Ouch

A few days ago, we had a 24-hour period of really strong winds blow through the area.  The NWS had post a High Wind Warning for Thursday, Dec. 15, with sustain winds of over 40mph and possible gusts as strong as 65mph.  Needless to say, we cancelled our 'Polar Oartex' whaleboat training row for that evening.

What surprised me, however, was that twice -- once during the night and once again in the morning --  the wind gusts were so strong that the knocked to the ground the sailboat mast that I had set atop "horses."  The first time, the winds caught the tarp (which I had imprudently staked to the ground) and lifted the whole mast and dumped it to the ground.  The second time, the winds just blew over the  somewhat flimsy plastic 'horses' from Lowes.

Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall.....

Ouch.  Now I will have to add to my list of spring tasks a good check on the spreaders, which I worry may have been damaged or bent by the impact(s).  Too cold to do much about it now, so I'll wait.  Meanwhile, I have re-designed my mast bed: It now sits atop two wooden blocks, a mere four inches off the ground, where it is much less likely to take another tumble.

But that has created another issue:  One of the reasons I had it up on the 'horses' was to lay it high enough to angle the spreaders diagonally, in the hopes of spilling any snow that might accumulate.  Now, laying flat and still covered by the tarp, I worry that the weight of any snow might bend or warp those spreaders.  I've tried to angle them a bit by rising one side with bricks, but only time will tell if that is sufficient safeguard.

Season 3 Wrap

2016

• 23 Weeks
• 25 Voyages
• 328 Nautical Miles
• 169 Hours

Dawn beckons over Buzzards Bay at Wings Cove....

My third season with 'Piao' came to a close at the end of October.  Once again, it was a point of pride to be first-in and last-out down at the Dexter's Cove mooring field.  This year's season lasted 23 weeks -- almost half the year.  Between launch (17 May) and haul out (29 October), I made 25 voyages with 'Piao,' two-thirds of them single-handed.

Last sail of the season, in late October light airs, with Great Hill in the distance....

I think I've got the basics down now.  Time to up my game.  Next year's plan calls for more focus on optimizing sail trim, anchoring alone, sailing on/off a mooring, sailing on/off a dock, and practicing MOB drills.  The kids get this worried look on their faces everytime they come aboard and see me clip into the tether I use religiously.  "What about us?" they ask.  "If you fall overboard, I will come back and get you.  But what are you gonna do if I fall overboard?" Mic drop.

One of the great joys of boating is that the kids are not preoccupied with their electronic devices.  Its nice to see them smile and to interact with them....

They are getting older, and I figure its time for them to rehearse what we all should do in the event of emergencies.  Frankly, I don't think their mother knows what to do, and that worries me a bit.  "If you fall overboard, you are a good swimmer," she tells me.  Leaving aside the fact that many MOB incidents also involve an injury, I simply reply "Yeah, but what about you and the boat?"  "That's what the radio is for," she retorts.  I smile, but inwardly I am thinking, 'But can you trim or douse the sails? Start the outboard? Drop the anchor?'  Everyone should know more than simply where the cooler is stowed.

This is the boat equipment with which the Admiral is most familiar....

"Safety Sam," she chides me.  But you can take the Boy out of the Scout, but not the Scout out of the Boy (Thanks, Dad).  One of my biggest regrets is that I never taught my own kids about camping, basic wilderness survival, or anything more than rudimentary first aid.  So, for Christmas this year, I am registering them for a CPR/FirstAid course.  I'm sure they will be thrilled.  For my part, I am eager to get training for Wilderness First Responder (WFR) certification.  This is a bit pricier, but I think knowing how to respond to emergencies in remote locations is an important skill set to develop.  SEA Education Association hosts WFR/USCG Medical Care Provider training programs by Wilderness Medical Associates International several times a year, specially tailored for isolated marine environments.  The cost is only about $850.

Midshipman Dylan drives 'Piao' as we motor over to Long Beach for a day of swimming and beach combing.  The Admiral occupies her honored position on the weather rail, while Myra sits to leeward wearing my Vieques hat....

That's a hefty price tag for me.  But most everything in the B-O-A-T world seems expensive.  I would like to pursue further certifications with the American Sailing Association, but I feel priced out of that market, too.  The local affiliate in Fairhaven, "SailBuzzardsBay," with whom I took ASA 101 Basic Keelboat Sail ($499), also offer ASA 103 Coastal Cruising: $499 ($290 fee to "test out" without instruction); ASA 104 Bareboat Cruising (required if you ever want to charter a sailboat for use while on vacation): $949; ASA 105 Coastal Navigation $499; ASA 106 Advanced Coastal Cruising $1499, plus several others.  For now, I am buying textbooks and materials online and teaching myself the basic skills.  One day, when I finally hit that PowerBall jackpot, I will take all those certification courses and buy a bigger boat.  In the meantime, its just me and my little 'Piao.'  Given the lovely sailing conditions for which Buzzards Bay is famous, I have become a bit more practiced at developing my basic keelboat sailing skill set.

Folks in these parts say the southwesterly winds are so reliable that you can set your clock by them....

Along the way, I've enjoyed learning a bit about meteorology.  The Buzz Bay Southwesterlies are actually pretty cool (no pun intended).  As the sun heats the land throughout the morning, the warmed air rises, creating a low pressure area.  Since nature abhors a vacuum, the cooler heavier air (under higher pressure) over the water rushes on shore.  On Buzzards Bay, this typically happens in the early afternoon, around 2:00pm, every day, as ocean air is drawn northward from the southwest.  When you add to the mix the force of the tidal currents of the Bay filling and emptying, this all contributes to the delightful chop for which Buzzards Bay is so well known.

The process reverses at night, as the land cools, and the breeze blows off-shore....

Since acquiring the boat in 2014, I now have taken her out a total of 96 times.  This year logged just under 330 nautical miles (273nm solo sailing), bringing my three-year total on 'Piao' to over 1000 nautical miles (531 solo).  In addition, I have logged another 660nm sailing on other vessels, some small (although bigger than 'Piao'), some a bit larger.  This season I was more meticulous about recording engine hours, putting about 32 hours on the outboard motor (for a total of just over 100 hours since I bought it three years ago).  Over the last three years, I accumulated several hundred documented "Days at Sea," about ten percent of them solo-sailing.  Unfortunately, I cannot count time spent in the kayak, whaleboat, or car ferry to Long Island.  Nevertheless, I have over 100 days aboard 'Piao,' while the remainder are made up of my time on other vessels, including both sloops owned by friends, as well as the SEA brigantine 'Corwith Cramer,' and the square-rigged tall ship 'Kalmar Nyckel.'  All told, that is more than enough sea time to qualify for a USCG OUPV (Operator of Uninspected Passenger Vessel) "Captain's License."  So I will be studying hard during the off-season to be ready for my exam in the spring.

Only $795, but I got it for only $595.  Please don't tell my wife what this cost.  All she needs to know is that I got it on sale.  And, just as with ASA, this is only the first in a series of six licenses/certifications offered by Mariners Learning System....

