Downeast Maine

A little late, I know, but I now must make room for further adventures, and I've let things slide too long.

Downeast I headed last August in my little but strong boat named Daphne.  I sailed alone with Daphne, but had a cast of characters who managed to make their way onto the boat and into my head.  George, the autohelm, Frank, the self steering wind vane, Jimmy, the GPS.  We would converse when I wasn't talking with "Daph."  Of course, I also found Wilson on a small island...

The Downeast voyage was a test of the system.  Since buying Daphne a year before, I hadn't had a significant voyage but wanted to see how we of the system would do together.  Contrary to when my friends and I bought Crazy Horse, I did not have a specific voyage in mind when I bought Daphne.   I just knew she was the vessel I had been looking for and figured the voyages would present themselves in due time.  So going Downeast was the best place to go, close by.  With good winds, fog, strong currents, and tides, it would do.  And I wanted to know if I could handle the boat by myself.  This was a big question.  While having crew is preferable, I wanted to know if I had to depend on crew to move the boat.  

And so off on my voyage I went.  What followed was some of the best weeks I've ever had.  I loved my days.  Weather was king, and the first thing I would do upon opening my eyes would be to slide the hatch of the aft cabin open and look into the sky.  The sky would tell me what kind of day I would have.  Where there clouds, fog, sun, was the anemometer at the top of the mast spinning?  From there I would take a dip in true Outward Bound style, and then have my breakfast which usually consisted of yogurt, fruit and granola.  After breakfast I would make a plan for the day, looking where I wanted to get to and figuring out what was possible with the daylight, tides and winds and exploration opportunities on land and sea. 

Sailing alone means there are no one else's hands to do work when I'm at the helm, so it took an extra half an hour to plan through in my head and then ready every little thing so that I would be spared the little tasks when I needed to be doing other things.  On the list:

George on

Frank ready and working

Check fuel

Trumpet accessible (my fog horn)

Ladder up

Downwind aft life lines down

Check sunset time

Check tides/currents

Pee bottle handy

Instruments/radio on

Sunscreen on

Water handy

Snacks handy

Chart on deck

Log book on deck

Head door locked

Destination info handy

Nav plan ready

PFD w/ radio, PLB ready

Warm clothes accessible

Hatches closed

Sail plan ready w/ respect to weather conditions

Weather forecast written down

After completing the list I would sit below decks and meditate for five minutes to let my mind remind me of anything else I forgot, to take a few moments to remind myself of what I was doing, of the dangers of being forgetful or distracted.  

Around Schoodic Point, officially having made it to Downeast Maine, I was becalmed.  But I had time and so I let Billy Bob, the engine, take a rest.  I was content with bobbing about as I had options and didn't have a schedule I had to be on.  I like this type of sailing best, as I find it puts me most in tune with the wind and the water around me.  And the feeling of going from the bobbing about in the calms to a little steady push through the water is amazing.  

Sometimes I would have my little stereo going, sometimes I would sing loud and proud as I sailed, sometimes I would dance, sometimes I would talk to myself, lots of times I would talk to Daphne.  I had no schedule, I had no anchorage plan, I would just make the day fit the conditions.  I explored islands for hours on end either bushwhacking through the brush or running on the island roads.  I made it to 20 miles south of the Canadian boarder to magical Cross Island.  Endless exploration there was to be had.  Sometimes exploring islands, sometimes donning my wetsuit to explore the underwater world of rockweed.     

I love my little boat.  She took me where my soul seems to like it best.  Living with the moon, the sun, the wind, the waves, the islands.  I'll let the pics say the rest.  Thanks for reading.  

Coastal Maine!

Downeast, Maine
22 August 2013
It's now 15 days into the voyage and I haven't written a thing.  All of the last 15 days have been spent aboard my sailboat Daphne.  Much of the last few weeks was spent with wonderful crew and wonderful people I've been visiting along the way.  But now it is just me and Daphne as we continue downeast and life aboard Daphne, my 27 foot pocket cruiser extraordinaire, and life on the Maine coastline is too interesting not to share.

