Life aboard a Maine windjammer is one of the best ways to leave the 21st century behind and experience the ease of a time before cell phones, laptops and other high-tech gear hijacked our vacations.
My husband, I and our 25-year-old twin son and daughter recently spent four stress-free summer days aboard the 132-foot windjammer Victory Chimes as it cruised Penobscot Bay.
It was an opportunity for fiftysomething parents to reconnect with grown kids who had long since departed the nest for the West Coast, and to share an activity we hoped would be long remembered.
Total relaxation
These are the hardest decisions you might make on a windjammer: Do you help raise the three-masted schooner's huge sails or watch the exertion of others? Do you snooze on a comfortable deck cushion, read a pulpy novel or play one of many board games stowed aboard? Do you let your mind drift as you gaze at the passing scene: evergreen-studded islands ringed in granite; remote summer cottages of the rich and perhaps famous; or distant ghost ships and mesas created by fog-enshrouded treetops? Do you share in the delight of spotting seals and porpoises frolicking in the bay, or continue one of the many conversations that transform people who were strangers just a day before into friends? Should you eat that third lobster or save room for a decadent dessert?
The 37 passengers we met on the Victory Chimes did all of these things - or not.
They were educators, financiers, entrepreneurs, artists and restaurateurs, and hailed from a dozen states. What kept this from being a baby-boomer cruise - which would have compelled my children to abandon ship - were the bright, spirited young crew and a couple of twentysomething shipmates.
The majority of our fellow sailors said they chose this trip as the quintessential Maine experience and were pleasantly surprised at just how much they enjoyed it.
This was most evident when there was trouble raising the anchor our third day out. Captain Kip Files democratically offered us the option of tying up at the Victory Chimes' home port of Rockland, where we could go ashore during that town's annual Lobster Festival, or take our chances anchoring off the nearby Samoset Resort, allowing another night away from civilization. The vote among the passengers was an overwhelming "aye" - avoid the real world for as long as possible.
"I love this. This is the best vacation," Alan Eskow, a banker from New Jersey, repeatedly exclaimed to his boyhood best friend, Jim Wolk, as they lazed in the sun listening to Jimmy Buffet on their stereo headsets, or swam in the 60-degree waters of Buck's Harbor. The two were vacationing with their wives, Lenore Eskow and Linda Wolk, who made a pact to forgo makeup and hairdryers on the trip.
The Chimes' what-to-bring list suggests "casual dress, wrinkled look, out of a duffel bag," and there was no way of discerning who among us might be an onshore fashionista.
Life aboard
Our day typically began around 7 a.m. when we were awakened by sounds of movement above deck as the galley crew set up morning coffee topside and our nostrils filled with the aromas of breakfast preparations.
Groggy passengers climbed the stairs to the deck, cradled mugs of hot coffee and gazed with pleasure at the beauty of the place the captain decided to drop anchor the previous afternoon - whether a cozy, sailboat-dotted harbor or a remote cove near one of Penobscot Bay's myriad pristine islands.
At 8 a.m. we stood quietly as the "colors" were hoisted atop each of the three tall, wooden masts: the Stars and Stripes, Maine's flag and a red and black banner emblazoned, "no guts, no glory." A large brass bell, gleefully rung by one of the galley crew, signaled breakfast.
We trooped into the forward salon each morning and crowded around three large tables where food was served family style. Seconds, and even thirds, were always provided. Lunch and a couple of dinners were served on deck, allowing uninterrupted enjoyment of Maine's beauty and the sea breeze.
Cook Pam Smith-Sheridan and her two assistants turned out remarkable food on the ancient cast iron, diesel-fueled stove that occupied much of the compact galley. Special diets - including those of my vegetarian daughter and shellfish-averse husband - were creatively accommodated.
Fragrant cinnamon rolls, eggs Benedict, blueberry pancakes, seafood bisque and corn chowder, poached salmon, indescribable buttery desserts and all-you-can-eat lobster (Smith-Sheridan says she steams a full ton of lobster during each season) kept passengers sated.
The heat in the galley gives a close approximation of Hades and Smith-Sheridan quipped, "Women spend thousands at spas to sweat like I do, and I get paid for it!"
Living space on a windjammer is at a premium, but is made tolerable because most of the time spent in your cabin involves sleep. Although gleaming wood and polished brass give the below-deck space a luxe touch, neophyte windjammer passengers on our trip, more accustomed to cruise ship staterooms, did a double take upon being shown to the tight quarters that would be their home base for four days.
The Victory Chimes is no faux windjammer, built for modern-day comfort. This 100-plus-year-old beauty is the real thing, an official historic landmark which began its life hauling lumber on Chesapeake Bay.
"She's always paid her way," Captain Files, one of the schooner's two owners, told us proudly, "first with cargo, now with people."
A typical cabin for two contains comfortable, built-in bunk beds with ventilation and daylight provided via a working porthole. Clothing is stowed on hooks and there are a few feet of floor space. Families can bunk in the vessel's two quad cabins, and there are three with double beds and private "heads." The rest of us shared three communal toilets and two fresh-water showers.
The first day's moans and groans about cabin space quickly turned into a source of amusement, especially after hearing how luxurious the Chimes actually is compared to some passenger schooners plying Penobscot Bay where, instead of our in-room sinks, passengers are provided with a bucket of water and a basin. We began to consider ourselves lucky.
That feeling of being extremely smart to have chosen this adventure permeated the group the longer we were at sea as the tension of our land-based lives melted away into the lapping waves and wind-billowed sails.
Recreation
After dropping anchor around 5 p.m. each day, we had the opportunity to ride Enoch, the yawl boat, to shore. Our destination each day remained a mystery, to be determined by the wind and the captain. On this trip, we stopped at Buck's Harbor - the setting for one of Robert McCloskey's award-winning children's books - Stonington, and the Samoset Resort.
Those who preferred to forgo land for the entire voyage could swim in the bay's frigid water or take a turn in the schooner's yellow kayak or rowboat.
The night sky on the water was magical. The dramatic white light of infinite stars, Venus and the Milky Way were so awesome that it seemed unreal, more like the perfection of a planetarium projection.
"Look! Did you see that!" was exclaimed often as a shooting star blazed across the black sky.
In the cool night air we shared quiet conversation and uncontrollable laughter with new friends. A guitar-playing passenger led a half dozen people in a subdued sing-a-long while another group chuckled at the punchlines of Down East stories the extroverted Captain Files clearly enjoyed spinning.
The final morning we applauded the galley crew, took photos of each other, swapped addresses, discussed get-togethers on land and how much we had enjoyed this brief break from reality. As for our children, both remarked on how pleasantly distant their hectic, land-lubbing lives felt while on board.
After thanking Captain Files for a fine voyage, we reluctantly gathered our belongings, climbed the steep gangway and re-entered the real world.
Harriet Schultz is a Portland-based travel writer.
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