In retrospect, 2016 was also a season with a lots of "Firsts."  I did my first overnight (to lovely little Quisset harbor), and finally made my first trip to Cuttyhunk -- both of which were solo trips described in earlier posts.  I haven't yet spent the night alone at anchor, however; I'm still a little nervous about sleeping through an anchor drag, and about weighing anchor alone.  We also endured our first grounding when we hit that uncharted rock in the shallows on the eastern side of Great Hill (see my earlier post, "Rock Strike!").

Damage to the keel from the rock strike.  That's going to require some TLC (and a little bit of sweat, cash, and tears) to patch up before next season.  Just more learning to enhance the skill set, but tuition is so expensive....

I also had my first tow.  Returning to the mooring on what turned out to be my last sail of the season, I noticed that the water stream from the outboard engine tell was unusually weak.  Fortunately, I didn't have far to go under motor power -- just a couple hundred yards from the mouth of the Weweantic to the mooring.  I have yet to sail off or to the mooring.  There are more than a few large rocks in the little cove, some visible at low tide, others lurking just below the surface, and it has become rather crowded with the addition of several new moorings this year.  If it were a mooring in a more open location, such as Wings Cove, I'd be practicing all the time.  But at Dexter's Cove, I feel stuck between a rock and a hull place.

These rocks help to shelter the mooring field in Dexter's Cove, but can be a bit tricky to maneuver around....

Fortunately, I was able to limp back to the mooring ball before the engine overheated.  Or at least I think I did before it overheated -- the motor is now at a shop being serviced and I'll know more in a couple of weeks, or months.  This was all trouble enough by itself.  But I had a bigger problem in that I was scheduled for haul-out the following day.  Knowing I'd need that engine to maneuver in the harbor and onto the Brownell trailer, and preferring to avoid the possibility of an engine failure amid the million-dollar yachts in Marion's Sippican harbor, I decided to call for a tow.  First, however, I drove over to confer with the new Harbormaster about my engine problems.  He was very understanding, and gave me permission to tie up overnight on the 30-minute courtesy dock.  "Its late in the season," he reasoned.  "No one's gonna use it between late afternoon and 7:00am tomorrow.  Its all yours."

A forest of masts crowds Marion's Sippican Harbor.
I always get a bit nervous when maneuvering around the "money boats."

Then I put in a call to TowBoatUS, with whom I have an unlimited towing membership.  They are sort of like AAA, but for boats.  Much to my chagrin, I discovered that "unlimited towing" isn't really unlimited: it only covers towing a disabled vessel at sea.  In order to get a free tow from dock-to-dock (a different category of tow), you need the upgraded "Gold Membership."  Since my TowBoatUS card reads "West Marine GOLD Rewards," and I mistakenly assumed that was a "Gold Membership."  Ho ho!  Not so!

Fortunately, the guy who came to my mooring for the tow was sympathetic, and wrote up the bill to state that my vessel had become disabled while underway.  That saved me about $600, he said.  "I just own the franchise," he explained.  "TowBoatUS pays me the same for responding to the call, whatever your card says."  What a decent bloke.  "You really should think about upgrading to the Gold Membership when you renew in January," he advised.  He set his fenders, threw me a bridled tow line to tie on my bow cleats, and slowly pulled me the 10nm to the town dock in Marion.  It was a cold, wet, gnarly day, with gusts of almost 30 knots; in fact, he equivocated for a while whether it was prudent to tow me in such conditions.  "If you were out there and broke down, I'd definitely come and get you.  But you are safe on your mooring."  When I explained the urgency of my haul out appointment early the next morning, he shrugged.  "Up to you.  But you ain't gonna be very comfortable once we get out in the open bay beyond Bird Island."  He was right.  Keeping his speed to only three knots, I was cold, wet, and pretty miserable by the time we reached the dock.  I called the Admiral to come pick me up.  "Bring bourbon," I pleaded.  "I need it for medicinal purposes."

An ignominious end to the season.
Fortunately, it was so late in the season that few if any were around to observe my humiliation of having to be towed to Sippican harbor....

Since I was too fatigued to prep the boat upon arrival, I went back the next morning in the predawn darkness to take down the sails, remove the boom, and make other preparations for haul out.  Ironically, when I started the engine to maneuver over to the boat ramp, the cooling water was streaming from the tell just fine.

'Piao' by dawn's early light, tied up at the town dock, ready for Haul Out Day....

Took this photo at Sippican harbor in low-light conditions while I awaiting the Brownell haulers.  Kinda looks like a watercolor.  Wish I could say that was the effect I was trying for, but it was just pure luck....

The Brownell guys arrived punctually at 6:45 -- they are always 15 minutes early, and backed the trailer down the ramp into the water.  I drove the boat right up on to the trailer lifts, and shut off the motor.  Then one of the guys pointed out into the harbor and said something to the other.  "Where's your boat going?" the trailer driver asked me.  When I told him the address, he replied, "Oops.  Wrong boat."  Approaching the ramp was another sailboat, arriving late for their haul out appointment.  I had to restart the engine, back off the trailer, and circle around the harbor as I waited for the other boat to get hauled.  Then another sailboat came in behind me and similarly went into a holding pattern.  Things got backed up because the women on the late-comer boat had not yet removed their sails and boom, which delayed all of us even more.  At least it was a beautiful morning and I wasn't wet and miserable.

'Piao' heading home after haul out.  Lovely marine growth on the rudder -- it was a good year for marine growth....

Back at the home, I made some advances in my tarp-frame design and engineering this year.  The first two winters, I had left the mast laying atop the centerline of the boat to serve as a ridge-pole for the tarp.  Last year, I bought a bunch of PVC pipe to rig a frame, which enabled me to take the mast down for upgrades to the electrical wiring, and also gave me some extra room under the tarp in case I needed to do some work on the boat during the off-season.  This year, my friendly neighbor, Captain Kirk (yes, that is really his name), gave me some boards he had previously used to build a tarp frame for his powerboat.  He now shrink-wraps his boat and no longer needed the wood, and his wife was happy to get it out of their basement.  So I combined wood and the PVC to fashion a more robust tarp frame this year.

Note the new wooden keel blocks beneath the boat -- more on those below....

I also taped a half-dozen paint rollers atop the ridge-pole to facilitate pulling the tarp up and over without snagging or tearing.  Pulling on the tarp is one of the more challenging tasks to do single-handed, as the oversized "industrial grade" tarp is large and quite heavy.

Ingenuity.  Three Stripes, Baby....

'Piao' under wraps for the winter.  Guess we won't be using that fire pit until next spring.
I had to buy a new tarp this year.  The old tarp, now with a few tears, is repurposed as a mast covering....

