Saturday, August 15: We're away from Clifton Dock by 10:00, and there's a fair breeze blowing straight up the harbor, as we motor out Western Way, and turn to starboard towards the Bass Harbor bar, parts of which are as shallow as 8'. The breeze is now a steady 10-12 knots on the nose, so we raise the main and motor on through the delightful Casco Passage into Jericho Bay, where the wind shifts into the south, allowing us to roll out the jib, and kill the engine.

What follows is almost 3 hours of blissful broad reaching through the aptly named Eggemoggin Reach. It's a halcyon day in every respect. We've furled the genoa down to just the right size to perfectly balance the boat. Janet is driving, and given the frequency of the "puffs" which accelerate the apparent wind speed from 10 knots to 15 within seconds, I'm continuously easing and trimming the mainsheet, which allows GLORY to stay upright and sail faster.

We pass under the celebrated Deer Isle bridge (built with stimulus money courtesy of FDR during the Depression), its suspension wires robed in white for a major repainting effort. As we pass directly under the center span, as is my wont, I yell, "Troll, troll..." at the top of my voice, invoking a safe passage from the imaginary deity I have created. Half an hour later at the entrance to Horseshoe Cove,

I turn the boat into the wind, and we begin the time-honored ritual of dropping the main. I turn on the engine, advance the throttle, neglecting to engage the clutch, so the boat falls off the wind and starts to sail again, all the while Janet's waiting patiently to let the main halyard drop. I curse, move the shift lever forward, finally get the boat into the right attitude, and down comes the main, Janet then scrambles to the coach roof to wrap a few ties around the flaked main.

Moments later we are headed into the Cove and Seal Cove Boatyard's mooring field. At 17:00, I steer GLORY back into the wind and coast up to an empty mooring ball, whose pendant Janet deftly spears with her boathook. Moments later, GLORY is fast and we are aglow from one of the most perfect days we've ever shared on the water. We secure the vessel, remove the outboard motor from the stern pulpit and lower it onto the transom of Mr. Wiggle, our Zodiac inflatable, which we commissioned earlier today on the dock at Clifton's.

We motor into the Boatyard dock, make fast the dinghy, and walk up the gangway made steep by the low, low tide. Its proprietor, Bob and his son, Sam are busy on a project involving the ongoing renovation of the yard's almost new office building. We exchange greetings and begin spinning yarns about our Nova Scotia cruise. After fetching our SAAB from one of the empty boat sheds, I tick off a short-list of items which made our 5-week cruise especially notable.

1) The admiration and approbation provoked by GLORY's physical appearance in our many ports of call. The phrase "She will turn many heads..." immediately comes to mind. All those "oohs" and "aahs" are thanks to the fabulous renovation of a 23-year-old vessel brilliantly executed by the folks at Seal Cove in the winter of 2007-2008.

2) Over the past winter-spring, the Boatyard constructed a helm seat that spans the entire width of the rear cockpit and provides a real sitting and leaning place from which to drive the boat. Elegantly fashioned of stainless steel tubing and King starboard, it represents a major advance in creature comfort and affords much improved visibility over the bow.

3) Our Lavac marine toilet worked flawlessly during the entire cruise because prior to our departure Bob had re-seated the rubber gasket in the lid so that it made a perfect vacuum seal with the seat. One of those small actions that have major beneficial consequences.

4) The gimbaled brass flower vase which we acquired from Hamilton Marine before heading for Nova Scotia provided an unending source of delight. As I write, the week-old black-eyed-susans from Jacqueline's garden in Chester, Nova Scotia are still going strong.

Finally, it's time to go. The Bagaduce Lunch, which won a James Beard award for regional cuisine a couple of years ago closes punctually at 19:00, and we intend to dine there on crabmeat salad and fried haddock. There's even time for a short stop at the Buck's Harbor Market. We eat our food at a picnic table overlooking the river with a gaggle of gulls circling overhead. Then we head for our favorite B&B, the Brass Fox in nearby Penobscot. It's been a perfect day.

Thursday-Friday, August 13-14: I'm writing this account of our overnight passage from Shelburne to Northeast Harbor, ME about 30 to 60 hours after the fact. The trip began on an outrageously beautiful morning in Canada and ended on an outrageously beautiful afternoon at Clifton Dock, think of it as a "gas station" for vessels large and small, plus a mooring field. As we headed out of Shelburne Harbour, I marked the location of three industrial complexes devoted to the "farming" of salmon.

