In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XIII

Below you’ll see the sleek schooner J&E Riggin. She’s hosting festivities on the beach at Babson Island In Great Cove in Sunday’s haze and fog. Her schedule said that she was on a private charter.

She moved about 100 yards and overnighted in the center of the Cove, where she became part of an especially diverse marine community yesterday:.  

She raised sails, did a sweeping come-about, and gracefully departed the Cove through the southern passageway:

The Riggin was built in 1927 as an oyster dredger for Charles Riggin of New Jersey. He named her for his two sons, Jacob and Edward (“J&E”) Riggin. She’s 120 feet long overall with a beam (widest part) of 23 feet. She dredged for oysters in the Delaware Bay area until the 1940s, when she was sold, converted to power, and sent out in search of mackerel and other fish.

In the 1970s, she was sold again and reconverted to a passenger vessel. In the process, her inboard engine was removed to make more room for cabins. Now out of Rockland, Maine, the Riggin still cruises the area waters without an inboard engine; she relies on her diesel-powered yawl boat to push her when she’s not under sail. (Images taken in Brookland, Maine, on August 5, 2024)

In the Right Place: The Sad Tale of the Cottontail

My guess is that this is a baby Eastern cottontail rabbit that had just left its mother and is now on its own:

There is a chance it’s a rare New England Cottontail, but there is no way to tell the difference without an examination.

Cottontail kits leave the family at about four to five weeks of age, according to the literature. This one was only about five inches long and seemed stunned by a sudden rain shower. (As was I; we both were a mess).

Cottontails (Sylvilagus floridanus) are not rodents, they’re lagomorphs, an order that consists of rabbits, hares, and pikas. They also are the tasty prey or choice for many predators. One wildlife official calls cottontails “the protein pill of the animal kingdom” because 80 percent or more of their population usually is killed by predators during a year.

Cottontails are among the favorite prey of foxes, bobcats, coyotes, and domestic dogs. They and/or their very small young also are devoured by minks and other weasels, skunks, raccoons, house cats, hawks and owls, snakes, red squirrels, and even crows, among other animals. Human hunters and vehicle drivers also account for a good number of cottontail fatalities each year. You don’t want to be a cottontail

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 3, 2024.) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: Reaching

The annual Eggemoggin Reach Regatta took place yesterday in mostly rain and fog, but that’s nothing new for the renowned race. It virtually never is cancelled, no matter what the weather. Below, you’ll see some of the participants sailing south down the foggy and drizzly Reach yesterday; they’re just about to pass Babson Island at the northern entrance to Great Cove:

An estimated 125 wooden boats raced yesterday. Since it began in 1985, the ERR has been the largest wooden sailboat regatta in the world on some of the planet’s best sailing waters. The 15-mile course is basically a triangle that begins at Torrey Ledge and ends at WoodenBoat in Great Cove. Here’s the official ERR course chart:

In the evening, a festive dinner party was held under a large tent at WoodenBoat and most race participants spent their night on their boats in the Cove. The Regatta was hosted by the Brooklin Boat Yard, WoodenBoat Publications, and Rockport Marine. (Photo taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 3, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Hippy-Dippy

We have several wild turkey families that survived their dangerous early summer ground-nesting phase, including the ones shown here, seen yesterday. (Less than half of wild turkey nests survive predation and other adversities, according to the Wild Turkey Federation.)

The turkey rafts are now at the stage when everyone – moms, aunts, and poults – can fly high into trees for protection. Turkey poults are able to walk soon after hatching. They weigh less than 2 pounds when they hatch, but usually gain more than a pound per month, according to reports.

Turkey families roost together in trees at night now. During the day, they typically stroll the high-summer woodlands and fields, scratching for insects and seeds. The moms and aunts try to keep the youngsters in line, but sometimes it’s difficult to herd the hippy-dippy poults. They can become road hazards. The poults usually will stay with their moms until spring mating season. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 2, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Damsels and Dragons

Damselflies and dragonflies are in congested flight patterns above our ponds now. Here you see one of the many blue damselflies, perhaps a bluet, perhaps even a Taiga (“TY-gah”) bluet (Coenagrion resolutum).:

Here’s a 12-spotted skimmer dragonfly (Libellula pulchella):

As you may know, the quick way to tell a dragonfly from a damselfly is to wait for the insect to land and see whether it holds its wings straight out from its body (dragon) or above and in line with its body, often closed together (damsel).

As for the origin of their names, the word dragonfly reportedly was inspired or influenced by the tale of the devil turning St. George’s horse into a giant flying, dragon-like, insect. Also possibly contributing was the Romanian word for the devil (“drac”) and the Romanian word for dragonflies, which translates to “devil’s horse” or “devil’s fly.”

