Day 47 – Steele Harbor Island to Bar Harbor
In a semi-awake state I noted the boat was rocking considerably, shifting my weight from side to side. I struggled to shirk the unwanted consciousness and keep sleeping. When the brightening light and continued rocking willed me out of bed, I saw the night’s calm had been replaced by boat wakes, their makers stop-starting to haul up lobster traps.
We weighed anchor and motored in light winds past Prospect Harbor, to Schoodic Point, and into full views of the oceanside mountains on Mount Desert Island. En route, we cleaned the boat, and even the bilge, in preparation for a full search by customs. Andrew called their office to give them the requested two hour warning of our official arrival stateside. We glided in a few minutes early, 1:15pm, and tied up at the town dock.
The assistant harbor master came and greeted us, he was happy to let us wait there on the dock for the customs officer, who apparently had left about twenty minutes ago. 1:30 came and went officer-less, and so did 2:00 and 2:30. We were reading, writing, and listening to podcasts, confined to the boat. Tourists wandered about the docks, a fair percentage posing for the exact same cell phone photo: humans dead center, holding smiles just a little too long, bodies blocking a center portion, commensurate with their height and BMI, of the four masted schooner, Margaret Todd. None posed with Isla.
The owner of the boat tied up across the dock, Cygnus, offered to hold the camera for one of the groups, and came over to say hi afterwards. He had just cleared customs himself. He offered us his quarantine flag, which the officers, “get all horny about”. A lack of it, that is.
Andrew called the customs office a few times, they called him once, and many hours later a white Ford Escape pulled up at the end of the dock, 5:30pm. The important and busy officer stepped out onto the dock with an unhappy, serious expression on his face. We braced for a full interrogation and deconstruction of Isla’s interior.
Once, on our way back into Maine after day hiking in Lac Megantic, an officer had relentlessly grilled my two friends and me about the lighter he spotted in the trunk. As much as he wished otherwise, we were camping, and not smuggling marijuana across the border, but he strongly encouraged us not to hide anything, and threatened us with an exhaustive search and arrest multiple times.
If one were to extrapolate the unpleasantness from that interaction to entering the country in a sailboat with much larger combustion conveniences and 1000 places to hide things, surely, the coming hours would include polygraphs, drug dogs, a full inventory of our possessions, and Andrew failing to come up with a reasonable explanation for having seven film cameras on board.
Andrew offered a smile as the officer approached; he smiled politely in return. When he spotted Caly, a full toothed smile spread across his face. This man loved beagles. He asked her name, explaining he had three at home, and it was clear the interrogation was now a beagle meet and great. He asked for our names, where we were coming from, and if we had any citrus products on board, smiling warmly at Caly all the while. He told us we were all set. Smugglers, take note.
Excited to finally leave the boat, we walked up the dock, away from the sea of water, and waded into the sea of out-of-staters. Returning from Hanny’s with bags full of non perishables and too much, American-priced beer, we walked back to Isla and invited our dockmate, Michael, over to share some Switchbacks. He had just retired and was sailing down from Michigan by way of the St. Lawrence Seaway. He said, “you don’t tell people you’re sailing around the world, but I’m planning on sailing for four or five years.” He invited us onto Cygnus, a Hallberg Rassy 46, and gave us a tour of the Swedish center cockpit sloop.
The cockpit was sleek and featured a large modern navigation system with radar, controls for numerous hydraulic winches, one very large steering wheel, and push buttons on each side for the bow thruster. Beneath the teak decks was a stylish, Scandinavian living space, with an elegantly lipped table between the settee and two wonderfully comfortable lounge chairs. The wood was again all teak, the light switches perfect, flush circles which tilted into the wall with a satisfying tock. There were two full bathrooms below deck, showers and all, and a spacious aft cabin. The thick soundproof doors to the engine compartment opened to reveal, and automatically light, the engine, the water maker, and the generator, all surrounded by ample space for maintenance. It was truly a beautiful and thoughtfully constructed boat.
Michael went to pick up his girlfriend from the tiny airport nearby, and we headed back into town to grab dinner, pad Thai. After eating we left the dock, navigated through the surrounding boats by headlamp, and picked up an empty mooring, so as to not be charged $3.75 per foot for dock space.
