8-21-2010 0820therabouts Nashawena MA. So, the wind seems to have come up a bit. I heard voices from across the water in the night, and saw a riding light..turns out to be a 30 foot cabin cruiser anchored some distance away. No one else around, but at least one ferry between Cuttyhunk and maybe New Bedford has gone by. Not as in 'drive your car on' ferry...in fact, the main motorized vehicle on the island are of the golf cart pursuasion. But in the summer there are several connecting runs a day. People come and stay in The Bass Club, which was once the exclusive province of New York fiancial men, who came to stay, drink, smoke and be taken by carriage and buckboard to 'stands'...fishing places riveted into the rocks at strategic casting points along the shore. Each one had someone to manage the bait, of course. And the pictures in the historical museum of the fish they caught are the things of legends...dragons and monsters. Striped bass, codfish, lobsters, pythons, maybe anacondas seem to just go right on growing...most of us stop short soon after we get a jolt of testosterone or estrogen...maybe they don't? Kim Atwood asked this questions years ago, and kept on feeding his python to see if it would just keep on getting bigger...was a little disappointed when it seemed to slow down, and finally died. And I dont really know any answers, but they did have some big bass back in those days. This summer I learned, visiting the Growth and Development Course at MBL in Woods Hole, that those serrated edge giant clams we all know from pictures start as little things and actually take 400 years to grow that giant. Even the common quahog, venus mercenaria, the source of the purple wampum bead, can get to be 30 years old before its thick enough of shell to make a really good bead. So these men of yesteryear were landing some pretty big bass, perhaps 50 years old? I resist the temptation to look...still no way of recharging the iphone.
Time to set sail
Take off the sail ties. Pull out the choke. Start the motor. Throttle down. Start creeping ahead into the wind. Pull in the anchor. Stow it behind the mast. Rush back before the boat heads too far off the wind, and crack the throttle, steer the boat out into open water. Lower the centerboard. Head up into the wind. Pull on the purple throat halyard to raise the gaff where it sits crotched on the mast, and the white peak halyard to raise the sail. Make sure the sail is on the right side of the uphaul. Keep the boat pointing into the wind and raise the sail all the way up, and out of the boom crotch, piling the halyard ropes in the cockpit. Cleat the halyards. Head off the wind. Pull in the sheet until it catches the wind and set a course that will work with the wind and the trip to Penikese.
time out, will do more later.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Crusin' 2010, Day 2 also
8-21-2010 Odarkhundred Nashawena Beach Well, the spectacle of night at anchor continues. First of all, the sound and motion. Water slapping the hull of the Susie P, of the Diaper Rash dinghy. Waves on the beach just a few feet downwind. Some clanging of halyards against aluminum mast. Some cricket noises from the meadows and copses of Nashawena. Occasional sleep sounds of boats passing further out, airplanes passing overhead. Then the movement. A kind of gyrating mixing movement, compounded out for the waves hitting a little off center and the tubby Susie P reacting with a little lift, a swerve, and a roll. Once set off, it continues for several cycles, a few seconds each, and then damps out until re-excited by the next wave train. Not enough to throw me out of the bunk, and neither Fuji nor I seem to be sick, but still movement. We are sleeping out in the cockpit, on a one seat that folds out to be a table or a bunk, and the foam cushion from the fo'csl. A little too stuffy down below. And besides, there is the movement of the air, and the smells of eel grass fron the beach, filled with the dying and the living eating them, all contributing to the smell. And the night sky, first with an early almost full moon rise, and then, much later, moonset and the amazing intensity of Orion's belt far to the East, and the Big Dipper, pointing the way North overhead. I wake frequently, hanging on to the furled sail and boom to comfortably pee over the side, downwind. And drink some water, pat Fuji where she has burrowed into the sleeping bag, and go back for another cycle through dreams. All boats and water, and not much theme that I can remember. A lot of my dreams are focussed on arranging things, or getting things in order. Hmmm. Only occasionally sex. Not always hetero. Hmmm Not really well remembered in conscious daytime life.
And then its getting light in the East, behind the island, and the color is coming back to the waters reflections, a little wind out of the North, and, as we get into the Diaper Rash to row the few feet to shore, the first light striking the highest points on Cuttyhunk. Another walk along the beach, you never see all the good stuff with just one pass. A tapestry of fishnet and barnacles. Very smelly. A staff worthy of Moses..got several of those already. 4 left shoes...whats the odds of that? And of course, the usual riprap of lobster bouys, long line bouys, beer cans and plastic Bic lighters, mixing with the eel grass and bits of styrofoam.
Wet by the waves, the pebbles brought by the glaciers are amazing.Granites of all colors, from white/yellow to blue/black, with a lot of red. Basalts. Quartz of all colors. Some puddingstones, aggregates, but most of them are soft enough to be sand already. I pick up some for future necklaces.
