Tom Harbeck, a talented friend of this blog, with ties to Maine, sent this wonderful poem:
“Attached is a poem I wrote as one of a series on my grandfather in graduate school at Stanford. His uncle made headstones for graves (Page Memorials), his father worked at the boatworks, a number of his siblings died from polio but he survived though it affected his left arm.”
Thanks Tom!
Winning, or just competing in, the Build-a-Boat Race, requires a boatload of talent — creative thinking, engineering, design, naval architecture, carpentry, courage, strength, endurance, teamwork, sense of humor, copywriting, among them.
Each team builds their boat on Saturday with materials donated by EBS and Sikaflex. And races it on Sunday in front of a wild crowd. And if you don’t sink or swim, you’re in the running for a trophy.
Ram 1500 V8 Magnum, above, powered by Brendan Carey and Ryan Splaine, of Lincolnville, won first place. Boy, were they fast!
Three Guys and a Saw, above, powered by Jeff Emery and Cameron Morgan, from the U.S. Coast Guard cutter Abbie Burgess, placed second.
In-and-Out-Rigger, powered by Glen, Glen and Max Ruesswick, won the Best Design Award.
Nikkos, above, powered by Gordon and Aiden Darwin won the People’s Choice Award.
Banana Dore, powered by Dave and Nicholas Johnson from Camden.
Here are pics from last year.
The Camden Windjammer Weekend, and especially the Build-a-Boat Contest and Race, was lots of fun last year, where kids got to build a boat and then race it in Camden Harbor.
Happily, it’s on again this year with all kinds of clever events — contests for kids, a puppet show, a boat parade, an outdoor concert, drawing classes, a Lobster Crate Race, the Build-a-Boat contest and race, and even a Schooner Crew Talent Show.
Besides just plain having fun, you’ll learn lots about the history, arts, crafts, skills, food and wild stories that accompany the beautiful Windjammers you see all over the coast of Maine.
Here are some links: — to photos taken last year — to this year’s schedule of events.
Maine’s lobstermen are toughing it out during this downturn. The price of lobster has fallen so far that it’s no more expensive than sliced turkey. Now there’s no reason not to enjoy one of life’s luxuries.
It seems strange that a century ago, lobsters were so plentiful that farmers used them for fertilizer, because nobody wanted to eat them. They were not the delicacy they are today and were routinely fed to prisoners. And not as their last meal.
All lobster boats are pretty, but there’s something special about a red hull cutting through Maine’s dark blue water, especially on a dreary day.
It was a drippy, July day. Fried clams sounded just right. And they were much more than that, at The Boathouse in Rockland. The dessert was the panoramic view.
Thanks to @danamoos for the recommendation.
The Boathouse, 58 Ocean Street, Rockland, is open seven days a week. Lunch is served from 11:30 A.M. to 3:30 P.M. and dinner from 5:00 P.M. to 9:00 P.M. On Sunday, in addition to regular dinner hours, the restaurant offers brunch from 11:00 A.M. to 3:00 P.M. 207-596-0600.
Some call it June gloom. If you’re in an area near a large body of water, you’ll often experience this soggy, gray shift from spring into summer.
Lucky Maine is just as beautiful in neutral tones, as in brilliant ones.
Especially when framed in silvery mist.
It’s not easy catching up with Dave Getchell — to find a time when he’s not manning exhibit booths at trade shows, installing docks in Rockland Harbor, or singing with dogs. These don’t seem like the normal range of duties for someone with the very important duties of an Associate Publisher. But Dave’s not an ordinary associate publisher. He works for Maine Boats, Homes and Harbors magazine, headquartered in Rockland — not an ordinary magazine.
Dave’s exuberance might explain why Maine Boats, Homes and Harbors is so popular. Some say that it’s what Downeast magazine used to be — full of detailed information, and quirky, intelligent stories, always reflecting the fascinating, and hard working people, and the beautiful areas of Maine.
As with many from Maine, the more he went away, the more he didn’t. And now he makes a living out of where he loves to live.
Maine and publishing are in his blood. Most likely helped along by his early childhood inoculations by the black flies.
Why do you live in Maine?
The more I’ve traveled over the years (a lot, especially when I was doing TV production and traveling 150 days annually), the more I appreciate what’s right here.
Are you from Maine?
Yes, and, well, no. My dad is from Bangor but thanks to the US Army, I was born out of state. Moved back at age 2. If that doesn’t make me ‘from here’ I guess I’m guilty of being from New Jersey.
Where do you live?
A little 1920s bungalow on the Megunticook River, downtown Camden. I like to say I have “in-town waterfront” property. I have an ocean view, too — if I stand on the very peak of my barn roof, that is.
How did you find it?
Originally rented the house, and liked the place so much we bought it in early 90s. Every so often I get the itch to try another location, do a bit of house shopping, and then am cured of this silly idea for several more years.
What’s the best, and worst, part about living here?
Best–the change of seasons, one of the things that progress hasn’t managed to screw up yet. Worst–the change of seasons, especially the advent of mud season. Perversely, one of my favorite seasons is when the black flies come out…they’re what keeps the coast of Maine from ending up like southern Connecticut. My dad calls ‘em the ‘guardians of the forest.”
What are you giving up?
Nothing, at least that I can see.
What are you getting?
Everything that makes Maine into Maine–lakes, mountains, rivers, the amazing coast, the fact you don’t have to lock the car every time you walk more than 5 feet away from it.
What is your favorite — boating destination?
A tiny island in Penobscot Bay that stands out for its Caribbean-like white shell beaches. It’s not named on the charts; I call the island Petit Phoque (baby seal) because one time I fell asleep on the sand there, only to wake as a baby seal hauled out a few feet away. i think it was disappointed I wasn’t it’s momma, because it bleated a few times, I said, “quit yer whining, go out there and catch some mackerel” so he swam away.
Food?
Foraged steamer clams and mussels on an island, cooked over a driftwood fire. A close second is lobster served no further than a few feet from high tide line, cooked over that driftwood fire and then served up on a driftwood plank. In either case, you toss the leftover shells below tide line, a feast for the crabs and seagulls who come later.
Colors?
That particular “red sky at night” sunset, which means we probably won’t need the rainfly on the tent that night.
What kind of boat do you have?
A Lund Alaskan, a 20-foot open skiff; it’s small enough to launch/land with just one person, yet seaworthy enough so I’ve taken it to Maine’s farthest offshore islands. It’s built out of aluminum, the only material tough enough to withstand regular landings on Maine’s rocky islands. I’ve had the boat 11 years now, and expect to have it many many more.
It thrives an a steady diet of island-hopping, beach BBQs, striper fishing, handlining for cod, towing my screeching nieces around on a tube on Megunticook Lake, big-water adventures on Moosehead, fall sea-duck-hunting, exploring coastal rivers (often finding new uncharted rocks along the way) and spending the winters on its trailer in a snowbank.
Best compliments on the Lund have come from lobstermen, usually from their boat to mine while we’re bobbing in a big surge off an island someplace; their usual reaction is, “Nice boat!”
Read on to to learn more about Dave, Cap’n Henri, and Maine, Boats, Homes and Harbors.
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