I
had always admired the wind driven poetry of tall ships on the horizon, and
always wondered what it would be like to cruise on one. And there at the
dock was the Isaac H. Evans, crimson banner gliding gently in the evening
breeze, waiting to take my daughter and me out for six days along the coast
of Maine.
We
boarded in the early evening, from the North End Shipyard in Rockland Maine.
My daughter Lauren and I stowed our gear in a cabin with two bunks, a small
sink, several hooks on the walls, a reading lamp over each bed, and just
enough space for our duffels. It felt like summer camp, with wooden walls
and built in bunks, everything small and comfortable. The captains meeting,
a tradition for those starting a seafaring adventure, was better than
informative. It was an insight into the captain, the crew, the rhythms of
daily life on the Evans but it way under estimated how much fun lay ahead.
That
night Lauren and I explored the boat, a National Historic Landmark built in
1886. We chatted with the group aboard as the sun eased below the horizon
and shadows slid along this and the other four schooners at the dock. We
found piles of cookies warm from the oven left like breadcrumbs defining the
path to the wood fired galley where we met our chef for the week, Margie.
Michael and Jenny, the mates on board, checked lines seeming busy in a
relaxed way, but not so busy that they couldn’t chat. Captain Brenda talked
with each of us a bit and the comfort level of all on board was high, so
high in fact that most of us crawled into our bunks just as the sliver of
moon rose over the harbor.
We had been told
that coffee would be on deck at 7:00 and breakfast at 8:00. Margie fired up
her wood stove at 4:30 to be able to deliver those precious items. People
wandered up on deck at their own comfortable pace, perching on cushions atop
the dozens of cozy places to sit on the Evans. Quietly and unobtrusively
mountains of breakfast appeared on deck. Sausages, bacon, blueberry
pancakes, hot maple syrup, scrambled eggs, warm rolls arrived enough to feed
twice our number.
We
had no firm itinerary. We would go where the winds were favorable to explore
islands and harbor towns, relax in the sunshine on deck, look for rolling
dolphins and blowing whales while consuming mountains of delicious goodies
from the galley for six days. No TV, no radios or phones distracted from the
sounds of our schooner’s response to wind and water. The kids on board
occupied themselves by learning to braid lines and tie knots, reading,
swimming, climbing about the “rat lines”, diving off the boat, and hovering
like urchins at the galley hatch where chef Margie sang show tunes and baked
them treats. The adults read, dozed, fished, chatted and often joined the
kids for whatever entertainment they had devised. It was absolutely
impossible to remain a “type A” personality in this environment.
The
only times of anything other than low RPM life was when we raised and
lowered the sails, or hauled anchor. This could be accomplished in a
half-hour or so with a dozen volunteers. Given a guest compliment of 22 and
a crew of four, which meant that nobody had to do it, but some of us really
enjoyed the task. Everyone enjoyed the watching the huge canvas sails follow
the gaff to the top of the mast and fill with wind. The growing tension in
the hull as the boat began to perform as designed was a powerful and
restless feeling. Experience levels at sailing varied aboard. Still, each of
us seemed to settle in to our own undefined flow with life at sea that
brought peace and the state of mind where your eyes gently roam along the
horizon and things that were difficult to consider seem to become suddenly
clear.
In
our six days with Captain Brenda we went to a very small town where the
locals were playing steel drums and there was a street dance going on. We
spent a morning walking about an island with a population of 45. My
daughter, the consummate baseball fan was allowed to fly the huge blue Red
Sox team banner to the top of the mast right below a pirate flag. We roamed
through beautiful Stonington and found an opera house, wonderful shopping, a
harbor view filled with schooners and a sign on the dock that said “Birthing
Limit Two Hours”, every mothers dream. We spent an evening on a spit of land
having fresh seaweed steamed lobsters, and in the morning found that the
land was underwater. We ran signal flags up the mast to a nearby ship
spelling the word “pulchritude”. I am not sure why we did that, but the kids
and crew shared in the joke and the other boat signaled back.
I
found this to be a most wonderful adventure to share with Lauren. Beautiful
scenery along the craggy coast of Maine and dotted with more schooners than
I had ever seen in one place. My daughter and I spent lots of time talking
and doing things together that we didn’t seem to do at home. Lauren made
great friends with the other kids on the boat, and now they are emailing to
stay in touch. I will certainly stay in touch with my new friends as well.
Collectively we got so relaxed that it was nearly impossible to remember
what day of the week it was, and what hour had no relevance at all. The only
possible problem with such a vacation is re-entry. Traffic is an almost
unbearable assault on the senses after the freedom and quiet of the boat.
Additionally, it was one of the most inexpensive adventures I have
encountered. I tried the argument with Lauren that with all expenses
included at roughly $800 each for six days at sea, we couldn’t afford to go
home.