Two weeks ago, Daphne, my father and I departed from Mattapoisett, Massachusetts.  I had spent a few weekhat here getting her ready, there were times when I loved the prep work and the anticipation of what was to come and times where I wondered what the heck I was doing being the sole owner of a sailboat.  The old adage says a boat is a hole in the water you throw your money into...I just had to trust in myself, Daphne and my decisions along the way that this was a worthwhile adventure.

The short version of the first leg highlights my dad as First Mate, sailing on his 75th birthday in the pouring rain into Marblehead where we were met by many other members of our family.   Dad at this point was an old hand having sailed on the delivery with me from Long Island, where she was when I purchased her.  With his experience aboard, his willingness to do any task and more of what was asked for him, his treating me to dinners and moorings in interesting towns, and the fun of sharing a second sscone sailing adventure, Dad was an excellent first mate.  He and I sailed from Mattapoisett to near Freeport, Maine, and some excellent sailing weather, broke some speed records and had a wonderful time.

At Bustins Island we Visited with home town friend Dave McCoy and family, who treated us to lobsters on the beach with an amazing warmth and hospitality to be reckoned with!  It was then time for Pops to go on other adventures so Rob Lloyd, of the Crazy Horse sailing adventure to Panama and back, filled the first mate slot.  Over the next few days Lloydo and I set even faster speed records (breaking 7 knots), visited a lighthouse on beautiful Seguin Island, and had a wonderful time getting our sail on.  Rob also had numerous contributions and discoveries as I am still learning about the boat.  One of the most exciting was that there is a broiler with which to toast sandwich bread!  What a boat, I say!

Lloydo and I made it to Tennants Harbor where we met up with his wife Nadine, Chris Cabot, also of Crazy Horse, his wife Kai, and their infant son Saer who would all join us for the next day's passage to North Haven and Vinalhaven Islands in Penobscot Bay.  while in Tennants Harbor I crossed paths with Teresa Carey, Daphne's previous owner, who came sailing in on an Outward Bound pulling boat.  It was wonderful to see her as well as welcome her back aboard to share stories and for me to learn a few of her hard earned tips!  She took such good care of Daphne (named adter her grandmother) and I have her to thank for Daphne's excellent functionality and style.

Then on to the Fox Island Thorofare and what a treat to have three of the four Crazy Horse crew together!  (We missed you Ted!)  And really fun to have a big wonderful crew on Daphne!
After a very social and wonderful weekend with Chris and many Outward Bound friends on North Haven I headed back to Hurricane Island to test out a real solo sailing voyage.  the trip there and back was successful - some parts went according to plan and others were totally chaotic, but there was controlled learning in all and they helped shape the plans and routines that are now used.  The voyage to Hurricane was when things went very much according to plan was one of my most memorable sailing days I've ever had.  Planned and executed and it took me to Hurricane Island, one of my most favorite places in the world.  To have sailed there from home, to have done the last leg solo and to be welcomed there by good ffriends are for an excellent day.

I spent a few days on Hurricane exploring, clearing trails, going for runs and dips, visiting with new and old friends and discussing the new Hurricane Island Foundation/Hurricane Island Center for Science and Leadership, I headed back to North Haven to fill up on water, food, diesel and a few other miscellaneous supplies.

This afternoon when all the errands and visits were done with many thanks to all who fed me and helped me get around (Joel, Amy, Cecily, Jen and Dieter, you guys are awesome!) it was time to depart. It was very hard to leave my wonderful friends and the wonderful island of North Haven, but there is a short summer window in which to explore the islands and coastline to the Northeast, So I bid them adieu and set off for adventure with lady Daphne (right after meeting Liv Tyler - she's awesome!).

Across East Penobscot and a now current speed record of 7.42 knots!  The learning comes from the chaos and the order.  I suppose both are always necessary.  I had lots of help steering from George (the traditional name for the auto pilot) and little help from Frank (my non-traditional name for the self steering wind vane). Apparently Frank did not want to cooperate since I had not properly balanced the boat for a 15+ knot wind coming across the bay.  (I should have put a reef in the mainsail.)

