Today was not the day to get underway. I had towed my 21’ Pilot (more on the craft later) from my home in NH’s Lakes Region. I was correct in thinking I would miss most of the Holiday traffic by traveling on the 4th. Today was a day to drive, launch, organize and then enjoy a beer at the in-town brewery. I was soon to get a reality check as to how the Covid-19 pandemic has changed the Coast. Rockland, usually bustling during the summer months, was all but closed. A walk up and down Main St left me without a beer, a coffee or a full stomach. Grateful for my well provisioned vessel, I return to the docks.

The Harbor Master was long gone prior to my arrival. The lonely launch operator was happy to offer up the empty dock for the night. Clearly not a typical 4th of July.

Back aboard my floating home for the next week I was grateful for both the weather protection provided by a full canvas enclosure and my auxiliary heat source. Regardless of the forecast, I knew enough to bring a small propane heater for those cool Maine mornings. Not that I expected to be using it on a July evening. Tucked inside with music, tuna tacos, charts to broad over and yes, a can of beer, I was clearly making the best of the situation.

So, what exactly is the situation? Well thanks for asking.

I’m abord my Eastern 21’ Pilot looking for challenge and adventure. Originally I had sold the family on the runabout suggesting it could pull my 17yr old son on a wakeboard, my wife could entertain with her girlfriends up on the Lake and I could still find a way to continue my Coastal Cruising. For my purposes I had designed (and with the help of the local Canvas Guy) and installed a convertible top, side and aft curtains to create a full enclosure. Unlike the popular bimini tops the convertible top snaps directly to the windshield. The slight loss of headroom is more than made up with the improvement in weather protection. Even on days of fair weather it creates a comfortable environment. When retaining warmth isn’t the key I had a 2nd set of screened side curtains made to allow for a flow of air. While inside my glorified tent I would spend much of my down-time on the portside bench that multi-tasked as a aft-facing lounger with seatback, berth and work bench. My cooler could move next to me as a makeshift cockpit table. I use a camp style stove to boil water for my coffee (if you’ve read any of my blogs you know how important coffee is to my day) and music pumps thru a small yet high quality speaker blue-toothed off of my smart phone. The Pilot has a small cuddy with screened hatch where I keep my personal items organized and serves as a second berth during inclement weather. Some would call it roughing it however with my history of self-sufficient travel to remote areas while operating out of a backpack this seems far from it.

I wake to more of the same. Socked in with a cool rawness to the rain. Visibility is at a half mile. Unrushed to get underway yet still an early start, I enjoy coffee and breakfast aboard while reviewing my charts. 7:50 am finds me slipping the lines and getting underway towards the Fox Island Thorofare that separates North Vinalhaven and Vinalhaven then across to Deer Isle and Stonington. Very much aware I’m on a similar route as the State Ferry, I keep a close watch by poking my sombrero covered head up thru the unsnapped corner of my canvas top. Operating on compass and a 5” GPS I estimate a 40 min first-leg making 8.5 mph. As if on-command the Nuns and Cans appear out of the fog. To describe things as “uneventful” discredits the senses as they work in harmony delivering data in the form of sound, smell, movement and to a lesser extent sight. Small victories are waged and won with each confirmation of each desired waypoint. Long before Satellites aided the Mariner I depended on Dead-Reckoning, using speed-distance-time to calculate where on this planet I was at a given time. Although I have embraced and appreciate how the technologies have made travel on the ocean safer and easier my charts and tools are always present at the helm. Often throughout the trip my eye would glance at my orienteering compass first then the GPS for backup. 3hrs later I’m in Stonington Maine looking for coffee and conversation. I find coffee.

