nearly a mile, depending on the tide. So, on day two, Cynthia and I drove out onto the wet gravel, following the tracks of other cars that clam diggers had driven. We parked a half mile out and dug clams using a spoon, an empty hummus container, and a sharp rock. Not the most effective method, but we still came up with a gallon or two of nice steamer clams. We also found wonderful large sea worms beloved by fishermen (the largest we had ever seen), masses of tiny red and white threadlike worms, eels under rocks, a big stranded jellyfish,

and reefs of blue mussels.

Cool stuff!

After making an anniversary lunch for my folks (rare grilled steak tips sliced thin on a green salad) and taking a nap, Cynthia and I decided to drive my folks far out on the flats for sunset. We opened littlenecks, packed wine, cheese, crackers, etc, and ambushed them when they returned from town.

I think they enjoyed the day as much as we did!

Lubec, Maine!

Every year, my folks rent a cottage on the coast of Maine in a little town of Lubec at the mouth of the Bay of Fundy. Last year I visited them for a few days and this year Cynthia & I joined them for most of a week. Last year I returned with a camera full of photos and a head full of memories and this year exceeded that in all ways. When I think of Lubec, I think of lobstermen trying to make ends meet by pulling crustaceans from fast flowing cold waters, trees clinging to cliff-like shorelines, bogs where pitcher plants and sundews inhabit unfriendly soils, coniferous forests stunted by thin rocky soil and cold winters, blueberries and cranberries growing wild, apples doing the same, tides that can cover a two-story home, and huge intertidal zones full of clams.

We came to visit for the last few days of the two weeks. Once I snagged Cynthia from work at about 10am after her 24hr shift... and we had dropped off the dogs at their second home... and loaded up... we managed to get on the road before noon; Google Maps navigating, Cynthia snoozing, my bottle of coffee at hand. We passed Boston uneventfully, went through New Hampshire as Michael Pollan read "Cooked", and continued into Maine... and more Maine... and more Maine. As darkness fell, we pulled into the driveway in front of the cottage and went inside to find dinner served and wine and cheese waiting. What a nice welcome! After eating and chatting briefly, we inflated our mattress on the deck and fell asleep under the stars, a chilly breeze blowing gently over us.

We woke to masses of Jerusalem artichoke flowers

 and a beautiful view over the meadow,

 ate breakfast, then went out for a nice long walk with my folks at Quoddy Head Park.

 We first walked through the bog trail and noticed sundew carnivorous plants (the ones that look like they have dew on them) that we had not seen in the sphagnum moss last time,

 then dad headed back and the remaining three of us went all the way to Carrying Place Cove on the shore path, a very complex, strenuous, and beautiful route.

After that, if my memory serves, we headed home, took a nice long nap before a delicious dinner, and slept soundly.

There is too much more to write about here, so I'll post more over the next week...

PS: Cynthia took all these photos.

Blue.... fish, crabs, berries, & fin.

The time between my postings seems to be much longer than a week, not because I have nothing to post, but because I have too much.

Let's see.... to begin with, my gal is mad for fishing. We've been out a few times in her boat and caught fish each time. The last time we found a shoal we had fished before and ran into lots of black bass (a species of grouper, apparently), but only one big enough to make it worth killing. Then we visited another favorite spot and found, along with black bass, a school of bluefish. We took turns casting or trolling the lure that they loved best until I tired and insisted she fish while I steered. Of these eleven fish, two are mine and nine are hers.

While we love to eat fresh fish, when we get a bunch of blues Cynthia loves to make smoked bluefish and put it in the freezer, so this batch got smoked and we ate the bass cooked on the grill with fennel and lemon. We usually end these days tired, smelling of fish, and happy... and this one did not change that rule.. except for smelling even more fishy than usual.


What does one do with a bunch of fish heads? Well, around here you catch lobsters or crabs, so we decided to learn to catch blue crabs. She had never caught one and I hadn't done so for years, so we loaded bait and nets and boats and explored the local tidal creeks. Apparently the blue crabs fear the white board I paddled about in, while they saw her green boat as another bit of natural debris.... at least that is the story I like to tell myself. Between that trip and another in the evening (while I walked the dogs along the marsh edge)

 she caught four beauties and I saw none large enough to keep.

