First Impressions of Maine
It’s been a most lovely first week in this wild and beautiful state! I feel as though my mind and body are slowing to its peaceful, purposeful rhythm. Calm mornings provide space for reflection (quite literally–the glassy water forms an incredibly perfect mirror), followed by a (fairly) reliable afternoon breeze that fills the sails and carries us to the next painting-worthy cove.
To quote one of my Mainer friends, people up here know how to live. That couldn’t be more true. The intention with which people move through life is inspiring. Everyone, especially within the sailing community, seems to have their priorities well-aligned: quality time with friends and family, and unhurried hours in nature. A grounded, purposeful life.
Our first landfall in Maine was technically still on the border of New Hampshire–a small grouping of lightly inhabited rocks 6 miles off the coast, called Isle of Shoals. I couldn’t actually be sure which state we were floating on. These strange islands are full of historical lore, which my Maine cruising guide (thoughtfully gifted to me by Xander, who refers to it as “the bible” for sailing Maine) outlined for us nicely.
We arrived at dusk, just as the lighthouse transitioned from reflecting golden rays of sunlight to emitting its own light. Finding an empty mooring that accommodated our large size, we settled in for a cozy night. Already, we were hypnotized by our first moments in Maine. The raw, remote beauty of this isolated place confirmed my visions of what Maine’s islands would be like.
To reach our next landfall before sunset the following day, we’d have to set sail by 7am, so we planned on a sunrise shore excursion to satisfy our desire to explore. When 5:30am rolled around, we dropped the dinghy and piled in, hot teas and coffees in hand. Our four-woman crew consisted of Perrine, two of our close friends, and me. Landing our dinghy as quietly as possible on the small dock so as not to wake the sleeping campers (yes, there were tents lining the shoreline in a somewhat odd, adult-summer-camp vibe), we tiptoed our way up to the grass and began strolling around the island’s trails.
It felt like something out of a movie…a step back in time. Each view seemed more beautiful than the next. The lighthouse island stood serenely in the morning light, framed by the rocky, grassy hillside that we were standing upon. As we circled back towards the harbor, breakfast-y smells wafted out the back of the old hotel building and a few people began to stir from the tents. As day-visitors of the island, we weren’t actually supposed to be there so early, so we scampered back to the dinghy and set sail.
After dodging lobster pots for 80 nautical miles, we were ready for another restful night on anchor. Monhegan is a small, but tall, island 12 nm offshore. It has a tight mooring field that fills up quickly in the summer and is completely exposed to the southwest, the prevailing wind direction in Maine. These factors make it a difficult place to visit. But…we were here, and we were going to try our luck! If it didn’t work out, we’d still have enough daylight to sail another hour north to a ‘Plan B’ anchorage (and I even had a ‘Plan C’ for my ‘Plan B’!).
By some miracle, there was space for us! Sitting on our mooring, I checked the forecast one more time–the wind and swell were predicted to remain settled through the night. We could stay! The next morning, we dinghied ashore for a short hike and coffee mission. Pulling the dinghy up onto the coarse sand beach sounded terribly loud in the thick silence that seemed to encompass the island. It felt as though we were opening a chip bag in a library! We smiled sheepishly at the people milling about quietly and reading on rocks. With the dinghy sufficiently high to be safe from the 10’ of tide, we ventured inland.
The main street led us through the quaint town and up a hill, where we found a trail that would take us across the island. It felt SO good to be surrounded by green, ducking under branches and stepping mindfully on the rocky path. As much as I love my life on the ocean, I do need the grounding effect of land—particularly the lush, forested, mountainous kind—from time to time…
I think that’s part of why I love this state so much already. It has such a wonderful balance of blue and green. Even the anchorages give you a sense of being in the forest. Looking out from the cozy cockpit in the morning as I sip my coffee, I am surrounded by trees. The water itself even has trees in it! Pointy branches of each individual pine tree are mirrored softly on the calm, glassy water. A living, breathing, watercolor.
Time itself feels suspended in these tranquil moments. How could you not feel inspired in a place like this? I’ve noticed my creativity waking up. Present now is a desire to write, to paint, to take photos and videos, and share those photos and videos (I am terribly behind on Instagram). It feels good. It doesn’t feel forced, as it sometimes does in my highly boat-oriented schedule.
I aspire to sink deeper into the comforting embrace this state has welcomed me with. The people are kind, thoughtful, and generous. The land feels alive and playful. Bright green ferns line grassy footpaths, unfurling their curly fronds. Pine trees whisper as wind flows through their branches. The yellow-green seaweed—oh, how I love the seaweed!—swirls back and forth with the waves beneath the clear water. I think I could happily sit in stillness just about anywhere along this coastline, watching the intricacies of life around me. These Mainers are really onto something…they sure do know how to live.