I’m focused on three things during this trip. Certainly the cruising is number #1 with everything that comes with it. I love exploring by boat and using all the skills that come into play operating in a wild, remote area. I also wanted to enjoy time on my inflatable Stand-up-Paddle board. While I’m not new to the paddle-sports game this new board is touted as a high quality performance model. I looked forward to trying it in the waves. I also wanted to focus on another favorite of mine, hiking on the Maine Islands. Several groups including the Maine Coast Heritage Trust and the folks at the Maine Island Trails maintain a network of trails along the Coast. I planned on overnighting at Frenchboro on Long Island in hopes of stomping around on a weather whipped island at the edge of the continent.

Jackpot! Upon arrived in Lunt Harbor, I almost immediately meet David and Sandy Lunt. David’s family has been living and working on the island continuously for over 200 years. (he’s quick to point out that he’s only been around for 84 of those years). They graciously offered me free docking for the night (not even a mooring) and were generous with their time and knowledge of their island and trails that run thru it. Their son had chronicled life growing up on a Maine Island in a book titled Hauling by Hand (the book is next to my reading chair now).
Despite my far-to-short stay I could almost start to feel the pulse of the community. Sandy offered she would tell her son a visitor was at the dock for the night. Somehow, I felt word of my visit got around.

Despite my late start, and thanks to the long summer days, I was able to ramble over almost 10 miles of remote yet well maintained trails. From the time I left Frechboro to the time I returned I did not encounter a single person. Truly a Heaven-sent place.

Monday 7/6
I’m watching and listening as a small working port wakes up. Skiffs carrying Lobstermen (and woman) to their boats waiting patiently in the Harbor. By 7am and I’m riding on the back of a ground swell towards Mount Desert Island. I plan on running up Somes Sound, the deep fiord cut into the heart of MDI. Again, the persistent fog creates an ominous effect. I can hear the waves breaking to port, trusting my line is true.

After cruising the Sound and refueling in SW Harbor I set my sights further East. This next leg will see Schoodic Point pass on my port beam with Jonesport as my next stop. Visibility is still limited however a promising high-pressure pattern is pushing thru. The 2S Bell appears as it’s supposed to setting up the way to another test-piece, the Petite Manan Bar. The Bar runs approximately 1.5 miles from the Point to Petit Manan Island. It’s known to break in all but settled weather prompting the Guide Book to issue several highlighted warnings. “Take the longer route around if unsure” says the prudent sailor. But what fun is that? Despite the lack of any real view I depend on my ears and the quicker motion of my vessel to tell me things are closer at hand. The West bell greets me hello and the East Gong wishes me goodbye. As if entering a different dimension, the sun burns thru the sky and for the first time on the journey the aft curtain comes off.

The Sun, and the warmth it brings, has the ability to change one’s view of the World. For starters I can see where I’m going reducing the level of hyper awareness required to operate a vessel in unfamiliar waters. I further uncover the boat removing the side curtains and stowing the top in its upright position. With clear visibility I’m able to throttle up to a comfortable 20 mph. Islands like Bois Burber, Jordan’s Delight and Big Nash were left in my wake as I make up time towards my destination. Pine and granite islands topped a long skirt at low tide. My route constricts at Tibbett Narrows and Moosabec Reach leading the way towards Jonesport. If I were expecting a grand welcome, I’d have been disappointed. My first few attempts at fueling found me at commercial outfits that did not have an interest in my request for gasoline. That all changed when I docked up at O.W. & B.S. Look Co Inc. The guys working the dock could not do anymore to make we feel welcomed and provide local knowledge of their area. If it was fuel and ice I needed they made sure I got plenty of both. I had seen Roque Island on the charts and they confirmed this was the place to drop my hook for the night. With the bright ball in the sky still drying my boat I thanked my hosts and made way to the anchorage only a handful of miles yonder.

Clearly on Island time, I slackened the pace and chose to drink responsibly. With nowhere to go and no one to meet I poked my bow around the cut between Great Spruce and Little Spruce Islands. It’s like they invented gunkholes around here with one spot just a little more inviting then the last. With the promise of an expansive sandy beach just around the corner I pressed on to Roque Island Harbor. As the scene unfolded, I counted the first two or three pleasure boats since I left Mount Desert. Further south this would be the day- anchorage for hundreds of boaters. On the Bold Coast boating neighbors are few; seals and seagulls are plenty.

