Chasing Post Offices and Cell Phone Coverage

       One of the things about our living aboard this summer is that I would be working from the boat.  This is a pretty good deal for me and for the most part it goes fairly smoothly.  I can set up my ‘office’ right after breakfast - laying out laptop, printer, and assorted related paperwork and paraphernalia - and put in some quality time.  I’m the business manager/bookkeeper/personal assistant for a local musician who is himself a boater.  He has been extremely supportive, even during those check-in phone calls that are a bit broken up because the boat is swinging at anchor and I forget to move with it to keep in line with the nearest cell tower.  Sometimes he’s on his boat, which means both of us spend a few frustrating minutes repeating what the other has said, listening to our own voices echo in the ether as we turn this way and that trying to find the optimal speaking area.  Neither of us keep to any kind of office routine - we haven’t done that since March when COVID-19 forced us apart - so there will be quick phone calls at times convenient to both of us - early morning sometimes, after supper other times - and we make an attempt to have a regular phone-in time set aside twice a week.  

Which means Dan and I have to be anchored somewhere with fairly reliable cell service at least twice a week, more often if I need to use my phone as a hot spot to have internet for my laptop.  The availability and quality of cell service is now part of the daily cruising log, along with weather conditions, departure and arrival times, and the depth and placement of the anchor.  We know, for instance, cell service in Pulpit Harbor is marginal at best, and that it’s a full four bars in the St. George River.  Because my job entails retail sales, we are also tied to the USPS.  I’ll say to Dan over breakfast as we loosely plan the day’s options, that today I’ll need good cell coverage, or that I will need to get to a post office.  He’ll give a thoughtful nod and check the weather and then suggest a destination.  So far the weather has cooperated with our needs.

Before this summer, our cruising was so loosely planned, we barely had destinations in mind.  That used to be a joke on our schooner, when passengers on the Lewis R French would ask  “Where are we going today?”  “I don’t know.”  Dan would reply, “Let’s see where the wind takes us.”  At home, in the schooner office, I would give a vague answer to the same question posed by a potential passenger: “Our cruising grounds are between Bar Harbor and Boothbay Harbor, we don’t really set an itinerary.”  We carried this attitude into our personal cruising.  We would set off in a general direction and make a final decision only at the end of the day.  No hassle, no pressure, no get-there-itis.  This summer we’ve learned to compromise:  heading that way but remember we need a post office or cell phone coverage at some point.  I can get done whatever I need to do, and I’ve met some really nice people in the various one-manned post offices in the various small towns.  I also have to remember to check their schedules when I look up their locations - many small post offices close for one or two hours in the middle of the day - another thing Dan and I have to factor into our schedule as we cruise.  Sometimes the cell service isn’t as great as I’d like or the post office is a bit of hike from the town landing but it’s a small price to pay to be able to spend this summer on the boat.  

Sunsets like these are one of the biggest perks of living aboard.

Sitting out Isaias

We heard about the possibility of a named storm about a week before it actually came up the coast.  Isaias (which, we learned is not pronounced Eye-zay-us, but EEs-uh-ee-as) was first predicted to affect the Florida coastline before possibly coming up this far, but probably would never get enough wind to become a real hurricane.  Then it was predicted to be farther East, causing havoc in the Bahamas before bumping along the Carolina coastline and maybe slide into the Chesapeake.  The model waffled a little to the East, then a little to the West, before staying more to the West, and moving even more Westward.  Would we be affected much? Would the forecasted SW winds gust up to 35 or up to 50?  And would the day after be a NW clearing kind of day?  

All these questions affect a cruiser’s decision on where to anchor and how best to prepare.  Dan is veteran of both this cruising area and the many possibilities of weather outcomes and he chose Smith Cove, up near Castine, to hole up for Isaias.  We headed up there Tuesday morning, and found we were one of nearly forty cruising boats with the same destination.  Luckily Smith Cove is large enough to accommodate at least twice that many, but that doesn’t prevent some of them from adopting the cruiser’s warning stance (aka “bitch wings” - you know, standing in the bow, hands on hips, elbows thrust out at forty-five degree angles) to intimidate that one boat from anchoring too close to theirs.  As we searched for a good spot to anchor - and there was really plenty of room throughout the cove - we saw a handful of wary watchers, and one couple in a dinghy heading to town decided to turn around and come back to inform us where their anchor was (a more polite way of making sure we didn’t get too close to them.)  We get it.  There’s an air of mistrust during such events; with the possibility of heavy winds blowing through an anchorage, no one wants to be close to the boat that drags anchor or the boat with the skipper who is not that skilled or prepared.

Prepared is Dan’s middle name.  We spent the next few hours taking down the bimini and tying it up, removing anything small (or not so small) that could blow or roll around, and laying out a second anchor and rode at the ready.  Then we sat down to enjoy a late afternoon drink and hors d’eovres and watch latecomers arrive.  We were better prepared than most, but all the boats survived the storm just fine because it never lived up to the forecast.  Isaias didn’t start his appearance until nine that evening, with a few heralding gusts, and intermittent rain.  By one am the sky was clear and the moon was shining and the winds had died down considerably.  No one dragged anchor, and no one had more than a dinghy full of water to deal with.  

Morning dawned sunny and breezy.  One by one boats hauled anchor to leave while we put the bimini back up and brought the deck chairs back out.  Everyone waved congenially to other boats as they passed by.  Another named storm under our collective belts, and it could have been much worse.

Alright, this has nothing to do with a storm.  Just some seals hanging out on a ledge.