With the holidays in our wake and a New Year creeping ever closer, it seems a fitting time to reflect on the past boating season while updating ASailingStory’s followers on where we left off.
On a bone-chilling morning in late October, Karen and I motored from a nearly deserted Essex to our winter home of Portland, a distance of about 27 miles up the river. Not knowing that November and December would be a pair of the warmest months on record, we wrapped ourselves in layer-after-layer of clothes until we resembled the Michelin Man. At one point Karen pulled a fleece blanket from her bag of tricks, asking if I wanted to share it. Too proud (some say stubborn) to command my boat with a red fleece on my legs, I responded, “ohh no!”
An hour later I’d swallow my pride and say, through chattering teeth, “ok give me that thing.”
Karen raised an eyebrow before quickly responding, “ohh noo.”
We’d eventually find our mooring off Yankee Boat Yard in Portland. It wasn’t until we thawed out and looked through the below pictures that we realized how pretty the river was.
I’d sneak out to the boat a couple more times before it was hauled, each time enjoying the location more and more. One evening after removing the sails I kicked back in the cockpit and admired the Middletown skyline for nearly an hour. The water around me was mirror-flat, the only disturbance came via collegiate crew team gliding up the river. I’m very much looking forward to spending a few weeks there in the water next season before returning to Essex.
The boat has since been winterized and covered up for a long winter’s nap. We unstepped the mast this year—the first time since building it—in order to buildup its varnish armor and replacing an AWOL wind vane. It also allowed me to inspect the rigging, which looks no worse for wear.
As always seems to be the case, the upcoming winter and spring will afford us the chance to tackle a list of improvements we’d like to make to the boat.
The next boating season is 5 months away. On cold, snowy days like today that feels like a lifetime, but I need only close my eyes and I’m again sitting in the cockpit with the warm sun on my back or hopping into a dew-covered dinghy for a 5:00 ride to shore. I know those warm memories will help winter fly by.
A colleague recently turned me on to the Twitter account for Alastair Humphreys, a British adventurer whose four-year around-the-world bike trip is just a single bullet point on his expedition-filled résumé. Despite living a life most would deem clinically insane, he champions a concept that he calls the microadventure, which is just what it sounds like: a mini, midweek adventure that doesn’t cost much, and can be accomplished on a typical weeknight. Some examples of a microadventure that Humphreys touts in his new book Microadventures: Local Discoveries for Great Escapes are sleeping on a hill, cooking a meal over a fire, swimming in a river (there’s one I can do!).
As a marine journalist I read—on a daily basis—about boaters doing some extraordinary things. In fact, at this moment I have e-mail threads going with a couple who are cruising their Nordhavn 40 through the Pacific Northwest, a blogger aboard a Kadey-Krogen bound for Russia and a family of four from Texas that moved aboard their express cruiser to see the world. Despite this seemingly endless dose of inspiration, this past summer I found myself getting sucked into a, well, rather cushy routine. After work I’d hit the gym, make dinner, maybe do laundry or some other chore, and settle into an episode of God-knows-what on Netflix (a service I very much have a love/hate relationship with). I wasn’t being lazy per se, but boring would be a fair descriptor.
Boating had become a weekend endeavor for reasons I’m not quite sure of. So, right around the time of our July Mid-Summer Boating Fest, my girlfriend Karen and I (thanks in part to Humphreys’s inspiration) made the conscious decision to make better use of our limited summer schedule and get out on the boat more often. So on one or two weeknights each week we’d head out to our classic old boat resting on a mooring off Essex, Connecticut.
We swapped evenings in a crowded gym with sunset swims, reheated dinners for cookouts under the stars, and swapped Netflix episodes for a good book or magazine. We found ourselves falling asleep earlier (something about swimming just knocks us out) and waking up to early morning rays pouring through the forward portlight instead of the blare of an iPhone alarm.
Not much of a morning person, I eventually grew to look forward to our 5:00 a.m. dinghy ride to shore. The river can be absolutely still at that time, and the only sound would be the soft mumble from our outboard running just above idle. You know when you’re in for a good day when your morning commute begins with a dinghy ride.