I tucked into the lee of a small bluff that created a private corner. With good fortune I find a solitary mooring ball. Being mindful of the extreme tides I figure my shallow draft Pilot should remain floating throughout my stay. In time, I inflate the paddle board (8 min from folded to floating) while scanning the beach. This is not your typical Maine Coast peddle beach. Laying out before me is a full mile of blonde boarder separating the land from the Harbor. Any trace of human passage had been erased by the receding tide. I hop on my board for a look around. Apparently, the island is home to a small academic community challenged by farming the land the way it was done 100yrs ago. There are no signs of their efforts however a posted notice informs visiting boaters they are welcome on the beach but not any further inland. A pleasant evening is spent gliding around on my board followed by a dinner and a restful night.

Tuesday 7/7
I wake to sunshine, coffee, music and thoughts of the days route. I’m reminded how life on shore tends to be “rushed” however that should not be life underway. “‘why yes, I’d like another cup of coffee please”. Up with the sun allows for a relaxed start yet I’m still free of the mooring by 7:15. It didn’t take long to realize the abundant sunshine would be short lived. As I thread my way between Anguilla and Halifax Islands i head thru a wall of heavy fog. I’m back in the soup.

Operating at safety speed, around 8.5 mph, I probe my way up towards the mouth of Machias Bay. I had thoughts of the famous Blueberry pie Machiasport is know for (apparently the local blueberries have a high sugar content making for the best baked items to be found). Despite my insatiable sweet tooth, I opt for a change in direction. Eager to take back some of the miles I ready myself for the long slog towards Penobscot Bay.

Operating in thick fog is an acquired skill. With no reference from land and roughly 100ft of visibility (based on how far I can see the next lobster buoy) I call on all my other senses for navigation. There is no horizon, no definition between the sky and the sea, no left or right. I plan on staying outside of the Islands keeping America to my right. I plug in a waypoint and dial-in a compass setting. Long ago I’d observed how a compass can swing wildly in the fog on an apparently straight course. The compass won’t lie, you just need to trust it. Trying to hard to get a visual can also drive a Capt crazy. I double check my charts, refer to my GPS and compass then set a course and speed. I find my Pilot operates well in the 12 to 14 mph range. Like any boat with some V to the bottom her bow will rise just not to a point where I lose visibility. Although I’m not dealing with large waves at the moment, I’ve built confidence in its ability to ship huge water under the keel while not pounding down the other side. The Pilot also performs well on-plane in the low-to-mid 20’s, just not in the fog. For whatever reason I think back to my mountain climbing days. Avoid having too strong a grip on the rock, that will tire you out quickly. Use no more energy that required. I try for that same grip while driving in zero visibility.

My winter nights pawing over the charts had left plenty of pencil marks suggesting points of interest. One such spot was coming up reasonably soon. Head Harbor Island, exposed to the open ocean, I had identified “the Cow Yard” as a safe refuge from an angry ocean yet otherwise hidden from danger. I could get a visual as I got closer and figured it was a good place to know if my travels ever brought me back this way. Entering the remote harbor, I re-entered the world thru that wall of fog revealing a true boaters Heaven on Earth. If it was later in the day I would have said it’s home for the night. I drew on my memory to make a sketch of the area then turned back into the fog.

Patience and attentiveness work together as I count down the miles to my next waypoint. Constantly drinking water, snacks rather than a full lunch, monitoring electronics. Time and space truly appear altered from my helm seat.

