Judy P's Tickle Trunk

or Don’t Ever Make Plans You Can’t Change.

 The next stop on our journey south to find spring was Vinalhaven Island. We did not find it there. The plan had been to stay one night, visit with a friend, and take the ferry back to the mainland the next morning. Mother nature intervened. Not only was there no ferry the next day, but there was torrential rain and gale force winds. We hunkered down to make the best of it.

The ferry crossing from Rockland to Vinalhaven Island had been reminiscent of many ferry rides I have taken in Newfoundland; we made our way across open water then into port through a channel between many little islands, most of which sported summer homes. There was a slight roll in the swells outside Rockland Harbour breakwater but otherwise it was a gentle trip.

Owl’s Head lighthouse, leaving Rockland Harbour.

Entering Vinalhaven Harbour

My mother had given me her brand new red coat which never really fit so I decided I would take it on the road and send her photos of its journey. I had thought it perfect for spring but it wasn’t warm enough by half for the cool temperatures we encountered once we disembarked.

Red coat arrives at Vinalhaven.

Vinalhaven appears to have two industries: tourism and lobster fishing. The fishery was obviously very active with boats coming and going with traps but the big parking lots were all empty and most stores and restaurants wore signs on their doors saying “CLOSED FOR THE SEASON”. There was a little café that opened at four in the morning to serve breakfast to the lobster fishermen and dinner was to be had at The Pizza Pitt.

Dining at the Pizza Pitt.

We watched the tide go out as we chowed down on a very delicious pizza. (We ended up eating there twice as you shall see.) I was a little concerned to see that many of the pilings under the wharf were eroded to pencil points where they met the floor of the harbour. Not too sure what was holding it all up! We watched a few boats come and go and the locals coming in for take out. All the excitement we could take for one day.

Next morning we arose to gale force winds and torrential rain. No ferries would be coming or going. We were marooned for the day and possibly again the next as the weather forecast was not promising. People who were expecting us had to be contacted but what, no pay phones or cell service? No internet where we were staying? All we could do was settle down with our books and watch the ducks and gulls bob up and down on the swells in the harbour. I did a little sketching and some napping and took a few pictures.

We discovered that people on Vinalhaven could be somewhat vague and it was sometimes hard to get a clear answer to a question. “Is there anywhere you can get cell service on the Island” I asked. The response was something like “well, if you go across up the main road and turn right, go down the dirt road and face across the channel, stand by the telephone pole with the blue sign, lean left and tip your phone forty five degrees, you might get a signal. Or not.” “Are these low tides normal or are they extreme spring tides?” “Well, they’re the tides we get.” “Is the ferry leaving today?” “Well, we won’t know until it goes.”

Indeed we didn’t find out if the ferry was leaving until we were actually on it and moving, and then we had no idea if we would complete the trip.  The wait list was a complex system which almost defied understanding. If you didn’t get on the boat you were given a “line number” which determined whether or not you got on the next boat. We had collected no less than three line numbers and had no idea where we stood so we got up early and raced to the ferry office, terrified to make even one mistake lest the boat go without us. “Is the ferry running today?” I asked. “Don’t know, the crew aren’t here yet”. We were told to line up on the main road (a completely different place than where we were told to line up the day before, what did this mean?) We lined up, third car back, and others lined up behind us. Eventually an official looking fellow came along and looked at our “line number” We asked if the ferry was going and were told “don’t know yet, but we have to line you up anyway” and we were sent to another line closer to the dock. Was this the waitlist line or the boarding line? The car at the head of our line was waved onto the boat. Whoohoo, I cheered with a vigourous fist pump. Two more followed then the next got a hand signal to stop. The traffic director then switched lines. My heart sank. Cars proceeded, we waited. The boat appeared to be filling up without us. It was looking bleak as the wind gusts shook the truck and whipped up chop on the harbour. The traffic director set himself in the middle between the two lines and counted cars: one, two, three, and us, number four, then to the next line for five and six. I fist pumped. Two cars loaded. He counted again. One, two, three, and stopped at the car ahead of ours. My heart sank. I wondered if the chest pain I was having could be soothed with valium or open heart surgery. “Hey, Lance, I bet chest pain would get us off the island in an med-evac” I speculated. Cars continued to load. I was dizzy from holding my breath, afraid to pray lest God get spitey because I was only praying when I wanted something and whip up a bigger storm to keep us there for three more days just to teach me a lesson. Lance was grinding his teeth down to nubs. Traffic director man came and stood close to our truck. “Are we going?” “Don’t know yet, but we have to load the ferry anyway” He spoke into his walkie-talkie: “Three more cars: two small ones and a medium sized one. I don’t know, about the size of Joe’s car”. No useful information for speculating there unless you knew Joe. We were not a small size car. My heart sank and sent up a cloud of mud as it hit bottom. I wondered who the patron saint of travellers was and risked praying that Joe had an SUV. Then suddenly we were waved on. I clapped vigourously and called through the open window “Thank you so much, not that we don’t love it here but…….” and Lance drove down the ramp onto the boat and they brought the chain across behind us. I wished I had a coffee to celebrate but was willing to go without, I would go without for ever Amen if it meant getting on the boat and off the island. Not that I didn’t like it there, mind you, but spring needed to be found and we had committed to finding it.

Salt spray on the Vinalhaven ferry.

The ferry ride is best seen, not described. We were right at the front of the boat but facing back on to the bow. We couldn’t see what we were heading into or what would be coming over the rails. Nothing between us and the Atlantic except a chain gate. We weren’t chained down and the spray came not in a shower but a bath. I didn’t get sick but was a little alarmed when she was pitching and rolling in the worst of it. But I was mostly afraid, not of drowning or getting washed overboard, but of having to turn around and go back to Vinalhaven and repeating the whole process the next day. Just click on this link to get a taste of the ride but best have a barf bag handy.

pitch and roll on the Vinalhaven ferry.

We only relaxed once we made it inside the Rockport breakwater and then we commenced smiling again (our teeth now an eighth of an inch shorter from grinding) and we smiled all the way to Dunkin’ Donuts and then on to the carwash. It was only just above zero and there was fresh snow and ice on the roads.  Next stop: Waltham, MA., where we hoped to find, at least, a hint of spring. By the way, if you go to Vinalhaven, there’s a great motel built right on a bridge where the tide rushes in and out right in under the rooms. But don’t plan on it being open. Or the tides running. Or on getting there. Or on getting off again if you do. Such is island life.

© Judy Parsons 2014