Casco Bay would bring Richie to his knees

June 2004

By Tom Snyder

Cruising the coast of Maine used to be a morale-builder for me. Living around city people who write and complain for a living, I was considered brave beyond reason for even stepping onto a boat. But to cruise! To sail off into the dark for weeks at a time made me a man of steely reserve and sangfroid.

However, my days of strutting have been challenged. Into my small social world has entered Richard (Richie) Wilson. He is a childhood friend who since has gone on to cross oceans alone, to round Cape Horn in a multi-hull in a hurricane, and to set countless sailing speed records between cities such as Hong Kong and Boston. He is like a god. And when he modestly recounts some tale with the word “Indonesia” in it, you can just barely hear me in the background mentioning that I am planning to sail from Portland to Freeport, and then you hear someone say, “Shhh,” because Richie is so soft-spoken.

So clearly I have to adjust published descriptions of Maine cruising waters if I want to be heard above the noise of Richie’s accounts where he happens to sail a little farther than I.

So here, for my friends in Cambridge and New York, is my updated account of what a sailor in Casco Bay has to deal with. If you decide that I have exaggerated just to impress people, well, that is exactly right.

The dangerous waters of Casco Bay

The tides of Portland, Maine inspire fear in all who voyage there. Every day, twice, in fact, due to a strange positioning of earth and moon, billions of gallons of water surge over the coast of Maine in such unthinkable volume that entire beaches disappear. Boats that were, just hours before, 10 feet off of the bottom are now 20 feet off. And just when one gets used to this, one starts plummeting downward again while this unholy mass of seawater drains to God knows where.

Note to mariners: At long last, a ring of sea buoys has been placed around the sandy, shallow area just off of the Chebeague Island golf course, an area formerly referred to by sailors as “The Reef of Continual Despair.” Although these aids to navigation are a huge improvement, continue to sail with caution since environmentalists have insisted that we leave one section of the reef unguarded to protect the endangered Walking Angry Snake-Fish population. As always, during mating season, keep at least one sharpened boathook ready to repel the females.

Some rare good news from the Pirating Report people: Sailing in defensive groups of three boats no longer seems to discourage pirates, so you will suffer no loss in security by sailing in a single boat. Hopefully this will simplify scheduling for quick afternoon sails.

The long-awaited NOAA chart update for Maine coastal waters is now available. Although numbers still do not appear in Arabic notation, there are many new helpful piloting notes. Here’s an example of a note on entering The Basin. “In middes of Pethland Fyrth betuixt Dungisbe & Orknay, great daunger causit be nepe tydis whiche is called the Boir. To avoid the dounger ye sall mak your course from Dungisbe northwest till you come north to est from Stroma.”

The dangerous weather of Casco Bay

We have been either blessed or cursed by the permanent weather formation known as “The Old Orchard Beach Low Anticyclone.” Why it hangs above us we may never know. Who is to blame is something we are now working on. But the effects are crystal clear. Here are a few.

Our entire coastline has now officially been designated a “dangerous semi-circle.” This is due to the treacherous “katebatic” winds that swoop down off the commercial area of old Portland, funneling along Market Street in a hellish torrent that doesn’t stop until it hits the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. Consequently, the patch of water stretching from Cape Elizabeth to Cape Small is affectionately known by hardy locals as The Roaring 40s, or The Screaming 50s depending on who’s talking.

Anyone planning a voyage of more than a few hours should remember that the best “weather window” for a low impact transit falls between Feb. 20 and Feb. 28. If growlers have been reported, cut that window by half.

It is not my intention to be an alarmist, but apparently the guys at the regional NOAA weather office are even now placing informal bets on when this coastline gets hit by “the big one.” The word on the street is that it’s not a matter of if, just when.

Tom Snyder sails his Island Packet 380, Blue Moon, out of Peaks Island, Maine.