Thursday morning we slipped the lines in Provincetown and pointed Celtic Cross toward Shelburne, Nova Scotia. At roughly two and a half days across the Gulf of Maine, it would be one of the longer passages of the season—and with five people aboard, the largest offshore crew I've ever sailed with.

Joining me were David, Isaiah, Scott, and Graham. Having a full crew transformed the rhythm of the voyage. We stood three-hour watches in pairs while I rotated between them, which meant everyone could count on about six hours of uninterrupted sleep before their next watch. It's a luxury that's rare on a cruising sailboat and one that left everyone rested and engaged throughout the passage.

The Gulf of Maine welcomed us with unexpected kindness. Aside from one brief stretch where the seas topped three feet, the water remained remarkably calm. The wind, however, never fully committed. We sailed for roughly forty percent of the trip and relied on the engine for the remainder as light, inconsistent breezes came and went.

Our only mechanical setback involved one of the downwind poles. The rivets securing a guide fitting had corroded away, allowing the fitting to disappear inside the pole. We drilled the end cap off to retrieve it, and although I carried spare rivets aboard, they were the wrong size and wouldn't grip properly. Without that pole, we couldn't make full use of the favorable downwind conditions we did have.

Even so, it was one of those passages that reminds you how enjoyable offshore sailing can be. Calm seas, good company, an easy watch schedule, and a boat that quietly carried us north. For several members of the crew, it was their first night sleeping offshore. Judging by the conversations, the smiles, and the willingness to take the next watch, I think they discovered why so many of us keep coming back to sea.

📝Harbor Notes

There's something deeply satisfying about making landfall after an offshore passage, especially when you've shared it with good friends. After crossing the Gulf of Maine, we arrived in Shelburne, Nova Scotia, the first significant harbor many sailors encounter after making the jump from New England.

Shelburne Harbor is exceptionally well protected, tucked nearly seven miles inland from the Atlantic. By the time you reach the anchorage, the ocean already feels a world away. We dropped the hook off the town’s public dock, a place I've grown fond of. I anchored here last year before departing Nova Scotia on my southbound passage to Cape Cod, so returning felt a bit like greeting an old friend.

Shelburne itself is a small working harbor rather than a bustling cruising destination, and that's part of its appeal. The yacht club has always been welcoming, and we'll likely stop in for fuel and fresh water before continuing east. After a couple of days here, we'll make our way to Lunenburg before the final leg into Halifax, where this crew's voyage aboard Celtic Cross will come to an end.

For now, though, there's nowhere else I'd rather be than sitting quietly at anchor, looking back across the harbor, grateful for a safe crossing and another arrival on the coast of Nova Scotia.

One of the unexpected gifts of this passage was having so many musicians aboard. Scott, Graham, and I have played together on several occasions over the years, but it's never often enough. There's something different about making music on a sailboat, especially after a day offshore when the boat has settled into its rhythm and everyone has found theirs.

On Friday evening, before the watch rotations began and the night quietly took over, we pulled the instruments from their cases and filled the cockpit with songs. For a little while, the engine, the sea, and the miles still ahead all faded into the background.

One of the songs that always seems to find its way into our set is Dirty Old Town. Though many people know it through the Pogues, it's been performed by countless Irish musicians over the years and has become one of those songs that invites everyone to join in. It's been a staple whenever the three of us have had the chance to play together, and somehow it felt even more at home with the coast of Nova Scotia drawing closer over the horizon.

I learned not to lay your fiddle on your leg while singing. You may just turn the tuning pegs on the e string and get a surprise when you try to solo.

This week's featured recording is our rendition of Dirty Old Town, captured aboard Celtic Cross in the middle of the Gulf of Maine—a few friends, a handful of instruments, and another memory carried north by the tide.