Fuji wants to go inland, and we found a cowpath marked liberally with cowpats in various stages of dehydration. No poison oak on this well worn path. No cows in evidence. Highland cattle are generally friendly, or at least uninterested,but they look dangerous and engaged, hair in their eyes or standing on end. We zig and zag around some patches of catbriar and bayberry, seeing no poison ivy at all. The shore growth gives way to mostly knee high dry grass, with the patches of stuff harboring all sorts of wonderful smelling things that Fuji would like to have a close encounter with. Her tail waves behind her as she burrows into a particular tempting patch. I watch a rabbit exiting from the other side. Hmm, no word for that in our shared vocabulary. She did kill a whole nest full of young rabbits next door, dutifully bring home bunny after dead bunny in gentle jaws...and we didnt punish this natural behavior. There ARE too many rabbits. And punishing anything so natural wouldnt be a clear message. On the other hand, cats are strictly off limits. Probably could stop an impetuous kitten grab...except by avoiding the circumstance.
The sun is up. There are boats out in the Bay. Time to get off this forbidden land and sail to Penikese and then, who knows?
And then its getting light in the East, behind the island, and the color is coming back to the waters reflections, a little wind out of the North, and, as we get into the Diaper Rash to row the few feet to shore, the first light striking the highest points on Cuttyhunk. Another walk along the beach, you never see all the good stuff with just one pass. A tapestry of fishnet and barnacles. Very smelly. A staff worthy of Moses..got several of those already. 4 left shoes...whats the odds of that? And of course, the usual riprap of lobster bouys, long line bouys, beer cans and plastic Bic lighters, mixing with the eel grass and bits of styrofoam.
Wet by the waves, the pebbles brought by the glaciers are amazing.Granites of all colors, from white/yellow to blue/black, with a lot of red. Basalts. Quartz of all colors. Some puddingstones, aggregates, but most of them are soft enough to be sand already. I pick up some for future necklaces.
Fuji wants to go inland, and we found a cowpath marked liberally with cowpats in various stages of dehydration. No poison oak on this well worn path. No cows in evidence. Highland cattle are generally friendly, or at least uninterested,but they look dangerous and engaged, hair in their eyes or standing on end. We zig and zag around some patches of catbriar and bayberry, seeing no poison ivy at all. The shore growth gives way to mostly knee high dry grass, with the patches of stuff harboring all sorts of wonderful smelling things that Fuji would like to have a close encounter with. Her tail waves behind her as she burrows into a particular tempting patch. I watch a rabbit exiting from the other side. Hmm, no word for that in our shared vocabulary. She did kill a whole nest full of young rabbits next door, dutifully bring home bunny after dead bunny in gentle jaws...and we didnt punish this natural behavior. There ARE too many rabbits. And punishing anything so natural wouldnt be a clear message. On the other hand, cats are strictly off limits. Probably could stop an impetuous kitten grab...except by avoiding the circumstance.
The sun is up. There are boats out in the Bay. Time to get off this forbidden land and sail to Penikese and then, who knows?
Crusin' 2010, Day 2
8-20-2010 Friday 1800thereabouts, Nashawena, Gosnold county, MA. Notes on the quality of life at anchor. We're a few feet off the pebble beach, one of several scooped out of the edges of Nashawena, facing NW towards Penikese. They're formed between linear piles of larger Erratics (the name for large boulders distributed by the melting of glaciers, and form a place that collects smaller pebbles and sand, if there is any being moved around. Humans collect those piles into jettys and wharfs, with the intent of collecting even more sand, which is nice for bathing. But here on the Elizabeth islands, its mostly still as the glaciers left it. Some beaches have sand, some are pebbles. The little dinghy, dating from my fathers purchase over 40 years ago, scrapes against the beach, and Fuji leaps out, eager for anything that might be waiting. Her head is held high, her ears fully upright, her gait a little stiff and very bouncy. Like a boxer coming out of her corner, adrenaline running, ready to get it on. Her unfailing and memorable attitude towards life, at age almost 2 years. She barks first, asks questions later. But her initial reconoitre is silent, except for the faint tinkling noise made by her name tag against her rabies tag. Otherwise, shes a silent little predator, ferocious among the chipmunks and the young rabbits, yearning for squirrels. On the beach, she chases the sandpipers into flight. The few gulls laconically push off into the few knots of wind as well. So she chases waves, barking now.
I look at the sunset. Its happening over the end of Cuttyhunk, with a cloudbank reflecting a whole range of colors from purple to bright crimson. Coyote time, so I also keep an eye on the little dog, to be sure she doesnt head off inland. This Northwestern side of the island is gently sloping sandy ground covered by patches of catbriar and poison ivy springing in little spinnys and patches from the rough brown grass that the Highland cattle who graze this island keep healthy. I guess they must also eat back the bigger stuff, or is this the natural balance? Maybe tomorrow we'll explore in the early hours. But generally I keep to the water and the tideline, in keeping with the Forbes tolerance of visitors only on specific beaches.
There's a very faint onshore wind out of the North that keeps Susie P headed off the beach, riding well on two Danforth anchors. The sun continues down. Of course, further to the West, its just noon. And in the antipodes, its just going down. Hmmm. Sticking with the here and now, colors are almost audibly blazing, cascading reds and oranges, and where do those purples come from? Do I believe in the Green Flash? Well, i've had the sensation, but do I think its out there, or in here? Oh my goodness, I could even look it up on the web. But the iphone charger isnt working with my weakened battery. Not even enough power to run the riding lights, that all boats with masts are supposed to display when riding at anchor. So knowledge will have to wait.
