The Thoroughfare to Roque island

We awoke to pea soup fog. My brother and I rolled up our damp sleeping bags and collapsed the air mattresses. We slept in the cockpit under the steering shelter....canvas wind curtains up and mosquito netting hanging down. One could taste the weather and tide. I knew the clams were sticking there necks out on the beach and the seagulls were feeding on sand fleas and baby crab. Fog is good training for the other four senses, mostly hearing.

No radar, GPS, or radio beacons, just the sound of a bell bouy and the moaning of a "billy whistle". That's what Mom called a whistling bouy which only sounded as it drew up and down in a swell. Lighthouses were of no visual use in a fog, but they did have horns. On this morning we heard a caucaphony of birds and bells.

With the addition of some scrounged wood, our stove crackled to life, and the scent of coffee wafted up to the cockpit. My brother, John, and I lowered ourselves into the cabin to find our Dad cussing at the water pump. It's handle was cattywompus at times and gave him grief. He added a teapot to heat for our hot chocolate. Too foggy to row anywhere, so John pestered Mom and I read the Sailors's Guide to the Maine Coast. Dad studied the chart to Roque Island, our destination. We heard of its legendary beach, white sand untouched by civilization. One had to plan carefully with the tide running so hard at full flood and ebb. Best to go through " The Thoroughfare" at high slack.

I wrote out the simplest directions for gaining the Thoroughfare's advantage. Proudly I gave them to Dad, who with the grace of a patient father, placed them near his chart and the actual sailing directions for the Thoroughfare. With the fog lifting, we hauled anchor and were underway to discover this prize beach.

Dad wrapped John and I in blankets and sent us up to the bow to listen for a particular red bell bouy. The fog was up and down, so in the down periods, we listened over the hum of the Chrystler Crown for any ding or dong. At the bow's waterline the sea parted as if the boat had a moustache. We stared down and listened. Many minutes went by as we lay mesmerised by the bow wave. A seal breathed, and then a "Dong". We looked at each other for confirmation. Yes...listen closer. And another faint "dong". Two hands shot out pointing in the direction of the bell bouy and looked back to Dad. He nodded his affirmation and changed course slightly in the direction to which we pointed. Even though we were six and eight, our father believed us. We had been his crew from birth and he trusted in our abilities.

My simple directions for "the Thoroughfare" are included above.