I found no good explanation why damselflies were given that name. In English, a damsel is a young, unmarried woman. Perhaps these insects were named damsels because they generally are smaller and seem more delicate and innocent than their dragon cousins. (I do have a sordid hunch that the male nomenclature officials were aware that damselflies mostly keep their wings together when they sit.)

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine on July 13 and 15, 2024.)

July Postcards From Down East Maine

July here in Vacationland is a fulsome month. We had some magnificent “real Maine summer” days: sunny, blue skies, tingling combinations of warmth and cooling sea breezes, and happy tourists. But we also had a few days that were not up to Maine July standards: incessant heavy fog, torrential rain, and cold and damp tourists. There’s much to cover.

First, let’s have the usual pictorial overview of some of the areas that we monitor monthly along the coast and in the woods, fields, streams, ponds, and other byways:

July wildlife seemed happy no matter what the weather. Among the highlights were white-tailed deer fawns trying out their new legs.

On the feather front, osprey fledglings also were trying out their new wings in the sun, great blue herons were using their wings like balancing umbrellas in the rain, and terns had no problem fishing in the fog.

Monarch butterflies — a vulnerable species — looked healthy on their favorite plant, common milkweed, so did their caterpillars, which soon will have wings:

Meanwhile, dragonflies also were on the wing, while painted turtles just soaked up the sun whenever they could.

On the flora front, there were just too many highlights. We’ll have to settle for a medium-light view of the best of the best. To begin, July is the month of the lily — wild and cultivated; day, tiger, and water:

July’s wildflowers included purple beach rose (rose rugosa), meadowsweet (steeplebush), and bull thistle (with skipper butterflies at times). There were plenty of yellows, including black-eyed Susan, butter and eggs, tansy, and goldenrod. There also was red bunchberry and white Queen Anne’s lace and bull’s eye daisies:

In the garden, the poppies were especially attractive to hoverflies:

In the coastal waters this July, six different windjammers overnighted in Great Cove here to let their passengers come ashore — in rain, fog, and sun — and explore the famous WoodenBoat School campus. They were the American Eagle, Lewis R. French, Heritage, Mary Day, J&E Riggin, and Stephen Taber:

On the working waterfront, the lobster season begins in earnest in July. These fishing vessels come in all sizes and colors, but they all have character:

On the educational waterfront, the WoodenBoat School was busy in July teaching a variety of marine-oriented courses, including sailing courses in their fleet of small sailboats.

Of course, Independence Day is celebrated the old-fashioned way here on July 4. It starts with music by the Brooklin Band. Then there’s the parade of local fire trucks, home-made floats, and classic vehicles. After that, everyone gathers at the Town Green for children’s games, plenty of good food, and conversations with the neighbors. Here’s a small sampling:

Finally, there was the July full moon, traditionally called the Buck Moon, which met standards:

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during July of 2024.)

In the Right Place: How Sweet

This fast-spreading native shrub (Spiraea tomentosa) is forming crowds in the damper parts of our fields and wood edges.

One of its three most common names is “meadowsweet,” which is a bit obscure, but interesting. The name derives from “meodu-swete,” an Anglo-Saxon word, meaning “mead sweetener,” a plant used to flavor the ancient alcoholic drink known as mead.

The other two common names are obviously descriptive. One is “steeplebush,” which describes the shape of the flower stalk. The other common name is “hardhack,” which describes your challenge if you try to make a path through its density.

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine on July 23, 2024.)

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report XII

We had another historic week at The Osprey Nest, the summer home of the fish hawk couple known here as Ozzie and Harriet and their offspring David, Ricky, and June.

You’ll recall that the two earliest-born into the family, David and Ricky, were always active – even pushy – when it came to nest etiquette and they fledged out of the nest without hesitation on July 17.  But June, the last-born (in June) and the smallest, seemed to have been intimidated by sibling bullying and showed no sign of wanting to get out of the nest.

She would just sit or lie in the nest, rather than roam its edges and peer over the side as her siblings did; she also would wait to be fed, rather than demand it of Harriet as the others did. And – most worrisome – she never would flap her wings in a breeze and do “the yo-yo move” that is common with osprey nestlings: flapping and floating up and down on a breeze, in and out of the nest vertically for several feet.

Well, on Sunday morning, that all changed. Ozzie hadn’t appeared with the daily fresh fish yet. David and Ricky had returned to the nest from early flights over Great Cove, apparently waiting for lunch. Harriet and June were just sitting there looking bored, as usual. The four of them – all big now – were clustered fairly close to each other.