A time for reflection. Literally the reflection of the color on the wrinkling twinkling water. Figurative, the emotional colorations of the day. What a good little dog! Finished running for now, checking out piles of seaweed. Hope I spot any rotton rish or dead birds before she rolls in it. Sailing, the little dog sprawls around on the benches in the cockpit, or under one, if the weather is not so pleasant. Or goes forward in the cabin and makes a nest out of the sleeping bag put there for that purpose. Loosen the sheet. Always ready for affection. Always pleasantly willing to engage in what I propose. And if we disagree, hey, she weighs 11 pounds 4 oz and I can pick her up.
And what about me, am I a good little person? Feels that way just now. Could still use a few pounds off the middle, and I wish I was further along in my family practice recertification process. Feel the stiff pain in my right hip area when I try to stretch, and wish my hands weren't starting to swell up and get painful with arthralgias. Definitely would prefer my left knee meniscus was not getting tweaked when I try to run, and havent been able to run since last years trip to Maine. But all things considered, everything is working pretty well. And mentally? Well, there again, I can perceive that changes. Senior moments of not being able to rememember a specific word come more frequently. I don't remember consciously things I want to write about, and am not sure I will recall them in the flow of thought when I start to write. I sometimes feel, without any apparent drug effect, that everything makes sense and that I understand it, which I assume is a brain failure rather than a mini satori experience. I get angry, I swear when I encounter adversity, I blame others for my predicaments, I don't accept criticism well, or at least not without blaming who says it, usually of course Sala. In fact, more reflection on our relationship is always a good way use time. But just now, its time to go back to the Susie P with the little dog and make dinner, get ready for bed.
Remember:
Take off the sail ties. Pull out the choke. Start the motor. Throttle down. Start creeping ahead into the wind. Pull in the anchor. Stow it behind the mast. Rush back before the boat heads too far off the wind, and crack the throttle, steer the boat out into open water. Lower the centerboard. Head up into the wind. Pull on the purple throat halyard to raise the gaff where it sits crotched on the mast, and the white peak halyard to raise the sail. Make sure the sail is on the right side of the uphaul. Keep the boat pointing into the wind and raise the sail all the way up, and out of the boom crotch, piling the halyard ropes in the cockpit. Cleat the halyards. Head off the wind. Pull in the sheet until it catches the wind and set a course that will work with the wind and with your desired direction.
And:
Hoist up the centerboard. Start the outboard, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet.Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
I look at the sunset. Its happening over the end of Cuttyhunk, with a cloudbank reflecting a whole range of colors from purple to bright crimson. Coyote time, so I also keep an eye on the little dog, to be sure she doesnt head off inland. This Northwestern side of the island is gently sloping sandy ground covered by patches of catbriar and poison ivy springing in little spinnys and patches from the rough brown grass that the Highland cattle who graze this island keep healthy. I guess they must also eat back the bigger stuff, or is this the natural balance? Maybe tomorrow we'll explore in the early hours. But generally I keep to the water and the tideline, in keeping with the Forbes tolerance of visitors only on specific beaches.
There's a very faint onshore wind out of the North that keeps Susie P headed off the beach, riding well on two Danforth anchors. The sun continues down. Of course, further to the West, its just noon. And in the antipodes, its just going down. Hmmm. Sticking with the here and now, colors are almost audibly blazing, cascading reds and oranges, and where do those purples come from? Do I believe in the Green Flash? Well, i've had the sensation, but do I think its out there, or in here? Oh my goodness, I could even look it up on the web. But the iphone charger isnt working with my weakened battery. Not even enough power to run the riding lights, that all boats with masts are supposed to display when riding at anchor. So knowledge will have to wait.
A time for reflection. Literally the reflection of the color on the wrinkling twinkling water. Figurative, the emotional colorations of the day. What a good little dog! Finished running for now, checking out piles of seaweed. Hope I spot any rotton rish or dead birds before she rolls in it. Sailing, the little dog sprawls around on the benches in the cockpit, or under one, if the weather is not so pleasant. Or goes forward in the cabin and makes a nest out of the sleeping bag put there for that purpose. Loosen the sheet. Always ready for affection. Always pleasantly willing to engage in what I propose. And if we disagree, hey, she weighs 11 pounds 4 oz and I can pick her up.
And what about me, am I a good little person? Feels that way just now. Could still use a few pounds off the middle, and I wish I was further along in my family practice recertification process. Feel the stiff pain in my right hip area when I try to stretch, and wish my hands weren't starting to swell up and get painful with arthralgias. Definitely would prefer my left knee meniscus was not getting tweaked when I try to run, and havent been able to run since last years trip to Maine. But all things considered, everything is working pretty well. And mentally? Well, there again, I can perceive that changes. Senior moments of not being able to rememember a specific word come more frequently. I don't remember consciously things I want to write about, and am not sure I will recall them in the flow of thought when I start to write. I sometimes feel, without any apparent drug effect, that everything makes sense and that I understand it, which I assume is a brain failure rather than a mini satori experience. I get angry, I swear when I encounter adversity, I blame others for my predicaments, I don't accept criticism well, or at least not without blaming who says it, usually of course Sala. In fact, more reflection on our relationship is always a good way use time. But just now, its time to go back to the Susie P with the little dog and make dinner, get ready for bed.
