Last night after the lobster bake, we motored through drizzly darkness and dropped the hook in Allen Cove near the town of North Brooklin. Yesterday’s weather had alternated between rainy, foggy, and overcast, so when I woke this morning to bright blue skies and warm temperatures, it was as much a shock as a relief.

After breakfast, Captain Garth tunes to the weather band and gets today’s forecast. The barky, computerized NOAA voice offers a maddeningly vague prediction: sunny skies with winds somewhere between 15 and 30 knots. That’s a big range. In sailing, it doesn’t take much before an ample wind turns to a terrifying overabundance: a wind of 10 knots is pleasant; 20 knots is exciting; 30 knots is pants-shitting scary.

Nevertheless, we raise full canvas and sail off the anchor into Blue Hill Bay. For now anyway, the wind is a mild 12 knots. The Bay is fairly well protected from southwesterly winds and the placid water glimmers yellow in the mid-morning light. It’s so calm, in fact, you could fool yourself into believing this is New Hampshire’s Lakes Region; the looming mountains of Acadia National Park help complete the tranquil illusion.

It’s a relaxing scene on the Lewis R. French: Captain Garth quietly turns the helm; Cully reads a book atop the strongback; the guests lounge on sun-warmed housetops; and, below, Jenny and Hilary fix lunch.

Garth and Jenny.

As we leave Blue Hill Bay toward Swans Island, however, the wind gains force. It’s now blowing close to 20 knots and whitecaps are forming. When lunch is ready, Captain Garth turns the Lewis R. French 180 degrees and we sail back toward the protection of Blue Hill Bay.

After lunch, Captain Garth gives me a turn at the helm. We’re in the lee of Tinker Island; the water is relatively smooth and the helm is responsive. When we reach the northern tip of Tinker Island and sail into exposed waters, however, the helm develops a mind of its own. When Captain Garth asks me to bring the wheel about, I feel as though I’m trying to pry loose a rusty lug nut. I put my whole body into the task, yet the rudder is still winning.

It’s easy to assume the captain’s job is easiest. During any given day, you’ll see the mate elbow-deep in the thankless chore of cleaning the heads, the messmate peeling countless potatoes, and the cook rising at an ungodly hour to light the stove. By comparison, the captain’s job looks like cake: He’ll rise after a ten- to twelve-hour slumber, eat breakfast, listen to the weather, and steer the vessel to his whim. And, during long tacks, the captain will stand at the helm and shoot the breeze with his guests.

After fighting the wheel in this blow, however, I’ll never take the captain’s job for granted again. It is hard, physical labor.

The captain’s job is mentally taxing as well. In the back of his or her mind, a captain is constantly evaluating the wind direction, the tide, the sail trim, the heading, the chart, and the clock. He needs to keep his vessel off the rocks, and find a safe anchorage before suppertime.

Captain Garth describes his daily work as this: “I make short-term plans and change them frequently.”

And, while a captain’s subconscious mind processes all the information at hand, he also plays host to a bill of curious passengers. All day long, a captain fields questions on sailing, local history, and the natural world. Yesterday, while navigating through the tricky, shoal-strewn waters off Deer Isle, Captain Garth graciously and enthusiastically identified all the parts of his Lewis R. French — and I mean all — for an eager crowd of inquisitive guests.

Cully on the strongback.

Garth is a young captain; at 34, he’s the youngest owner/captain in the fleet. Garth worked his way up the ranks of the windjammer industry (this is known as “coming up the hawse pipe.”) Before coming to Maine, Garth worked aboard boats in Chesapeake Bay and the Bahamas. He moved to Maine in 1998 and worked as a mate for Captain Dan Pease aboard the Lewis R. French during the 1998 and ’99 sailing seasons. For the 2000 season, Garth worked alongside a crew of 40 aboard the square-rigger Niagara. Then, in the fall of 2000, Garth returned to Camden to help Captain Dan put the French to bed for the winter. By late October, when most of the work was done, Captain Dan approached Garth with a proposal.

“Are you interested in buying a boat?” Dan asked.

“Sure.”

They sat down that night and worked out a deal: Garth would serve as Dan’s mate for the next three seasons and learn the business. Then he would buy the French in January 2004.

As a schooner bum, Garth wasn’t making enough money to put a down payment on the boat; he’d have to borrow 100% of the selling price. The First National Bank of Damariscotta was quick to lend 75% of the money—after all, the Lewis R. French was essentially a turnkey business — and, luckily, Garth was able to borrow the rest from a few private investors (one of whom was a regular Lewis R. French passenger).

Garth won’t discuss what the selling price was, but the rumor is a windjammer will cost you somewhere between $400K and $800K depending on the number of guests she’ll carry.

If you’ve ever looked at the prices of similarly sized yachts, you might think windjammer captains would be foolish to part with their vessels for such a relatively small sum. But it’s the realities of the business—the short sailing season, the finite number of guests, and the competitive rates—that keep schooner prices capped within reach of schooner bums working their way up the hawse pipe.

No one’s going to get rich captaining a windjammer, but it is a decent living. As Captain Garth says, “Ultimately, it’s not a very profitable business, but you can live here, you can own a house, you can run your own business, and you can make it.”

The wind in the afternoon picks up to a steady 25 knots. As the Lewis R. French sails close-hauled for Swans Island, green water surges through the scuppers onto the leeward deck. The conditions in Mackerel Cove don’t look much calmer, so Captain Garth asks Cully to prep the storm anchor.

Late in the evening, the wind is still howling, sheets of rain are blowing sideways under the canopy, and lightning illuminates the southern sky. On the weather band, NOAA reports a line of severe thunderstorms heading our way.

According to Garth, Captain Dan Pease used to drink two bottles of Coke before bedtime on nights like this. If the French dragged anchor, Captain Dan would’ve been aware of it during his fitful, over-caffeinated sleep. Garth doesn’t employ any similar tactics. As a mate, he might’ve slept soundly during heavy weather, but ever since he became captain, Garth sleeps with one eye open. Even after a taxing day of fighting the helm and maintaining full situational awareness, he won’t succumb to a heavy doze. Throughout the night, whenever the Lewis R. French springs forward on her chain, Captain Garth will wake slightly and wait for his vessel, his business, and his livelihood to halt safely against its anchor before he drifts back into a light sleep.

Captain Garth at the helm.

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