Stepping into the office those mornings, I felt as if I were carrying a secret. Relaxed and rejuvenated, it was almost as if I had just returned from a short vacation. In fact, I guess that’s just what it was.
The magazine’s July 12th Boating Fest fell at a busy time for Karen and me so we didn’t get to spend the day in an excitingnew location like we would have hoped, but knowing that it doesn’t take long before the rejuvenating effects of boating to kick in, we escaped for an evening just up the Connecticut River in the forest-lined Hamburg Cove, a former shipping hub in the early 1800s that today is a popular spot on the river shared by trawler owners, fishermen, and kayakers alike.
We grabbed a visitor mooring from Cove Landing marina for $20 and hopped in the dinghy for a leisurely ride up a lazy river. With tall conifer-covered hills on each side it took only a little imagination to feel like we were exploring a stream in Maine. You can tie up to the dinghy dock at the nearby marina and stretch your legs if you like. There is a general store about a mile away and not much else.
As dusk began to settle on the cove, the sound of swimming and shrieking kids began to fade; the smell of charred hotdogs wafted atop the calm water as couples sat in their cockpits sipping chilled glasses of white wine. If there is a more peaceful way to spend an evening I’ve not discovered it yet.
We’d return to Essex and “real-world” responsibilities early the next day but the positive effects of our short boat trip had sunk in. Our arms seemed to swing more freely at our sides; free from knots and tension as we went about the tasks at hand with the well-rested mind that you only get after spending a night on the hook.
I think that’s the point that Humphreys (and our Mid-Summer Boating Fest) is trying to make; you don’t need to leave land for weeks at a time or battle huge seas in order to have an adventure; sometimes the most rewarding, memorable adventures are the ones on a random Sunday night in July.
A few days after our last weekend cruise to Deep River I asked Karen what she wanted to do next weekend. Here’s how that weekly conversation usually plays out:
“Mmm, I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“Uhhh, I don’t know. Go somewhere on the boat?”
“Ok, but where?”... And it goes on like that for some time.
So I was pleasantly surprised to hear, “Let’s take the boat to Deep River again.”
“I don’t…wait, what? Yeah, OK,” I found myself saying.
And with that we again pointed our bow north and enjoyed a weekend of leisure in the sleepy town. The marina there must not get too many transients because after we arrived a guy at the fuel dock greeted me with, “Hey Dan, you burning up another one of your free Brewer stays?” Mind you, we only spoke for about a minute the weekend prior.
I could bore you all by recounting how relaxing it was to unplug and walk around the quaint streets or how the changing leaves provided a picturesque backdrop but instead I’m going to let some of the images from the weekend tell that story. I hope you enjoy them.
Leaves along Connecticut’s Route 9 had begun to trade their deep green for hints of orange and yellow; nature was showing its hand. Fall is here. With a long holiday weekend on tap the Karen Marie would be chasing the horizon at full throttle trying mightily to catch back up to summer.
That’s how it came to be that we motored from Essex early Saturday morning, hitching a ride down the river with an outgoing tide. The early, yet strong rays of sun burned off the morning dew providing a smoky hue to our cruise. Short chop in the Sound and the confused waters of Plum Gut made for a less-than-leisurely ride over to our destination of Shelter Island’s Dering Harbor. Covered in a weird combo of salt spray and sweat, we eventually tied up to our mooring in the southeast corner of the harbor and took in the view of sailboats and blue-hulled powerboats bobbing up and down in the clear water surrounded by beautiful homes and lush green tress.
After a bit of settling in, we hopped in the dinghy to explore town. It would be a short trip. The main street in town, and the hub of activity, is a short block comprised of a True Value, a gas station, toy store, a rustic looking bar/restaurant called Dory and a café/deli/grocery store called Marie Eiffel Market where we stood on a line nearly out the door for a pair of excellent sandwiches. It was clear that we would be back.