Last spring, when the Brownell guys came to pick up the boat for launch, they warned me that I would need some new wooden keel blocks in the fall.  Most of the ones I had picked up second-hand a few years ago were rotten and insect-eaten.  They said they could sell them to me for $25/each, but suggested I could buy them elsewhere a lot cheaper.  So I found a small lumberyard in the neighboring town of Rochester, where an old man in overalls sold me some freshly cut blocks for only $6/each.  This was one of the first boating expenses I felt it was okay to tell my wife the truth about.  The Brownell guys were able to block the keel high enough this fall to enable me to lower the centerboard for some off-season servicing.

The centerboard needs some cleaning and servicing, as it got stuck in the recessed position a couple times this season.  And the pendant, or uphaul line, may need replacing soon....

In another "First" this year, I was finally able to remove the padlock and steel security bar that protect the outboard engine from theft (yes, that is a thing -- some people have the outboard motors stolen off their boats at night).  For the two previous years, the Master padlock had seized up due to exposure to marine conditions, obliging me to beg my neighbor, Henry, to come over with his Sawsall and cut off that steel bar.  When I asked the staff at West Marine what to do about this problem, they simply suggested I cut off the bar at the end of each season.  "That's what a lot of people do," they reassured me.  Nice business model, I thought.  This spring, when the boat went in, I applied a liberal amount of goopy marine grease to coat the lock mechanism in the hopes of preventing corrosion.  At first, once again I couldn't get the key to turn.  But with patient persistence, it finally unlocked and I was able to remove the bar without cutting it.

Wow.  Trump really *is* Making America Great Again!  That'll save me $30 at West Marine next Spring....

Note to Self: This year I also learned why it is best not to pull the dinghy on a hip tow: it can easily fill with water and even turtle-over and capsize on you.  It is a bit tricky to right a capsized dinghy from the sailboat's cockpit -- especially if the dinghy has a small grapple anchor weighing it down.

Actually, the sun had warmed that water nicely.  Poor Man's Hot Tub.
I have a bailing pump lashed beneath the thwart/seat....

Another "First" this year was to deploy my new 'snubber' when threatened by the Hurricane-that-Wasn't.  This gadget is supposed to help take up the strain on a line (or chain) and act as a shock absorber.  As the storm approached, I also added a second mooring line as additional security.  My mooring ball is attached to a 500-pound mushroom anchor.  They tell me that is sufficient for a boat the size of 'Piao,' but it still makes me anxious when many of my mooring neighbors are on more robust "helix" anchors that are screwed into the river bed.

Am I doing this right?  My regular mooring line is a bit short, but there is precious little swing room in the crowded little mooring field at Dexter's Cove.

This year I also tried out my new "Anchor Ball" -- a round black shape that signals a vessel at anchor.    I installed a second signal halyard on the spreaders, where I can raise either the anchor ball or a radar reflector.  Whenever we anchor, I always hoist my "R" signal flag.  This used to mean 'The Way is Off My Vessel,' but that meaning was retired from the signal flag lexicon.  "R" is now the only letter without a special meaning.  I simply use it to signal "R" for "Ruf."  I like to think of it as my "private signal."  The Admiral thinks this is silly.  "No one who sees that is going to care where you are."  But in fact, once my friend Capt. Kirk found us at anchor off Long Beach by identifying my signal flag from afar.  Boom.  Mic drop again.

This year I also added some large zip-ties to the spreaders as an air defense measure against birds....

We did a lot of swimming this year.  One of our favorite spots is Long Beach in Wareham.  This spit of sand is under water at high tide and only accessible by boat at low tide.  Its just a short cruise from our mooring, and the anchorage (on the northern side) is somewhat protected from the afternoon southwesterly winds.  Of course, it is in Wareham, and that means there are a lot of 'Yahoos' tooling around, blowing up and down the river at excessive speeds.

While overloaded boats are not an uncommon sight on July 4th weekend, they are a daily occurrence in Wareham.  Here we have at least twelve people (including a half dozen young kids) crowded onto a boat smaller than 'Piao.'  You can count the people wearing life jackets on zero fingers....

Another nice spot we like is Wings Cove, where my friend Ric moors his sailboat.  I've been nagging the kids to let me take them over to Bassetts Island on the Cape Cod side of Buzzards Bay.  It is a beautiful spot with a well-protected anchorage, but it takes us some time to get over there and they usually don't have the patience.  "If we had a powerboat, it would be easy," complains the Admiral, whose initials are 'RPM.'  "What did you say?" I respond.  "Sorry.  You'll have to yell.  I can't hear you over the noise of the engine!"  The way I see it, we live in a world full of noise pollution.  When I'm on the boat, or out camping in the woods, I want quiet.  I don't even want Bluetooth speakers playing music, let alone a TV in my boat's cabin.  The sea breeze is all the music I need.

Swimming while at anchor in Wings Cove.  While en route, we saw a large black object thrashing around in the water before disappearing beneath the waves.  So when we anchored, we did "Rock-Paper-Scissors" to determine who would go swimming first.  The Admiral always throws "Rock," so its easy to win when you play against her....

Before next year's launch, I have some work to do, although the list (at present) is not as long as last winter's.   I think it is time to replace the mainsail halyard, which is showing signs of wear and fraying a bit.  I'd like (finally) to install that single-line reefing system that I bought the other year (I still need to learn how to drill and tap screws into metal).  I will also have to re-replace the furling line.  Although I purchased a smaller diameter line last spring, I found that it sometimes still jammed in the furling drum.  This can be a bit of problem, since you usually want to be able to furl the foresail when you need to furl the foresail.

Too big to fail, or not small enough?  Trials and tribulations with the roller furler line....

Speaking of the roller furler, this year I also mounted a new fairlead to keep the furling line from chafing on the opening of the furling drum.  Easy-peasy....

I also need to solve a problem that, as yet, no one has been able to help me with.  The jib sheets often get fouled in a groove at the base of the winches.  I don't think the solution lies in thicker jib sheets -- these are 3/8-inch already, and anything larger will have problems fitting in the grommet on the jib clew.  My suspicion was that there is something amiss with the way in which the winches are mounted, but most people who have looked at them dismiss this hypothesis.  So now I am thinking that maybe there is a problem with the fairleads -- perhaps they are not living up to their name?  I am offering a gold doubloon to whomever can remedy this annoying and frequent problem.

How do you spell, "Aggravation?"

I spell it "F-U-C-K-I-N-G S-H-E-E-T-S A-R-E F-O-U-L-E-D A-G-A-I-N"

My list of off-season projects includes several other items.  That ding in the keel needs repairs, and the centerboard needs a good look-over.  Also at the top of the list is replacing the white stern light, which quit working near the end of the season.  Its the last remaining incandescent light on the boat, and going all LED is a good idea anyway.  I want to install a remote mic in the cockpit for the VHF unit.  The base unit is mounted just inside the cabin, and while I can hear it just fine with the volume up, changing the channel requires me to leave the tiller unattended while I duck inside the cabin.  I've got my eye on a Standard Horizon RAM3 CMP31, and if Santa doesn't bring it then I'll be making a trip down to Defender Marine in CT for their big spring sale.  I also need to re-do the drain hose for the galley sink.  A kink formed in the new hose I installed this year, causing an obstruction that prevented easy draining.  I need to lay in a new section of hose, as horizontal as possible, to allow easy draining via the through-hull fitting.  This summer, I had to use a small plunger to push the water out of the sink and through the drain hose.