Now that’s a Lighthouse! The first man-made thing I’ve seen since leaving the anchorage stands 123ft (the tallest in Maine) on the edge of Petit Manan Island. My trip East took me over the Bar in fog so I had not seen this towering structure until it stuck it’s light out of the clouds. Although off-limits to travelers the island claims home to a colony of Puffins, more native to the North. I got to know these Parrott like birds on a trip to Seal Island off Matinicus last year so I didn’t feel the need to explore any closer. Next waypoint, one I had already set the day before, “2S” off Schoodic.

I can now get a visual of Mount Desert giving me the confidence to apply more throttle. 22 mph changes the cruise, I take aim at Bar Harbor. I was half expecting a culture shock from waking Deep Down-East then dropping into the heart of Touristville however the shock I got was to see just how dead the town looked for the first week of July. Rather than waiting in line for fuel I found the docks were empty and the gas pumps closed. The restaurants lining the harbor were either closed or offering reduced services. Even a quick stretch into town revealed a minimum of foot traffic. I was saddened by the though that many of these small businesses simply will not survive to see the summer of 2021. I return to my boat and get back underway.

Decision time. I had allotted a week to explore the area. The weather dictated that I kept moving rather than play in the sun, so I had already covered most of the miles I had planned on. One of my favorite cruising grounds in Maine, Merchants Row, lay ahead. Certainly it would be easy enough to find a hide-away for the night however the thought of my wife caring for her mother back home gave me reason to push on back towards Rockland. Despite my proximity to Canada when I awoke, several hours from now I could be on the trailer and 3.5 hrs later would put me in our living room. I opted to cut this trip short in favor of adding days-off closer to home.

5pm saw me return to Rockland Harbor having logged 231.7 miles over 22hrs of underway time. My avg speed was 12.9 mph consuming an avg of 3.6 gph. When I look at the chart, I can see a huge swath of islands and land that I’ve covered in only a few days. Having filled in some gaps in my cruising resume I can now say I’ve operated vessels from the Canadian Border, down the East Coast and the ICW, thru the Bahamas and The Caribbean as far south as Grenada. (I’ll leave out the Great Loop for another story). The only stretch I haven’t done is between Newport RI and NYC. Stay tuned for next years cruise. I’ll try and close the gap.

The post Captain Kevins Down-East Adventure 2020 appeared first on Eastern Boat Works.

Working as the manufacturer’s rep for Eastern/Seaway/Rosborough boats put me in the enviable position of having boating options. The bosses generous offer to use his JC designed 31 Casco Bay, set up for lobstering, didn’t seem like the right fit for this trip. I was imagining a smaller vessel that allowed for “camp cruising” with a shallow draft for gunkholing, robust enough to handle exposed conditions yet trailerable to allow me to launch from Portland ME rather than our Piscatiqua River homeport. I estimated that sailing down-wind on I95 would save me the day and a half slog from NH to Cape Elisabeth.

The 2016 22’ Sisu sitting behind the shop seemed to be exactly what I was looking for. It’s huge v-berth could sleep 2, the lobster-style hardtop afforded ample weather protection and the fact it was sitting on a trailer sealed the deal. I’ve overused the line “there’s no one perfect boat, you really need two” however the Sisu came close to hitting all my needs.

Almost as important as the vessel is the choice of crew. My ambitious plan called for a roll with the punches, roll with the boat kind of guy. I went with a proven player in my uncle Ron Maher. Ron’s more of a Lakes and Mountains man however I knew what to expect with his easy, steady demeaner. We’ve logged untold miles in both pleasant and adverse conditions.

After a July 4th shakedown cruise to the border startling Isle of Shoals (plus several days of outfitting the boat) we set out to our launch site, Bug Light Park in South Portland. Certainly, there are closer launch ramps for access to Islands offshore from Moscongus and Penobscott Bay however the trip thru Casco Bay then further down-east was part of the attraction. Not being much of a “smell the roses” kind of Capt I planned for many hours at the helm. Underway at 932 we were greeted by the fresh breeze and confused chop not uncommon in a big commercial harbor. We commented for the first of what would be many times our appreciation for the weather protection offed by the hardtop.