After a bit of R&R I had a little “work” for the magazine to tend to. For the next issue’s gear column I was testing and photographing a uniquely shaped inflatable standup paddle board called the Sea Eagle NeedleNose 126. (I know, I know…tough job!) The paddle board ended up working great; it went from rolled up in a backpack to fully inflated in two minutes and as you can see from these outtakes, it ended up being a lot of fun.
An evening of grilling and watching the sun set capped off the rest of a pleasant night.
Day two was kicked off the Shelter Island way with breakfast from, where else but Marie Eiffels. Determined to better see what the island had to offer we rented bikes from the gas station (apparently specialty stores aren’t real popular here). The plan for our half day rental was to take a “nice easy” ride out to the northeast jetty and then double back to a marina/boat builder called CH Marine where we could shower and inspect any new builds in progress. Well, that plan lasted until the first stop sign when Karen tried to pass me. A two hour race would ensue that I’m sure did little to help tourist relations. (When the island wasn’t whizzing past, it was really a beautiful way to see Shelter.)
Stopping at CH Marine yielded both refreshing showers and the chance to see a newly built 34-foot runabout. With a really unique blue Awlgrip paint job and sweet down east lines, I was not alone in ogling the new build. Many visitors stopped to snap a few pictures.
Refreshed and feeling like humans again, we hopped a 5-minute ferry ride from Shelter to Greenport, a beautiful town that is often referred to as one of the most beautiful on Long Island. The thing about the most beautiful place on Long Island on the most popular weekend of the summer is, well, it gets pretty darn crowded. Crowds of inebriated college kids, ice cream-covered children and older couples filled the streets in what would be become a very strange scene. We would enjoy a cold beer at the Greenport Brewery before I convinced Karen that it would be in our best interest to explore a nearby down-on-its-luck boatyard. She hardly puts up a fight anymore and just rolled her eyes. After climbing around a few rotten wooden boats, I found a real gem. Something that 7-year-old-boatyard-exploring-Daniel could only have dreamed of…tucked being an abandoned rust covered building, surrounded by a small flotilla of derelict sailboats was…a 1967 Lockheed submarine. My jaw dropped as I took in the site. “You can trespass in boatyards your whole life and never find something like this,” I whispered to Karen who began to realize another plan, this time for a “5 minute yard visit” was going out the window.
After poking around the sub for too long, we decided to end the day with a drink at the waterfront bar called The Blue Canoe. Watching the sun set with a couple cold rum drinks, you couldn’t really write a better official end to the summer.
We’d return home the next morning and our mini vacation, much like our bike ride, and our summer, would end all too soon. But this short weekend reminded us of how much we enjoy cruising to, and exploring new destinations. There’s just a certain excitement that comes with not knowing what’s around the next corner, it might just be the submarine you’ve spent 20 years searching for.
Swinging on a mooring on a beautiful sunny Saturday in Hamburg Cove, just a few minutes from Essex, Karen and I were enjoying some quiet time reading in the cockpit. Our afternoon entertainment would be provided by our neighbor in an express cruiser with a cockpit filled with kids.
At first glance they didn’t appear to be your normal kids. There was not an iPad nor iPhone anywhere in sight; the boys are girls were chatting with each other in an animated fashion. The owner/father tied a line to StandUp Paddleboard and tossed in the placid water behind his boat. Like well-trained golden retrievers the children jumped in after it. An epic game of “King of the Board” would soon ensue.
We left for a long dinghy ride just as things were really heating up. After a couple hours of exploring Seldon Creek to the north we returned to our mooring and were shocked to see the kids still splashing around in the water. Twisting the top off a cold beer to celebrate all the exercise my dinghy outboard got, I was getting tired just watching these kids.
These kids would continue swimming, jumping, paddling and well, just being kids even as the evening rays gave way to moonlight.
Growing up on a boat I enjoyed similar simplicities such as swimming long after your fingers had pruned, perfecting your cannonball technique, and enjoying a crispy hotdog from the grill. When family friends or fellow cruisers were aboard my brother and I would sit with them and be part of the conversation, even if we had very little to contribute to the topic at hand. It was a childhood I hope every kid gets the chance to experience, if even for a short while.
