And, as the children's sea chantey goes, it was over the bounding main; four miles out in the Atlantic from Camden makes it the main for me.

The schooner surprise at only 44 feet in length allowed us to enjoy that exhilarating feeling as we slid up, over, and down each wave at a depth of nearly 200 feet. (The ocean was nearly that in depth, not the waves.)

Seasick? Not Dolores and I, and for a tourist who said she would become seasick, Captain Jack Moore fastened a couple of acusomethingorother soft bracelets on both wrists. The woman said as we approached Camden Harbor at the end of two hours that she had experienced no seasickness.

I never have either, but years ago before setting out with my son-in-law from Stonington, Connecticut for Falmouth, Maine, I took a couple of those seasick pills you can probably purchase at any seaside pharmacy. I never got seasick, but I wished I hadn't taken the pills. They rode like a couple of bricks in my stomach probably overnight, although my memory sags a bit at this long-ago load.

It was the next day while washing dishes I learned how I could avoid becoming seasick. I had been looking down at the dishpan, which is not a bad idea while you're washing dishes, and began feeling a bit queazy. Not liking that word, I glanced out the porthole to the horizon. I found -- miracle of the deep -- that keeping the horizon in view prevented the seasickness.

As Robert Frost once wrote, "...that has made all the difference."

Of course, Frost was writing about a divided old abandoned road in a woods, not the bounding main. But, hey, it works. I've never been seasick.

This trip we were planning a couple of overnights at a Camden Inn, we're not sure why except that when you are in Bar Harbor a fair amount of time as I am, one needs to be near the ocean for a change.

Funny, the ocean looked the same. But it was different, because we were away. For those of you not familiar with Camden, it is nearly as crowded as Bar Harbor even in September. The only thing I noticed missing in Camden was the common Bar Harbor tourist practice of opening the car door and leaning into the car with stern -- more about the stern later -- protruding as I approach with my bus. Of course, I wasn't driving my bus in Camden.

But careful planners that we are, we had gone online to see about a schooner ride. In Bar Harbor, Steve Pagels offers a great ride on the Marguerite Todd around the Porcupine Islands complete with history and then a time of quiet to enjoy the sound of waves and wind against schooner and sails. I mention Steve's ride because he's taken Dolores and I on it as guests in years past, so I could write features about it.

The schooner Surprise tied up at Camden Harbor, waiting for the next adventure. Milt Gross photo.

But this was different. This was Camden. The first schooner ride we found online was the schooner Surprise, which we called, credit card in hand to make reservations.

"We don't take credit cards or debit cards," said the voice on the Camden end of the phone line.

"Well, how can we make reservations?" I asked.

"Give me your name, and I'll scribble it on the list. You can pay by cash or personal check when you get here."

I gave her my name while remembering a similar experience at a set of cabins near Schoodic Lake in Brownfield.

I had phoned the camps in Brownfield and the owner told me the same thing. They didn't take credit cards.

"Well, how can we make reservations?" I had asked.

Sound familiar?

"You are coming, aren't you?" the owner had replied.

"Yes," I said, "we're dropping a couple of hikers off on the Appalachian Trail and want a quiet place to stay overnight."

"Pay me when you get here," she said.

Sound familiar?

This doesn't happen a lot these days, even in Maine where life used to be the way it should be until our current governor changed it to be open for business. In most places in the Pine Tree State, whether life is the way it should be or just open for business, keep your credit card handy.

Captain Jack Moore at the wheel of Surprise on a cruise four miles into the ocean. Milt Gross photo.

The day of the ride promised questionable weather, the forecast of which changed during the day. The morning was hot, and we decided to kill the time until our 12:30 p.m. sail by going out to the woods at Fernald Point. We had planned to walk a bit on the trails there, provided by the Nature Conservancy. But because the lady at the Surprise table under the umbrella on the Camden dock had said I should wear long pants because the weather would be cooler on the schooner, I did.

It was very hot wearing those long pants in the very hot weather. This is what I get for paying attention.

We walked just a short distance in the woods, paused a few minutes to enjoy the quiet of the pine forest.

It was there that Dolores said, "I just realized I always feel at home in the woods."

An amazing statement by one waiting to sail on the ocean. We began making plans for a volunteer work trip to the Appalachian Trail.

Then we wandered back through the woods and field to the parking lot.

Near the parking lot, we heard a clap of thunder.

We reminded each other that we'd always wanted to be on a schooner out on the ocean in a thunder storm.

Back on the Camden dock, the Surprise ticket agent told us they had checked the weather and found no thunderstorms anywhere around. Later, on board the Surprise, Captain Jack guessed we had heard an earthquake. A couple of days later, the Bangor Daily News ran a small story about the earthquake. Of course, they had time time around 6 a.m. instead of about 11 a.m. when we heard it. What can you say? Could a reporter have gotten the time wrong? Never. Could we have gotten the time wrong? Never. Is there a five-hour time gap between earthquake time outside Camden and the publishing-world time in Bangor? Maybe.

But no storms disturbed our schooner ride.

On deck of the 44-foot schooner Surprise with tourists enjoying the ride. Milt Gross photo.