Well within the first hour we ducked in behind Chebeaque Island and grabbed a mooring ball. 2 men in a small boat need to get organized beyond loading gear from truck to trailer. More than just stowing bags and prioritizing equipment that first stop allows for an opportunity to mentally “shift gears” from land to sea. An improvised chart table was established in front of the mate’s seat, ample water made easy at hand, sunscreen slathered on. And extra layers of cloths, layering up would be another step we repeated often.

Rather than hammer offshore right away I wanted to get Ron on Eagle Island, Admiral Perry’s (from the North Pole fame) beloved summer home now preserved as a museum. I know he could appreciate Perry’s eye for his surroundings as is evident in the taxidermy work he had done and the pictures that adorn the walls. Both Ron and I are in awe of the resourcefulness required be the first man to step foot on the North Pole. Inspiration for our far more modest adventure ahead.

Back aboard we take a one-step-at-a-time plan that sees the 74ft monument on Little Mark Island off our stern as we steer the 7.9 nm to Cape Small. This, we agreed, would be a good point to decide whether to draw a rhumb line for Monhegan or stay closer to shore while continuing East. It also starts our rotating 30 min watch at the wheel, a schedule we continued throughout the trip.

The time off was welcome as I immerse myself deeper into the moment. I was struck by the utilitarian finish of our craft; simple, excellent proportions. Our personal effects stay dry in the cavernous v-berth, two pedestal seats that slid forward for comfortable seating yet move back for the desirable leaning- post position, something we will appreciate more as the conditions continue to get “sporty”. The cockpit is simple and functional. Plenty of room for the stowed deck chairs we’ll enjoy later, free of any clutter that could be doused by the wind driven spray that will, and did, come. I secured our two coolers, lg plastic box holding our dry goods and additional ground tackle to the gunwales. I didn’t want to be chasing gear if things got roolly.

Soon Cape Small is off our Port beam. The forecast called for the high-pressure system to remain overhead. 3’ seas didn’t alarm my Lake minded mate. Time to head 98m for the appox 25 nm to Monhegan Island. Quickly I found the “sweet spot” for our craft in the current sea-state. 12 mph allowed for a comfortable ride in which the bow could rise and fall, wander 10-15 deg side-to-side and still stay on-course with little to no correction (this is something Ron struggled with early on, he wanted to wrestle with the boat. I was pleased to see him relax with it as the days played out). Not surprising to me was that we proved a good team in navigating. Despite redundant GPS systems our “go to” tool was a good old fashion compass and chartwork (the only compass aboard was my pocket-size orienteering compass that sat that the helm). We would dead-reckon using speed, distance and time and then verify our position with the chartplotter. This is the method I used long before $300 could buy you a handheld GPS and it still gives me great pleasure. I find it adds to my sense of adventure and I get satisfaction out of its accuracy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to swear off my Garmin touch screen or handheld quite yet. I prefer to use them as a backup on a trip like this rather than the primary source of information.

Several hours later that dot on the horizon has features; lighthouse, houses, tower. We ease into the only somewhat protected harbor with minimal fanfare. Not the most inviting harbor for access – no dock except the tour boat dock that sees the few day trippers loading up. It has a big, bold feel that doesn’t invite anchoring up close to shore. In addition, the Harbormaster apparently doesn’t bother with radio contact. After relaxing and taking in our scene I call across to the only other cruising vessel I see in the harbor. A family moored in their 40’ sailboat. They share that they rowed ashore to pay the mooring fee and pointed to where I could find “Sherm” the man in charge.

