FETCHING
ALONG/Da vid
Buckman
David Buckman photo
Lazy morning. Not a cloud in the sky. The air creamy as butter. Bacon and eggs in the cockpit under the warming sun. Blue Hill was our muse.
Blue Hill, Maine, and the art of cruising ne of the irrefutable laws of sailing is that some of the most delightful destinations are off the beaten path, or beset with various hazards to navigation and little visited. To a social defective like me, there’s scarcely a more compelling reason to wander from the well-traveled seaways and visit a new anchorage than to hear that few boats are said to call there. It’s the price to be paid, but no reason to steer clear. You’d be poorer not knowing such things, and who could afford that? In the wake of a long haul Downeast, the mate and I were ready to slow down, wander aimlessly and cultivate the cruising arts. Shaping a course for the pale heights of Blue Hill, looming above the island dotted seaways a dozen miles north of Swans Island, a musing southwester stirred, and an arabesque of eddies trailed off the Leight’s rudder. Up Blue Hill Bay we meandered at three knots, and often less. There was no reason to hurry our way along to the thrum of the en-
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gine. Silence is a finer state, and speed has next to nothing to do with the craft of wayfaring. It’s not easy to let go of our usual take on time and ambition, as we must. It’s the thing. Patience is a virtue; impatience, a negative. Living mindfully is the way. Action plans are for the self-help guys – and look at them. Better to follow your intuition, go half as far, and have twice as much fun. A soft chorale murmured along the waterline as we swanned along. The stillness of eventide was upon us by the time we minded the buoys east of Sculpin Point, and emerged in what felt like a highland tarn, under the meadowy heights of Blue Hill. Hardening sail, the Kollegewidgwok Yacht Club came into view through the leeward rigging. Their guest mooring was tempting but we held on for the inner harbor, the genoa just beginning to luff. “Should I start the engine?” Leigh asked. “We’ve time,” I replied. Points East Midwinter 2011
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