Remember:
Take off the sail ties. Pull out the choke. Start the motor. Throttle down. Start creeping ahead into the wind. Pull in the anchor. Stow it behind the mast. Rush back before the boat heads too far off the wind, and crack the throttle, steer the boat out into open water. Lower the centerboard. Head up into the wind. Pull on the purple throat halyard to raise the gaff where it sits crotched on the mast, and the white peak halyard to raise the sail. Make sure the sail is on the right side of the uphaul. Keep the boat pointing into the wind and raise the sail all the way up, and out of the boom crotch, piling the halyard ropes in the cockpit. Cleat the halyards. Head off the wind. Pull in the sheet until it catches the wind and set a course that will work with the wind and with your desired direction.
And:
Hoist up the centerboard. Start the outboard, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet.Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
Monday, August 23, 2010
08-23-2010 1655 Green House Woods Hole MA.
It was a dark and rainy day. Seven people of assorted genders were sitting around in front of a fire. One of them said, let us tell a story.
It was a dark.....
I've always loved that, because I think Burr told it to me originally. Like lining up two mirrors so that the reflections march off towards infinity...and the New Yorker cartoon that showed, in the 7th or so re-reflection, the hidden beast. So I imagine that somewhere down the first chapter of the repeating story single words begin to change, and eventually it morphs into a fully individualized story of its own. Evolutionary change. Or at the 101st retelling, a sudden complete departure bookended by the same familiar "It was..." and "...a story". Hmmm.
This is the story of the trip in a sailing ship that my little dog (laughing of course) and I made with a dish and a spoon, among other things.
08-20-2010 0605, Woods Hole. Sala has left, yesterday, for Washington DC to join Tirien and go to a wedding tomorrow. Delays..she says its the last time flying United, so she misses an event she had wanted to go to related to Tirien's work as a teacher of law. Fuji is a little apprehensive that all this preparation and Sala's departure means she will be left behind, so shes sticking pretty close. We drive into Falmouth for the joys of a nearly empty Stop and Shop..it opens at 6, so its not one of those really spooky experiences of 2 am shopping. The check out clerk is quite normal, as are the re-stockers. We get ice, eggs, bacon, broccoli and the essentials for a three day boat trip in Vineyard Sound, Buzzards Bay, and down along the Elizabeth Islands. I have a list. Its the first time I've gone out for several days on the Susie P, our tubby darling fiberglas catboat, purchased with retirement buyout money several years ago. All 18 feet length 8 foot beam, 6 mph hull speed 1975 vintage of her. Yesterday I checked the electrical system including running and riding lights to be sure it was working (my first installation burned to a smelly crisp within seconds of turning it on). The mighty 6 hp 4 stroke outboard engine started on the first pull. The mouse holes eaten in the sail last winter (how the heck did a mouse get into the completely closed boat?) have been patched by skilled hands. The tide will ebb at 8 AM, and the wind is predicted on Weatherunderground to be 6-8 mph out of the NE, great for sailing down towards Cuttyhunk.
You may remember the chain of sandy hills left as a terminal morain by the Laurentian glaciation and now, knee deep in water, are called the Elizabeth Islands...Nonamesset, Vekatimest, Uncatena, Wee Peckets, Naushon, Pasque, Nashawena, Penikese and Cuttyhunk. All privately owned by the Forbes family except for Cuttyhunk, and its tiny town of Gosnold, in its own county of Gosnold. Thus all pretty much as they were back when Tarpaulin Cove had an Inn and a town of its own, and when the water of Vineyard Sound was probably the busiest in the world. And when Woods Hole was just getting out of the business of whaleship making and into the business of fertilizer production. Using guano brought around the Horn combined with phosphate and stinking menhaden. With works on Pensance Point. Now the exclusive residence of old moneyed families descended from the New York bankers. Land that, so the story goes, the nascent Marine Biological Laboratory founders were offered, but refused because it was too far from the railway station.
So our trip is to get out of Woods Hole, feel the wind and the tides, and sail away to somewhere miles away, but within the relatively protected area bounded by Marthas Vineyard, Cuttyhunk, New Bedford and Woods Hole.
I drive what always seems like an amazing amount of stuff for only a few days down to Kanwishers boathouse, where the little dinghy that I tow behind Susie P is located. But for this, I will bring the sailboat up to the dock and load the heavy stuff..like water and the ice chest. First we drive the car home, and come back down by bicycle,w ith Fuji happily running along beside. She no longer lunges dangerously between the wheels to chase rabbits, but will take off into a hedge if the provocation presents. But at this hour, most rabbits are in bed for the day. We stop to consult with Ruth whose lips are sore from repeated trauma resulting from eating with a tremor. I've compounded a mixture that will never make it to market of steroid, antibiotic and anti-fungal that is easy to put on twice daily. We consult, and continue. Back at the boat, its near a dead calm, but surely there will be wind out in the Sound. And so, just before 10, we motor away from the dock, through the anchorage of boats in Great Harbor (what they launched the whaleships into) and out to the red and green bell bouys that mark the entrance to Woods Hole.
