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
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?
Return leg track
