October 23, 2007
When we left the dock at Deep Creek yesterday at high tide, the fathometer showed 0.0 feet under the keel. We mushed off, no running hard aground, successfully slalomed the channel, waved goodbye to Dave and Jeanette B. and to an incredible four days of visits with them, Carol and Bill S., and Dick and Nancy L., all who became neighbors and friends 35 years ago when we rented a house in suburban Baltimore and landed amongst some of the nicest people on the planet. Dave and Jeanette now spend their summers at a rambling, comfortable shore house, parts of which date to the 1800’s on a working waterman’s creek. Yes, children, we reminisced about all of you and all of theirs…you cute little nippers.
A non-working water front
Buildings built on pilings in deep creek to house crabs while they shed or molt into soft shell crabs are empty and some are falling down. In Maine, we will see almost at any time during season, a dozen lobster boats working within our view at Teel Cove. We’ve only seen about that many crab boats over the past two weeks, some rigged for clamming or harvesting oysters. Dave said the crabs are just gone and so far the experts are silent as to why. Crab picking plants are closed down, not just temporarily, but permanently. The economy, as in much of Maine, is driven by people who are called locally “come heres,” many of whom are retired.
Crab boats are beautiful things. Their roofs give them the look of a Thames launch, but their prows, while not as robust as lobster boats, are proud and serious. They have two helm stations, one in the cockpit and another aft on the starboard side, so the waterman can operate the boat while pulling his crab pots. The boat pictured is a crab boat rigged with tongs for either oysters or crabs.
We have been beating to windward the last two days. From Deep Creek we worked across and down the bay hoping to make Deltaville on the Western Shore, but went into Indian Creek off of Fleets Bay. The cruising guides reported a marina or the option of anchoring well up the creek. We choose the later. It was like parking a tent camper in a prosperous suburban cul-de-sac with ranch style homes and well tended lawns. Instead of curbs, our watery street was bordered by neatly laid stone rip wrap or wooden timbers and each lot seemed to have a dock with various combinations of sail boats and power boats, the equivalent of a two car garage. It was still, peaceful and a good nights rest. I almost expected the paper to be delivered. A surprise was that next to the marina was a grain elevator with two barges tied to its docks, a vestige of working water front. Indian Creek was once the site of a steamship landing.
On Tuesday we again beat down the Bay to Deltaville, 9.5NM as the crow flies, 19NM by the shortest water route. We sailed 25NM to get there and, ironically, that’s real progress. We were greeted as planned by new friends and long-time cruisers Ken and Lynn W. who you may recall we first met in Shelburne, NS.