Two of these are marked on the latest Canadian paper chart of the area and two of the electronic charts that we used during the trip. All are inadequately illuminated during the hours of darkness - hazards waiting to claim an unwary victim. The complex on Western Head at McNutt Island looks especially lethal to unsuspecting vessels approaching Shelburne from the southwest. The view of the lighthouse on Western Head against a backdrop of blue sky and cumulus clouds is picture postcard perfect, and no iPhone snapshot will do justice the magnificence of the view.

We have left the dock at 10:00 intentionally, hoping to reach a waypoint several miles south of Blonde Rock some 47 miles to the west in time to catch the strongest currents pouring into the Bay of Fundy. There's a 30-year old Canadian government publication that depicts this information based on the time of the high tide in St. John, New Brunswick with remarkable accuracy. We put up with some modest adverse current from 14:00 to 17:45. By the time we reach Blonde Rock at 20:30, we're getting 1.0 to 1.5 knots of extra "push." By 22:15, boat speed is being increased by 2.2 knots.

The weather forecasts of the past few days have repeatedly called for a high pressure ridge to sit over the southwestern shore of Nova Scotia and the Gulf of Maine, producing very little wind and calm seas. The conditions are ideal for passage making as long as you don't mind the drone of a diesel engine for 30 hours straight, and you have plenty of fuel on board.

Tonight is Friday, the 13th and also features the rare astronomical confluence of planets Venus, Mars and Neptune. I'm on watch at 21:00, the moon's on the port quarter and Venus is shining brightly at its side. An hour later, I see a planet that looks like Mars hovering above Venus. An hour or so later the moon and Venus sink below the horizon, and I never get to see Neptune. The night sky is filled with stars and familiar constellations. The ones I care about I cannot name, but they are supremely useful when it comes to hand-steering a course of 317 degrees magnetic. Janet doesn't need anything but the compass to drive the boat at night (as long as the compass light is working.) I'll take a star anytime.

GLORY is equipped with two Raymarine multi-function devices (MFDs) that combine charts, radar, Automatic Identification System displays (AIS) and navigation data, a new and powerful autopilot and the usual suite of wind, depth and speed instruments. It's easy to become accustomed, even seduced by all this convenience until you realize that taken together these "mod cons" are serious energy hogs. Even when motoring constantly, there's only so much power that an alternator can replace in the battery bank, so "energy management" is accomplished by turning off these devices.

On a clear night in calm seas in the middle of the Gulf of Maine, a portable Garmin GPS enables me to switch off the MFDs; while hand steering lets me turn off the autopilot. Periodically, I "light up" the MFDs to look for targets on the radar and AIS screens, and then I shut them off.

There's very little commerce on the high seas tonight, although clusters of fishing vessels are plying their trade at a respectful distance, except for one that saunters over while Janet's on watch to splash its lights all over GLORY. At one point during my watch, the AIS announces that Lady Melissa, Lady Janice II, Lady Noreen and Matador 1 are all congregated about 12 miles away. The bright glow on the horizon off our starboard quarter offers a more visible confirmation of their presence. At 06:00 I bear electronic witness to the stately passage of tanker, Alpine Madeleine, 14 miles away, headed for St. John.

I love traveling during the hours of darkness on the ocean in a small boat, especially when the sky is clear and sea conditions are benign. You will understand that these excursions don't happen very often: maybe, three or four times annually, and since it's foggy and roly-poly half the time, a night like this one and the one on the way to Shelburne are real treats.

The only real drawback is that my body is used to being asleep at these times, so staying awake and alert is a real challenge. Thanks to Janet, I was able to squeeze in three naps, each about 45-60 minutes long during the 30-hour passage. "Grazing" also helps. I make a large salmon and vegetable chowder for supper which Janet and I sit down to eat around 19:00. I polish off the remains in two installments: at 01:00 and 06:00. Clif and Luna bars are high on my list, as are saltines and ginger snaps.

Night passages also mean that you get to see the sun set and disappear under the horizon, and about 10 hours later, reappear like magic. In both instances, the orb is bright orange, like the lava flowing in those movies about Hawaii on the National Geographic channel. I always take pictures of sunsets and sunrises and they invariably disappoint. My camera simply can't capture the magic and majesty of these events.

Once the day displaces the night, the birds and fishes of the sea become visible. Janet's been far more fortunate than I when it comes to seeing and hearing whales. At 08:00, I'm concentrating so hard on the ballet that involves transferring 5 gallons of diesel from its yellow plastic "jug" into one of the onboard tanks with a hand pump (about 130 full strokes), that I fail to hear the spouting whales that command her attention.

