466 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 22, 1906. 
SASSOON—OWNED BY WILLIAM LAMBERT BARNARD. 
Photo by N. L. Stebbins. 
York T. C., to Mr. Howard Douglas. After 
considerable alteration, Mr. Douglas will use her 
for cruising purposes. 
The same agency has chartered the yawl Sibyl, 
for Mr. H. T. Noyes, to Mr. H. A. Uterhart. 
Protest Against Chip II. Not Sustained.— 
The protest against Chip II., winner of the 
American Power Boat Association challenge cup 
last month, will not be sustained. The boat was 
protested by Sparrow, the second boat in the 
contest, on the ground that she was not properly 
rated. She was remeasured, and owing to a 
peculiarity in the motor it was impossible to rate 
her properly under the rule and the matter was 
referred by the committee of the Chippewa Bay 
Y. C. to the American Power Boat Association, 
and the cup was turned over to that association 
pending the result of the protest. While no 
official announcement has yet been made it was 
learned last week at the motor boat carnival that 
the committee had-decided not to allow the pro¬ 
test, and the cup will be returned to the Chippewa 
Bay C. and held by that organization subject 
to challenge.—New York Sun. 
K St 8» 
Chanuary, formerly the Clermont, a side 
wheel steam yacht which is well known in the 
Sound and Hudson River, was damaged on Satur¬ 
day by being in collision with .a lighter off pier 
No. 1. North River. The paddle box on port 
side was broken, but the yacht was able to .steam 
over to Communipaw and anchor. Mr. John W. 
Gates, owner of the yacht, was not aboard at the 
time. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
ny newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer to 
apply you regularly. 
Three Harbors. 
BY WILLIAM LAMBERT BARNARD. 
“There’s many a charming spot, Elaine, 
Unsung, unsought, on the coast of Maine; 
Where herons wheel and rat-black seal 
Bark at break of day, 
Where eagles nest and sea-gulls rest, 
Or skim the turquoise bay.” 
—Barbara Wiswell. 
Despite the* ravages of the real estate agent, 
the spreading chain of hotels and the increasing 
legions of summer cottages, there are still bays 
and coves on the Maine coast that retain the 
charm of primeval simplicity. “Gems of the 
purest ray serene” they remain unknown to all 
but a favored few in the hosts of cruising yachts¬ 
men. Sometimes this is because they are a 
bit off the beaten track, sometimes their very 
proximity to large,'well-known harbors is the 
reason why they continue unvisited. The yachts¬ 
man may never have heard of them or, intend¬ 
ing to visit them, he at the last moment finds 
himself in need of fee, meats or provisions, and 
so seeks the town or city. The next day a 
desire to make a long run takes him by the little 
cove so close at hand. But to really appreciate 
Maine, to extract the greatest good from a brief 
holiday, one should forswear the cities and the 
summer resorts and make these little harbors 
his objective points. 
It is there you find the sharp contrast with the 
life from which you seek a respite, the complete 
change that rests your mind, gives full play to 
• the imagination and gladdens the heart. 
You approach as a discoverer, no buoys to 
guide you, seldom even a local craft to point 
the channel, but with chart, compass, lead and 
your own good judgment, you feel the way into 
an anchorage where you may be for days and 
not see another yacht. And such an anchorage! 
A sheet of molten cobalt in a rock bowl, fringed 
with stately pines whose fragrance reaches the 
nostrils a hundred yards from shore. Silent as 
the grave, and as devoid of signs of human life, 
unless, perchance, there may be a neat, prim 
farmhouse with rambling sheds and barns set 
well back from the water. There you will find 
cream-laden milk, eggs (not the kind you buy 
in the city,' with just suspicion as to their re¬ 
spectability, but the real, simon-pure article of 
“this morning’s” vintage), fresh-picked vege¬ 
tables and fruits; all at prices that cast a doubt 
upon your wife’s household economics. “Prices,” 
did I say? A cheery greeting, a half hour’s chat, 
will obtain these delicacies more readily than 
all the coin of the realm. 
You loaf about your boat without a care in 
the world; you loll in the cockpit with your 
pipe and a book, thinking of a dozen things to 
do and, without the slightest qualm, lazily, 
luxuriously neglect to do them. Or you take 
the tender and explore the little coves, land 
on the little islands and solemnly appropriate 
them, discarding their charted names for others 
of your own devising as you stroll aimlessly 
about, eating delicious wild strawberries ( huckle¬ 
berries or blueberries, according to the season. 
At night you shut your eyes only to open them 
as the morning sun streams into your cabin. 
Such sleep! You plunge overboard to climb 
out dripping—every drop of blood tingling as 
'*ou drink deep of the 'sparkling air. No 
worries! No cares! You are simply alive and 
supremely glad of it. That is the life to liven 
the liver and rout the gout. This is the true 
vacation. 
So come! Come with me to Quohog Bay, the 
Sheepscott Ovens and Seal Bay. They are all 
alike; they are all as different as the East is 
from the West. They will charm and enthrall 
you and ever after their names will be as magic 
words with which to conjure visions. 
Leaving Portland we thread our way between 
Peakes and the Diamond islands, reach along 
the inner shore of Long Island, whisk through 
Chandler’s Cove and run up between Great 
Chebeag and Hope islands to the black spar 
buoy above sand Sand Island. Then on for 
the Stave Island Ledge spar, where we swing 
to starboard and, standing across Broad Sound, 
pass inside of Lieut. Peary’s home on Eagle Island, 
inside of Haddock Rock, through a little gut 
where the tide runs swiftly and dodging between 
Little and Great Mark islands (the former made 
conspicuous by a tall stone monument), cross 
the mouth of Llarpswell Sound to Jaquish 
Island. Once by Jaquish, we head E.N.E. E., 
if the wind permits, which will take us close in¬ 
side of Round Rock, on which the sea breaks 
at half tide. Ragged Island is the landmark 
for the approach to Quohog Bay, and the course 
given would take us just inside of Ragged, but 
when it is a hundred yards distant, we swing 
off to port and run up toward the bay, leaving 
the Middle Ground (the easterly corner of 
which always shows a swirl of broken water), 
and Cedar Ledge to port, and Blacksnake Ledge, 
Two Bush Island (on which are five small 
trees), the Elm Islands (which appear as one), 
and Yarmouth Ledges (awash at high water) to 
starboard. This brings us to the real entrance, 
two miles inside of Ragged Island. Pole Island 
now looms up, tall and narrow, in the middle 
of the bay. There is a long, narrow ledge that 
runs far out S.W. Rj S. from Pole Island and 
does not uncover until nearly low tide. Pass 
it, Pole Island and a similar ledge above the 
island, on either hand, and leaving Centre Island 
to port, turn sharply to starboard and then 
work up to anchorage, where the chart shows 
lift.—about E.S.E. of two tiny islands. There 
is a fishing stand on a point opposite these 
islands and a small fish shanty-on another point 
just north. (Four and a quarter fathoms is 
the least water below Centre Island, but of 
course only a small boat can work up to the 
anchorage I have chosen.) 
[to be continued.! 
