Tom Anderson grew up on a quiet street in Noank, Connecticut, enjoying expansive views of the Mystic River from his family’s 1845 Greek Revival home and taking part in the local sailing scene. “[It] suited my parents just fine for over 60 years,” says the 68-year-old Stamford, Connecticut, sailmaker.
The scene is typical of Midcoast Maine. A snug harbor, lobster and fishing boats, wharves along the shore and the sturdy buildings of the village’s sturdy inhabitants. Blue water beckons beyond, and pine-clad islands dot the horizon.
Only 30 miles downstream from bustling Washington, D.C., lies Mallows Bay, home of the largest maritime burial ground in the Western Hemisphere. Here, in this somewhat peculiar, remote spot off the Potomac River, more than 100 World War I-era wooden steamships and other abandoned vessels rest eternally, cast off as obsolete, their working lives abruptly curtailed.
The boating lifestyle drew Bobby and Bonnie Weis to Deltaville, Virginia, the self-proclaimed “Boating Capital of the Chesapeake.”
There’s something about sailing in fog. The swirling mist, with its smells and sounds, creates a sense of timelessness. Boats move in and out of the shifting gray, and the outer world is veiled and silent.
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