Sand Sculpture, by HOH

Even more troubling, the shrouds were rather loose this year.  Tension on the turnbuckles was maxed out, but still the shrouds were a bit loose and wobbly.  Ed, my boat guy, suggested it was time for new shrouds and came to take some measurements for replacements.  It always makes me anxious when a boat guy tells you something "won't cost very much."  Cost is a very relative concept in the B-O-A-T world.  My buddy Bob offered the possibility of a more gloomy cause: perhaps the shrouds were fine, but the deck was starting to flex.  That would be bad.  In fact, I had noticed in the spring that, every time I drilled into the deck to re-bed some hardware, the extracted material was wet and spongy.  That is not a good sign.  If the core of the deck is wet, it renders the entire rig unstable and it will need to be redone.  And there is no way that "won't cost very much."  In fact, if the problem really is a wet core, then I will have a monumental decision to make: whether to spend the money to redo the deck, or simply to get another (bigger) boat -- as if it were really that "simple."

Almost, but not quite.  I cannot be an impulse shopper when it comes to buying my next boat....

In fact, this year I went and looked at an old 31-foot C+C sailboat that the Admiral saw posted for sale in the local newspaper.  While I didn't make an offer on it, I really did like the T-shaped cockpit and the roomier interior -- I really want a boat in which I can stand up in the cabin, a boat that has a real toilet, a shower (even a hand-held shower nozzle at the head sink will do), a galley, and a nav station.  The boat I looked at also would have come with fairly new set of sails, including an asymmetrical spinnaker and pole.  But much about the boat was dated, including its entire electrical system; it had a gasoline-powered Atomic 4 engine; and there were a bunch of DIY "upgrades" the owner had done that were none too impressive and aesthetically unattractive.  All the same, I did like the C+C design, and I'll keep my eyes open in that direction.  I also have come to like the Halberg-Rassy designs.  My neighbor, Dennis, bought an H-R 31 the other year, and I confess to coveting my neighbor's goods.  I asked Santa for one, but I think I'm getting a coffee mug instead.

'Freyja,' Dennis's Halberg-Rassy 31....

And I just love the looks of the Halberg-Rassy decks....

Speaking of beautiful boats, in October we drove down to Newport to say bon voyage to our friends, Bob and Linda, who departed the US on a year-long cruise to the Caribbean aboard their gorgeous Tartan 4000, "Argon."  They are real salty dogs, those two, and they have been selfless in their advice and assistance to me as I learn to sail.  I love "Argon," but at 40-feet, it is a bit too much boat for me at present level of incompetence.  It is a real blue water boat, capable of sailing offshore, whereas 'Piao,' a diminutive O'Day 23 barely half the size of "Argon," is at more of a weekender (or, as I prefer to call her, a "pocket cruiser" for the solo-sailor).  Follow the adventures of Bob and Linda at their sailing blog, "we ARGONe."

"Argon," at anchor in Newport....

The Admiral, with Captains Bob and Linda, aboard "Argon" in Newport....

Folks in Newport take their sailing seriously.  Fog is no deterrent....

There were, of course, other noteworthy water events this season, some of which I wrote about in previous posts.  I do want to give a special shout-out to my whaleboat team, the "Polar Oartex," which continued to dominate competitions this year.  In addition to winning the Snow Row in March, and completing the Blackburn Challenge in July, we also took first place in our division at the Minots Light Roundabout in September.  This is an annual race in Cohasset, where competitors row out and back to a famous lighthouse a few miles off the coast.  We did 4.6 nautical miles in 1:18:45 -- amid strong winds and choppy seas.  Even more exciting, we beat one pilot gig by five minutes, and were only 50 seconds behind the other pilot gig!  The two types of boats are in different design classes, and it is unheard of for a whaleboat to beat a gig (which is sleeker and carries one additional rower).  We did it twice this year.

Pulling to victory in the Minot Roundabout....

The dreaded 'Polar Oartex' team and their Yankee whaleboat, the 'Flying Fish,' after the Minot Race.
From Right to Left: Queequeg, Power-Up, Mrs. Queequeg (substituting for the absent Seawolf), Hurk, BucketBastard, and Shallow-and-Foul....

Finally, I would be remiss if I neglected to mention one additional bit of news.  This summer we bade farewell to M/V Dockblocker.  This was the powerboat that was moored too close to the dock at Dexter's Cove, frequently preventing others from accessing the dock.

One picture can be worth a thousand words....

Do you have any idea how hard it was to get in and out of there without a collision, especially when the winds were blowing?

Devoted followers of this blog may recall there was some controversy over this situation, and some hurt feelings (in fact, someone still isn't speaking to me).  But the principal problem has been solved: the owner sold the boat.

Making America Great Again....

Cuttyhunk

9-10 August 2016

Voyage #28 of the Season

Great Hill: LW 0601 (0.4'), HW 1334 (3.8')

Cuttyhunk: HW 1441 (3.3'), LW 1956 (0.8')

Sunrise: 0545; Sunset: 1950

Temp: 83(F); Humidity: 56%

Tuesday
Winds: North 1-5 kts

Seas: 1ft

Visibility: 10mi

Wednesday
Winds SW 12-15kts, gusting 20kts, increasing to gusts of 28kts by mid-afternoon
Seas: 3-4ft
Visibility 1-3 mi

Trip Stats:

57.6nm over two days

Outbound: 33.5nm in 8hr 53min

Return: 24.1nm in 7hr 21min

Total Time: 33 hours, shore to shore

On Tuesday, the Admiral was off to Toronto on a work trip for a few days.  We are in the midst of home renovations, and are leaving on Saturday for a week-long vacation on the South Jersey shore.  Its a busy time, and I go back to work at the end of the month.  So, after consulting with the Admiral and obtaining her authorization, I decided to take advantage of a promising weather window and make an overnight trip to Cuttyhunk -- a goal to which I have aspired since I got the boat.  Veteran sailors in the region may sigh in boredom; everybody's been to Cuttyhunk.  Big deal.  But it was a big deal to me.  It would be my farthest solo trip yet and, well, everybody's been to Cuttyhunk....

In the annals of New England history, Cuttyhunk has claim to the site of the first English settlement.  Bartholomew Gosnold established a small outpost near the western end of the island in 1602, mainly for the purpose of gathering sassafras.  "Sassafras" refers to a genus of aromatic flowering deciduous trees of the laurel family (Lauraceae) -- a taxonomic family that commonly contains high concentrations of essential oils that repel insects (making them prized timber for furniture) and are often used in spices and perfumes.  Think laurel garlands, bay leaves, cinnamon, camphor, avocado, and cassia.  Sassafras is native to eastern North America and eastern Asia, and the species Sassafras albidum played a not insignificant role in the colonization of New England.  All parts of the plant -- bark, flowers, fruit, leaves, roots, stems -- have been used for aromatic, carpentry, culinary, and medicinal purposes.  Its oils have been shown to contain analgesic and antiseptic properties, its wood was used in building furniture and ships, its oil-rich twigs were used as toothbrushes and fire-starters, and its roots were used to treat STDs and became the main ingredient in traditional "Root Beer."  For a brief time in the early 1800s, sassafras was the second largest commodity exported from North America to England (tobacco was the largest).