As Karen and I heard the gaggle of kids scream, as kids do, before splashing into the water for the umpteenth time, Karen mentioned how it was nice to see kids actually enjoying the outdoors instead of being glued to a screen. I nodded in agreement as a screech came across the quiet cove, “I’m king of the boaarrrdddd!”
So I would only be slightly annoyed when I heard the distinctive sound of a perfectly executed cannonball at 7 the next morning.
I’m sure some of my neighbors found the screaming kids to be annoying at times, but I really didn’t mind it. I saw a lot of myself in those constantly splashing children. In fact, I’m thankful they were there to remind me of a few things; such as
It’s impossible not to smile while doing a cannonball
You can do cannonball without screaming “cannonballllll!!” before hand, but it’s more fun if you do
Charred hot dogs after swimming tastes better than the best cut of steak on a normal day
It’s OK to fall asleep at 8:30 after a full day on the water
If you want to swim as soon as you wake up, do it. Anybody rolling their eyes at you is just jealous.
I like to think that there’s an alternate universe where best laid plans actually come to fruition; a place where anchors set on the first try, seas lie flat on travel days and spare parts stay sealed and tucked away in the bottom drawer. In short, if such a universe existed, it would be the opposite of this past weekend in Essex.
The plan was for my folks and family friends to cruise up the river and spend the weekend, while my brother and his girlfriend would drive up to meet us. It all seemed simple enough. Then our friends had a medical scare that forced them to return to the dock one day into their vacation. My parent’s port prop was introduced to one of the many semi-submerged logs floating in the Sound, causing them to limp in one engine. And as for my brother, Murphy’s Law visited him in the form of a dead battery when he stopped in the middle of Connecticut. Not really the start to the weekend I was expecting.
But before you think this is a sad story, think again. In today’s world of watching out for only numero uno, we encountered a lot of people willing to offer a helping hand. A perfect stranger helped jump my brother’s truck before leading him to the auto parts store for a replacement battery. The staff at Brewer Dauntless Marina would call in staff in on a Sunday to haul my parent’s Egg Harbor and pull the props. It would have been easy for them to leave the boat on land while waiting for the folks at the nearby Hale Propeller to scan and fix the props but they insisted on towing the boat back to their original slip as to not disturb our weekend plans.
Our friend’s vacation may have ended abruptly but the medial diagnosis yielded a wholly treatable condition, for which we were all thankful.
We may have all met up a little later than expected and after a trying morning it would have been understandable if everyone were a bit grouchy. But faster than you can say “let’s go to the pool,” we were relaxing and having a good time. The evening would prove to be equal parts simple and pleasant. With a couple racks of ribs and corn on the grill, we enjoyed some beverages and caught up. Our nightly entertainment was courtesy a wildly-over-the-top party on a Sea Ray at the end of the dock. Loud club music and frequent shrieks of “whoop-whoop” was hysterical when heard from afar.
Breaking out a game of Catch Phrase (which always seems like a good idea at the time) would elicit a similar, albeit more sober, intensity. By the time we put the game away only one death threat had been made, which is pretty good.
Sunday provided us with a brilliantly beautiful morning and while most of the crew probably would have liked to stroll and shop in town, I had other plans. As loyal readers know, I have been in the grips of a fierce battle with crap-filled cormorants and my guests were unknowingly about to become my recruits. Armed with spike strips and reflecting tape, I planned on converting my classically inspired wooden mast into an intimidating death stick.
Together my parents, brother and Karen carefully and slowly pulled me to the top of the mast. I guess I took a little too long setting my spikes because next thing I knew everyone tied down the lines they were holding so they could better critique my work. “Swing your whole body out to the side,” suggested my old man. With a tie wrap stuck between my teeth, one arm around the mast and the other tying down the strip, I mustered through gritted teeth, “oh yeah, no problem.”
When the chores had ended we retreated back to the pool before all going our separate ways. A lot of obstacles originally stood in-between us and a successful weekend, but that’s the great thing about boating; it doesn’t take much to create a great weekend on the water. You don’t need reservations, or a big crowd; or as I would relearn: plans. Some of the best memories come from the simple spontaneous things like a stupid game, horsing around in a pool, or completing a simple project.