Actually, they mark the channel between Edgartown on the Vineyard and New Bedford. As I've explained before, the bouy colors in The Hole ( as Woods Hole Passage is known) refer to the trip between those two places, and not the then tiny town of Woods Hole. That, and the apparently wide expanse of water in the middle, which is only a few feet deep over Middle Ledge and Red Ledge, regularly lures unwary boaters into unwise and uncharted decisions.
Out close to the clanging, we point up into the north, hoist up the catboats 250 square foot single sail (with a stars and stripes motif; the model was called the Herreshof 'America'), point the boat towards the Vineyard, and shut off the engine. The burble of the wake. The slapping of little waves against the dinghy (which has always been called 'Diaper Rash', since it was acquired when Aminta was in diapers). The bang dong and blang blong of the distinct noises the two different bouys are making. The conversational snatches of two guys futilely chasing little schools of false albacore (famously hard to catch). Ahh!!!
Its a bright day, and the wind does come up a bit, and the ebb has started, carrying us on a long run angling towards the Vineyard. One, maybe 2 knots at most, but aided by 2 knots of current we are past Lackey's Bay (the dividing line between Nonamesset and Naushon) and running in towards Tarpaulin Cove. We make a rest stop there. Sail gently in, hauling in on the sheet to come off the broad reach and into the East end of the cove. The water shallows. Time to take down sail.
First step is to start the motor. The outboard is actually kinda inboard, in a well towards the back of the boat, but still starts like a lawnmower and sounds like one too.
Then you can hoist up the centerboard, which is a 150 pound steel sheet that sticks down to create a vector force that will make the wind power be translated into forward motion. Start the outboard with the choke pulled out, push in the choke, turn down the throttle, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet. The sail, boom, and gaff start making that impotent annoying rattling metalofabric noise that means we are coming into the wind. Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, which then come down with a squealing of metal pulleys high on the mast to bunch up between the lazy jacks and to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
Did you catch all that? No, well let me scream it lounder!! Most likely leaving out important parts!! Using words you havent really learned, or have forgotten since the last time out.
No wonder Sala has her reservations about sailing. She doesnt like screaming in any form, and the combination of Alan+screaming+unfamiliar words+water+wind+metal wood and canvas thrashing noises + danger of fast moving large dangerous equipment has made a lasting imprint on her already.
But this first taking in the sail is in open water, on a sunny day, with a 2-5 knot wind and no one around except the couple from the power boat anchored down the way, now walking along the sandy foreshore apparently beachcombing in the wrack of weed and flotsam.
I toss in the anchor, a 5 pound Danforth. There's a 15 pound Danforth down below, but for these conditions I figure the single small anchor is great. Plus I can see the bottom, and watch as the anchor snags on a weed covered rock, a secure hold.
Fugi has to be coaxed over the coaming and I pick her up and lower her into the dinghy. She finds her ball and wants to play. We row for the beach, and she leaps out as we touch, something she will repeat under a variety of conditions, including when I am trying to push the dinghy off a beach with a 15 knot onshore wind and breaking waves. But later for that.
We throw and retrieve. We play keep away. We prance off into the grass, probably into the poison ivy, which explains the very itchy welts that are coming up on my mid chest, in a place where cuddling furry Fuji is the most likely exposure. Probably ticks,and the Elizabeth Islands have deer ticks with the highest incidence of Lyme disease anywhere.
For the next hours, we have plenty of times to feel for ticks. The wind never rises above a breeze. But first we have to make sail.
Loosen the sheet holding the boom in the boom crotch. Take off the sail ties. Pull out the choke. Start the motor. Throttle down. Engage forward and start creeping ahead into the wind. Go forward, pull in the anchor. Clear off the weeds and mud before bringing on deck, and stow it behind the mast in front of the cabin. Rush back before the boat heads too far off the wind, and crack the throttle, steer the boat out into open water. Lower the centerboard. Head up into the wind. Pull on the purple throat halyard to raise the gaff where it sits crotched on the mast, and the white peak halyard to raise the sail. Make sure the sail is on the right side of the uphaul. Keep the boat pointing into the wind and raise the sail all the way up, and out of the boom crotch, piling the halyard ropes in the cockpit. Cleat the halyards. Head off the wind. Pull in the sheet until it catches the wind and set a course that will work with the wind and with your desired direction.
Well, it all sounds simple, and it was, with a 2 know wind on a beautiful sunny day on the East end of Tarpaulin Cove on Naushon Island.
We sailed out of the cove on West wind, and made a long tack down past the lighthouse, which is really a perfect little lighthouse, now maintained by the Forbses, rather than the USCG (you can use google image type in Tarpaulin Cove Lighthouse). Around the point is French Watering Place, and then a narrow rocky set of beaches and points under more high sand cliffs. The sand is topped with bonsaied and topiarized elm and oak, probably centuries old, but small and beaten low by the winter winds. Its a beach laden with treasure, but landing is more difficult from a sailboat, and we have a really nice tack, moving along smoothly at a water speed of about 2-3 knots which translates to 5 mph because of the tide that ebbs South along the island. Ahead is Marthas Vineyard and Menempsha, but not for today. The tide will turn at 3 and we would never make it back against the wind.