I do get to see some neat birds: about 40-50 miles away from Mt. Desert, a multitude of shearwaters appear with their distinctive wing beat followed by a long, soaring glide and a graceful landing. At one point, there are easily 50 or more of these migratory birds just sitting in the water paying no attention to GLORY or its crew. Ten minutes pass, and they have seemingly disappeared. Some years back on a previous cruise to Nova Scotia, I induced one of these birds to make a "carrier" landing alongside by skimming a Saltine in his direction. No such luck this time.

The sea is temporarily empty until we come to a point about 20 miles offshore where the surface is briefly covered with large islands of floating seaweed and kelp, which have in turn created a large "net" for all manner of floating refuse and trash. Fifteen miles or so offshore, I know that I'm back in Maine, as the first lobster trap buoys make their appearance. In Nova Scotia, fishing for hard-shell lobsters ends in June and doesn't begin again until December, which is a real boon to recreational boaters seeking obstacle-free waters.

We are about an hour from our destination, and I call the vessel reporting number operated by the Department of Homeland Security - Border Protection Services (BPS), known as "Customs" in the good, old days before 9/11. The voice on the other end requests the usual litany of personal information including our passport numbers which prompts Janet to scurry down below to find mine and hers. I tell him our destination is Clifton Dock at the mouth of Northeast Harbor, which I know from previous checking with BPS is an authorized entry "port."

The next step, he says, is for me to wait for a call back from one of the dozen field officers who are situated in the Bangor office and visit ports of entry from Thomaston to Eastport. "Call me back in 15 minutes, if you don't hear from someone," he advises. So a half hour goes by, and I call back to say no one's called, and the voice on the other end says he'll try to find out what's happening.

Time passes, and we're making our final approach into Clifton Dock, which on a beautiful Saturday afternoon is in a state of perpetual motion and organized confusion, presided over by Jane Joseph and her acrobatic family handling docking lines and fuel hoses with equal dexterity. We are soon tied up to the inside dock, flying the yellow "quarantine" flag proclaiming our status of the recently arrived requiring legal approval. I'm soon on my iPhone again to Houlton and to Bangor only to learn that BPS has been calling me and getting my voicemail instead of me. Two officers have apparently come and gone concluding that GLORY is a "no show."

I call Janet's iPhone, and it doesn't even ring. She calls mine and gets the same result. Time to call AT&T: 50 minutes and several service reps later, a genial lady I can tell knows her stuff, announces that the cell tower nearest to Clifton Dock is broken, and helpfully scheduled for repair on August 17th. More calls to Bangor, and I learn that a field officer is on the way, estimated travel time 1.5 hours. About two hours later she arrives, and I tell her about our saga with AT&T. "Do you have iPhone 4, or one of the earlier ones?" she inquires boarding the vessel.

She asks the usual questions about the value of purchases we made in Canada, currency in excess of $10,000, checks our passports, and then asks if we're carrying any fruit or vegetables. Janet confesses to having 4 plums and a bunch of grapes. The officer inspects one of the plums carefully examining the stick-on label. A summary of the USDA's attempts to control the spread of dangerous fruits and veggies from overseas follows, and Janet is instructed not to throw the plum pits overboard, but to triple wrap them in plastic and dispose of same responsibly. The inspection is now over; the quarantine flag can be lowered, and we're back in the USA.

We trudge to the public showers for "yachtsmen" near the harbor master's office, insert the requisite 16 quarters which buys us two 4-minute showers, and emerge newly refreshed. We return to the boat where Janet prepares a smoked salmon salad from ingredients in the frig. By the time we hit the sack, we've been up for 36 hours give or take, so we conk out quickly.

Sunday, August 8: We sleep late, shower, and get dressed in time to be picked up by Agnes, who's invited us to lunch at her lovely townhouse. We're joined by some of the folks we've met on the Cruise and their wives: Denis and Denise, Vincent and Marnie, and Nick and Heather. Agnes lends us her washer and dryer to attack the mountain of laundry we've accumulated since Lunenburg.

After a wonderful meal, Denis drives us to Sobey's so we can re-provision our dry and canned goods. We call Casino Cab for a taxi to take us back to the Squadron. The driver is a Palestinian who's moved to Canada; his brother's a dentist who lives in Miami Beach. "I don't look at the news, only comedies on TV," he says.