TM
I
had always admired the wind driven poetry of tall ships on the horizon, and
always wondered what it would be like to cruise on one. And there at the
dock was the Isaac H. Evans, crimson banner gliding gently in the evening
breeze, waiting to take my daughter and me out for six days along the coast
of Maine. 
We
boarded in the early evening, from the North End Shipyard in Rockland Maine.
My daughter Lauren and I stowed our gear in a cabin with two bunks, a small
sink, several hooks on the walls, a reading lamp over each bed, and just
enough space for our duffels. It felt like summer camp, with wooden walls
and built in bunks, everything small and comfortable. The captains meeting,
a tradition for those starting a seafaring adventure, was better than
informative. It was an insight into the captain, the crew, the rhythms of
daily life on the Evans but it way under estimated how much fun lay ahead.
That
night Lauren and I explored the boat, a National Historic Landmark built in
1886. We chatted with the group aboard as the sun eased below the horizon
and shadows slid along this and the other four schooners at the dock. We
found piles of cookies warm from the oven left like breadcrumbs defining the
path to the wood fired galley where we met our chef for the week, Margie.
Michael and Jenny, the mates on board, checked lines seeming busy in a
relaxed way, but not so busy that they couldn’t chat. Captain Brenda talked
with each of us a bit and the comfort level of all on board was high, so
high in fact that most of us crawled into our bunks just as the sliver of
moon rose over the harbor.
We had been told
that coffee would be on deck at 7:00 and breakfast at 8:00. Margie fired up
her wood stove at 4:30 to be able to deliver those precious items. People
wandered up on deck at their own comfortable pace, perching on cushions atop
the dozens of cozy places to sit on the Evans. Quietly and unobtrusively
mountains of breakfast appeared on deck. Sausages, bacon, blueberry
pancakes, hot maple syrup, scrambled eggs, warm rolls arrived enough to feed
twice our number.
We
had no firm itinerary. We would go where the winds were favorable to explore
islands and harbor towns, relax in the sunshine on deck, look for rolling
dolphins and blowing whales while consuming mountains of delicious goodies
from the galley for six days. No TV, no radios or phones distracted from the
sounds of our schooner’s response to wind and water. The kids on board
occupied themselves by learning to braid lines and tie knots, reading,
swimming, climbing about the “rat lines”, diving off the boat, and hovering
like urchins at the galley hatch where chef Margie sang show tunes and baked
them treats. The adults read, dozed, fished, chatted and often joined the
kids for whatever entertainment they had devised. It was absolutely
impossible to remain a “type A” personality in this environment. 
The
only times of anything other than low RPM life was when we raised and
lowered the sails, or hauled anchor. This could be accomplished in a
half-hour or so with a dozen volunteers. Given a guest compliment of 22 and
a crew of four, which meant that nobody had to do it, but some of us really
enjoyed the task. Everyone enjoyed the watching the huge canvas sails follow
the gaff to the top of the mast and fill with wind. The growing tension in
the hull as the boat began to perform as designed was a powerful and
restless feeling. Experience levels at sailing varied aboard. Still, each of
us seemed to settle in to our own undefined flow with life at sea that
brought peace and the state of mind where your eyes gently roam along the
horizon and things that were difficult to consider seem to become suddenly
clear.
In
our six days with Captain Brenda we went to a very small town where the
locals were playing steel drums and there was a street dance going on. We
spent a morning walking about an island with a population of 45. My
daughter, the consummate baseball fan was allowed to fly the huge blue Red
Sox team banner to the top of the mast right below a pirate flag. We roamed
through beautiful Stonington and found an opera house, wonderful shopping, a
harbor view filled with schooners and a sign on the dock that said “Birthing
Limit Two Hours”, every mothers dream. We spent an evening on a spit of land
having fresh seaweed steamed lobsters, and in the morning found that the
land was underwater. We ran signal flags up the mast to a nearby ship
spelling the word “pulchritude”. I am not sure why we did that, but the kids
and crew shared in the joke and the other boat signaled back. 
I
found this to be a most wonderful adventure to share with Lauren. Beautiful
scenery along the craggy coast of Maine and dotted with more schooners than
I had ever seen in one place. My daughter and I spent lots of time talking
and doing things together that we didn’t seem to do at home. Lauren made
great friends with the other kids on the boat, and now they are emailing to
stay in touch. I will certainly stay in touch with my new friends as well.
Collectively we got so relaxed that it was nearly impossible to remember
what day of the week it was, and what hour had no relevance at all. The only
possible problem with such a vacation is re-entry. Traffic is an almost
unbearable assault on the senses after the freedom and quiet of the boat.
Additionally, it was one of the most inexpensive adventures I have
encountered. I tried the argument with Lauren that with all expenses
included at roughly $800 each for six days at sea, we couldn’t afford to go
home.