We sail right past Robinsons Hole, with West End Farm on the end of Naushon facing the caretakers residences on Pasque across the passage. There are big tidal wetlands on the end of Pasque nearest us, and then the land rises, mostly to the SE as it does on all of this glacier deposited ground, and then sloping gradually to the Buzzards Bay side, on the NW. Pasque is kinda small and round, and so we soon reach Quicks Hole, a wider passage, and come about to tack through it. Now we're on the Bay side, less wind, and after rounding a rocky point, we decide to take down sail and go ashore in the dinghy.
Hoist up the centerboard. Start the outboard with the choke pulled out, push in the choke, turn down the throttle, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet.Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, which then come down with a squealing of metal pulleys high on the mast to bunch up between the lazy jacks and to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
we anchor off a rocky little cove beach. Beautiful swimming water, and also a challenging beach for Fuji to run on. A perfectly good boathook has washed up as well. And lunch..left over spanish tortilla and an orange.
The tide has turned by the time its time. Remember:
Loosen the sheet . Take off the sail ties. Pull out the choke. Start the motor. Throttle down. Start creeping ahead into the wind. Pull in the anchor. Stow it behind the mast. Rush back before the boat heads too far off the wind, and crack the throttle, steer the boat out into open water. Lower the centerboard. Head up into the wind. Pull on the purple throat halyard to raise the gaff where it sits crotched on the mast, and the white peak halyard to raise the sail. Make sure the sail is on the right side of the uphaul. Keep the boat pointing into the wind and raise the sail all the way up, and out of the boom crotch, piling the halyard ropes in the cockpit. Cleat the halyards. Head off the wind. Pull in the sheet until it catches the wind and set a course that will work with the wind and with your desired direction.
Which in this case is to continue along Nashawena. About halfway along theres a couple farm houses, a big barn, and a useful looking 30 foot work boat tied up to a dock, all on a little bay behind a sand spit with what looks like open water to the South. White, as are the clouds. Green trees and grass. Blue sky. This makes the water blue. Penikese island and Cuttyhunk, up ahead, are still a little hazy, but getting clearer every moment.
With the wind only a few knots, I dont want to go to far anywhere, so we sail down past Penikese, then tack back downwind towards the mob of boats anchored outside the rock mole that protects the narrow channel into Cuttyhunk harbor. This used to be a tidal wash, back in the day when Cuttyhunk was a part of Nashawena...centuries ago. It costs $40 to moor overnight inside, and I'm not interested in the inside part anyway, although I would like to go back to the historical museum again sometime. Instead, we sail through the anchored boats, checking them out and being checked, and then clear away back along the wind to Nashawena. Soon, its 6 PM and we are off the shallow little cove that I want to anchor in for the night. OK, so....
Hoist up the centerboard. Start the outboard, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet.Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
And I'll end there for today, and come back to the sensational sunset, the moon, the stars, the sound of the night sea and the next day.
It was a dark and rainy day. Seven people of assorted genders were sitting around in front of a fire. One of them said, let us tell a story.
It was a dark.....
I've always loved that, because I think Burr told it to me originally. Like lining up two mirrors so that the reflections march off towards infinity...and the New Yorker cartoon that showed, in the 7th or so re-reflection, the hidden beast. So I imagine that somewhere down the first chapter of the repeating story single words begin to change, and eventually it morphs into a fully individualized story of its own. Evolutionary change. Or at the 101st retelling, a sudden complete departure bookended by the same familiar "It was..." and "...a story". Hmmm.
This is the story of the trip in a sailing ship that my little dog (laughing of course) and I made with a dish and a spoon, among other things.
08-20-2010 0605, Woods Hole. Sala has left, yesterday, for Washington DC to join Tirien and go to a wedding tomorrow. Delays..she says its the last time flying United, so she misses an event she had wanted to go to related to Tirien's work as a teacher of law. Fuji is a little apprehensive that all this preparation and Sala's departure means she will be left behind, so shes sticking pretty close. We drive into Falmouth for the joys of a nearly empty Stop and Shop..it opens at 6, so its not one of those really spooky experiences of 2 am shopping. The check out clerk is quite normal, as are the re-stockers. We get ice, eggs, bacon, broccoli and the essentials for a three day boat trip in Vineyard Sound, Buzzards Bay, and down along the Elizabeth Islands. I have a list. Its the first time I've gone out for several days on the Susie P, our tubby darling fiberglas catboat, purchased with retirement buyout money several years ago. All 18 feet length 8 foot beam, 6 mph hull speed 1975 vintage of her. Yesterday I checked the electrical system including running and riding lights to be sure it was working (my first installation burned to a smelly crisp within seconds of turning it on). The mighty 6 hp 4 stroke outboard engine started on the first pull. The mouse holes eaten in the sail last winter (how the heck did a mouse get into the completely closed boat?) have been patched by skilled hands. The tide will ebb at 8 AM, and the wind is predicted on Weatherunderground to be 6-8 mph out of the NE, great for sailing down towards Cuttyhunk.
