Picture your perfect Sunday afternoon. You’ve just finished a big old lunch down your local boozer and you’ve supped a few real ales. You then get home where the fire is roaring and on the TV in full Technicolor is a classic Second World War movie like ‘Battle of Britain’ (Iain’s brothers favourite) or ‘The Great Escape’. You then have the whole afternoon to doze off the effects of lunch while being warmed by the comforting glow of the fire. This is just what Iain & Fiona were dreaming of as they pounded upwind, soaked to the skin in water that’s only 15 degrees Celsius where the only comfort was tinned tomato soup that’s travelled all the way from England and the knowledge that soon they’d be able to hibernate away from the ghastly rain and wind.

Having done an overnight flyby into Boothbay we downloaded a forecast and discovered that we’d want to find shelter for Friday night from a strong northerly wind. Deciding on where to shelter in Maine is problematic as there are simply so many places to go, all of which are stunning in their scenery but heart stopping with their pot strewn entrances. We settled on Long Cove and as the wind turned to the north en route we were slowly chilled to the bone as we battled our way unwind. Green water flooded over the decks of Ruffian and swished into the cockpit, as always though Ruffian looked after us and proved to be hardier than her crew.

Long Cove offered us everything we needed. A massive anchorage and protection when the wind really piped up, before it did however we had time to explore the little town. We stumbled into the local library, in search of a map, and found it was the opening night. The whole place was sparkly new smelt of whitewash whilst all the local great and good smelt of soap. Clearly we didn’t fit in as we smelt of old clothes and salt water. We found a much better fit at the local bar, full of the hardy lobstermen where Iain for once looked well dressed, a G & T is more of a T & G and beer is merely an appetiser.

Back on board Ruffian we rode out the forecast wind and once it passed were rewarded with clear blue skies and a winding river to explore; this was also the perfect drying weather for pretty much the entire contents of Ruffian so whilst we went off on a dinghy safari we let the sun work its magic on the dampness. As we wound our way upriver herons fished gracefully and oystercatchers, who’d never seemed to have seen man watched us glide by. The silence, greenness and remoteness enveloped us like never before.

With remoteness on the menu and settled weather was with us, we thought we’d be adventurous and make for the most remote of the islands in Maine, Matinicus. It looked both promising in its walking and culture and challenging in its entry and exposure. All good things for feeling well off the beaten track.

As we rounded the top corner of the island we nearly became unstuck by driving straight into an unmarked rock and as the tiny harbour opened up we realised that this was a challenge beyond even us. Even in this settled weather the swell crashed into the harbour rolling boats and submerging the ever present lobster pots. Cowardice was the better form of valour and we did a u-turn in the tiny harbour and pushed on to yet another remote challenging anchorage, Duck Harbour on Isle au Haut.

Isle au Haut is the most remote part of the Arcadia national park and boy was it remote. No people, no facilities, no phone signal, only miles and miles of little used trails and a place just big enough for Ruffian. So with 2 anchors out to stop her from swinging into the rocks we ventured ashore where the only trace of man was a handy dock to land on and the tracks that lead to all the view points and coves on the island.

We hiked all day in both the rain and fog and as we scaled Duck Mountain we had a view that we’d seen many times before, that of the inside of a cloud. The coves were windswept and rugged and the forest so lush and green in looked radioactive. Our thinking on the radioactivity was heightened by seeing unfeasibly large sized bugs that were attracted by the transiting food source, us.

Isle au Haut is everything we hoped we’d find in Maine, incredible scenery, great walking, amazing wildlife, tremendously challenging sailing and a feeling of remoteness that is so rare in the world today. This looks however like it is just the top of the iceberg with so much of Maine still to explore and appreciate.

If you were a 5 year old. This is the fishing boat you’d draw.


More amazing sunsets.


Brrrrrr. Cold cold cold means the last tin of tomato soup is for lunch.


We found Captain America’s lobster boat at Pemaquid.


Upwind in 25 knots of cold cold wind. Oh what fun.


Yep it’s cold and we can verify that’s not under reading.


The output of a wet day is a wet boat drying out.


Maine’s coastline is simply sensational and offers literally millions of anchorages.


Fiona gets to go reaching in the sunshine.


And then have the usual passage making setup.


The tightest anchorage to date, only 30 meters wide. Just how many anchors should be put out to stop us going onto the rocks?


We get our very own private dock in our very own private bay.


Enabling us to enjoy some lonely sundowners.


Rock on. Yep they’re nearly touching Ruffian.


The view from the inside of a cloud at the top of Duck Mountain.


Wet Wet Wet. It’s not a 90’s band it’s Fiona & Iain.


Rain comes down. Scrabble comes out.


When Fiona said that she’d take Larry out for a drink, Larry was thinking of something a little harder.


The bay triples in size when the tide comes in.


Just like Scotland. Stunning stony beaches and Larry getting in on the action.