If you want some Sassafras, you don't need to go to Cuttyhunk.  There is plenty in our backyard....

Cuttyhunk is the outermost of the Elisabeth Islands, marking the southwestern edge of Buzzards Bay. The island covers less than one square mile -- about 1.5 miles long and 0.75 miles wide -- and has a year-round population of less than 50 people (although there are usually over 400 living there during summer months).  Lookout Hill, at 154 feet, is the highest point on the island.  It provides sweeping vistas of Cuttyhunk and its surrounding waters, and sports several decommission military bunkers from WWII built to defend against German U-boats.

Map of Cuttyhunk

For an aerial tour of Cuttyhunk, check out this drone footage posted to YouTube by Grant Schenck

There are no cars (only electric golf carts), no bars, a small gift shop, a small grocery, an artists' boutique, a hot dog stand, an ice cream shop, and only one "restaurant" (outdoor seating only) whose menu features mainly pizza.  Home of the Cuttyhunk Fishing Club, once an exclusive getaway for blue-blood captains of industry and politics, the island is now a popular spot for boaters and for sport fishing.  Two world record sized striped bass (73 pounds) were caught there in 1913 and 1967.

Cuttyhunk, looking east.  I had to jump really high to take this shot.....

The fish like the reefs off Cuttyhunk, especially 'Sow and Pigs Reef' to the west, jutting into Rhode Island Sound.  Boaters not so much.  The waters of Vineyard Sound and Buzzards Bay can be treacherous, with strong currents and uncharted rocks (see my previous post on the dangers of the latter).  Islanders earned a living piloting ships into the ports of the southern New England coast, such as New Bedford, Newport, and Providence, racing each other to row out at the first sight of an approaching ship.  In the mid-1800s, the Massachusetts Humane Society established a series of life-saving stations on Cuttyhunk and the neighboring islands to assist victims of shipwrecks.  It was dangerous work, and many would-be rescuers perished in the line of duty.  When the brig, 'Aquatic,' wrecked on Sow and Pigs reef in 1893, for example, five Cuttyhunk lifesavers died attempting to rescue the passengers and crew.  The whaling bark, 'Wanderer,' built in Mattapoisett and the last whaling ship to sail out of New Bedford, wrecked at Cuttyhunk in 1924 (she is also the namesake of our local newspaper, which serves Mattapoisett, Marion, and Rochester).  Anchored near Mishaum Ledge off Dartmouth, an fierce and unexpected nor'easter dragged her anchor across Buzzards Bay until she fetched up on the rocks in Cuttyhunk.

Leslie Jones's famous photograph of the barque Wanderer wrecked on the rocks of Cuttyhunk (1924)

Anxious not to add 'Piao' to the list of wrecks around Cuttyhunk, I was careful to do some homework before heading out on this trip.  I read the reviews on Cuttyhunk posted to ActiveCaptain, plotted a course using OpenCaptain software (thanks, Bob), and researched tides and currents along that route.  I have, of course, a GPS chart plotter aboard the sailboat, and several marine navigation apps on my iPhone (including Navionics [which I prefer], Skipper, Garmin BlueChart, and iNavX [which, annoyingly, often crashes despite its hefty price tag!]).  Nevertheless, I also printed some chart details to keep in plastic sheet protectors (along with the tide and current data) on a clipboard in the cockpit.  I went to Staples to buy a grease pencil so that I could mark up the plastic sheet protectors, but the staff there had never heard of a "grease pencil."  They thought that was something pretty funny.  There were none in stock, but I could order one online (maybe next time).

My cockpit clipboard and chart printouts in plastic sheet protectors.  Since I couldn't get a grease pencil from Staples, I had to settle for an eyeliner from RiteAid Pharmacy.  Didn't work so well, but it got the job done

The Float Plan: My Waypoints & Cockpit Notes for the trip

Table of Tidal Currents

Chart Details annotated with my Tide and Current Tables

The forecast called for light northerly winds -- something rather rare for Buzzards Bay, but ideal for my outbound trip.  My plan was to get an early start and sail south after clearing Great Hill, heading directly for the Weepecket Islands just west of Woods Hole.  From there, I would hug the Elizabeth Islands -- Naushon, Pasque, and Nashawena -- until I made Cuttyhunk.  The forecast for the following day was for stronger southerly winds, ideal for the return leg, but with the threat of rain squalls and possibly thunderstorms in the afternoon.  So I thought it best that day to sail first directly north across Buzzards Bay, and then head northeast along the coast, which offered many protective harbors and coves in which to shelter in the event that I got caught in weather.  Because of the iffy forecast for Wednesday (winds 15kts, gusting 20kts; seas 3 ft), I decided not to tow along the dinghy. While I regretted this when I arrived in Cuttyhunk, I was very happy with that decision the next day.  Finally, I filled out a USCG "Float Plan" and sent copies to my wife and two friends in the area.

The Route

I had planned to get underway at 0600, but I got off to a slow start.  I went down to the dock at that hour to load the boat and make preparations, but met a woman sitting there with her morning coffee.  She was a teacher from the US Infantry School at Fort Benning, GA, who was in the area with her husband for a wedding, and renting an AirBnB cottage across the street.  She was chatty.  When she found out I was a cultural anthropologist, she got even chattier (she always wanted to do that, she said, but didn't have the courage -- hmmmmm, never thought my career required courage).  When she discovered that I work in China, she became yet chattier still, since her son is currently working in China for an Italian furniture firm.  I didn't get aboard the boat until 0630.  It took me almost an hour to stow all my gear and victuals, and to prep the boat for the trip.  I took enough supplies to last me two to three days (in the event that adverse weather kept my in Cuttyhunk more than one night): extra fuel for the outboard motor; GoPro Knock-Off; food such as apples, grapes, strawberries, blueberries, yoghurt, soup, grilled pork and grilled chicken with leeks and rice, chips, Jarlesberg cheese, beef salami; a couple of Yinglings, a diet Coke, Ginger Beer (to go with the Pussers Rum I keep on board), and a G2 Gatorade.  Finally, at 0730, I raised the mains'l, started up the outboard motor, and cast off.  I was underway for Cuttyhunk, at last!

Getting underway in the morning.....

