Day 1 – Riggs Cove to Monhegan Island

Yesterday we moved onto Isla and slept aboard in Riggs Cove, tucked into the Maine Coast. Both sets of parents came to send us off and see the boat in the water. The tiny dinghy, The Dingy, pushed low into the green water as I rowed my mom and dad out. We all jostled below deck surveying the cabin and sharing assurances. Isla was looking better from the hours Andrew had put in, and also from the eviction of tools and ongoing projects covering the interior before.

Too many hugs later, our parents and their reasonable anxieties were back ashore, and we ferried Caly over to let her out before bed. The cove was now dark; I stopped to relieve myself off the dock. The disturbed water lit faintly, like sunken fireflies might, and I swirled an oar in the black to watch the flickering creatures. 

I woke at 5:30am, too early, and silently went above deck to fish in the morning fog. Two mackerel tailed the lure with curiosity, striped backs following the evidently too large rubber minnow. I waited in the quiet for Andrew to rise. 

When he did we ate breakfast, peanut butter sandwiches, and then set about hooking up the head (toilet) to the holding tank. We heated tubing over the gimbaled alcohol stove to soften it and rushed to force it onto barbed plumbing connectors before it cooled. Many attempts later, we finished that and started moving. We filled our gas and water tanks at Robinhood Marina, and left the cove. We spotted two huge masts behind the trees around Towensend Gut, and changed course to investigate.

There, we passed Marie, an incredibly large and expensive cutter rigged ketch. It dwarfed the trees on shore.

We continued down the gut, through the swing bridge that opens on the half hour, and then sailed in light winds ten miles offshore to Monhegan Island. The sail dragged on for hours and the slow swell eventually bothered my cubicle coddled stomach. We followed another sloop into the harbor, grabbed a large mooring, rowed ashore, spoke with the harbor master, grabbed a larger mooring per his request, and rowed back ashore to explore.

Andrew hopped out, and I went to stand just as he pulled the dinghy further up on the beach. I fell backwards with force and a small crowd on shore certainly saw it happen. Cameras in tow, we set out for a quick walk around the village, walking up to the lighthouse on the hill above the town.

Back in the village on the lobster dock, we saw numerous jelly fish, and also regular fish. This prompted a contest to catch dinner, loser had to clean the catch. I won with three pollock, the second and third biting the sabiki as if in response to the frantic reactions of the first to the hook. The guests on the front porch of the Island Inn, previously enjoying a pleasant and peaceful view, watched us struggle to kill the fish on the toe rail with the back of a hatchet. The fish were bony but tasty; we finished before any moral obligation to waste nothing had entered the equation.