Blog Without A Name

OK, then! Here is my Whale Watch Report.

Thursday, July 2, 2026. The second really hot (for Maine standards of “hot”) day in a row.

Woke up at the insistence of the alarm, and left the house a little later than I had planned. The instructions from the chartering company, Cap’n Fish, was that I arrive for priority boarding (yes, I paid extra for priority boarding, because I had A Plan that required me to arrive on-ship ahead of the madding crowd) one hour before departure. Despite several times being sure that I was going to be late! Oh, late!, I pulled into the Cap’n Fish Whale Watch Parking Lot at precisely 8am, one hour ahead of the projected 9am departure. I was the very first customer in the parking lot, and a sleepy young man showed me where I was to park, and then collected 50 small, which was A Moment, but! (1) he was able to take a credit card and (2) it was for all-day parking, and, by the time I was done adventuring, worked out to about $7/hour.

It was already hot at 8am, and the booth that said “Cap’n Fish” was still closed. On the other side of the parking lot was the gathering point for the ferry to Squirrel Island, which was filled with what looked like the contents of a house, and half-a-dozen people. The ferry arrived while I was still noodling around, waiting for the booth to open, and two people came up the ramp to carry all the stuff down the gang plank.

I should mention that tide was out, so there was an acute tilt to all gang planks.

Around 8:15, the Cap’n Fish booth opened, and I presented myself, whereupon I was directed to “follow that crewman” who happened to be passing by, to Fisherman’s Wharf and the Harbor Princess.

It was now 8:25, and the booth at Fisherman’s Wharf was womaned. I was informed that boarding would begin “right about 9” and that I could take a walk or hang out at the picnic benches. I had decided that the better part of valor was to take a Tylenol to pre-empt any complaints from my back about four hours on a hard metal bench, so I walked toward the picnic benches, whereupon I was accosted by a toddler, running at full speed, chased by a woman who was calling, “Harry! Harry, where are you going? You don’t know that man!”

Nice to know I still got the mojo.

Harry having been collected by his keeper, I rummaged in my bag for the pill bottle, took my dose, and then wandered about the immediate environs, window shopping and reading the menu at … McSeagull’s, I believe it was.

By this time, about 8:40/8:45, people were starting to queue up, so I found the Priority Boarding area, and stood in the shade, people-watching. People certainly choose to wear odd things on a whale watch (I had on tennis shoes, jeans of many pockets, and a t-shirt with a denim Korval shirt on over it, with the sleeves rolled, and Steve’s Tilly hat). Most people were wearing shorts and sandals of some kind, many opting for low- , even very low, cut shirts with short or no sleeves. There were some baseball caps, but not many, and nothing as untoward as a Tilly hat (I had decided my big grey hat was going to be too much — too big, too warm, too, too). There was one “Not that Doctor, the Other Doctor,” tshirt among those gathering, and two tiny babies in strollers, with their household slaves and a Dodge Charger’s worth of necessities in their train. I suppose the adults in their party were doing this on purpose, but it seemed ill-advised to me (a long-term non-parent).

The babies, let it be said, sensibly directed their slaves to establish them in the lower salon, so I saw no more of them until we were debarking, when they were in line to exit at the same time I was approaching the gate from the other direction. I courteously stepped back to allow the strollers their right-of-way, and after they were cleared and halfway down the ramp, stepped forward — and was thrust back by a tardy slave, who yelled in my ear, “I’m with the babies!” as she rushed by. Happily, the nice young woman directly behind me caught my arm.

But I’m ahead of myself.

Returning to the boarding area, it came to be 9am and a man with a spanner in one hand, and what looked like the cap from, oh, a car’s oil tank in the other, came up the ramp and rushed to the booth, from whence he emerged with two helpers, who accompanied him back down the ramp, words like, “the second engine” wafting in their wake. The mistress of the booth came out to tell all of us waiting the procedure, and where those who had ordered box lunches, or had rented binoculars might be united with these items.

About 9:05, the captain came up the ramp, unlatched the fence, nodded to me, the sole occupant of the priority boarding area, and told me I could go down the ramp and give my name to the young lady waiting on the boat — who waved at me.

