Midgewater Cove

I am sorely tempted to rename my mooring location as "Midgewater Cove."  This coastal area of southern Massachusetts seems to have a robust population of tiny biting insects: the proverbial "No-See-Ums."  These little bastards are particularly ubiquitous during early morning and evening twilight, especially on cloudy days with little or no wind.  It's not for naught that they carry the moniker, "Flying Jaws."  They feast on proteins in the blood of a host mammal.  Their bites can be irritable -- compounded by the fact that these insects swarm.  Some people have localized allergic reactions to the bites (or more specifically to proteins in the insect's saliva), which develop into itchy red welts that may last for days.  

My First Mate, largely on the authority of his ten-year-old friend, Justin, calls these tiny flies “gnats."  This term is not uncommonly applied to a wide variety of tiny flying insects in the Diptera suborder Nematocera, which includes mosquitos, gnats, and midges.  We had “gnats” where I grew up, for example, but they were different.  They were tiny, would swarm around your head and face, and sometimes get in your ears, eyes, or mouth.  But they did not bite you.  They were bugs that bugged you, they did not hurt you.  In Little League days, those of us relegated to the outfield were taught to stand out there with a hand or fist raised high above the head.  The gnats would tend to gather at the highest point (i.e., the elevated hand), leaving fewer hovering around your face.  It worked pretty well, and I still do it occasionally during outdoor activities when visiting the Binghamton area.  I might add, however, that my neighbor is quite skeptical of this tale, and remains convinced the coach was merely pranking a bunch of naive kids who must have looked ridiculous standing in the outfield with their hands raised, as if asking for the ball.

Around here we have two principal types of midges: non-biting and biting.  Non-biting midges (family Chironomidae) may look fierce but are relatively harmless.  Males feature a distinctive elongated antennae and somewhat resemble mosquitos (although the latter actually belong to a different taxonomic family).

A male 'non-biting midge'

(Chironomidae plumosus)

Closely related to the non-biting midge are its dreaded cousins: biting midges (family Ceratopogonidae) and black flies (family Simuliidae).  Biting midges are common in aquatic wetlands as well as in mountain habitats.  There are thousands of species worldwide, and hundreds in North America alone.  They are fierce swarming hematophagi that relentlessly suck the blood of victims.

A female 'biting midge'

(Culicoides sonorensis, or "Minius mofosis")

At 1-3mm in length, they are just visible to the naked eye (ergo, "No-see-ums"), and may be easily concealed beneath or within body hair.  Sometimes they get entangled within body hair and bite repeatedly.  They are small enough to pass through conventional window screens, so an extra-fine weave of 30-mesh (often used in camping tents) is necessary to keep them at bay.

Noseeum Until It's Too Late

In many parts of the U.S. and Canada, biting midges are known as 'Noseeums,' 'Punkies,' or 'Five-Os' (because they come out at 5:00pm).  Fleeing Bree, Frodo and his companions were led by Strider (Aragorn) through the Midgewater Marshes in the hopes of evading their pursuers as they made for Rivendell.  They were all utterly miserable.

I feel their pain.  Studies suggest that roughly one-fifth of the population are particularly apt to attract mosquitos and other biting insects.  In a group of people, I am quite often the first one, sometimes the only one, to be suffer such predations.  My grandmother used to console me that I had "sweet blood."   Her explanation was not so far off-mark.  We now know that mosquitos, for example, are attracted to a variety of cues, including blood type, carbon dioxide, warmth, substances produced by the body (e.g. lactic acid, uric acid, ammonia, acetone), and even the particular bacteria community living on the surface of your skin (see Smithsonian.com).  Some believe there may be a genetic basis insect attraction.

Most common insect repellants offer me little protection.  For years I relied a DEET-free herbal insect repellant, 'Green Ban' ("Tested in the Australian rainforest").  Made of citronella (10%) and peppermint (2%), with extracts of other oils such as tea tree, lavender, and calendula, it was wonderfully effective against the mosquitos of upstate New York, Greek Macedonia, and rural Sichuan.  Unfortunately, it could also repelled people, some of whom found its odor downright repulsive.  Once I was once asked to leave a lobster picnic on Long Island because someone complained the smell of my Green Ban made her "want to puke."