You may remember the chain of sandy hills left as a terminal morain by the Laurentian glaciation and now, knee deep in water, are called the Elizabeth Islands...Nonamesset, Vekatimest, Uncatena, Wee Peckets, Naushon, Pasque, Nashawena, Penikese and Cuttyhunk. All privately owned by the Forbes family except for Cuttyhunk, and its tiny town of Gosnold, in its own county of Gosnold. Thus all pretty much as they were back when Tarpaulin Cove had an Inn and a town of its own, and when the water of Vineyard Sound was probably the busiest in the world. And when Woods Hole was just getting out of the business of whaleship making and into the business of fertilizer production. Using guano brought around the Horn combined with phosphate and stinking menhaden. With works on Pensance Point. Now the exclusive residence of old moneyed families descended from the New York bankers. Land that, so the story goes, the nascent Marine Biological Laboratory founders were offered, but refused because it was too far from the railway station.
So our trip is to get out of Woods Hole, feel the wind and the tides, and sail away to somewhere miles away, but within the relatively protected area bounded by Marthas Vineyard, Cuttyhunk, New Bedford and Woods Hole.
I drive what always seems like an amazing amount of stuff for only a few days down to Kanwishers boathouse, where the little dinghy that I tow behind Susie P is located. But for this, I will bring the sailboat up to the dock and load the heavy stuff..like water and the ice chest. First we drive the car home, and come back down by bicycle,w ith Fuji happily running along beside. She no longer lunges dangerously between the wheels to chase rabbits, but will take off into a hedge if the provocation presents. But at this hour, most rabbits are in bed for the day. We stop to consult with Ruth whose lips are sore from repeated trauma resulting from eating with a tremor. I've compounded a mixture that will never make it to market of steroid, antibiotic and anti-fungal that is easy to put on twice daily. We consult, and continue. Back at the boat, its near a dead calm, but surely there will be wind out in the Sound. And so, just before 10, we motor away from the dock, through the anchorage of boats in Great Harbor (what they launched the whaleships into) and out to the red and green bell bouys that mark the entrance to Woods Hole.
Actually, they mark the channel between Edgartown on the Vineyard and New Bedford. As I've explained before, the bouy colors in The Hole ( as Woods Hole Passage is known) refer to the trip between those two places, and not the then tiny town of Woods Hole. That, and the apparently wide expanse of water in the middle, which is only a few feet deep over Middle Ledge and Red Ledge, regularly lures unwary boaters into unwise and uncharted decisions.
Out close to the clanging, we point up into the north, hoist up the catboats 250 square foot single sail (with a stars and stripes motif; the model was called the Herreshof 'America'), point the boat towards the Vineyard, and shut off the engine. The burble of the wake. The slapping of little waves against the dinghy (which has always been called 'Diaper Rash', since it was acquired when Aminta was in diapers). The bang dong and blang blong of the distinct noises the two different bouys are making. The conversational snatches of two guys futilely chasing little schools of false albacore (famously hard to catch). Ahh!!!
Its a bright day, and the wind does come up a bit, and the ebb has started, carrying us on a long run angling towards the Vineyard. One, maybe 2 knots at most, but aided by 2 knots of current we are past Lackey's Bay (the dividing line between Nonamesset and Naushon) and running in towards Tarpaulin Cove. We make a rest stop there. Sail gently in, hauling in on the sheet to come off the broad reach and into the East end of the cove. The water shallows. Time to take down sail.
First step is to start the motor. The outboard is actually kinda inboard, in a well towards the back of the boat, but still starts like a lawnmower and sounds like one too.
Then you can hoist up the centerboard, which is a 150 pound steel sheet that sticks down to create a vector force that will make the wind power be translated into forward motion. Start the outboard with the choke pulled out, push in the choke, turn down the throttle, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet. The sail, boom, and gaff start making that impotent annoying rattling metalofabric noise that means we are coming into the wind. Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, which then come down with a squealing of metal pulleys high on the mast to bunch up between the lazy jacks and to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
Did you catch all that? No, well let me scream it lounder!! Most likely leaving out important parts!! Using words you havent really learned, or have forgotten since the last time out.
No wonder Sala has her reservations about sailing. She doesnt like screaming in any form, and the combination of Alan+screaming+unfamiliar words+water+wind+metal wood and canvas thrashing noises + danger of fast moving large dangerous equipment has made a lasting imprint on her already.
But this first taking in the sail is in open water, on a sunny day, with a 2-5 knot wind and no one around except the couple from the power boat anchored down the way, now walking along the sandy foreshore apparently beachcombing in the wrack of weed and flotsam.
I toss in the anchor, a 5 pound Danforth. There's a 15 pound Danforth down below, but for these conditions I figure the single small anchor is great. Plus I can see the bottom, and watch as the anchor snags on a weed covered rock, a secure hold.
Fugi has to be coaxed over the coaming and I pick her up and lower her into the dinghy. She finds her ball and wants to play. We row for the beach, and she leaps out as we touch, something she will repeat under a variety of conditions, including when I am trying to push the dinghy off a beach with a 15 knot onshore wind and breaking waves. But later for that.
We throw and retrieve. We play keep away. We prance off into the grass, probably into the poison ivy, which explains the very itchy welts that are coming up on my mid chest, in a place where cuddling furry Fuji is the most likely exposure. Probably ticks,and the Elizabeth Islands have deer ticks with the highest incidence of Lyme disease anywhere.