A good breeze came up and, as if a switch had been flipped, June got unusually animated and started flapping her big wings in the wind, whacking her nestmates with them. The others retreated to the edge of the nest and June started yo-yoing while her mother and brothers watched in apparent astonishment as they tried to keep out of her way:

Within the hour, she rose about 20 feet on a good gust and, with a shriek of joy, wheeled off and out of sight. She returned later, but she had discovered what she was intended to be. And, there’s no turning back from that.

As for the accompanying images, from left to right, you’re looking at Ricky, June, Harriet, and David. You’ll notice that the fledglings have speckled wings and reddish eyes, but are almost as large as adults already. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 28, 2024.)

In the Right Place: July in Conary Cove

Above, we have the July view of Conary Cove. It’s a high-summer day: very warm, but not uncomfortably hot; cumulus clouds drift low and slowly above and Queen Anne’s lace clouds dip and sway slowly below; a slight breeze convinces the leaves to rustle and much of the Cove to turn a slowly-rippling green; the iconic red boat house, as usual, draws the eye to itself, mysteriously fitting in while standing out.

(Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on July 27, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Blurs and Sharpness

Here you see two skipper butterflies seemingly making rascally plans atop some nasty spear thistle (aka bull thistle or common thistle). Don’t ask me what species the skippers are; I find them to be one of the most intimidating groups to study and get straight.

There are about 275 species of these big-eyed butterflies in North America, mostly about an inch long and usually seen as fast (up to 37-miles-per-hour) brown blurs. They fly erratically, or “skip” from spot to spot somewhat like a skipping stone on water. Even experts have trouble identifying them. It was only recently that they were placed in the superfamily Papilionoidea (butterflies).

The thistle (Cirsium vulgare) is native to Europe and parts of Asia and Africa. However, it is invasive and has naturalized itself in North America. The reason that it is called “spear” thistle is obvious from its appearance:

The reason that it also is called “bull” thistle is that it thrives in pastures, although I doubt any self-respecting bull or cow would snack on it.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 26 and 27, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Jettisoning Absurdity

Here we have the July iconic view of Blue Hill and Blue Hill Bay. It’s a time when both are green, as is much of the Town of Blue Hill at the base of the Hill. This is an inspiring view that can get you thinking. Sometimes in strange ways.

Strange thought: If that Hill had been a flat apple orchid, would the green bay and green town have been named Green Bay?

Stranger thought: If that Maine town with the apple orchid were called Green Bay, would its major sports team be called the Green Bay Pickers instead of the Green Bay Packers, as in Wisconsin?

Strangest thought: If there were such a team in seafaring Maine, would its fans be called “Fish Heads” instead of “Cheese Heads,” as in dairying Wisconsin?

***

Sorry. I needed to jettison some absurdity. (Image taken in Blue Hill Maine, on July 12, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XII

It was a bit foggy when the schooner “Heritage” anchored off Babson Island in Great Cove Wednesday afternoon:

She was on a six-night cruise along the Down East coast and this was an experience that the her website describes as follows: “We will sail to a beautiful uninhabited Island and row ashore for a lobster cook-out on the beach with hors d'oeuvres, hamburgers and hot dogs, corn on the cob, and of course, lobsters with melted butter. After enjoy watermelon and then smores roasted on the fire.”

The cook-out seemed to go well, and the Heritage moved closer to shore as the weather started to turn nasty. By yesterday morning, she was being engulfed with fog and drenched with episodic rain:

Even so, her intrepid passengers rowed themselves ashore in a longboat to explore the WoodenBoat School campus and rowed back to the schooner to hunker down in the Cove. I don’t know when the Heritage left.

The Heritage is one of the larger windjammers in the Maine fleet. Her reported overall length is 145 feet, with a 24-foot beam (widest part) and a 5200-foot sail area. For stability, she can drop an 18-foot centerboard. She has no internal motor, but maneuvers nicely when using her yawl boat as an outboard engine. Launched in 1983, she hails from Rockland, Maine. Here’s what she looks like when she puts on plenty of sail:

Leighton Archive Image

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 24 and 25, 2024. except for Leighton Archive Image.)

In the Right Place: Cats or Caps?

Tiger lilies are on the prowl now. Some of these spectacular garden imports from Asia have gone wild and naturalized themselves in sunny areas here. (They’re reportedly called “tiger” lilies due to their orange color and small dark spots; last time I looked, orange tigers had stripes, not freckles. But I digress.)