With summer weekends getting snatched up faster than you can say “we’re going boating,” Karen and I were determined to spend the 3-day 4th of July weekend doing some overdue cruising. So at 0700 on Friday we meandered down the Connecticut River to the Sound. We sailed against an incoming tide in very light air for the better part of an hour. Music was cranking, the sun was shinning, and all was right in the world. That is until I looked back and saw, well pretty much the exact same scenery I had been looking at an hour prior.
“OK, we tried,” I shrugged as we fired up the engine and set a more direct course to Long Island’s Gardiners Bay and our intended destination of Shelter Island. A fleet of fishing boats, a ripping tide, and ferries kept us on our toes and justified a few early afternoon beers (as if justification was really needed.)
With all the island’s slips and moorings filled thanks to the nearby Tall Ship Festival in Greenport, we were constrained to a small anchorage in the corner of Coecles Harbor. The clear-blue water looked almost drinkable and made for some serene afternoon swimming. If you’re cruising this area, I highly recommend this anchorage as the holding there is excellent.
But even the best anchoring conditions don’t totally dispel my phobia of dragging anchor, so we didn’t spend too much exploring the island; I hope to return, rent bikes and see what else Shelter has to offer. But for now, I’ll fondly remember the simplicity of swimming, reading a good book and some long dinghy rides.
The following morning, anticipating dreary weather and dreading a long day hiding in the cabin, we set out for Three Mile Harbor, East Hampton. It was a two-hour trek to the harbor but it was definitely worth it. The Harbor was well protected, and lined with lush green forest. It was a beautiful spot even in less-than stellar weather.
The early start to the day coupled with two nights on the boat left Karen and I with different cravings. She really wanted to use a bathroom/shower ashore and I wanted to find breakfast foods. Suffice it to say, the mooring line had barley kissed the cleat before we were in the dinghy bound for shore.
Once there I fired up my cell phone and typed in b-r-e-a-k-f-a-s-t. Nothing. In today’s instant gratification world we were in a fabled dead zone. We opted to set out on foot. “How far could it be until we hit town?” I foolishly wondered aloud. (Editors note: Blinded by a hunger for bacon and coffee, I neglected to think to myself “you know, just maybe they call this place Three Mile Harbor because, I don’t know…it’s three miles long?”)
In our haste we neglected to change out of the clothes we were wearing during the chilly sail over; our outfits were comprised of jeans, multiple shirts and raincoats. Our remaining essentials were stuffed into a red-drawstring bag. In short order the sun broke through the cloud cover providing a hot and humid backdrop for our quest. During our walk I would see something that looked like a diner, which would give us hope. “No, it’s only an old station wagon,” Karen would comment on my many mirages. 4.26 miles later we arrived in town.
Before us in neat little rows were stores emblazoned with names like Michael Kors, J Crew, Lululemon, Lilly Pulitzer etc. Frenzied flocks of hipsters shuffled between stores with multiple bags in hand, stopping only for triple macchiatos from one of the two Starbucks. It’s safe to say that we stuck out like, well, we stuck out like sailors in the Hamptons. We grabbed breakfast at a small deli on the outskirts of town before I relented to visiting some stores with Karen. Considering the 4th is also our anniversary, my wallet trembled with fear.
You can imagine my delight when after visiting two stores Karen suggested we skip the crowds and catch a mid-afternoon movie. “Woooo-hooo! Umm, I mean yeah ok, we can do that. Why don’t you go ahead and pick out some candy too!”
After a couple hours of relaxing and watching Ted 2 we stepped outside to realize the crowds had doubled in size. That cab ride back to the boat we were hoping for would not be in the forecast. We wrapped our blistered toes in Band-Aids and trekked back.
The glass-half-full part of this story is that we had once again earned some evening drinks and dinner at the East Hampton Point Restaurant. The pain from blistered feet seemed to melt away as we enjoyed a nice meal served with a stunning view of the sunset over the harbor (or maybe that was the alcohol, I digress). The meal was great but the weekend left a renewed appetite for cruising to new places. So, from now until October don’t be surprised to hear us say, “we can’t, we’re going boating.”