Winds were very light, 3-5kts, and I ran the motor under I cleared Great Hill at 0750.  Then I unfurled the jib and sped along southward at the dizzying speed of 2.5 knots.  A few minutes later, I made some adjustments to my sail trim, setting the sails 'wing and wing,' and was able to bump up to 3.0 knots -- the estimated speed of my float plan.  But thirty minutes later, as I passed Bird Island, I was becalmed, and the boat speed dropped to 1.2 knots.  Uh-oh.  I could see a smudge of land on the southern horizon, and at first I assumed that to be my destination.  If so, it was going to take me much longer than expected to arrive.  But then I thought, wait a minute, that cannot possibly be Cuttyhunk. From Great Hill, it is nearly twenty nautical miles, as the birds fly, to Cuttyhunk.  Because of the curvature of the Earth, one's view of the horizon varies by height.  As the Dorthraki say, "It is known."  Ignoring the effects of atmospheric refraction (it gets complicated), to estimate distance in nautical miles to the  horizon, take the square root of the height of your eyes and multiply that by 1.17 -- "it is known."  So, to make a Ruf Estimate, when I sit in the cockpit of 'Piao,' my eyes are about 7-feet above the water surface (4-feet of freeboard, plus another 3-feet of torso), meaning that when sailing, my "offing" or horizon is just over three nautical miles distant.  While that smudge seemed to be much further away (remember atmospheric refraction?), there was just no way that it could possibly be Cuttyhunk.  After limping along for another half hour, I gave up in frustration and started the outboard engine and pushed up the speed to 4.5 knots.

Wishful thinking.....

By 0930 I had made Cleveland Ledge Light.  There was very little traffic out on the bay.  Two tugs, the Morton Bouchard Jr pushing a barge and the Buckey MacAllister following behind it, came steaming by making for the Cape Cod Canal.  I just stayed well away from their powerful wakes.  An hour later, I found myself off Woods Hole.  I was now motoring at 5.5kts, but the winds were becoming more variable, now north, then east, then north again, now 3 knots, then 1 knot, then 5 knots, then 1 knot again.  I still had my sails up, and the mainsail began to slacken on and off, banging back out to leeward when a gentle gust took it.  So I ferreted around in the lazarette for some line and rigged a temporary preventer to keep it fairly tensioned.

Temporary Preventer rigged through the old jib sheet blocks

Around 1100, I raised the Weepecket Islands just off the northern coast of Naushon Island.  One of the few publicly accessible parts of the Elizabeth Islands, the Weekpecket have little in the way of landing sites but do offer excellent swimming if you anchor nearby.  

Originally I had planned to pass inside the strait, just for the hell of it, but with the winds so light and variable and the tidal flow in the strait running almost a half-knot against me, I decided instead to pass the Weepecket on the outside.  On a positive note, with the winds now up to a pretty steady five knots, I turned off the engine and sailed again on a starboard tack making 3.5 knots.

North shore of Naushon Island

Named after Queen Elizabeth I, the Elizabeth Islands are a chain of about a dozen small islands that extend westward from Cape Cod, dividing Buzzards Bay from Vineyard Sound.  Most of the seven main islands are owned privately by the Forbes family, and off-limits to public visitors.  "It is known."  Naushon, the largest, is 5.5 miles long.  Secretary of State (and former Senator) John Forbes Kerry has occasionally vacationed there throughout his life.  However, the Forbes family does permit public use of Kettle Cove (northern side), the deep water Tarpaulin Cove (southern side), Hadley Harbor and Bull Island (at the northeastern end).  Pasque Island (like Naushon, off-limits) is covered with poison ivy, as many a sorry trespasser has discovered.  Nashawena (also off-limits) has grazing livestock.  Penikese Island, just north of Cuttyhunk, is owned by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts; now largely a bird sanctuary, it was formerly home to the precursor of the Marine Biological Laboratories now at Woods Hole, the state's only leper colony, and a school for troubled teens.

Penikese Island, although this is getting ahead of the story.....

Parenthetically, railway magnate John Murray Forbes, got his start by working in the family's China trade, which included opium.  In fact, a good number of America's most elite and prestigious monied families got their start as narco-traffickers heavily involved in the opium trade, including not only the Forbes family but also the Astors (America's first multi-millionaires), the Russels (founders of Yale's Skull and Bones Society), the Perkins, and the Delanos -- as in FDR's grandfather (for details, see Jacques Downs, "American Merchants and the China Opium Trade, 1800-1840," The Business History Review, v42, n4, 1968, pp. 418-442).

Robinsons Hole, between Naushon (left) and Pasque Islands

Between the island are small gaps, known as "Holes," through which run rather strong currents: Woods Hole, Robinson Hole, Quicks Hole.  At high tide, water rushes from Buzzards Bay into Vineyard Sound, while the currents reverse at ebb tide.  Woods Hole, in particular, is notoriously tricky, with the current there sometimes running as strong as seven knots -- which is about the top speed of 'Piao' under motor.  After Cuttyhunk, that is my next goal: a trip to Martha's Vineyard via 'The Hole.'  The Admiral says, "No thanks.  I'll take the ferry and meet you there."  

Quicks Hole, between Pasque (left) and Nashawena Islands, with Gay Head on the western end of the Vineyard in the background.  The Admiral remembers coming through here as a young girl on her step-father's powerboat, as following seas with nine-foot waves threatened to overtake and swamp them.  She wants me to promise never to attempt Quicks Hole.

A little before noon, as I made my way along the coast of Naushon, I was again becalmed, with the winds dropping to less than three knots and the boat making only half that speed.  Then the wind started clocking oddly: North, Southwest, West, Northwest, South, Northwest.  I'd never seen anything like that.  I furled the jib, left the main sail up, and again turned on the engine.  *Sigh*  This was turning into more of a motor cruise than a sailing trip, but I was eager to get to the Promised Land.  I made Robinsons Hole at 1200, and Quicks twenty minutes later.  At this point I decided it was probably prudent to drop sail, since I planned to motor into the harbor for better control and maneuverability.

Now this time that really *IS* Cuttyhunk!

Off Nashawena Island, I passed by the motor yacht, Itasca, which was at anchor.  We had seen this vessel a week earlier in New Bedford, while out rowing the whaleboat.  The Admiral had decided that this was the boat for her.  It was love at first sight.  Sorry, 'Piao.'

Shortly after 1300, I reached the outer harbor at Cuttyhunk, where all boats in excess of 50-feet are required to moor or anchor.  These were big boats with wide beams.  Wow.  Beyond the low-lying Copicut Neck I could see a forest of masts in the well-protected inner mooring field.  My heart fell.  What if there is no room at the inn?  Will I anchor outside?  I have never yet anchored alone -- dropping the hook is easy; it is pulling it up, singled-handed, without a windlass, while the motor is engaged a slow ahead, in traffic, that is still a bit intimidating.  I should practice that with the someone aboard.  

Approaching the outer harbor at Cuttyhunk

As I slowed to enter the channel leading into Cuttyhunk Pond, I was amazed at how narrow the passage was -- and I had hit it a high tide.  My charts say it is 60-feet wide (but it seemed like 20!) and 6.5-feet deep at low tide.  Frankly, I was astonished that deeper draft vessels could transit this tiny channel ('Piao' only draw 2'3" with the centerboard up -- and it was up).  But most of all, I could not believe just how crowded the passage was with boats, dinghies, kayaks, paddle boards, and even swimmers!  OMG, I pleaded, please don't let me run over someone or go aground here.  Successfully negotiating the entry channel to Cuttyhunk Pond, I turned right to run down the eastern side of the mooring field in the hopes of picking up a rental mooring.