This brings up one of the challenges we faced, how to get ashore. If this was my boat, I would have removed the rocket launchers that were mounted to the aft-end of the roof and replaced them with Thule style racks for the kayaks that Ron and I hand-build. If we had harbor cruise plans towing an 8’ dink would have been an option. I had bought a Dicks Sporting Goods inflatable that Ron later pointed out was better for two children in a pool. Not wanting to dig that out (did in mention un-inviting access?) I had Ron put the bow on the beach so I could scout out the situation. As soon as I touched land, I felt warmer. When I meet Sherm, I felt more comfortable yet again. Sherm, the Harbormaster, was a pleasant man with an easy way about him. He welcomed me to the island, admired my vessel, offered a mooring on a donation basis and even lent me his wooden skiff to come and go. By the time I returned to the boat my impression of the island had changed significantly.

Once settled on our mooring we rowed in search of a good meal. The Grand Inn overlooking the Harbor seemed inviting. At the hostess desk I could tell right away they were used to serving a more “upscale clientele” rather than a couple old seaman. It seemed more of my thought than theirs as we were seated overlooking the harbor with a view across to an abandoned farm on nearby Manana Island. Ron graciously treated me to my birthday meal as indeed I watch another year sail by. After repeating several times what a delicious dinner we had enjoyed we took part in one of the activities that draws me to the Maine Islands; hiking the islands. Monhegan boasts of a fine network of trails to explore highlighted by bold headlands that had been shaped and battered by the sea. A great way to walk off dinner.

Our first overnight went without event. Thursday morning my log states, with underlines and exclamation points, “never underestimate the value of coffee”! My Coleman backpack stove boils the water for what the trendy shops call a pour-over. Truly the way to start the day. And that day has us underway at 730 heading towards Matinicus. It seemed easy enough, right there in the distance. Not much worry that we were a little off course according to the GPS. It didn’t take long before we realized what we had a visual on was the more northernly Metinic Island rather than Matinius which was still just a dot 18 plus miles on the horizon. Without much conversation or debate we agreed another day of open-water cruising wasn’t the best choice for our trip. We changed course to allow for a closer inspection of Metinic and an afternoon in Rockland Harbor. Almost immediately the cruise took on a different feel. Rather than being miles offshore we started to pass more interesting features as we made our way up Penobscott Bay. Pleasant, Hewett and Andrews Islands played out to port. Owls Head, once off our bow, soon gave way to bustling Rockland Harbor. Our first order of business was to top off the fuel. I was pleased to only need 18.3g after so many hours underway. With a 60g capacity it was comforting to know the Sisu had “long legs”.

In town I was reminded of how much I liked Rockland. I spent several days here last year supporting the Maine Boats, Homes and Harbor Show so I had recent memories. It’s an Artsy little boating community with a great choice of restaurants, coffee shops and music venues that have added to its remarkable resurgence. It would have been easy to stay longer, maybe thru the weekend with the Blues Festival coming to town, however this was a cruising trip so underway we are.

Our next leg is a new experience yet again. We duck inside of Monroe Isl for a more protected run-down Muscle Ridge Channel. We’re making 17.5 mph, our fastest speeds yet. We’re clearly into a groove with downtime spent cruising from the rooftop or lounging in a deck chair. To further break up the time underway we take a break in the protection of Muscongus Bays Harbor Island. Ron and I are entertained to see the young mate ferrying passengers from a tour boat to the island aboard a North Sea Dory. Quite literally he had to “get your back into it”. My first thought was to make way to Robinhood Cove and drop anchor for the night. As we approached Boothbay a new plan emerged. Let’s grab a slip for the night, an idea that was met with zero resistance. After a brief recon we were tied up at the Tugboat Marina, in the front row, as we referred to our berth for the night. Any ideas that we would rough it went out the window as we treated ourselves to a hot shower, another fantastic meal and a double dip waffle cone for dessert. Life is good on the high seas.

Friday was slated to be a different day underway. After coffee (we talked about coffee already) we started the river leg of our journey. We passed over the top of Southport Isl, across the Sheepscot, traversed the Sasona River then down the mighty Kennebec. Fort Popham signaled our arrival back to the Gulf of Maine. Again, we were struck by the diversity of our surroundings.