For the next hours, we have plenty of times to feel for ticks. The wind never rises above a breeze. But first we have to make sail.
Loosen the sheet holding the boom in the boom crotch. Take off the sail ties. Pull out the choke. Start the motor. Throttle down. Engage forward and start creeping ahead into the wind. Go forward, pull in the anchor. Clear off the weeds and mud before bringing on deck, and stow it behind the mast in front of the cabin. Rush back before the boat heads too far off the wind, and crack the throttle, steer the boat out into open water. Lower the centerboard. Head up into the wind. Pull on the purple throat halyard to raise the gaff where it sits crotched on the mast, and the white peak halyard to raise the sail. Make sure the sail is on the right side of the uphaul. Keep the boat pointing into the wind and raise the sail all the way up, and out of the boom crotch, piling the halyard ropes in the cockpit. Cleat the halyards. Head off the wind. Pull in the sheet until it catches the wind and set a course that will work with the wind and with your desired direction.
Well, it all sounds simple, and it was, with a 2 know wind on a beautiful sunny day on the East end of Tarpaulin Cove on Naushon Island.
We sailed out of the cove on West wind, and made a long tack down past the lighthouse, which is really a perfect little lighthouse, now maintained by the Forbses, rather than the USCG (you can use google image type in Tarpaulin Cove Lighthouse). Around the point is French Watering Place, and then a narrow rocky set of beaches and points under more high sand cliffs. The sand is topped with bonsaied and topiarized elm and oak, probably centuries old, but small and beaten low by the winter winds. Its a beach laden with treasure, but landing is more difficult from a sailboat, and we have a really nice tack, moving along smoothly at a water speed of about 2-3 knots which translates to 5 mph because of the tide that ebbs South along the island. Ahead is Marthas Vineyard and Menempsha, but not for today. The tide will turn at 3 and we would never make it back against the wind.
We sail right past Robinsons Hole, with West End Farm on the end of Naushon facing the caretakers residences on Pasque across the passage. There are big tidal wetlands on the end of Pasque nearest us, and then the land rises, mostly to the SE as it does on all of this glacier deposited ground, and then sloping gradually to the Buzzards Bay side, on the NW. Pasque is kinda small and round, and so we soon reach Quicks Hole, a wider passage, and come about to tack through it. Now we're on the Bay side, less wind, and after rounding a rocky point, we decide to take down sail and go ashore in the dinghy.
Hoist up the centerboard. Start the outboard with the choke pulled out, push in the choke, turn down the throttle, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet.Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, which then come down with a squealing of metal pulleys high on the mast to bunch up between the lazy jacks and to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
we anchor off a rocky little cove beach. Beautiful swimming water, and also a challenging beach for Fuji to run on. A perfectly good boathook has washed up as well. And lunch..left over spanish tortilla and an orange.
The tide has turned by the time its time. Remember:
Loosen the sheet . Take off the sail ties. Pull out the choke. Start the motor. Throttle down. Start creeping ahead into the wind. Pull in the anchor. Stow it behind the mast. Rush back before the boat heads too far off the wind, and crack the throttle, steer the boat out into open water. Lower the centerboard. Head up into the wind. Pull on the purple throat halyard to raise the gaff where it sits crotched on the mast, and the white peak halyard to raise the sail. Make sure the sail is on the right side of the uphaul. Keep the boat pointing into the wind and raise the sail all the way up, and out of the boom crotch, piling the halyard ropes in the cockpit. Cleat the halyards. Head off the wind. Pull in the sheet until it catches the wind and set a course that will work with the wind and with your desired direction.
Which in this case is to continue along Nashawena. About halfway along theres a couple farm houses, a big barn, and a useful looking 30 foot work boat tied up to a dock, all on a little bay behind a sand spit with what looks like open water to the South. White, as are the clouds. Green trees and grass. Blue sky. This makes the water blue. Penikese island and Cuttyhunk, up ahead, are still a little hazy, but getting clearer every moment.
With the wind only a few knots, I dont want to go to far anywhere, so we sail down past Penikese, then tack back downwind towards the mob of boats anchored outside the rock mole that protects the narrow channel into Cuttyhunk harbor. This used to be a tidal wash, back in the day when Cuttyhunk was a part of Nashawena...centuries ago. It costs $40 to moor overnight inside, and I'm not interested in the inside part anyway, although I would like to go back to the historical museum again sometime. Instead, we sail through the anchored boats, checking them out and being checked, and then clear away back along the wind to Nashawena. Soon, its 6 PM and we are off the shallow little cove that I want to anchor in for the night. OK, so....
Hoist up the centerboard. Start the outboard, engage the forward gear, throttle up, head up into the wind, tighten up on the sheet.Place the boomcrotch, loosen the purple throat halyard and the white peak halyard, and, as the boom swings in over the crotch, slack off the halyards to let the boom drop into the crotch, sheet in the jam cleat to hold the boom in place, keep the boat into the wind. Let both purple and white halyards fly to release the sail and the gaff, to form a compact bundle of sail that can be rapidly furled in order to preserve visibility. Fasten it all up with sail ties, tightening up the halyards and the sheet, and you're finished. Sail down.
And I'll end there for today, and come back to the sensational sunset, the moon, the stars, the sound of the night sea and the next day.
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