All the advice I read cautioned that they fill up by 4:00pm, yet here I was at 1:30pm and they all seemed full.  A few times, I came up to a mooring ball only to read a name and the word "PRIVATE."  Finally, on the far western side of the mooring field, I espied the last remaining available rental mooring (#22).  Enormously relieved, I slowly edge the boat up to the ball to discover that there was no mooring line to pick up -- instead, a tall metal pole stuck out of the top, ending in a "eye" loop.  I would have to tie on my own mooring line!  In all I read about the place, you would think someone would mention this rather important piece of information?  Fortunately, I have plenty of line on the boat (the Admiral makes fun of me all the time, but, hey, you can never have too much line on a boat.  "It is known."), and there was almost no wind. I put the motor in neutral, scooted up to the bow, and held the mooring post with my left hand while slipping on a mooring line with my right.  For security, I lead each end of the line to a different bow cleat -- the last thing I wanted was to slip the mooring in the dead of night and drift into one of these expensive boats.  'Piao' was by far the smallest boat there.

On the mooring at last -- the last mooring!

The trip had covered 23.6 nautical miles, and had taken me six-and-a-half hours.  Thanks to all the motoring, I actually arrived an hour ahead of schedule.  Good thing, too, considering that all 50 of the rental moorings in the inner harbor were now occupied.  They do not take reservations for moorings here -- it is entirely first-come, first-serve, and my small craft money is just as good (although not as plentiful) as the leviathan boat money.

Outbound track on my Navionics app

The sun was strong, so after covering the mail sail, tidying the lines, putting away the gear, and hoisting my "R" signal flag ensign, I rigged my canvas awning for some much needed shade.

Then I broke out the boat cushions and pillows, cracked open a cold beer, and settled down with my book for some well-earned rest.  Perhaps not surprisingly, I dozed off into a peaceful nap a short time after finishing my beer.

Requisite Selfie: At ease, in Cuttyhunk....

I've been reading Eric Dolin's Leviathan: The History of Whaling in America

I awoke an hour or two later to the rather loud noise of an engine chugging.  On the mooring immediately to starboard was a family with a fancy-ass Sea Ray power boat.  I'm not sure why they were running their engine, perhaps to power the A/C?  I hate to complain (but I will): fifty moorings in the Pond and I end up with the one next to M/V Endless Engine Exhaust.  Oh well, small price to pay.

I do like that Aqua-Slide inflatable swim platform they have tied to the stern, however.  Gotta get me one of those.....

I watched a couple of large sailboats come motoring around the mooring field searching in vain for an available tie-up.  I kept worrying that someone would ask me to leave, but those fears were completely unfounded.  

Great way to repurpose Tibetan prayer flags -- beseech protection from the gods, while scaring away the birds.....

Off my stern, a large sailboat came in and rafted up next to a friend's boat to share the mooring (both had to pay).  Later that night, the green-hulled boat on the right turned on the floodlights on his spreaders and the grown-ups of the two boats drank and partied noisily late into the night -- until one of the men fell down (though not overboard) and hurt himself.  Then they quickly doused those bright lights and went to bed.

Teaching his son (?) to use the bosun's chair to climb the mast

Around 5:00pm, the Harbormaster boat came around collecting the nightly mooring fee ($45).  I asked him whether it was unusual for it to be so crowded, and he responded that they have been crazy busy like this all season -- a really exceptional stretch of truly excellent weather has left them filled up every day.

Time to Pay the Man.....

With that taken care of, I got on VHF Ch. 72 and radioed the Cuttyhunk Floating Raw Bar to order delivery of a dozen oysters ($24).  The gal said I just made it: the boat will be leaving in five minutes to start the first round of deliveries.  Otherwise I would have to wait until 8:00pm.  They were already out of clam chowder (very good, and very popular).

Raw Bar Boat delivers my freshly-shucked oysters at 5:30pm....

Then to the next boat, then the next boat, then the next boat, then the next boat.....

Oh, I could do this every day.  If only I had remembered the champagne.....

The sunsets are free.....

Before sunset, I took down the awning so that it did not collect moisture in the evening.  More reading, more eating, and a little 'Dark and Stormy' with a cigar to finish off the day.  By 10:00pm, I was ready for bed.  It was getting damp, and there was some evening fog rolling in.  In the darkness, off my port quarter, someone was playing a guitar and singing John Denver songs.  I slept with the hatch open, under the stars.  No bugs.  Love that.

Quiet dawn over Cuttyhunk.  "Red in Morning" -- Uh oh.....

I awoke the next morning at 0520 to a glorious sunrise, although there were already dark clouds building to the west.  I ate some yoghurt and made some coffee on the alcohol stove while fish jumped and splashed in the water around the stern of the boat.  Verizon data service is spotty in Cuttyhunk, but when I finally pulled up my weather radar app I could see some storm fronts moving in from the west.  WeatherUnderground warned showers and thundershowers were possible by 12:00noon.  I decided to get underway as soon as possible.  "There was not a moment to be lost."

Golden Sunrise.....

After packing up my berth, securing all the loose gear in the cabin, prepping the boat, raising the mainsail, and turning on the motor, I went forward to untie the mooring.  Everyone else, it seemed, was still asleep.  At 0650, I was underway again.

Looking over my stern after exiting the Channel to the inner harbor

Having made it all the way to Cuttyhunk, I now got the idea in my head to sail out around the western end of the island, by the famous Sow and Pigs Reef, and then back into Buzzards Bay before heading home.  While this was not in my original float plan, I thought I had come all this way, why not circumnavigate the island and get just a taste of Vineyard Sound?  I did have current tables for Canapitsit Channel, leading into the Sound, and it was setting about 1.5 knots against me.  But I opened the throttle and headed for Vineyard Sound.  Canapitsit Channel is kinda narrow, and wouldn't you know it? There was a guy fishing in the middle of it.  Fortunately, he reeled in his line and moved his boat as I approached, although I am sure he was none to happy about it.

Through Canapitsit Channel into Vineyard Sound

As soon as I entered Vineyard Sound, I began to second guess my decision.  It was really choppy and wet.  'Piao' was bouncing atop the waves rather than plowing through them.  Was this really a prudent move at 7 o'clock in the morning?  The only other boats out here were fishing vessels and lobsterman, and the ones that passed by close to me sort of looked at me in my little boat as if to say, "What the f*ck are you doing?"  Still, while the southerly winds were strong, they were not overwhelming, and the waves were not yet very large.  I had sailed in worse, so I decided to press on under motor power, although I still had the main sail up.