We agreed to make this a short day on the boat leaving plenty of time for exploration around Jewell Island, the destination for our third night. Cocktail Cove would guarantee protection from any offshore serge. We played the two-anchor game for quite a while. Take up on the bow, pay out on the stern. We did this for most of the afternoon/evening. Being able to step off the stern to walk ashore negated the need for Dick’s inflatable. Several neighboring Captains were happy to anchor and walk away as their vessel settled into the mud. I wasn’t content to allow my borrowed Sisu go high and dry although she was most certainly built for the task. The extra effort made setting up for a beach BBQ all the easier as we walked in our chairs, grill and food.

As we did on the outer islands, miles on foot helped break up the trip. Our final morning and we rise to find more mud than water under our keel. I gave into coffee and patience as we waited out the turn on the tide. I choose for more exploration on foot as Ron was content to study the abundance of life that played out just beneath the water. Crabs, snails and starfish all did their best to keep him entertained as we waited to be lifted free. Once floating I estimated the truck and trailer to be a short 20 minutes away. Neither of us was ready to load just yet. We chose a lazy pace and a roundabout route to savor the last miles of our adventure.

Why so slow? Isn’t the Sisu capable of far greater speeds?
Yes, it is. WOT with a Yamaha 115 can get you mid 30’s. What we were shooting for was a comfortable speed that allowed the hull to “get in sync” with the current sea-state. To rise and fall without pounding into the next wave. Truly letting the hull form perform the task the designers had in mind. Often that means backing off the throttle a bit however you will be rewarded with a soft, predictable ride.
Did you wish you had anything else?

We talked about an easier way to get ashore. There are several options from hailing a harbor launch if one is available, towing a tender, packing an inflatable. Other than that, it was more a question of what I brought that we didn’t need. The Sisu has more than enough stowage for a weekend or week underway.

The post Sisu 22 Explores Maines Offshore Islands appeared first on Eastern Boat Works.

That initial meeting set in motion a year of mocking up cockpit layouts, developing a new outboard bracket , and selecting the all-important windshield design (key to the overall look of the boat). I’d check in every couple weeks during my regular trips through our shop.
Back to the present day; I’ve got a pretty Seashell Green 21’ Pilot sitting in my driveway. I opted for the lounge seating configuration opposed to our cruiser seating layout. The lounge features a Captains bucket seat with bolster, a port-side lounge seat with a flip back-rest allowing forward seating or aft facing reclining, a full bench along the stern with removable backrest that converts to a transom walkthrough and a starboard side lounge that does double duty when then capt swivels around. I figured this arrangement would allow for sleeping in the cockpit as well is in the v-berth once the canvas enclosure was added.

Too busy to have spent much time on it over the spring, I worked to ready my ship for a week long trip from the Cape Cod to the Islands. The Pilots small cuddy was enough for one person to stretch out and allow for sleeping. I added three anchors, safely gear, dock lines, fenders and my personal effects.

I’m on the road early making way to my launch site at Childs Landing near Falmouth’s Waquoit Bay. Today it’s an easy trip from NH over the bridge to the Cape. My ½ ton pickup tows the Pilot effortlessly (except for the hit to my fuel economy). Post 4th action at the ramp was light, ample parking available. The cost being a 20-minute putt down the river and across the Bay towards open water.

My plan was to base out of Martha’s Vineyard then do day trips to Nantucket, the Elizabeth Islands, perhaps venture as far as Block Island if time and conditions allowed. Rather than head straight towards the Vineyard I set to exploring some of Cape Cods south shore. Falmouth’s Inner Harbor provided plenty of “eye candy” for a boater with a sweet tooth.

