Minor Offshore 31

Most of the time, it seems, I'm testing boats or taking a cruise while the clock is ticking. A deadline is approaching, a plane is waiting, a dealer or potential buyer is getting anxious at the other end of the delivery. Now that's all well and good, but it often doesn't leave room for slowing down and smelling the roses, for gunkholing and exploring and simply wandering around in new parts of the world to see what I can see.

I did have such an opportunity, however, last summer on a new Minor Offshore 31 on a trip from Newport, Rhode Island, to Rockland, Maine. I went through some of the most appealing cruising grounds in the Northeast, and I didn't have to hurry. Carl Skarne - the head of Skarne Marine in Milford, Connecticut, who imports the Minor 31 from Finland - just needed the boat to arrive in time for the Maine Boats, Homes & Harbors show, which was almost a week away. Billy Black, the photographer, and I would be the delivery crew, and we would live aboard. Since the Minor 31 is an all-weather boat with a comfortable pilothouse, we weren't particularly worried about the conditions; whatever happened, we were confident we'd get the boat to Rockland in time for the show.

So early on a clear, sunny August day we were off. We headed down Narragansett Bay, past Fort Adams (built to keep the Brits out of the harbor in the War of 1812), hung a left at Brenton Reef and aimed for Buzzards Bay and the Cape Cod Canal. Buzzards Bay has a well-earned reputation for producing a mean, short chop, but not on this day. The sky was light blue; the water was almost calm. We opened the Minor's sunroof and both side doors, set the throttle at 23 knots and relaxed.

The distance from Newport to Rockland is about 243 nautical miles if we put in at Portland, Maine, for a refueling or an overnight. When we passed Boston, however, we thought it would be more fun to avoid the city lights of Portland and head for the smaller coves farther up in Maine; after all, we had the time. We knew the boat's single Volvo Penta D6 370 with a Duoprop was miserly, but we wanted to play it safe, so we went into Kennebunkport for fuel, a pretty destination in its own right.

Under way again, we had the ocean to ourselves. We decided we liked it that way, so we cruised up Sheepscot Bay to Southport Island to do some exploring in the little coves and harbors there. We actually went to the top of the island and over to Townsend Gut, which leads to Boothbay Harbor, before turning around and heading back to the quiet of the Boothbay Region Boatyard in Ebenecook Harbor. This entire area is filled with beautiful old homes, quiet coves, tiny islands and lobster boats mixed with everything from Boston Whalers to Hinckley Picnic Boats.

We tied up at the fuel dock at the Boothbay Region Boatyard (it was evening by this time), cleaned up the boat and walked two blocks "downtown" to the tiny village of West Southport. We passed the school, post office and "Old Burying Ground" cemetery, dating to 1819, before reaching the general store at the tiny crossroads marking the center of town. We'd stumbled into a true slice of Americana, so we settled in for the appropriate dinner: lobster roll, Cape Cod chips and a Shipyard ale. It had been a good day. We'd come 167 miles, we were in the heart of Maine and after dinner we simply crashed happily in our respective cabins. I had the master forward, Billy took the guest cabin aft and we were both very comfortable.

The next morning I woke up at 5 and looked out the window - a big mistake. Fog was rolling in across the harbor - thick, ethereal, low fog. And it only got worse. We finally shoved off at about 8:30 a.m., eyes glued to the Raymarine C120 radar/chart plotter and backtracked down Sheepscot Bay. We'd wanted to see Cozy Harbor on the west side of Southport Island. It would require skirting rocky ledges and tiny islands that pose an acceptable hazard on a clear day but had us spooked in the fog, even at 5 knots. We were well-protected in the Minor's pilothouse, which has great visibility - when you can see. Visibility was down to two boat lengths or so when we negotiated the entrance, but the little harbor inside was worth the effort ? a combination of old weathered ramps and boathouses and comfortable summer homes dotting the rocky shoreline.

After that, the fog was so thick we snuck into Boothbay and picked up a mooring, waiting for it to lift. We just sat back on the U-shaped settee, enjoyed a long lunch and listened to all the fog-related calls on the VHF. Late in the afternoon the fog cleared in the harbor so we made a break for it, only to be surrounded by the thick white stuff once we were outside again. We turned left at Pemaquid Point; the radar showed we were only a quarter-mile off the land, but we couldn't see the 79-foot lighthouse there. Indeed, there was almost no visibility until we entered Round Pond, when it cleared a bit. Round Pond is a totally protected commercial fishing center (the Fishermen's Co-op and the Muscongus Bay Lobster Co. are both at the head of the town dock) with history; Joshua Slocum stopped there on Spray and, according to legend, so did Capt. Kidd. We were simply happy to tie up at the dinghy dock for the night, hoping for a better tomorrow.

The next day was overcast, but without fog, so we spent hours meandering around upper Muscongus Bay, tucking our way around a cruising wonderland of tiny, low green islands; rocky ledges; and small channels. As we passed through Port Clyde and turned left toward Penobscot Bay, we saw fog forming on the horizon. We had no stomach for that, so we nailed it, heading up to Rockland at 29 knots. After we tied up the Minor 31 at the town dock, we both agreed that boating in Maine is incredibly beautiful - when the sun's out. But it's definitely not for the faint of heart.