Maritimes Mission

Fall 2024

By Jay Meyer

For some time, I had wanted to cruise in the Canadian Maritimes. My wife Allison and I had boated extensively along Maine’s coast, including all the way Downeast to Lubec and Eastport. And we had been up and down the East Coast on Fish Tales, our 31-foot, twin-outboard Boston Whaler. But we had never cruised to New Brunswick or Nova Scotia.

I also was drawn to the Maritimes by a desire to know more about my grandfather’s New Brunswick roots. Dr. Arthur C. Carter, my mother’s father, grew up in Petitcodiac, N.B. He’d served with the Canadian Expeditionary Force in World War I before emigrating to the United States, ultimately settling in Padanaram, Mass., but I wanted to know more about the environment in which he was nurtured, and how it might have tempered his life.

Because he died in 1948, my knowledge of him had been limited to oral history. But, with Canada’s excellent online resources, I was able to research his war service and family history back well into the 18th century, and to places like Renfrewshire, Scotland and Yorkshire, England. So I started planning a two-week trip to the St. John River in New Brunswick, from which I could take a short drive to Petitcodiac, where my grandfather was raised.

Saint John, the city, is on the Bay of Fundy, which has some of the world’s highest tides, strong tidal currents, and frequent fog and rough seas. And my route would include a passage through the famous Reversing Falls, where tidal flow into and out of the St. John River runs rapidly through a narrow gorge. Fish Tales has ample power and has proven herself in rough seas and poor weather, but she is still a small boat for these big waters.

This past August Allison and I began the cruise at the Portland Yacht Club in Falmouth, Maine, with a first stop in Boothbay Harbor. From our slip at the Boothbay Harbor Oceanside Golf Resort, we had a great view of, and access to, downtown. After some shopping and dinner we enjoyed a slow nighttime walk across the wharves and footbridge back to our slip.

The next morning we had excellent conditions for our trip north and east to Rockland. Along the way, we passed Eastern Egg Rock – about six miles east of Pemaquid Point – at low speed, spotting numerous puffins, with their brightly colored curved beaks. After transiting Muscle Ridge Channel and a run around Owl’s Head, we arrived at The Landings Marina in Rockland, which was within easy access to the city’s downtown.

In Rockland, Allison and I walked along the Harbor Trail, then back past Main Street’s many shops, restaurants and the wonderful Farnsworth Museum. That evening we joined the lively crowd at an Italian bistro. The next morning we walked to the Maine State Ferry Terminal where, as per our plan, Allison caught a bus back to Portland. She and I had enjoyed the first few days of our trip together in a more comfortable style than I would be exposed to from this point on.

Before leaving Rockland, I had carefully read the NOAA marine and hurricane forecasts. After wreaking havoc in the Gulf of Mexico, the humid tropical air that remained from Hurricane Debby was moving up the East Coast toward New England and the Canadian Maritimes. The resulting storms were forecast to bring rain and wind to New Brunswick two days later.

I had originally planned to take a few days on my way Downeast to stop at Roque Island and Head Harbour on Campobello Island, N.B., before reaching Saint John. But Hurricane Debby convinced me to shorten that leg of my trip; Fish Tales excels at outrunning bad weather.

From Rockland Harbor, I headed through Fox Island and Deer Island thorofares, passing Stonington and Merchant Row’s archipelago of pink granite and green pines. Then I ran across Blue Hill Bay, past Bass Harbor Light and the Cranberry Isles, and into Southwest Harbor. Pausing briefly to admire the yachts around Somes Sound, I topped off at Dysart’s Great Harbor Marina to avoid an expensive fuel stop in Canada.

Continuing eastward across the mouth of Frenchman Bay, I passed Schoodic Point and entered Maine’s Bold Coast region. Here the shore’s steep rock bluffs continue underwater and reflect incoming waves back out again, causing frequent rough and confused sea states. But on this day the conditions were benign, allowing me to cruise quickly past Petit Manan Lighthouse, Great Wass and Roque islands and Machias Bay to Cutler.