Southside of Cuttyhunk, from Vineyard Sound

All the same, considering the in-coming weather, I was reluctant to go out all the way around Sow and Pigs Reef.  It was just a little too far with the time I had on my hands.  Instead, I cut inshore closer to the island, through a shallow narrow channel cluttered with lobster buoys.  This was a bad place to foul one's centerboard or rudder on a lobster buoy line, so took particular care to steer to leeward of all I saw.

Negotiating the slot between Cuttyhunk and Sow and Pigs Reef

There was a lobster boat there, working the traps, and he was very clearly none to happy that I was (sort of) in his way.  Still, I pressed on and at 0745 rounded the western tip of Cuttyhunk.  My reward was this beautiful view of the sun's rays shining down upon the Bartholomew Gosnold Monument

Now I turned northward for my run across Buzzards Bay, making for Round Hill.  I turned off the motor, unfurled the jib, and with the wind directly astern set the sails wing-and-wing.  It was good sailing with a strong southerly breeze of 12-15 knots.

Running north across Buzzards Bay, wing-and-wing, at just over five knots

By 0850, I had raised Round Hill and was approaching Dumpling Rocks, and turn right onto a starboard tack, broad reaching on a course of 60-degrees towards West Island.  But a look over my shoulder astern warned me that I was running out of time.

Storm clouds closing in from the west as a squall approaches.  Uh oh.....

A half-hour later, I decided it was time to take in the sails.  As the old adage goes, 'If you think you should reef, you should reef.'  Always shorten sail before you need to shorten sail.  In this case, have read a good number of scary articles by novice sailors who got caught in squalls and ran into trouble, I decided the prudent move would be to take in all my sails and run on engine power alone.

Pausing to take in all sail off Dumpling Rocks at Round Hill

My weather apps all warned of impending wind gusts of over 20 knots, and since I was more or less stuck out there on the water I wanted to minimize my exposure to risk.  I had planned to sail home along the coast here for just such a contingency, and given my position at Dumpling Rocks now I decided to make a quick detour north and run in for the shelter of Padanaram harbor.  I almost made it when the squall line hit and visibility dropped.

Rain is just starting to fall -- that is Padanaram, up ahead off the port bow, now obscured by the rain

In the relative protection of the lee of Round Hill Point, I put the motor on slow -- later on neutral -- and sat there to wait out the worst of it.  That took about an hour.  Since the chart plotter was protruding from the cabin, I could close the hatch but could only put in place the lower of the two vertical hatch boards -- leaving a gap through which the rain pelted into the cabin.  To minimize exposure to the stuff inside, I tried to keep the boat turned into the wind and rain, but that meant I took it in the face.  Oh well, its only water.

Seeking shelter from the storm just outside of Padanaram harbor

The rain continued for much of the afternoon, but by 1030 I was anxious to get underway again.  If there was little prospect of it stopping, I was only going to get wetter and colder and more tired the longer I sat there.  So I turned off the motor, set the main sail again, and shaped my course towards West Island.

Screw it.  I'm going home, rain or no rain.... 

By 1100, I was passing Angelica Rock and Sconticut Neck in Fairhaven, and 3-4 foot beam seas were rolling the boat 30-35 degrees.  Hmmmm.  The wind was still blowing a good 20 knots, and as I steered toward a red navigation buoy I kept losing sight of it as it would dip into the troughs of the waves.  Hmmmmmm.  All the same, I was making a good 6 knots on a beam reach.  Good sailing.  I decided it was time to eat some lunch, and wolfed down the two remaining roast beef sandwiches.  An hour later, I was off Mattapoisett, looking at speeds of 6.9 and 7.2 knots.  That's the ticket.  This whole time, my friend Ric kept texting me with requests for updates.  He had my float plan, and as a commercial pilot he has a healthy respect for weather.  The problem for me was that it was raining, and a bit of a hassle to ferret out my iPhone from the inner pocket of my rain coat, under the life vest.  It seemed that each time I finally tucked it away again, it would sound with a tone indicating a new incoming message.  But he cared, and that was comforting.  Good man; good friend.

Passing Nye Ledge Day Beacon off Mattapoisett

ps -- don't ever hire Chris Nye, the Landscape Guy (but that's another story)

Just before 1300, I was crossing the mouth of Sippican harbor, approaching Bird Island.  Boy, I have never been so happy to see that lighthouse as I was that day.  Suddenly, out from Marion come racing these three small dinghies, each with two or three kids, followed by two powerboats.  It was the local sailing school, although what they had those kids doing coming way out here in these conditions is beyond me.  The problem for me was that I was sailing NNE, across their intended path of travel, and they were to my leeward.  Technically, they were the stand-on vessels and I was the give-way vessel. But I could not give way to leeward, since the boats were strung along too far apart -- I would have to sail halfway into to Sippican harbor to drop behind and around them, and then have to work my way back to windward to clear Bird Island safely.

Approaching Bird Island Light, just outside of Sippican harbor, obliged to turn out into the bay to give-way to those small sailing dinghies

My only alternative was to change course to windward now, and sail close-hauled back out into the middle of Buzzards Bay ahead of them, waiting for them to stop and turn around before I could return to my course home.  The problem was they weren't stopping.  They just kept sailing farther and farther out into the bay, and therefore so did I.  Finally, a woman in a Boston Whaler gunned up next to the lead sailing dinghy and it luffed up its sails.  She looked at her watch a couple of times.  Then she looked at me, just a few dozen yards away.  I signaled to her my intended direction of travel -- across their path.  She said something to the kids, and soon all three dinghies turned around and headed back in towards the harbor.  Well, I guess Marion takes its sailing seriously if they are training young kids to sail in conditions like that.

Now you see them, now you don't....

Finally, rounding Great Hill at 1330, it was time to douse sail and motor in to the mooring.  I had to go well in towards the mouth of the Weweantic River before I could safely climb on the cabin roof to flake the sail, however, because the winds and waves were so strong.

Took some time to douse and flake that main sail in those conditions....

I had so much gear aboard that I decided to head to the dock first, drop my gear, and then return the boat to her mooring.  Of course, with the winds out of the south, M/V Dockblocker (the boat illegally moored too close to the dock) was swinging its stern just a dozen feet off the southeast corner of the dock, making the approach tricky.  But I nailed it on the first try.  His boat is now for sale, and we are all routing for him to find a buyer soon.

A two-day trip of nearly 60 nautical miles, and the hardest part was the last 15 feet.  Here the wind has shifted his stern AWAY from the dock -- it was much closer on my approach 

By 1500, I was on the mooring and 'Finished with Engines.'  A fine trip filled with experience and lots of learning.  When I got the boat, one of my goals was to sail to Cuttyhunk one day.  Can't wait to do it again.  Then, its the Vineyard.  Then maybe Newport.  Then perhaps Boston, or Nantucket, or Maine, or Nova Scotia, or Newfoundland, or Labrador, or Baffin Island.  I always heard Iceland is very beautiful.  But I think for all that I am going to need a bigger boat.  Care to contribute to my GoFundMe campaign?

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