11 July 2017

Lows to Highs

9 July 2017

The south coast of Massachusetts rode a sine curve of weather this last weekend.  A storm system moved through the region on Friday, bringing torrential rains that lasted most of the afternoon and flooded some streets on Cape Cod.  There were images on the evening news of motorists abandoning their vehicles amid rising waters in a few towns on the Cape.

Severe thunderstorms caused this flash flood in West Dennis, on Cape Cod

Saturday began overcast and gnarly.  At dawn, our whaleboat team endured a three-hour training row, battling 17-knot winds and 3-foot waves as we fought our way out beyond Clarks Point and back.  Seasickness claimed one teammate, who was unable to row effectively on the way out and incapacitated on the way back; a chronic respiratory problem made it painful and difficult for another teammate to pull with her usual strength.  We covered 7.7 nautical miles in two hours forty-eight minutes, averaging only 2.7 knots -- slower than the average boat speed of 3.0 knots that we must maintain if we want to complete the upcoming 20-mile Blackburn Challenge (now less than two weeks away) within the six-hour time limit (and much less than the 4.5 knots we must make to do it in under four hours).

Saturday Morning Slog: 0600-0900
Wind and Waves were out of the Southwest

That was discouraging.  But it was also a bit of a wakeup call: our team is down two regular members due to injuries and we have not trained as hard as last year ahead of the Blackburn.  Maybe we had some hubris.  I dunno.  The team prides itself on endurance rowing, and we have no choice but to finish: unlike a lot of the smaller dories that row the Blackburn, it is not possible for us to haul out our 1000-pound, 28-foot whaleboat anywhere along the coast of Cape Ann.  Once we start, we must complete the trip back to Gloucester, where our boat trailer will be parked.  Of course, if the situation becomes untenable, we can always call TowBoatUS for assistance.

The other week our whaleboat team found a disabled powerboat sitting for hours in the middle of the navigation channel outside the New Bedford Hurricane Barrier (they had no radio aboard to call for help).  We offered to help, and we so towed it back into the harbor.  We figured, if they used to tow dead whales in these boats, we can tow a powerboat.  The local TowBoatUS guy was not pleased when he saw us row by his dock....

By Sunday, a high pressure system had moved in and pushed the low out to sea, bringing a glorious day of sunshine: clear skies, air temp 80-degrees, water temp 75-degrees.  Our two-hour training row (0600-0800) was a very different event: even though short-handed, we rowed out and back to Butler Flats Light, covering 5.0nm in well under two hours, averaging 3.0 knots (even including several rest breaks for traffic or to rotate positions at the oars).

On a day like this, you can see a procession of vessels exiting New Bedford harbor around 7:00am.  Our club president, here taking a turn steering, likes to row in a kilt and beard.

That Sunday, the Admiral had to take her 15-year-old daughter had to go to work (at a local ice cream stand).  Like many Millennials, the latter is still of the opinion that when you have to go to work at 11:00, that means you leave the house at 11:00 to go to work.  When the Admiral returned, she ordered all remaining personnel to prepare to go to sea.  That brought howls of protest from my erstwhile 13-year-old First Mate, who was much looking forward to spending the entire summer day indoors on the computer playing Minecraft.

Minecraft Battle....

I headed down early to prep the boat and ready lines and fenders to pick up the Admiral and Mate at Dexter's Dock.  It took me twenty minutes to bail out the dinghy, which was filled with rainwater from Friday's storm.  My crew arrived just before Noon, and I cast off to motor over to pick them up at the dock.  Then the fun began.

I had rigged dock lines on the bow, stern, and port quarter (spring line).  The wind was gusting out of the west, blowing the boat away from the dock, and I had to make a second approach before I could maneuver in successfully.  I tossed a long spring line to the Admiral, on the dock, and told her to run it forward to the cleat on the dock near the bow of the boat.  That was a mistake.  Before I could go forward and toss her the bow line (which is too short to run back to the cockpit), the wind started to blow the bow of the boat off the dock.  With the fulcrum so far aft, the pivot brought the stern inwards towards the dock.  I had no fender there, although fortunately the dock has an old fire hose as padding.