I anchored at McGlathery Island after much time talking and singing to myself and all who may have secretly heard me on shore, with many laughs and smiles.  I later played taps as the sun went down, went for a swim and cooked a mean dinner for one as a huge red moon rose over the island.
There were times where I thought today, "Why should I leave North Haven?"  But something drove me on and as I came in to anchor with the recent laughter still in my ears from speaking in a Scottish accent (brought on by McGlathery Island) and comfortably sailing along at five knots in beautiful protected waters, steering with my left buttcheek I thought, "Ah, yes, I prefer to sail with good friends and family, but there is also some purity of sailing solo.  It takes ten times longer to get underway, but the rewards and learning that come are so far so good and I hope to keep them that way.

For my parents and anyone else who may be worried, I try to check in every day on the ham radio maritime net, I sail conservatively when alone and I wear my personal floatations device or PFD which has now really become a "life jacket."  If for some crazy reason I were to fall overboard, I would have my PF to keep me afloat and if George or Frank were steering Faphne away from me I could use the waterproof VHF radio stooped in the pocket of my PFD to hail a boat.  And if that didn't work I could activate the emergency signal from my Personal Locatorn Beacon also attached to the PFD  (of course activating the PLB after trying first to swim to the nearest island).

By the numbers...
Miles sailed today: 15ish
Wind speed (from the SW in knots): 15-20
Hours sailed: 3
Hours George steered: .5
Hours Ben steered: 2.49
Hours Frank steered: .01
Hours with Billy Bob on (Billy Bob's the diesel motor): .5
Number of other sailboats in the anchorage: 3
Tide range in feet: 11
Number of watches that went overboard today: 1
Temperature of the air: 70
Temperature of the water: 60
Lobster pots passed today: infinity...and beyond!

That's all for now.  Now to do a walk around the boat to make sure everything is ship shape and quiet for the night and then to hit the aft cabin for a restafter not sure how far Downeast I will get, I suppose I will turn around when it feels appropriate.  Daphne is taking good care of me, I don't think I will ever own a finer boat.

Off the Ice!

And so once again I find myself in the unfrozen world.  It never seems to amaze me.  All at once, I feel like I’ve been freed - transplanted to a new world, and I guess I have.  The warm breeze, the song of the birds, the stars and clouds.  It is a different world, and I like it. 

Leaving the Ice is always a very intense time.  The good memories of the season, the upcoming freedoms, hopes and dreams and the saying goodbye to friends all make for a wild time.  136 days on the Ice this time around.  Some amazing places, some wonderful people and some wild experiences.  It is too hard to put it all into words, into thoughts.  But I slept like a dream, those first nights feeling like I was barely breathing in the night air as if I didn't need as much oxygen as I needed down south.  My body is starting to recover from the south and I am enjoying freedoms not had in four and half months.  Released from waking up at 6:30 every morning, from three meals a day at specific times, from set recreational ski/run loops, from a set schedule of work, from a set group of people.  Onwards.  After a week in Australia visiting friends and family, I am now home!  Here are a few of my favorites from the season.  Thanks for reading!  (Coming up this summer is a NOLS Alaska mountaineering course with Naval Academy students.)

Antarctic Airmen Down

For those of you who haven't heard, there was a small plane lost in Antartica last week.  The downed plane was a Twin Otter operated by Ken Borak Air (KBA), a Canadian company that does much of the contract flying near both poles and also does much of the near fixed wing support for McMurdo scientists.  This particular Twin Otter was supporting a nearby Italian base and was flying from the South Pole Station to the Italian base, a little north of McMurdo.

Showing up for work one day last week, we were told an aircraft was overdue and that an ELT (emergency locator transmitter) had been activated but no other communications had been heard.  This was an ominous sign as ELTs are activated by the force of an impact or at the least a hard landing.  And so the wait began...

