This entry has roots from 20 years ago. There was no Brio. Instead, there was Brio's predecessor, Pamina. She was a sailboat, a Sabre 362. She was 36-feet long, fun to sail and pretty fast on the race course. In late July, Pamina left West Falmouth Harbor on Cape Cod to cross the Gulf of Maine. It was a 30-hour trip, through the night. On board were Chris, his two sons, Nate and Henry and two crew members, Duncan and Andrew Stoddard. Alice and Chris's Mom stood at the end of Big Pier at the entrance to the Harbor that early afternoon, waving good-bye. It was very foggy. Pamina and her crew disappeared into the fog about 100 yards out of the Harbor. Alice and Polly knew they wouldn't hear from the voyagers until the morning after they made landfall. Pamina went through the Cape Cod Canal and slogged into the night in a nor'easter. She made good progress all the next day. At nightfall, she was still several hours off the Maine coast, planning to make landfall on Frenchboro. Frenchboro was an outpost before finishing the trip at Northeast Harbor on the Acadian Peninsula. It was dark when we finally arrived at Frenchboro. Take a look at the chart below for what happened next.
Under sail and in the pitch-black dark, Pamina approached Lunt Harbor close-hauled. We steered for G "1", the green bell to the west of the Harbor. We could hear the bell in the dark, but there was no light on the buoy to confirm its location. There were no further lighted buoys all the way into the Harbor to help guide us. We dropped the sails and started motoring. We had a fathometer that told us we were still in fair water as we crept under power to the east-northeast in complete dark. Once we reached what we thought was the 36-foot depth on the chart, we used a flashlight to locate moored boats in the 10-foot area. We nosed in and dropped the anchor, swinging around with our bow facing northeast. It was early morning, well before dawn. We had been sailing for 30+ hours and we were exhausted. Our sleeping bags felt wonderful as our heads hit our pillows. We had made it successfully across the Gulf of Maine.
Today, Brio made the same entrance in daylight, using all of the same tools Pamina had plus other navigational tools at the ready. A good lesson: don't enter a harbor without lighted buoys at night! That certainly applies to life, doesn't it? Think through what you need in case something doesn't go in your favor.
Brio entered the harbor and we grabbed a mooring. No anchoring this time. We launched the tender, our 11-foot Whaler. Pretty cushy!
We explored the harbor and then came back and tied up at the dock where there is now a restaurant! More cushiness!! Here's the view to the restaurant from Brio.
You can see the weather vane on the church steeple in the distance, to the left.
Once ashore, here's the view to the north towards Brio from above the restaurant.
This building is the restroom for the restaurant. Brio's on her mooring in the harbor. You can see the hills of the Acadian Peninsula to the north. It's one more beautiful day.
We walked around to the head of the harbor where there are the church, the elementary school (3 students) and the village library. The church (note the weather vane):
The school's geodesic dome:
The library is only open Wednesday through Saturday, so we were a day early.
The island is now a nature preserve. We have seen many bald eagles on these islands, including Frenchboro.
Frenchboro is much more today than a desolate outpost and welcomed refuge. Today, you can get a lobster plate or cheeseburger at the restaurant. We enjoyed lobster rolls, lime juice seltzer and blueberry pie a la mode. The cooks were from New York City and West Texas. While Frenchboro may seem charming, it has lost some of its rougher side from 20 years ago. Perhaps that's progress.
The morning of the 23rd, Brio whisked us back to Northeast Harbor in 40 minutes for groceries, water and fuel before we head "East of Schoodic" to see a more remote side of Maine.
Cheers,
Brio
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