Monday, August 9: We're settling into life at the Squadron. Janet finishes drying the laundry she started yesterday. Denis picks me up at 09:45, and we take the boat's two propane tanks over to Costco for a refill. The small tank that's empty takes 9 kilograms, and its larger sibling gets topped up with 4 kg. At C$0.59 per kg, that's one of boating's big bargains. Next we hike three miles along Purcell's Cove Road to the Binnacle, Atlantic Canada's leading marine chandlery.

In short order, I've acquired a new Canadian chart cartridge for my portable Garmin plotter, some clevis pins to re-attach the boom vang to the boom, several paper charts, and some new sailing gloves for the First Mate. Back aboard GLORY, I refasten the vang, wash the dried salt spray off the boat's hatches and windscreen. By then it's dinnertime, so we're back at the Squadron Wardroom eating haddock again. It's not quite up to Saturday night's meal; Janet sticks with the "Hebridee" version while I try the Thai alternative, which doesn't quite work as well as it should.

Tuesday, August 10: Today starts off with another brisk walk to the Binnacle; it's cooler than yesterday, and seems shorter. I end up with three of those pads that absorb diesel fuel, and are a must when refueling, especially if you're pumping the stuff from plastic jugs. We then head for Sobey's and the Halifax Mall; suddenly a VW wagon pulls up and it's Ifan, offering us a ride, which we're glad to accept. He agrees to send Janet a CD of one of his and his daughter's performances - he's a concert cellist - and she's an aspiring violinist.

Back at Sobey's, we stock up on Christie's ginger snaps and smoked salmon in various forms. We pass on scallops, frozen at sea, in Argentine waters. Again, we summon a taxi from Casino Cab; this time the driver is a Pakistani residing in Canada, but he still has family living in the Northwest tribal areas. As I unload our groceries, I say something lame along the lines of "I hope the US gets out of your country sooner rather than later." He shrugs, observing that if we weren't there, then it would be the Chinese or the Russians. Walking back to the boat, I remark to Janet that I remember voicing exactly the same sentiment three years ago to an Iraqi cab driver who dropped me off at the Squadron. The day ends with another of Janet's killer smoked salmon salads.

Wednesday-Thursday, August 11-12: We are off the dock at 09:30 heading for Shelburne, the first leg of our return to Maine waters. Some early rain showers yield to a bright sun. It's beautiful and windless as we motor past the seven green buoys that guide us through the Sambro ledges, until a southwest headwind fills in. We hear S/V Keeper asking for help on VHF: he has fuel problems, and his engine won't run. Coast Guard cutter Bickerton that's just passed us on patrol turns around and returns to render assistance, and arranges for the sailboat to be towed into Sambro Harbour by another Coat Guard vessel. That would never happen in the US I think to myself.

At 16:35, I sight a spouting minke whale, the first of many we see on our 20-hour journey. We motor with the main raised on a placid sea with the wind on the nose until 19:00, when it finally shifts to its predicted northerly direction.

Janet spots a number of spouting whales, including one very large specimen a couple of boat lengths away as I am devoting all my attention to reefing the main because the wind is now blowing 20+ knots from astern. She's clearly expecting GLORY to go the way of the whaler, Pequod; I tell her that the whales are the real owners here, and will certainly outlive us, and not to worry. It turns into a beautiful evening with many constellations and planets visible. Our old friend, cruise ship Carnival Glory shows up 12 miles to port headed for St. John.

I manage to squeeze in two naps, each about an hour long. Although the autopilot does most of the work, we do a lot of hand steering during the last six hours of the trip to minimize the power drain on the boat's batteries. I even shut down one of our Raymarine multi-function displays periodically to save amps. Finally, we arrive an hour before sunrise in the mooring field of the Shelburne Harbour Yacht Club. Janet deftly picks up the two floating bridles on an empty mooring, and we are made fast.

We crash for three hours, but by 09:00, GLORY's at the fuel dock taking on 13.2 gallons of diesel (which works out to a thrifty .64 gallons per hour.) We share a slip with the proud, new owner of a 1982 Nonsuch 30, which he recently purchased in Southwest Harbor. "How long did it take you to get here?" I inquired. "Twenty-five hours," he replied proudly noting that wind conditions were perfect for broad reaching. Our long day ends with a spectacular meal at Charlotte Lane, one of Nova Scotia's best restaurants. It's "lights out" before 22:00, as we plan to head for the Gulf of Maine in 12 hours.