Because of my walking stick, which I usually describe to questioners as a Rottweiler stick because with it I can out limp any Rottweiler that threatens, Captain Jack seated us before any other passengers. He even helped me climb over the gunwale. I hate that. People, seeing my walking stick, are always opening doors for me and stepping back a little -- probably afraid I'll walking stick them and leave a bruise.

I explained to Captain Jack that the walking stick was actually a shark stick, that with it I could out swim any shark that climbed aboard to attack us. He said he wasn't totally convinced of the veracity of my explanation.

Which was all right, because he sat us close to where he stood behind the wheel at the stern. For you non-schoonerers, the stern is the end that follows the bow and the rest of the vessel through the water.

While not boring us with a history of the Penobscot Bay -- every bay must have a history, he did chat with us and a couple from Connecticut who sat across the stern from us and helped us follow the bow and the rest of the schooner through the water.

He shared a couple of brief stories with us, and the four of us shared back. Chuckles added a little to the pleasantries of the waves slapping the bow a bit and the wind slapping the sails from both masts. For you non-schoonerers, masts are long, heavy poles that support other heavy poles designed to swing around and knock you on the noggin to keep you quiet. Unless, as in Captain Jack and his wife, Barbara's, case they raise the other poles, which may be called booms -- no doubt named after what they could do to your head -- high enough to miss all passengers' heads or hats.

Don't recall any hats. They would have blown off in the breeze anyway before I could get around to spotting them.

Seen from the Surprise, another schooner with Curtis Island and the lighthouse in the near background and the Camden Hills in the distance. Milt Gross photo.

We passed near Curtis island just outside Camden Harbor on which Captain Jack said a state park is located. You have to go there by your own boat or canoe or kayak, he said. I didn't know about that, and I thought I pretty much had Maine down.

A lighthouse graced the end of that island, which looked like a Maine lighthouse should look. It looked at home on the rocky ledge end of the island.

During the ride, Captain Jack told us about a daughter who, after they had sailed a long time -- I don't recall how long, just long -- in a schooner, applied to attend a well-known university, which name also slips my normally alert mind. Jack and Barbara both had been teachers before they abandoned education for sailing with tourists aboard. (It's easier to teach tourists, and most of them actually believe what you say. When I was a teacher, I doubted whether any of those eighth-graders ever believed anything I said.)

The daughter had heard via a grapevine that the university required a recommendation from a teacher. The daughter apologized to an admissions officer, explaining that the only teachers who would recommend her were her parents who had schooner-schooled her during their long voyage. The admissions officer said, "Apply right now."

She did and was accepted. Which just shows how helpful it is to have parents who are teachers when you apply for college.

Captain Jack's turning the Surprise back toward Camden as we approached Lasell Island tilted the schooner a fair amount, making me try to remember what Captain Jack had said about how those life jackets that he had showed us worked. Despite what I had told Captain Jack about sharks of which none seemed to be nearby at any rate, I didn't think the walking stick would help me swim all the way back to the Camden dock. Dolores says I seldom listen to what she ways either, but, then, my life seldom depends on my listening to what she says -- until she reads this.

The U.S. Coast Guard, Captain Jack said, had only recently tested the Surprise for stability in a new test involving filling barrels with water and lining them up on one side of the schooner to see how well she rode with that weight on the side -- reminding me of canoeing in past years with our two Labrador Retrievers leaning on one side of the canoe. The Surprise passed the test easily, he said, and soon after the coming-around maneuver, the Surprise settled back to a near even position.

Captain Jack said all schooners that carry passengers along the coast will be required to have U.S. Coast Guard stability certification by the end of this year.

Waves break alongside Surprise's gunnel. Note that keeping everything level while taking photos as she rides the waves was a bit tricky. Milt Gross photo.

I had some fun trying to photograph the tilt of the ocean from our level deck, and I'm not sure I ever got it straight. At times, I had to reach out from the side of the schooner to get those shots. Captain Jack had warned us that if things dropped into the water, he would not be turning around to find them, unless there was a human body attached to them.

He also instructed us to never repeat out loud what he said on during the cruise. This isn't out loud.

The sail back to Camden was totally relaxing, with, according to Dolores to whom I in this case listened, my lawn-mowing-tanned face darkening a bit.

We could feel the air warm as we entered the harbor and heat even more when we landed. I wondered how Captain Jack accomplished that landing maneuver, sitting behind the wheel where I didn't think he could see over our heads at what he was avoiding on the way in to the dock space. But he missed all those other watercraft and backed into his parking space right on the money.

I hope someday to be able to paddle our canoe as accurately.

In case, you decide to follow our example and take a ride on the Surprise, Captain Jack and Barbara make their trip to sea with guests aboard until October 15. If you're too busy leaf peeping now, the Surprise sets out again next May.

If you don't decide to follow our seafaring example, I'll know you either are a yachter yourself , or chicken, or just don't believe what I've written. Or don't care.

It was so much fun, how could you not care?

Milt Gross can be reached for corrections, harassment, or other purposes at lesstraveledway@midmaine.com.

Milton M. Gross Copyright 2011