Tide was out; the angle of the down ramp was acute, and it required some attention to descend. The ramp up to the boat was also acute, and required some attention in the opposite direction.

I gave the young lady my name, she checked me off her list, and told me where the stairs to the upper deck was. I ascended, and took over the left end of the last bench, so I could turn and look over the rail without having to stand at the rail.

The boat filled up pretty quickly, and we were backing out into the harbor by 9:10ish.

Boothbay Harbor is a busy, busy place. It’s like the town extends out into the water, and it was still plenty hot as we headed for St. George and Eastern Egg Rock, which is where the puffins make their base in southernish Maine, as we were told by Lexie, who was our narrator/naturalist.

A word here about Lexie: She was an excellent narrator: informative, upbeat and patient. I don’t know if there’s a minor in theater or storytelling required when you’re taking a naturalist degree, but she was awesome. And it was Lexie whom I tipped, as she was indeed at shipside when we filed off to tell everybody good-bye.

Back to the Adventure, and!

Disclosure One: I had no idea puffins were so tiny. I had pictured large sturdy birds, at least the size of a seagull. But, not, it turns out that the glass puffin I had made last summer isn’t much smaller than your full-grown puffin. There were lots of them in the water, but taking a picture was difficult, and made more so by the plentiful whitecaps (it was, I think? a rough day on the water, and at least two of our number succumbed to seasickness while we were journeying from Eastern Egg Rock to the first canyon where whales are known to hang out.)

At Eastern Egg Island, we also saw terns, and eider ducks, and our first of several Giant Sunfish. If you, like me, went fishing when you were a kid, and brought home sunfish for mom to fry up? These are not those.

Onward to the first whale hang out, which — the whales were not hanging out there yesterday. Cap’n Andy was undeterred, however, and took us out to The Kettle, which is a stretch of startling green water in the middle of what yesterday seemed to be an obsidian ocean.

Disclosure Two: I had expected the whales to be … closer. Understand that my expectation was based on internet photos of humpback whales amusing themselves by towering over tour boats. We saw no humpbacks, though The Kettle was the place to be yesterday, if you were a fin whale. They stayed at a distance, and a good thing, too, given the size of the things. We all of us topside quickly got very good at spotting spouts. We also saw the odd porpoise or three, and a bunch of shearwaters (shearwaters are birds), who were apparently playing with the whales.

I don’t know how long we stayed in The Kettle, but eventually it was time to go back to dock, which we did, full throttle, leaping over the whitecaps. I fear I fell asleep for a bit, the boat was rocking so nicely (please don’t tell the folks who got seasick).

My Plan to sit gazing over the rail mostly worked. Early on, someone stepped into the “empty” space at the rail, but they were willing to play “Pretend that I am actually standing there,” and even guided a couple other people out of my line of sight. When we got to the Actual Whales, I did have to stand up and physically take over my spot at the rail. The seas were such that this meant I could either hold onto the rail with both hands, or try to take pictures, and lose my phone overboard. This to explain why there are no pictures of spouts, porpoises, or diving whales in the distance.

Random odd things: The woman sitting down-bench, who had a perfectly see-through handbag. I could count the $50 bills, which I’m not sure I would have handled my fifties that way, myself.

One guy came aboard with his two teen kids, one girl, one boy — it was, in fact, the boy of this family with whom I had the first discussion about the rail. The father talked almost constantly to his daughter, but said nothing — nothing — to his son until it was time to debark, and that one quick sentence about not forgetting his jacket.

So — whale watch. Summing up: A great day to be on the water — out in the Atlantic, it was chilly enough that I rolled my sleeves down, but I never did put on my hoodie or my gloves. I learned some things, saw some things, and had a day that was different from most of my days. Would do again. After the piggy bank is replenished.

After we debarked, I found myself a nice fish sandwich, some chips, and a Pepsi for lunch, then took a walk around town. It was hot. Even unpleasantly hot. I did find and walk across the footbridge, though I somehow failed to find ice cream. I left the packed full parking lot right around three o’clock, and took Rtes 1, 27, and 37  home, with a smol side trip to Ocean Point before properly getting outta Boothbay.

Pictures, such as they are, here