Tiger lily flowers (Lilium lancifolium) look very similar to the orange, dark-spotted Turk’s cap lily flowers (Lilium superbum). The Turk’s cap plant is taller than the tiger and is native to the United States; however, apparently it’s uncommon (if not rare) in Maine. A quick way to distinguish the two similar plants is to look for black bulblets in the leaf axils. If they’re there, you’re looking at a tiger, not a turban, so to speak. Look closely at the leaf axils in this image:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 23, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch XI

Here you see the schooner “American Eagle” entering Great Cove in the lowering sun Monday afternoon. This was her third visit this summer. She’s on a nine-night Down East waters cruise, according to her schedule.

The Eagle is not large as coastal cruisers in the Maine fleet go. The red-sailed boat in the above image provides perspective: that’s “Crackerjack,” a 12.5-foot Haven that is part of the WoodenBoat School classroom fleet. The Eagle’s overall length is 90 feet. However, she rides high and has a very clean, sweeping gunwale line from fore to aft that can make her look longer. She now hails from Rockland, Maine.

The Eagle overnighted in the Cove and awoke to torrential rains and drifting fogs yesterday. She kept her weather tarps up and her sails and passengers down (below deck) all morning, as far as I could tell:

She departed into rainy and foggy Eggemoggin Reach in that condition about 1:30 p.m. yesterday.

She was launched in 1930 as the Andrew & Rosalie, the last fishing schooner built in Gloucester, Massachusetts. During World War II, she was renamed American Eagle for patriotic reasons. She fished until 1983 and then went through difficult times until she was totally renovated in 1986 as a tourist schooner. She has since become a National Historic Landmark. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 22 and 23, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Getting an Earful

When I looked quickly into the viewfinder to take this image, it appeared for a second that I had got me a four-eared fawn:

But, no; it was just the usual playful twins that come through here with their mom at about dawn every three days or so:

Research indicates that older white-tailed does usually birth twin fawns and sometimes triplets. Yearling does usually give birth to one fawn. Fawns average about six to eight pounds at birth, and will weigh about 60-70 pounds by their first winter. Does nurse their fawns about 4 times a day as newborns and will continue nursing them for about 4 months, according to state wildlife reports.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 15, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Full Time

This is yesterday’s July full moon, shown here rising over Great Cove; it traditionally is called the “Buck Moon.” This name reportedly was given it because male deer (bucks) in full antlers are often seen at this time. It’s a bit misleading, at least with respect to the white-tailed deer that we have around here.

Modified image: moon inserted lower to fit in frame

Every report that I’ve seen, not to mention what I’ve witnessed, indicates that white-tail antler development usually is not completed until late August or early September, when blood stops flowing to the antlers and the protective velvet there is sloughed or rubbed off.

Nonetheless, as with all full moons, they appear to the unaided human eye to be full a day or two before and after the official date, when scientifically-measured luminosity is virtually 100 percent (e.g., 99.8%). This year, that apparent fullness was significant because Saturday, the day before the official full moon, was the 55th anniversary of the first mission that humans landed on the moon, the Appollo 11 lunar landing.

On that Saturday, July 20, the moon appeared full and rose into a Halloween sky filled with racing clouds that were back-lit by the moon. It was quite a dramatic anniversary for the Appollo 11 mission:

During the past few days, the moon has been a little more than 230,000 miles away. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 20 and 21, 2024.)

In the Right Place: Sneak Preview

The renowned Brooklin Boat Yard is doing sea trials on this virtually completed custom-built luxury yacht. Named “Syntax,” it’s a 55-footer commissioned by the Wheeler Yacht Company of Chapel Hill, N.C. The expectation is that the vessel will be christened and launched officially before August.

This vessel is designed to be a high-tech version of the famous Wheeler luxury vessels of the golden age of yachting in the first half of the 20th Century. (You may have heard of Ernest Hemmingway’s beloved “Pilar,” a Wheeler 38’ on which he wrote “The Old Man and the Sea” and revolutionized sport fishing. She was built for Hemmingway by Wheeler in 1934.) It also will be an example of outstanding American workmanship.

According to the Yacht Company, this new Wheeler 55’ is a cold-molded wooden vessel featuring African mahogany, with Douglas fir structural elements and teak decks. It will be driven by 850 HP i6 MAN engines (with the option to upgrade to MAN V8-1000 engines) and twin straight shaft propellers; the yacht will cruise at 25 knots. Features like the synchronized joystick controls with bow and stern thrusters will ensure easy docking, while the Seakeeper gyro stabilizer and Zipwake systems will provide a smooth and stable ride.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 18, 2024.) See also the image in the first Comment space. Thanks to Barbara Wyeth for the tip.

