Day 2 – Monhegan Island to Burnt Island

With a whole day before us we set off to explore Monhegan Island in earnest.

We rowed into the village, followed the dirt road past the brewery, and continued over to Lobster Cove.

There, an old tug was strewn about the rocks, huge rusted panels of sheet metal wasting away in the salty air. We wandered the cliff trail around the island, which lives up to the name; tall pine crested cliffs tower over the dark surf below. Gulls were nesting on the cliffs, their fuzzy newborns hobbling flightless on the steep terrain.

As we hiked around the outer rim of the Island, Andrew yelped, he had nearly flattened an accurately named smooth green snake. We finished the loop all eight feet intact, and before heading to Isla we swung back to the brewery. Seated at a picnic table surrounded by a wall of bright blue lobster traps, we grabbed a couple beers and drank on empty stomachs. After, on Isla, we enjoyed a lunch of canned chicken with chili powder and instant mashed potatoes. Andrew hauled The Dingy back onto the foredeck, and from Monhegan we sailed to Burnt Island in light and variable winds. The seven mile sail was slow, but I spotted a bird swimming off the bow and watched his stout orange beak lead a hurried dive for cover, a puffin! 

We arrived at Burnt and inched between two other yachts in the lee of the island. It was time to test our anchoring abilities. Quietly nervous, we dropped the anchor and let out the rode. We watched carefully as Isla swayed side to side in the breeze, closer to one neighbor, and then the other. Convinced we wouldn’t damage the six figure boats, Andrew took Caly ashore.

I put up the hammock between the forestay and the mast, and reread the chapter on anchoring in the book of seamanship. Some might have done that before anchoring, but it was more interesting reading after. A distinctive cry echoed above us; two bald eagles were perched on the tops of the nearby spruce, keeping watch.

While we made dinner, a group of kids, outdoor-character-building-camp patrons by the looks of it, sailed/rowed up to the harbor and grabbed one of few small moorings near shore. After an hour it became clear they were not going ashore to sleep. Noting the overnight on the cabin-less boat and the number of people, we wondered how they would empty themselves. They couldn’t all hold it that long.

Sunset was peaceful, and not ruined by mosquitoes.