One hundred knot winds and overcast skies kept the search and rescue (SAR) crews from locating the aircraft.  Still, one plane circled for 7 hours hoping to make contact with the three person Canadian crew of the Twin Otter.  Eventually a few aganizing days later the plane was sighted and it was assumed unsurvivable, apparently having flown into the mountain in a left bank, I believe.  A few days after that, the SAR team made it to the aircraft after having been dropped off on a ridge above the Otter, descended the few hundred meters over crevasses terrain at 13,000 feet.  They were prepared for a recovery mission, but because of the impact they could not get tot the cockpit.  Instead they were able to get the cockpit voice recorder and some personal belongings to bring home to family members of the deceased - a pilot, a co-pilot and a flight mechanic.  (A full accident investigation is now underway and it seems weather will be the primary cause.)

It was a strange time to be at McMurdo.  With a thousand people, there is enough disconnect where things continue without missing a beat.  But then there are there are those that haven't slept for 30 hours because they've been preparing for a search and rescue.  Then there are the others who when asked how they are doing, answer with tears after having communicated with the search parties over the radio all day.  And then there is me, feeling helpless in McMurdo.

Last night, there was an outside memorial service for the fallen aircrew.  I had never been to a memorial service for downed airmen and as a pilot myself, it was particularly moving.  A few words and prayers were said, followed bByatt minute of silence, followed by taps, which I had been asked to play.  I kept my little pocket trumpet inside my down jacket to keep it warm, and broke the silence with the horn blowing the sounds of farewell towards McMurdo Sound.

A few minites later, there was a fly-by.  First by a DC-3 Baslar and then by a Twin Otter, both aircraft of KBA and both in service here at McMurdo, flown by flig crews who surely knew the crew that perished.  After a few extra minutes of silence, the sight and sound of those aircraft spaced maybe 30 seconds apart, flying low and in honor of their fallen comrades, was something to behold.  I have never been so moved by an aircraft and all that it was flying for.  All that were there watched them pass over the Sound and then the service was completed.  Attendees were. To to mill about outside as it was windy and cold intrue Antarctic fashion, but I had to linger to watch the planes head towards the mountains, and then slowly make their way back to the Pegasus white ice runway, near 10 miles away, almost as if they didn't want to come down...as if they didn't want to leave the amazing world their friends were lost in. Nearing the end of this summer season on the Ice, I contemplated the wonders of this continent, of flying, and the brotherhood that is forged by the two.

A few folks came up to me afterwards to thank me for my contribution - such a simple gesture on their part, but so appreciated by me.  If there was nothing I could have done to save the crew, at the very least I could honor them.  For this I was very thankful.  Many prayers sent to the crew's families.

Here is the poem, High Flight, by John Gillespie Magee, written in 1941, that was printed on the service program:

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

The memorial service at the South Pole (From the KBA website).

For bios and pics of the men who died:

http://www.borekair.com/memorial/

Stuck on Mt. Erebus

Last week, I went for a space walk up on Mt. Erebus with my co-worker, Nick.  As we were launched upwards to around 11,000 feet, my co-worker and I looked outside, looked at each other and made faces to the effect of not really knowing what was in our futures.  From McMurdo, it looked like the top of the volcano was completely in the clouds.   It had been scouted, however, and there was a back entrance to our little spot on the side of shoulder that overlooks the peninsula 11,000 feet below.  We both had questions as to the weather but we were assured by our pilot, that the nearby clouds would burn off and the rest would be blown away…I was in need of a little adventure so, what the heck, out of the helo we went! 

In my spacesuit.

We were dropped off at a place called Cones Z.  It’s on a shoulder of Mt. Erebus and serves as a communications hub for science data coming from other parts of Mt. Erebus.  It’s a notoriously weathered place.  Two winters ago, both 40 foot towers came down.  Last winter, both wind turbines were rendered inoperable, either by throwing blades or by throwing tails…or both.  The assumed mode of failure is rime ice which then unbalances the “birds” and they then vibrate themselves to pieces sort of like a washing machine out of whack. 

Cones has a "rescue apple" complete with fold up chairs, sleeping bags, food, fuel, and most importantly it is a passive-thermally heated place.  Quite a nice spot to come in from the cold to.

