We departed Belfast on another sunny, windless morning and headed south toward Rockland. Monica's time with me in Maine was drawing to a close.
With the throttle level only partially depressed, we motored slowly between the western shore of Penobscot Bay and the western shore of Islesboro island.
The autopilot was doing all the work of steering. There were scant lobster pot buoys in this reach and few boats to dodge.
We did not have time to make any long stops, but I wanted to enter the harbor at Camden, just so we knew what it looked like from the water. So we took a back-door entrance, marked by several red and green day markers and buoys, and, followed by a windjammer schooner, nudged in close to the inner harbor.
Camden is a tourist town if there ever was one. The inner harbor is filled with floating docks, where you can moor your boat (for a fee) and then dinghy to shore or get a water taxi.
We did not venture into that crammed harbor but turned and steamed back out to the bay. I don't foresee a time when I woul want to return to Camden by boat. There are many more places where you can spend a pleasant night, without the traffic jam.
We arrived in Rockland at mid-afternoon and, after showering on shore, had an exotic dinner at a fine restaurant.
The following night, Friday, we were invited to dinner at the home in nearby Thomaston of Peggy and Peter McCrea, fellow Bermuda One-Two veterans. Peggy, a professional water colorist, gave me some pointers and some magazines and served us one of the best meals we had all our time in Maine. Peter and I caught up on each others' sailing adventures.
Then the vacation was over, and I delivered Monica (by rental car) to the Manchester, New Hampshire, airport, were John Morrison arrived in the terminal just as the wheels of Monica's flight left the ground.