Once clear of the harbor I throttled up for the short 5-mile trip over to Vineyard Haven. My Pilot is powered by the standard Honda 135hp w/SS prop hanging off the standard engine bracket with full width swim platform. With our downeast models I tend to be a lazy driver often cruising in the lower to mid-teens. I quickly learned to appreciate the 20mph my ride delivered at a reasonably low 3900 rpm. In what seemed like no time at all I split the lighthouses on East and West Chop and entered VH Harbor. I’ve been known to say that speed is over-rated however I did appreciate the extra turns. In the VH inner harbor I indulged myself with a tour around the mooring field, home to an impressive fleet of wooden sloops, yawls and small schooners. Years before they would be there welcoming me to the Island aboard the Ferry.

I have a history on Martha’s Vineyard. I lived on the island during 4 extended seasons around the early 80’s. An influential time in my life to say the least. People on the island dressed differently, they thought differently, they traveled. I remember the Vineyard with a smile.
I was familiar with the Island but not the waters around it. I was blessed to have the perfect guide, my sister and Vineyard resident, Christine Rose. Christine and I all lived here back in the day however it was Christine who circled back after college in California, two trips around the world over 4 years, and various other adventures. She’s built a career in Real Estate.

With the afternoon free we set off towards Chappaquiddick and Cape Poge Bay. I’ve explored CP Bay over the years aboard my kayak, yet it seemed new again in the runabout. My shallow draft meant we could approach areas off-limits to a larger cruising vessel. The rising tide afforded me more confidence to travel boldly. We eventually stopped for a walkabout on the prominent feature called the Elbow. I could feel whatever little stressors live in my body fly away as I sat on the bow surveying my universe.

After returning Christine to VH I backtracked around East Chop to bustling Oak Bluffs Harbor. I had reserved a bulkhead slip that allowed for Med-style docking. OB Harbor is desirable for putting boaters right downtown, close to restaurants, shops and pubs. Clearly, I was the little guy at the docks.

Day 2 – Nantucket
I started my day with a bike ride over one of my all-time favorite bike paths that that runs along the causeway between OB and Edgartown (I always travel with my bike, more on that later). Back aboard I top off the fuel and exit the harbor. Outside the jetty I find calm to 1’ seas with 5knts of wind pushing me along. My plan was to take the deep-water route to G17 then plot towards Nantucket Harbor. I throttle up to a comfortable 22mph. The Pilot experiences modest bow-rise out of the hole then settles in nicely on-plane in the upper teens if asked to. Granted it was a calm day on the Sound yet my vessel showed confidence building ability. The Simrad counted down the miles to my way point. Nantucket’s low topography doesn’t show itself early. As I approach the harbor commercial traffic activity picks up. I slow to 14-15mph. My vessel takes a high, proud stance that allows me to roll over intimidating sets of ferry boat wakes.

In the protection of the harbor sits Billionaires Row. Docked Med-style is a grand display of Mega yachts, one more over the top than the next. After gawking at the fleet, I continue towards the day docks. $15 per hours gets me in town for a look around. My time on land can be summed up as dock walking, iced coffee, observing absurdly beautiful people and wishing I had my bike on this leg.

Before departing I seek out local knowledge from a pair of Charter Boat Capts. “Pass the southern edges of the ever changing Tuckernuck Shoals and take a bearing towards Cape Poge”. There’s not another boat in sight as I watch waves breaking in the distance and water churning close by. My sense of adventure is stoked! By the time I’ve re-entered OB Harbor I had covered 71.6 miles with an average speed of 15.8 mph and a total fuel burn of 3.8 mpg. I find my 21 Pilot to be nimble, fast, comfortable and capable. This is a boat that can stand up to a chop yet still be ready to drag the kids around on a wakeboard or offer the adults a sunset cruise getaway.

Something else has come to my attention. Now keep in mind as a 25yr boating industry guy I’m around a lot of boats. Never have I had so many people come up to me and comment about my boat. There’s something about the Pilots bold yet traditional lines that resonates with boaters. It’s fair to say no one will ever accuse you of owning an ugly boat. Check back in the weeks ahead for more reports. Thanks for following.

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