Not so fast.
The fog had lifted in Seal Cove, and there was almost no current when we got outside and passed through the narrows.
But we found fog farther down the Damariscotta River. There was a little visibility -- one hundred feet, perhaps -- so we could see the lobster pot buoys ahead, and we could see the lobster boats before we were immediately upon them. Because we were motoring, it was no problem to turn on the radar.
Boothbay Harbor was in the next notch west along the Maine coast. John Morrison and I stopped their in 2010, and Monica and I had visited one rainy summer day by land several years ago. But this would be Monica's first visit by sea.
The fog was relentless, and on the radio we heard chatter between boaters and the Coast Guard about a 26-foot sailboat that had run aground on a rock entering Boothbay Harbor. Between the chartplotter and the radar, however, we were able to reach each of the navigational buoys on our route outside, and soon we were turning in toward Boothbay.
Now, however, we became disoriented, at one point heading on the wrong side of an island. When we determined our actual location, we once again found the right buoys and, after calling ahead, tied Robin to a mooring at the Carousel Marina. The showers were clean and inviting. And then we took the dinghy across the harbor to have dinner in town.
Monica had her first lobster of the cruise in a waterfront restaurant, and I was able to sample that most delectable of deserts, orange-pineapple ice cream. I got the five-scoop dish, which came with a warning from the cashier that I was attempting an absurd feat.
I ate the whole thing.