My Docking Covfefe....

Then the boat began to slide backwards a little bit along the dock, the stern working its way toward the corner of the dock, where a metal ladder is attached.  The outboard motor is mounted on the port side of the transom (unlike the center-mounted motor in the above illustration), and was getting precariously close to being crushed on the dock.  Suddenly, the outboard abruptly shut off.

"You must have hit the ladder!" the Admiral cried.  But I thought I would have heard and felt such a clash of metal.  Instead, I assumed a line fouled in the propeller.  Sure enough, unbeknownst to us, there was a white rope submerged in the water, tied to the bottom of the ladder.  I am not sure why the rope was there, only that it is there no longer.  As I raised the motor out of the water, the Admiral climbed down the ladder, rigging knife clenched in her teeth, and proceeded to free the line tangled tightly around the propeller.  Dylan and I were dutifully impressed.

Dylan thinks his Mom is a real "Badass."
He bought her this patch one year for Christmas....

After straightening the boat alongside the dock, I had the Admiral climb aboard at the shrouds.  Then I slipped the lines and we headed off.  But, wow, what an experience.  Imagine if the prop had fouled in a situation like that and I did not have any dock lines secured to the boat.  It could have been bad.  There didn't seem to be anyone around watching, but keep your eyes on YouTube -- maybe someone caught the entire fiasco on camera.

What I think I should have done: Rig a spring line at the bow, running it aft to the dock cleat near the stern.  This would have kept the bow snug against the dock.

Drama behind us, we drove the boat over to one of our favorite spots, Wareham's Long Beach: a sandy bar in the river that is submerged at high tide.  I know from my work with the Buzzards Bay Coalition that the water quality in the Outer Wareham River is much better than that of the Outer Weweantic, where we moor the boat.  The kids love to come here, as it is not accessible by car.  Its a short, 20-minute ride in the boat if motoring (at 5kts).  It is usually not a very crowded beach....


We pulled around to the sheltered cove on the northern side of the Long Beach Bar, and Dylan turned the boat into the wind to slow it to a stop as I went forward and dropped the anchor.  "Can't you go any closer?" the Admiral asked.  "Look at those other boats right in there by the beach."  We were still about a hundred yards offshore, but the depth finder was reading only five feet of water -- and there were still another 90-minutes until Low Tide.  The small powerboats right up by the beach draw only a few inches of water, whereas Piao draws 2'4" with the centerboard up.  I tossed the old fashioned lead line to double check the depth, and decide it best to stay where we were.  At the turn of the tide, we had only about a foot of water under the keel.


That was still cutting it close.  'Powerboats' + 'Wareham' really don't mix well -- its a volatile, even dangerous, combination.  The "Vikings" of Wareham are not particularly known for their courtesy and consideration.  A lot of powerboats, large and small, run full-throttle up and down the short stretch of river to the Narrows, often throwing up big wakes with utter disregard for (or maybe even overt aggression toward) small boaters, kayakers, and paddle-boarders.  Sometimes, the really big wakes can violently rock boats anchored just out of the channel at Long Beach.  We were fortunate to avoid a keel pounding that day.

Unfortunately, I inadvertently sat on my ham and cheese sandwich and squashed it....

One final note: the inflatable dinghy has a leak -- a puncture below the waterline likely made last year by the "Mysterious Vandal."  So I recently pulled it from the water and replaced it with my spare dinghy -- doesn't everyone have a spare?  When I bought the sailboat, the $1000 deal included a three-seat hard-shell plastic dory, equipped with some nice cloth padding all-around the gunwales.

The spare dinghy, "Bail Out," at Long Beach.
Dylan suggests we rename it, "Over Bored."  Fine First Mate, there....


Thus far I had been reluctant to use it.  When climbing in or our, it is not as stable as the inflatable.  It is, however, much easier to row: its pointed prow slices through the water much more efficiently than the square-bow inflatable.  This dinghy also tows perfectly well behind the sailboat.  Dylan and I have become pretty adept at climbing in and out of the new dinghy without making it too wobbly -- he can even climb in from the water.  But the Admiral is not.  I have been ordered to have the inflatable repaired, ASAP.





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