Video Link: Into Space

We were there to replace two wind birds and we got to work after a rest in the apple.  That is the routine when coming from sea level to 11,000 feet in half an hour – rest…work…rest…work…The weather held for a bit, but then it became windy and the cloud enveloped us.  We were up the tower, hand warmers on both sides of my hands, double facemasks, harnessed in…we were astronauts doing our space walk.  I loved it.  The tower work at Cones is among my favorite of jobs here on Ross Island.  At some point in the afternoon, it was clear a helicopter would not be coming to pick us up that day.  So we eyed the contents of the apple and saw we would be okay.  The important things: a big cylinder of Oxygen and a Gamov bag (a portable mini-hyperbaric chamber), should one of us start suffering from altitude illness.  How long we could be stuck here we did not know.  Weather in McMurdo can shut down for days on end.  Weather at Erebus can shut down for days on end.  Who was to say…at last, a little Antarctic adventure.   A little unknown!  Where would we sleep, how would we get off the mountain?!  I knew we would sleep, and eventually get off the mountain but welcomed the unpredictability of it all and hoped we wouldn’t get altitude illness.  So we continued to work like spacemen, little tasks taking a long time: 

Video Link (nothing too exciting but gives a sense of what the job is sometimes like): 

Space Walk!

Eventually we got one bird up and were starting on the second when out of the mist came two snowmobiles.  They informed us that they had spoken with "helo ops" who said they could no longer come to get us.  So we were going to have to spend the night on the mountain.  We cleaned up our gear as were then informed that more weather was coming in, and headed to the Lower Erebus Hut (still at 11,000 feet or so).  At "LEH" we had a cup of tea, as there was a strong british contingent of scientists and support workers at the little hut here, and then we headed three thousand feet down a Fang Gulley to Fang Camp where folks go to spend two nights to acclimatize to the altitude on their way up to LEH to do their volcanology studies on the upper mountain.  (As a side note, Upper Erebus Hut, was abandoned not too many years ago because lava bombs from the lava lake were ejecting out of the crater and landing near the hut.)

We made it down the gulley, which has rolled many a snowmobile, and finally our camp came into view.  Four "Scott Tents."  There was a mountaineer and an artist in residence here acclimatizing, so at least we had some extra company.

Our refuge: Scott tents.

 We were later told that a helo would try to get us in the morning and bring us back up to Cones to finish our work.  Unfortunately, the morning brought no break in the weather and McMurdo itself was socked in.  It was soon apparent that we would spend another night at Fang.  There is not much to do there, the weather too bad for hiking, we had brought no chess board or cards, we were going to start making them but instead hung out with the artist in residence.  Cutting out the frivolousness we cut to the chase and asked her to tell us her life story.  Quite fascinating it was, and quite complicated necessitating the use of props, and we later reciprocated our own life stories.  I like the crap that gets cut out in the field.  No idle chat, let's get down to business, who are you, tell us about your life.  I like it.

So Nick slept a lot, I read a bit about a sailing adventure, tried to raise someone on my little HAM radio, made little notes in my notebook about various things and tried to enjoy the arduous task of making water which took many trips out into the blowing snow to get another pot full of snow, all the while wondering if we were going to spend the week in that little tent.  

After two nights, salvation showed up and thankfully took us back to Cones so we could finish our work.  We were able to finish the work, thankfully and enjoyed a beautiful morning on Mt. Erebus.  

Helo at Cones.

Two birds up and running.

The towers and the crater rim.

A little closer to space.

Eventually we made it back to town, satisfied that our job was done.  Many people were happy to see us back, and word had made it around town a bit that we were stuck at Fang.  It was a nice Antarctic adventure into the unknown.  Life in McMurdo seems very sheltered and it was nice to have some activity and weather on the side of the mountain.  Change is good.  Space is awesome.  

In other news, I had dinner with an astronaut last week.  He is here on a team searching for meteorites.  I met him when I briefed him and his crew on our portable solar power units.  Fascinating to talk to him  about the application process.  His recommendations: 1. Keep applying 2. Do what you love.  Done and done!  He spoke very highly of Antarctic experience as well as NOLS experience... we shall see.  My application done and gone, NASA should announce the ones who beat me out this spring.  It'll be interesting to read their resumes.  For now, though, I have plenty to keep me busy.  If you're still reading, thanks!  I miss you all back in the unfrozen land and I'll be home in two months!