As it turns out, the Admiral is not a fan either, and Green Ban has been banned at family functions.  The bugs rarely bother her; she often goes without any repellant.  But I suffer the scourges of these demon-spawn pests.  I have found Cutter Deep Woods repellant largely ineffective.  I now use "Ben's," a brand I found in a local camping supply and army surplus store.  It comes in a 30% DEET (diethytoluamide) and a 95% DEET option.

DEET, we are reassured, is completely safe.  But the 95-percent concentrate bottle carries a warning that it should not be used on children.  The kids get the Cutter's; Ben's my Bud.

First Mate's First Sail

Little Bird Island - Jib Only

Weds. 18 June 2014

LW 1844, HW 0140 

~1h30' (18:22-20:06)

5.4 nm; Ave 3.0 kts

Now that we had a foresail, I was very eager to get out and test it.  Early into his summer vacation, Dylan agree to go out with me one evening after dinner.  He is a quick study -- a fast learner who likes to take care of things himself.  As soon as he climbs aboard, he gets to work.  He unlocks the cabin and stows the companionway boards down below in the V-berth forward.  He brings out the seat cushions for the cockpit, stows away the solar charger, sets up the Garmin chart plotter, grabs the boat hook and goes forward to standby the mooring lines.  The only time I feel compelled to speak is to remind him not to cast off the mooring until I tell him to do so.  I like his eagerness and his initiative, yet all the same I prefer to have real-time knowledge of the boat's condition and status.  So I have requested that he inform me of what ever he is doing -- or about to do.  I once tried to tease him, asking if he wanted to be Gilligan.  He shot back, "Eh, why not? You're fat enough to be Skipper."

I recruited Dylan to the boat crew through the lure of fishing, which he does but I don't.  The first few times we went out he always brought along his fishing pole.  He'd cast colorful but bait-less lures from the cockpit, but the only thing he has caught from the boat so far is a snag on a bottom-laying mooring chain.  To commemorate his end of school transition, I bought him a more serious fishing pole at a bait and tackle store at the Wareham Narrows.  The proprietor offered a small container of free bait as a gift, and Dylan chose worms (over squid).  We explained to him that these were sea worms, or sandworms, a bit different from the earthworms with which he was familiar.  "No," he insisted.  "Daddy uses worms.  I don't want squid.  I want worms."  Later, the look on his face when he opened the container aboard the boat was priceless.

"Just reach in there and grab one, Dylan."
"Nah.  You reach in and get one."

Sandworms, or Ragworms (Alitta [Nereis] virens), are annelid worms that burrow in sand or mud.  They are a major part of sea-bait industry, both in the United States and in Britain, (click here for Ragworming in the U.K.).  Harvesting of sand worms has become a significant part of the aquaculture industry in Maine (for more, click here).  To some, they are nasty-looking creatures.  They have a set of sharp pinchers at their mouth.  They bite.  To avoid what could be a painful nip, you must handle them with care.  They rear up, pinchers flaring, twisting and stretching for you.


Sandworms inspired the desert-burrowing giant worms of the planet Arrakis in Frank Herbert's 1960s sci-fi classic, Dune.  They featured prominently in David Lynch's (1984) cinematic interpretation, with Kyle MacLachlan, Patrick Stewart, Max von Sydow, Linda Hunt, and Sting, as well as in John Harrison's three-part mini-series (2000) with William Hurt and Alec Newman.



Inspired by the sandworms in a different way, Dylan soon put aside his fishing gear and concentrated on working the boat.  We left the mooring at about 18:20.  I work the motor and tiller until we are safely through the rocks of Dexter's Cove and out into the Weweantic River.  A few hundred meters downstream are positioned a pair of locally maintained red and green navigation buoys, closely-set to mark a narrow in the river channel.  We call this site, "The Teeth."  To the seaward side of this point, the First Mate takes the helm.  Once we clear Cromeset Point and the "Red 6" navigation aid (marking the mouth of the Wareham river on the other side of the Point), then we set sail.

Mouth of the Weweantic River, showing the mooring, the 'Teeth,' and NavAid Red 6
Cromeset Point is the confluence of the Weweantic and Wareham Rivers.

