Welcome Home: Part Two
By Dave and Jaja

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We had cleared into the U.S. after being abroad for nearly six years. With a feeling of triumph we made our way down the outer islands of Maine. When we could actually see them through the fog, we admitted that they were indeed beautiful. After a week or so we realized that we needed to find a major town to accomplish all those unpleasant but necessary tasks that face most cruisers: You know.... laundry, groceries, correspondence via phone and internet, and odds and ends. Rockland was close and the most logical stop.

Dave studied the chart while I looked over his shoulder. "The harbor looks wide open," he said pensively. "If the wind blows easterly a swell will come in and affect the entire bay. It's probably full of moorings too."

"Maybe we could gain some protection if we anchored in one of those corners?" I am always the optimist. All I could envision was a quaint Maine harbor with a few yachts, maybe an inexpensive marina equipped with a laundromat. I also figured we would be walking distance from a large grocery store. Did I mention that I'm an optimist? I reasoned that since it was such a major harbor, and home to many boats, that it must be protected even though it didn't appear to be.

It was drizzling when I went on deck to crank up the anchor, but not hard enough to tempt me into my rain coat. Fog concealed North Haven Island which was only a few hundred yards distant. Dave started the engine, then joined me on the foredeck. He was wearing his one-piece Helly Hanson flotation suit.

With every ten meters of chain that came up, the tempo of the rain increased.

"Do you want me to get your rain coat for you?" Dave offered.

A sane person would have answered in the affirmative. "No that's all right," I said. "It's not raining very hard. Anyway, it's only fresh water." It was warm and I figured the rain would ease off momentarily.

Soon the anchor was up, the main sail was climbing the mast, and the storm was rapidly accelerating. By the time I had the main up, thunder was booming all around us, and lightning was hitting the water nearby. I was soaked to the skin. Dave was standing warm and dry in the cockpit. It's a good thing someone on our boat is smart enough to think ahead, I thought to myself. Dave's forethought has saved us on numerous occasions. He is rarely caught out.

"Maybe we should re-anchor and wait until the worst of the storm passes," I said. "I don't mind the rain, but the lightning is kind of daunting."

It was agreed. We dumped the anchor, not far from where we had pulled it up, went below, and I peeled off my sopping clothes. Dave hung his foul weather suit up to drip.

A half hour later we were back on deck, this time I had on my rain coat. As I cranked on the windlass (you have to take your exercise where you can) I realized that our anchor had snagged one of the ubiquitous lobster traps. In our haste to re-anchor--what with the fog and lightning--I guess I hadn't been too discerning as to where I plunked the anchor down. Dave came up to the bow, armed with our long handled scrub brush. This implement does double duty on DRIVER as a boat hook. A new use had been found for it: Lobster trap disentangler. Dave and I strongly believe that things should be used for more than one purpose.

The entrance to Rockland harbor is simplicity itself and to ease matters further, the fog bank ended where the breakwater began. We had a clear view of the entire harbor and of the...city. All my thoughts of a quaint, quiet harbor were dashed with that first glimpse. Concrete barges competed with coastal ferries and dredges; sailboats were so densely moored that we couldn't see the foreshore; derricks, unfinished buildings, and columns of smoke obscured the sky line. I began to wish that the receding blanket of fog would return. We had reached a new plateau of population density. Better get used to it, I thought. Actually, maybe it wasn't so bad; a town like this would surely have all the services we were looking for.

As we entered the harbor we noticed many gaff rigged sailboats gliding in the distance. "They must be having a regatta," I said.

"Those are Friendship Sloops," said Dave.

It was a beautiful sight. I asked our kids to count how many sloops they could see.

"I see 18," said Teiga.

"I see 23," said Holly.

"I see 24," said Chris in a superior tone.

We wound our way through the sloops, through the mooring field, then tied up to a fuel dock. A guy equipped with a cell phone, a two way radio, and a hand held VHF greeted us. "You can tie up for a minute if you need fuel," he said, "but you'll have to be quick. I have a 120 foot yacht coming in any minute now." He scanned the harbor, trying vainly to see beyond the moored boats.

"Actually, we don't really need fuel, we just need water," Dave said.

One of the dock man's electronic devices beeped and he spoke furiously into it for a few minutes. He looked over at us again. "It's five dollars for water unless you buy fuel," he said. Then he softened, "If you buy five dollars of fuel, you get the water free."

Dave asked him about dockage rates and I asked if they had washing machines. Apparently they only dealt in seasonal dockage, ditto on their moorings. We could tie up by the hour (five dollars an hour) but right now they had no room.

"We have a 120 foot yacht coming in any minute." He looked toward the harbor entrance.

He told us that the town dock normally let visiting yachts tie up for two hour stretches, and he thought they might have a washer. The grocery store was out of town.

With full water tanks, and and additional 5 dollars worth of diesel, we milled around the harbor waiting for a space at the town dock. Dave called them on channel 16, and the girl who answered confirmed that we could stay two hours. When a place opened up we swooped in and took it. Grab it while you can.

A young girl with pieces of metal protruding from various parts of her face greeted us. "Hi!"

"We just talked to you on the radio," said Dave. "We'll probably just stay an hour or so."

A male youth with spiky red hair ambled up behind the girl. I marveled at how well he was able to get around considering the crippling effect of his baggy low-hanging pants. He was stepping on the dirty frayed ends and I envisioned jamming such a large amount of filthy fabric into a washing machine. I figured that two pairs of such enormous pants would equal one load. "You can only stay on the dock for 15 or 20 minutes," he said.

"What about the two hours?" asked Dave.

"The Friendship Yacht Club is coming in soon. They reserved the docks for the weekend."

"Then why did you guys tell me I could tie up for two hours?"

The guy and the girl looked at each other, shrugged, then looked back at me and scowled. "You can stay for 15 minutes, but then you have to leave."

"Well that doesn't do us much good," Dave replied.

"We need to get some groceries, do you know if there's a store nearby, even a small convenience store?" There was some muttering between the two. They told us that the grocery store was about five miles away but we could buy ice at the head of the dock. "Milk," I said. "Is there a place to buy milk? You know, like at a gas station or something?" After some more muttering they gave us some intricate and incomprehensible instructions to an expensive health food store.

"Remember," they warned, "the Friendship Sloops are coming in soon. Better not go far."

I grabbed some money and headed to town with Holly and Teiga in tow. We were on a mission to find milk. Meanwhile, Dave was going to use the free Internet service provided at the Information center located at the head of the wharf. Chris would stand watch and alert Dave for the return of the Friendship crowd.

Busy Route 1 runs through Rockland and we reached it after walking only a block. We continued in what I thought looked the most promising direction and within seconds spotted Shoppers Drug Mart. It was an enormous building. Undoubtedly, they would carry every strength of milk. We bought milk, bread, lunch meat, bacon, yogurt...enough food to satisfy a hungry family of five for an hour or so. As I walked home with the heavy bags carving grooves in my fingers, I wondered why those kids running the dock hadn't mentioned the Drug Mart. Maybe it was the word Drug that fooled them.

Dave finished on the computer. We bought some ice, climbed aboard and pushed off. The Friendships were returning. They were a nice crowd of sailors. They smiled and waved as we passed. It was heartening to see families with small kids and old people crammed on board for crew. Fun and camaraderie seemed to be the name of the game, with competition thrown in for luck.

"Why do they call them the Friendship Sloops?" Chris asked.

"It's the style of boat," Dave said. "A Friendship Sloop is a Thing."

"Oh," he said. "We were kicked off the dock because of them. That wasn't very friendly."