The morning of our last day aboard Gizmo began with a heightened sense of urgency. 106 miles, 4- to 6-foot seas, and almost 20 knots of wind stood between us and Camden, but we were determined, come hell or following seas, to get there. The hatches were battened down, and loose cameras and other assorted gear was stowed away and secured.
Leaving Isle of Shoals, off New Hampshire, in sloppy conditions, it was immediately apparent that we were in for a long day (cruising speed was an average of 9 knots). Our Duffy 37 slipped and slid down the backs of waves; the autopilot was frequently turned to standby as we slalomed through patches of lobster traps. After an hour of standing wide-legged and braced at the helm, fatigue would start to creep in. The casual watch schedule that Ellison and I had been keeping was replaced by a strict hour-on, hour-off schedule. The watch changes allowed the helmsman to be as fresh as possible, and we kept at it for most of the day.
Like many things in life, the challenging conditions we faced made our long-awaited approach into Camden that much sweeter. Conifer-covered mountains protruded from the sea in front of our bow; Ellison’s smile grew as friends threw him a wave in the inner harbor. “Man I really love it here,” said Ellison as he exhaled a deep breath of crisp, clean air.
In short order we tied Gizmo to her floating dock in the harbor, then made our way to the Ellison estate, which Ben himself built in the 1970s. After some much-needed showers, and even-more-needed glasses of wine, we found ourselves, and his lovely wife, Andrea sitting on his porch in the shade of Camden’s Mt. Battie.
We began the time-honored tradition of recounting tales from our five-day adventure. “You wouldn’t believe this burger joint we went to in Plymouth,” Ben would say. “Oh, tell Andrea about pulling into Isle of Shoals, this is a good one.”…“Yeah, then this group on the dock started chanting in unison.” Story-swapping would continue until two bottles of vino—and our remaining energy—had been polished off.
I had joined this delivery to increase my navigation and marine electronics knowledge, which I gained in spades. But the more important take away for me was how time on the water can form the most unlikely of friendships. Before pulling away from Essex, Ben and I were professional acquaintances whose only shared experiences were a couple dozen e-mails. And aside from a similar profession we’re almost as different as they come. Where Ben enjoys listening to countless hours (and I mean COUNTLESS HOURS) of talk radio and spending time with his grandchildren, I prefer country music and often have a friend from college crashing in my cramped apartment. We have very different opinions on the meaning of “optimum cruising speed” and our preferred bedtime differed by a good four hours.
Shared experiences and a common goal at sea have a funny way of erasing all those land-based differences and forming what I hope to be a long-lasting friendship.
Delivering Gizmo, a Duffy 37, with her owner Ben Ellison, who serves as Senior Electronics Editor for Power & Motoryacht and the AIM Marine Group, we found day three would be a lay day in Plymouth, Massachusetts, courtesy large seas and strong winds, which ended up being a blessing in disguise. I got to go ashore and reconnect with my land-based responsibilities and Ben took to cleaning and prepping Gizmo for the next leg of our trip.
In the evening we reconvened ashore for dinner. We settled upon KKatie’s Burger Bar, just a short walk from the boat and both determined it was the home of the best burgers we’ve ever had. If you’re cruising in the area, take note!
Cruising conditions on day four stood in stark contrast to the last two days; after a few hours of easy cruising atop flat seas we made it to Gloucester, Massachusetts, an iconic fishing town that was cast into the spotlight by the events and later the book and the film of The Perfect Storm. It was there that Ellison—who suffers from a condition known as being a sailor—set out to find the “most affordable” fuel in New England. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scratching my head as Gizmo, a pristine and elegant yacht, was squeezed into a tiny space between a wrecked schooner and a fuel barge named Capt. Dan to save a few cents per gallon. Ellison would get the last laugh as we ended up paying $2.36 (without tax) per gallon of diesel. This is down from the $3.36 they were charging in Plymouth.