I overnighted in Cutler harbor, anchored on the edge of a large fleet of colorful lobsterboats. Cutler is picturesque, with a small lighthouse outside the harbor and the opportunity to take fuel at a lobster wharf. Outside of town are two huge U.S. Navy, very-low-frequency radio antenna arrays that transmit slow-speed code to submarines in the North Atlantic Ocean using more than one million watts of power.

As I departed Cutler the next morning, the weather was already deteriorating. Passing West Quoddy Head – the easternmost point in the United States – it began to rain steadily, but the wind and seas remained moderate. Entering Canadian waters, I immediately noted the absence of lobster buoys; lobstering is closed there in late summer. Farther east, I slowed upon entering thick fog that continued all the way into Saint John Harbour. From more than 10 miles away, I could see the AIS signals of large cargo ships outside the harbor, but did not set eyes upon them until I was less than a half-mile distant. I arrived at the head of the harbor and mouth of the St. John River in heavy rain.

At this point, timing and my prior planning were crucial because I had reached St. John’s Reversing Falls. Here, the massive ebb and flow of St. John’s huge (typically 25-foot) tides passes over ledges in a narrow rock gorge, creating impassable rapids except during two brief slack periods on each tide: two hours and 25 minutes before high water, and three hours and 50 minutes before low water.

When calculating these times be aware of the difference between Atlantic Standard Time (AST, used in many Canadian tide charts), Atlantic Daylight Time (ADT, New Brunswick local time in the summer), and Eastern Daylight Time (EDT, our local time in the summer).

I reached the Reversing Falls early for a predicted slack at 12:41 p.m., and waited in a pool below the falls while watching the current through constant big raindrops. By around 12:30, the current had slowed sufficiently, and I made my way into the falls. Although still flowing steadily, creating eddies and overfalls, the current was manageable, and scant moments later I was in relatively placid water on my way up the St. John River.

I arrived at the Royal Kennebeccasis Yacht Club’s fuel dock in full foul-weather gear, raised a yellow quarantine flag to signify that I had not yet cleared into Canada, and arranged for a mooring. I then called the Canada Border Security Agency’s (CBSA’s) toll-free telephone number and answered questions about my identity, vessel, planned visit, and any potential contraband. After the short interview, I was issued a report number that I displayed in my cockpit window. I then hunkered down overnight to weather the storm, rigging a clothesline and using every coat hook in a feeble effort to dry my wet clothes.

When the weather cleared, I went ashore to shower, explore and resupply. In the RKYC clubhouse, I met two members who kindly offered me a ride into Saint John the next day so I could rent a car for my drive to Petitcodiac. The next morning, I explored Saint John on foot before arriving at the rental car office. The drive from Saint John to Petitcodiac was easy and scenic, through a landscape of gentle green valleys.

In Petitcodiac, I drove first to the Baptist Church cemetery, where I located the grave marker for my great-great grandparents, Hugh and Margaret Arthur. From the cemetery I walked through the small downtown, shopping and chatting briefly with New Brunswick’s Minister of Tourism, who was campaigning for a provincial election in October. My visit to this ancestral village was short but enjoyable, and helped me to understand my grandfather’s origins.

I departed the RKYC early the next morning in bright sunshine. Leaving the St. John River, I passed through the Reversing Falls again, arriving a few minutes before slack water and waiting in a pool upstream until the current was manageable. With the improved weather, I had a good view of the shoreline as I proceeded west toward my next destination: Campobello Island, on the edge of Passamaquoddy Bay.

Passing by beautiful East Quoddy Head Light, I entered Head Harbour and confirmed that it was permissible to tie up at one of the many lobster gear floats lining the long narrow harbor. From there, I took my dinghy ashore, walked up to East Quoddy Head, then caught a ride with a local fisherman down to the little community at Wilson’s Beach.

Leaving Campobello Island at dawn, I saw two whales on my way back into U.S. waters. The tide was ebbing as I passed south through Grand Manan Channel, and the tidal current running into a southwest wind generated growing swells, then whitecaps, as I approached Machias Bay. But Fish Tales took them all in stride, and soon I was anchored off Roque Island’s beautiful crescent beach. There, I used the CBP ROAM app to report my reentry into the United States. This is, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP), “a comprehensive effort to improve the security of our nation’s borders while enhancing legitimate travel . . . which hosts the mobile services for reporting offsite arrival.”

