I never quite realized the true meaning of “sea legs” until I stepped aboard the American Eagle. Powerful winds gorged the sails of this nearly century-old schooner, heeling the vessel to one side as it sliced through choppy surf. I hobbled across the slanted deck, cautiously taking every step as I looked out at Penobscot Bay toward the island of North Haven. We’d been sailing for a couple of hours, but it seemed our destination wasn’t getting any closer. The crew shifted the sails and I soon found out why.
“That’s the wonderful mystery of sailing,” admits American Eagle Captain Tyler King. “When you have to get right to where the wind is coming from, you have to kind of zigzag your way there.”
It was the second day of a 3-day Windjammer sail, an adventure exploring seaside villages and quiet coves, and passing several lighthouses in and around coastal Maine’s craggy islands. Each sail is different, with captains determining destinations and activities often at the mercy of the fickle New England weather. “There’s no itinerary and there’s no place we have to be,” asserts King.
The Maine Windjammer Association’s working fleet of nine schooners berthed in Rockland and Camden are all that remain of the 19th– and early 20th-century vessels that once commanded the fishing and trade routes along the East Coast and beyond. Today, the schooners’ cargo is human — adventurers seeking a true sailing experience on either 3- or 6-day voyages.
Built in 1930, the two-masted American Eagle trawled for fish until 1983, joining the Maine Windjammer fleet and then being recognized as a National Historic Landmark soon after. “She’s the last Gloucester swordfish schooner in existence,” notes King. “She could carry 100,000 pounds of ice per trip. During her first 12 or so years of operation, she caught more than eight million pounds of fish.”
DAY ONE
For our cruise, 18 passengers and six crew members actually boarded the night before. In fact, that Friday night of our late September sail was at the precise time Hurricane Fiona ripped through the North Atlantic toward Nova Scotia, a few hundred miles to the east. Although secured snugly, the ship creaked and groaned throughout the night from the wind and subsequent rough tide flowing into Rockland harbor. “That’s just the way wooden boats are constructed,” explained first mate Asher Heaney. “They’re supposed to be flexible to absorb all the shocks and strain.”
A strong coffee aroma awakened me around 7 a.m. and the breakfast bell chimed just an hour later. Under brilliant sunshine, chilly gusts stalled our journey, but by early afternoon the crew finally yanked the ropes tethering us to shore. The diesel engine rumbled as we chugged past the harbor’s breakwater, a nearly mile-long sliver of land capped with the red-brick Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse. As we crossed West Penobscot Bay, swells of up to four feet hammered the hull, but the schooner steadfastly glided through them, as I’m sure it had through far worse surf over her more than 90 years at sea.
We welcomed calmer waters when arriving at Fox Island Thoroughfare, a passageway between North Haven and Vinalhaven islands. We passed Browns Head Lighthouse, its whitewashed façade contrasting sharply with the year-round green conifers — pine, fir, and spruce trees — so typical of these islands.
Come evening, I heard the roar of clanking chains as the anchor dropped in Carver Cove off Vinalhaven. The two-masted Windjammer J. & E. Riggin also anchored nearby, finding refuge in this calm inlet for the night. It was here that our chefs fired up Maine’s traditional lobster feast with melted butter and corn on the cob. They generously cooked extra, with some passengers eating two lobsters and one crew member boasting he downed seven!
Retiring for the night, it was back…
By Richard Varr