With Ben now wearing a proud smile, we continued on through the Annisquam Canal to the Gulf of Maine. From there I got a decent stretch of time at the helm and with the electronics. As I had hoped, I began to become familiar with the once-dizzying helm, to the point where I found a particular setup that I preferred.
As swells started to build, we sought shelter in the lee of a group of islands off the New Hampshire coast called Isle of Shoals. Owned by a private religious organization, the island gave off a strange vibe (for movie buffs reading this, the place looked like the island featured in the Leonardo DiCaprio film Shutter Island). As Ben and I got settled in, a small ferry departed the nearby dock. A group that had gathered dockside to see the passengers off began to sing/chant in unison, “You will come back, you will come back, you will come back.”
My eyebrows rose in a sign of shock; and my first instinct was to cut the mooring line and head straight for the mainland before being force-fed Kool-Aid.
Ultimately our curiosity surpassed our fear and we rowed ashore to explore the rocky Star Island. It would prove to be a fascinating small island with a chapel, old homes, and a massive hotel that all date back hundreds of years. The only sign of modern technology was an expansive fleet of solar panels; it was a strange juxtaposition to see it next to a jagged, rocky coast. We were both glad to have visited the island, sans Kool-Aid.
Up bright and early tomorrow for the final leg to Camden. I’m sure it’ll be just as memorable as the last few days.
0515: We raise the anchor and pull out of Point Judith’s Harbor of Refuge and into the Sound. The promise of 30 knots of wind in the afternoon inspired us to start early and get through the Cape Cod Canal as quickly as possible. Once through the canal, the strong wind and waves would be on our stern. That was the plan.
Two- to 3-foot chop on the beam was a rude wakeup call. The weather wasn’t the only thing not cooperating with us; we had electronic difficulty as well. For some reason—unknown at the moment—our Raymarine electronic compass failed, causing us to lose heading info. The result of this was that our chart plotters showed the boat facing south while we were running east. The good news is that Gizmo has multiple redundancies of every system and our Simrad plotter (running off a separate electronic compass) was picking up our heading just fine. There is a lesson here: Even on a floating laboratory like Gizmo, things happen and backups need to be ready to be called into the game.
Like the eye of a storm, the Cape Cod Canal was a calm and peaceful middle of our day. Navigating from the flying bridge, I sat with the warm sun on my face as bridges, fishermen, and other boats passed by. Intent on making lunch, Ben stepped away from the bridge and suggested that I plot the next leg of our course from the canal mouth to Scituate, Massachusetts.
“I didn’t plot that part yet, but it’s super simple,” said Ellison.
“Plot the course, OK, got it,” I responded, as the fleet of MFDs stared up at me. I started with the Furuno at the far left, quickly grew discouraged and moved on to the Raymarine display. I got closer that time but couldn’t immediately locate Scituate. This game continued until I got to the Garmin MFD to the far right. Garmin was what I use on my boat.
“Come on ol’ buddy, don’t let me down now,” I whispered, hoping that it would help. It didn’t. This brings me to lesson number two of the day: The best marine electronics money can buy are only as helpful as your working knowledge of each unit. After a few minutes I did get the Garmin course set and shortly after, sucessfully set a course on the Furuno display. I plan on practicing with the other MFDs on the helm tomorrow when conditions are better.
After leaving the canal, we were met by steep following seas and wind gusts to 34 knots that had us surfing and swerving our way up the Massachusetts coast. After a few hours of rocking and rolling Ben made the (smart) decision to grab a mooring at the Plymouth Yacht Club in Plymouth, Massachusetts, for the night. The timing was right; after we got settled in the protected harbor we witnessed wind gusts north of 40 knots.
A short walk from the marina took us past the fabled Plymouth Rock (the alleged location where the pilgrims first landed in the America). Tourist-filled buses filed out to see the overhyped stone. We quickly made our way passed the selfie-snapping tourists in search of dinner and a cold drink.
We found both at a waterfront eatery called Cabby Shack. Plymouth is a nice town to walk around and explore, which is good, because strong winds will likely keep us here for another day.