Despite some technical glitches with the video interview, my clearance to enter was soon confirmed on the app and by email. After exploring some of Roque Island’s coves and inlets, I proceeded to a mooring in Jonesport, where I went ashore to do laundry and enjoy a delicious fried haddock dinner at the Jonesport Pizza Shop.

The next day, I crossed the Petit Manan Bar on my way around Schoodic Point, then across outer Frenchman Bay to Southwest Harbor, where I refueled at Dysart’s. From Blue Hill Bay and Casco Passage, I headed southwest toward Isle au Haut, where I reached the Isle au Haut Thorofare at dead low tide, playing a friendly game of chicken with a local lobsterboat in the narrow channel.

After taking a rental mooring off Town Landing, I walked to the Mount Champlain Trail and hiked to the 541-foot summit. On my way back to the boat, I visited the Island Store and bought a lobster fresh out of the water. Leaving Isle au Haut the next morning, I paused briefly off Robinson Point Light, on the northwest corner, remembering past family visits to the Keeper’s House Inn there.

My next stop was Matinicus, a destination that is always weather dependent for me because it is so far offshore and exposed. Fortunately, the seas were calm that morning, and my passage to Matinicus Harbor, through ledge-strewn Isle au Haut Bay, was quick and uneventful. However, NOAA weather was beginning to warn of an upcoming threat: large swells from Hurricane Ernesto, forecast to pass offshore two days later.

When I arrived, Matinicus Harbor was nearly deserted and I had no problem picking up a rental mooring with plenty of swing room. I went ashore and walked up to the Matinicus Island International Air-Strip, then took a nearby trail to West Point. Back at the harbor in early afternoon, cruising sailboats were arriving and taking the other rental moorings.

Soon these arriving boats began to crowd the small harbor, and the mooring operator asked that I move to accommodate one particularly large arrival. In the evening, our moored boats spun lazily in the dead wind, and I had several good-natured chats with the large sailboat’s occupants as we deployed fenders against things that bump in the night.

Originally, I had hoped to cruise for several more days after Matinicus, stopping at places like Tenants Harbor or The Basin. But there were small-craft advisories posted for the next few days due to Ernesto’s swells. Therefore, I truncated my itinerary and proceeded to Christmas Cove for one final night before returning home. Allison and I visited Christmas Cove often during our early cruising explorations of Maine’s coast, but it had been years since we were last there. I had forgotten just how charming a destination it is.

After taking a mooring and enjoying lunch on the sunny deck at the Coveside Restaurant & Marina, I walked to South Bristol to see the new drawbridge that replaced the old swing-bridge spanning The Gut. That night, back at the Coveside, I enjoyed a terrific show by Papa Tim & the Whiskey Throttle Band.

I had mixed feelings the next morning as I departed Christmas Cove, bound for Falmouth. The cruise had been successful, and I would have liked to extend it, but I had also seen and done so much – and I looked forward to returning home. Rounding Cape Newagen, and then Cape Small, I began to feel the long swells that had traveled hundreds of miles from Hurricane Ernesto’s path north of Bermuda. I reentered Fish Tales’ home waters in Casco Bay, then proceeded to our mooring off the Portland Yacht Club to unload and wash down the boat.

New Brunswick is an accessible cruising destination for New England boaters who are prepared for the challenges of rough water, fog and remoteness often encountered along Maine’s Bold Coast and in the Bay of Fundy. On my trip there, I found people and places that were welcoming, but also a tad foreign and intriguing. My visit to Petitcodiac also opened a door to family history that had been obscured by time and distance.

And my return trip to Falmouth included stops at several wonderful Maine harbors that I had come to know earlier in our cruising career. With this mix of new and old, my cruise to New Brunswick was rewarding and unforgettable.

Jay Meyer started boating on Sunfish and windsurfers as a boy in Cos Cob, Connecticut, and has since cruised all along the East Coast and in the Caribbean on a variety of power and sailing vessels. He and his wife Allison currently split their time between Falmouth, Maine, and Stuart, Florida.

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