Still, any time spent messing around in boats or on the water is bits of life well spent.... and she split the crabs between us and we sat and picked out the sweet savory crab together, occasionally commenting on an especially large or tasty bit.


We went off to a local farm and picked blueberries, but they seemed a bit picked over, perhaps by people, perhaps by wild birds (we saw some orioles), perhaps a bit by the turkeys the farm held in the same enclosure. I'll try to get a photo for a future post.


 Birthdays come and birthdays go. Cynthia wanted the perfect gift for her birthday and bought herself a fishing charter out of Nantucket with Captain Tom. After two charters with him, she had a pretty high confidence that we would have a great time and catch lots of bass and bluefish... but, as I love to quote "It is difficult to make predictions, especially about the future": we caught only one fish. This might have been disappointing, but...

The day dawned incredibly clear and hot with nearly no wind. We took the ferry to Nantucket and Tom picked us up and drove us to the boat at the west end of the island. His son Jason and the mate, Kevin, greeted us and we chatted. The bass, Jason told us, had left a few days earlier when the water became too warm. Still, the blues were about and... he hesitated... they had reports in the last hour of bluefin tuna just a few miles off shore, just passing through. Might we like to take a few casts for the tuna or just head out for the sure thing, the bluefish?

Well, you only live once and only the two of us to please on this trip: Cynthia decided to go see the tuna first. After twenty minutes on smooth waters

 we started to see the tuna jumping, striking bait on the surface. When we spotted one within a few hundred yards, we would motor over quickly and cast toward it, something Jason referred to as "run and gun". Each of us cast different lures, hoping to find something the tuna would hit. Suddenly Jason yelled that he had one, passed his rod to Cynthia beside him, and said "happy birthday!"

Cynthia worked the fish. It tried to run ahead or back or tangle the line on the propeller or rudder, but she pulled out the skills of a lifetime of fishing and, along with advice from the Jason and Kevin and Jason's skilled maneuvering, kept the fish hooked. At about a half-hour Jason confided to me, saying that the longer the fish worked, the looser the hooks became and the more likely they were to let the fish off. We hoped it would stay on, but at least she would have had the experience of playing a bluefin.

After forty minutes, the fish tired and came alongside. Jason tried to grab it by the tail and haul at aboard, but at his touch the fish revived and dove, ripping line from the reel and the fight continued. At nearly an hour we started to see it glimmering below as Cynthia brought it in. At an hour Jason, a BIG guy reached for it and, finally, to our amazement, managed to haul the massive creature aboard.
landing the tuna

Excitement reigned as the fish slid about, then it was unhooked, dispatched, cleaned and packed in ice. We looked for more tuna, but they are fast-moving fish and the school had moved on or were feeding deeper. We thought about bluefish, but they were too far to reach in the time remaining. So we motored back toward harbor while fish cooled.

We caught the ferry with the fish fillets (they call them "loins" on a tuna) packed in ice, made our way to the parked car, bought more ice (the fish melted a surprising amount while cooling), picked up the dogs from their second home, and went home to shower and sleep...

It has now been four days with the fish packed in ice. Some went to a nice raw dinner with my folks (yes, even mom tasted and enjoyed the fish), much more fed a crowd of about twenty at last night's party at Deb's house where we served it raw, seared, or "cooked through" (well, I left SOME pink inside!). SO good! We have about four or five pounds left and will make big inroads tomorrow.

Amazing fish! Beautifully streamlined, warm-blooded, grow to huge size (at 44" (maybe 65 lbs and 3 years-old) ours was not even old enough to breed), in danger from commercial overfishing (NOT from recreational fishing!), ridiculously valuable (I am not sure if the meat runs more like $50/lb, $100/lb, or higher). I am awed by so many things about this fish and am glad that it has been so appreciated in death. Cynthia had a good birthday trip!