In the Right Place: To Bee or Not to Bee

Look closely and you’ll see a hoverfly (and its shadow) showing why it got that name:

These insects also are known as drone flies and flower flies. This one appears to be a green lucent fly (Didea alneti) that’s less than one-half an inch long. It’s in the process of deciding whether to visit the working parts of a poppy. These are true flies (Diptera) that have interesting characteristics.

They can hover virtually still except for their high-speed wings; they apparently can hold an in-air position better than all or most other insects and even hummingbirds. This may be part of a complex defensive system that makes it difficult to notice them.

But, if noticed. most hoverflies are designed to scare – they’re banded to mimic bees, hornets and other insects that can sting. Yet, hoverflies can’t sting. When they sense danger (like a looming photographer), they also can buzz like a bee or hornet. Most significant to the big nature picture is the fact that hoverflies are very important pollinators in the propagation of flora. 

As a bonus, I’m adding below an image of another important banded pollinator approaching a favorite food source, common milkweed:

It’s a tri-colored bumblebee (Bombus ternarius). And, it can deliver not only a painful sting, it can sting repeatedly. Unlike honeybees, bumble bee workers’ stingers have no harpoon-like barbs at their ends that remain imbedded in a victim, which disembowels the stinging honeybees. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 15 (bee) and 17 (fly), 2024.)

In the Right Place: Windjammer Watch X

The Schooner Lewis R. French entered Great Cove at mid-afternoon Wednesday, which was a hot and hazy day. She first anchored off Babson Island, where passengers went ashore and explored, lolled on the beach, and a few went swimming in the 64-degree water. Later, a lobster bake was held there.

After a delicious dinner on Babson, the passengers re-boarded the French for a short trip of about 200 yards, so that the schooner could anchor close to the WoodenBoat School dock and float. It rained that night and into the foggy morning. The schooner kept her weather tarp up most of the morning. Nonetheless, several boatloads of the passengers were ferried ashore to explore the WBS campus and then return to the French for the rest of their cruise.

Soon the weather tarp was taken down and sails and anchor raised with the help of the passengers. Her mainsail, main topsail, and foresail were raised. There was virtually no wind, but the sun started to try to break through the overcast. It was one of those mornings when beams of sunlight came and went, sometimes creating intriguing reflections that lasted only minutes.

The French has no internal motor, so her powerful yawlboat was lashed to her stern as an outboard motor and she headed out of the Cove to the north. She might have been on her way to see nearby Pumpkin Island Lighthouse; her schedule says that she was on a four-night lighthouse tour..

The 101-foot French was launched in 1871 out of Christmas Cove, Maine. She was built there by the French brothers and named after their father. In her youth, her life was varied and hard. Among other things, she freighted bricks, granite, fish, lime, firewood, and Christmas trees, and at one time experienced a fire that nearly destroyed her. Now, the French is a classic cruiser out of Camden, Maine.

The schooner J&E Riggin also anchored Wednesday night in Great Cove and departed the next day. She arrived late and departed early on Thursday in the rain without raising a sail:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 17 and 18, 2024.)

In the Right Place: O’ Nest Report XI

Yesterday morning was one of the most important times of the year at The Osprey Nest, the summer home of the fish hawk couple known as Ozzie and Harriet – their first two born this year, David and Ricky, fledged out of the nest within a few minutes of each other, leaving young June as the only nestling Here you see the beginning of the daring departure:

It was a gusty morning. Both of the “boys” were constantly flapping their wings in the breezes, while the much smaller June seemed to be wondering what was happening. Then, David (the oldest and largest) seemed to make up his mind and moved to the edge of the nest as his mom, Harriet, watched. He took off into the wind and peeled down behind the nest where I couldn’t see him:

Harriet soon took off after David:

Then, Ricky did the same thing as David did while his mom was gone. Harriet was quite excited when she returned alone, calling loudly. Ozzie came in response to the calls, but didn’t seem surprised and June still seemed to trying to figure out what was happening.

I saw and heard two ospreys that appeared to be David and Ricky soaring high over Great Cove shortly thereafter. It always amazes me when ospreys fledge like this by instinct – no driving instructor, no video study, just flap-flap-feels-fine, and up and away. Soon it will be June’s turn, and I have no doubt that she’ll do well. After all, in the fall, they’ll all be expected to travel alone to Florida or south of there without a GPS device.

In the meantime, life in Maine will progress. One thing that immature ospreys apparently can’t do by instinct is plummet dive for fish. They seem to have to learn how to do that on trips with their parents, especially their father. This means that they’ll be returning to the nest for awhile to feed on Ozzie’s daily deliveries, learn to hunt, and to make their protective Mom feel good. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on July 17, 2024.