On this trip we had headed out just at low tide, which meant Dylan had an opportunity to see the exposed rocks of "Little Bird Island" in northern Buzzards Bay.  He had been there once before, a week earlier, when he and I had motored out without sailing.  But it had been high tide in that instance, and all but the highest rocks were submerged.  To the south, off Butler Point at the mouth of Marion's Sippican harbor, lies Bird Island and its lighthouse.  The kids are familiar with Bird Island light, which is visible from several town beaches.  Little Bird Island, by contrast, was something more special: a small rocky shoal posing a navigation hazard to boats, to the local landlubber it was less accessible, more remote, or even unknown.  Dylan wanted to go there.

About fifteen minutes later, we were off Great Hill and well into the northwest corner of the Buzzards Bay.  Under a gentle breeze, we unfurled the jib and sailed ENE to approach Little Bird Island.


Dylan hails Little Bird Island

It was just a bunch of rocks, but the First Mate was so excited.

Little Bird Island at low tide

Afterwards, we turned around and sailed back close-hauled SSW for Great Hill, then NW back up to the Weweantic River and our mooring.  It was a short ninety minute sail, covering about five-and-a-half nautical miles.  But it was our first successful use of the jib.  I was happy.

Shakedowns

Under the bridge, and over the keel, a good deal of water has flowed over the last few weeks.  I was introduced to a local boat guy -- an accomplished mariner who has gone round-the-world on his 40-foot wooden sailboat.  He was kind enough to make some time for me, amid his busy schedule at the height of launch season and his preparations for the Marion-Bermuda race.

He came out to the boat on a rainy Friday afternoon, in very good cheer, to help with my jib problems.  He successfully rigged the foresail, although not without some difficulties.  He used to race, and often served as relief captain and bow-man -- the latter responsible for changing foresails from a position on the bow.  The key to feeding a foresail up the track in its furler, he advised, is to pull it forward as you feed it: as the halyard tugs the sail up into the track, pull the next half-foot or so of sail taut and keep it angled down and forward, parallel to the forestay/furler.  It will feed in more smoothly as you pull the halyard.  He too had a few problems at the snag point, about three-quarters of the way up, but he tugged the sail through and all the way up the track.

He suggested we might take a close look at the whole furler, in his shop, over the winter off-season.  He also adjusted the rotating drum at the base of the furler, realigning its window to open to starboard, where the furling line ran aft to a cleat at the cockpit.  Two little screws in the underside may be repositioned to reorient the opening in the preferred direction.  It was a little tricky: the screws are small, the work space confined (he had to use a stub-handle screwdriver), and the tension on the forestay is not insignificant.  This task should have been done properly at launch, while still "on the hard."  It is a bit more challenging while on the water.  The more important thing here, he advised, is not to drop the screws in the water.

Repositioning the window of the furler drum to face starboard,
from where the blue line (used to furl the foresail) runs aft to the cockpit.  Don't drop the screws!

He told me that the jib furler system was functional now, but it was a little outdated.  It will work, he said, but I might consider replacing it completely at some point.  There are newer systems, better, and not too expensive, he advised.  So he has got me thinking.  Unfortunately, my threshold of "expensive" lies somewhat lower than that associated with the typical use of that term in the boating world.  Maybe next year, or the year after.  But it is not a priority at present.

My priority, rather, has been figuring out how to work the sails, how to un/dock, and how to get out more often.  We have done a number of short "shakedown" cruises on Buzzards Bay, practicing how to work the boat and getting a feel for how it handles and responds in different conditions.  The first few of these were done using the jib only.  Later, we added the mainsail, and even tried it once reefed.  I've learned that the boat "points well:" it can sail rather tightly close-hauled, pointing into the wind.  In a stiff breeze, this can be an exciting point-of-sail, the boat healing as it cuts through the oncoming waves, spray flying over the bow.  I keep reminding myself that sailboats heel, sometimes a lot.  "You can put that leeward deck rail in the water," my friend the previous owner claimed.  But I must confess that, as yet, I still feel uncomfortable when the heeling exceeds twenty-percent.  In stronger winds, you can get the feeling that the boat is just on the edge of control.  "Take that inclinometer out of there," scolded the P.O., referring to the 'Lean-o-Meter' accessory that I had attached to the cockpit.  "It's just going to freak out some of your guests, and distract you."  Maybe I will move it to a less obtrusive position, but I rather like having the data.