Friendship

Two sets on friends came back into our lives in one day this week. Nothing can improve on that.
We met up with old workmate Jose Azel and his wife for breakfast in Portland, Maine. We have not seen them for three years and there was much catching up to be done.

Then we climbed back aboard our rig and pushed north and east to the little town of Newport, Maine, where we found Rick and Gayle Perlmutter – old sailing buddies from the 1970s. There's nothing quite so fine as walking back in on a warm and solid friendship and picking up the threads again. Rick is an astonishingly good cook who seems to turn his talents to new styles of food each time we meet. This summer, he has been dabbling at mastering the art of Mexican cuisine. He has done just that and we were the lucky recipients of some spectacular taste treats. Rick and Gayle built their wooden home, with soaring ceilings, on the edge of lake Sebasticook. As a result, they are visited by all manner of birds – from hummingbirds to downy woodpeckers.

Gayle, in the meantime, has become passionate about genealogy and has traced her roots back and back and back. She told us part of her family tree resides still in the little town of Trinity, Newfoundland. This is right beside Dildo Cove, and we have promised to check out the little village when we make it to Newfoundland next month.

Rick and Gayle headed off for work before we arose on Friday morning. We had a leisurely breakfast and then slowly backed out of their homestead and filled up with gas in Newport before pushing on to Ellsworth, where we parked and visited the L.L. Bean Outlet there. Jo took the wheel and took us along the magnificent, rocky coast of Maine, past deep-cut bays and east of Schoodic Point where the natives tell you “the real Maine begins.” We have sailed this rock-strewn coast, of course, but this was a wonderful way to see it from the land.

Our navigation software told us to turn right onto a dirt road which supposedly would take us to our chosen campground in Harrington, Maine. But the road ran out in the front yard of someone's home. We had to unhitch the car from the rear, then back out and regain Route 1 where we found a sign on the highway that guided us down another road – this one tarred – to Sunset Point Campground. Oh, bliss.

Here we sit, on the banks of the Harrington River which flows into Harrington Bay. And that touches Pleasant Bay, which, in turn, connects with the Gulf of Maine just east of Petit Manan Island.

When we sailed this bold coast in the summer of 2003, much of it was shrouded in thick fog each day. We remember straining our eyes and brains to make out any lobster boats working the shrouded waters ahead of us. I would be glued to the navigation computer to keep me off the rocks while Jo stood at the bow, peering out into the fog. It was exciting voyaging and felt oh-so-good when we would stop for the day, pulling into a cove and dropping anchor. Nothing tasted quite so fine as the Dark and Stormy (rum and ginger beer) that we'd sip while the cormorants fished around us and fish hawks and gulls screamed overhead.