Yesterday I went down to the Eastern Prom to look for the tall ships.  By that time, it was late afternoon.  Grabbed my Boothbay jacket, my binoculars and fleece.  The day could not have been more Maine.  A stirring stiff breeze whipped up the water and shook the crowns of the tall trees, exaggerated moving forms.

I walked looking for tall masts on the waterfront.  I came upon a little sailboat school whose gate was open.  So I made the turn and walked over to a small tent where two young women were working.

I love these young people, so tan, out in the elements all day, moving across the water in sailboats and skiffs.  I said I am local and is it okay to hang out here?  Sure, they said.  Then I noticed the schooner, the Mary E, and knew that this was one of the ships.  Though by tall ship standards, the Mary E was quite small.

I asked where the tall ships were docked.  And they pointed to the harbor so far away, and then pointed to the Mary E.  Can I go down and see the ship?  Sure, they said.

The dock was rocky.  I had nothing to hold onto to secure my feet.  There were four crew members.  They wore faded navy blue polo shirts and khakis.  The Maine Maritime Museum flag snapped high in the breeze. 

I asked one of the young women, not as friendly as those on shore, if they sailed in from Bath.  Yes, she said, but first they stopped at a place I did not recognize, and then came into Portland.  Then she began unmooring the ship, one rope at a time. 

They wanted to move the ship further down the dock.  This meant that the loosely wound sail at the bow swung out toward me.  I reached up, touched it, and then ducked.

Finally because the docks were rocking heavily and the wind was blowing in my ear, I made my way back.  The young women gave me a flyer and told me about the events all weekend, including several races.  Can you see the races from the Eastern Prom?  Not really, they said.  The best place is Bug Light.

Bug Light

I found my way to Bug Light.  There were two long narrow docks, parallel to each other, only a foot apart.  A man was standing out at the edge of one of the docks.  I stood on the other to give him some space, though we were really shoulder to shoulder.  He was waiting for a red boat to pick him up.  I was waiting for the tall ships.

As we were talking, I could see that some of the ships were moving out of the harbor.  I watched the motion of the tall masts with the harbor and the city falling behind them.  A red boat came by, and sure enough, the man hopped on, so free. 

Then I stepped onto the dock where he was standing, and with my binoculars, watched each ship put up sails and move across the water, majestically.

I was able to spot the Mary E putting up her sails and coming out, tiny compared to the rest.  When they were out on the horizon, the motion kept changing.  There were five ships. 

Sometimes two of the ships would be next to each other, and I thought of the people on board catching the breadth of a sister vessel.  Sometimes they were head on, almost disappearing like a mirage.   Sometimes they were so far away from each other, I had to search in order to find them, finally spying the little Mary E.  And then they stood horizontal to the horizon, taking my breath away.

I waited until each ship— vast, elegant and immensely beautiful, sailed all the way back, slowly taking down their sails as they approached the harbor.