Subject: Day 2: Penikese by way of Vineyard Sound and Quicks Hole
9-5-11 0710 Woods Hole, The Green House. Well, Fuji and I clambered into the starboard berth of Susie P's cabin at about 8:30 PM last Thursday. Fuji had been taking refuge there many times during the day, curling up on top of the poupourri of clothes and sleeping bag. We both settled in with a sign of expected relief. Well, and also after 400 mg of ibuprofen in my case; otherwise the the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and living to be 70 otherwise wake me up too often. The annoying ringing noise that halyard ropes running up the mast otherwise make was stilled by tie-offs to the forestay. The worst of the squarking that the rudder makes was abated by other tie-offs for the tiller. The sail was stopped to the mast by sail ties. The metal centerboard hoisted up into it's well, to diminish its dull clanking. And the growing night was gorgeous; the big dipper visible through the open hatchway, and when the boat swung on the anchor, the milky way just coming into view. A very small and mousily tentative new moon making its and discrete visit in the southwestern sky. The lighthouses...nearby on the high point, beyond at Gay Head (now called Acquinnah), and on East Chop at the other end of the island all visible, along with assorted lighted navigation aids winking frostily out in the Sound. The lapping of little waves on the shore 25 yards away. Perfect.
Actually, Susie P rocks vigorously from side to side in a not quite regular series of lurches. This happens in the very slightest of oncoming waves. This isnt a lulling soothing movement, it's more like a seatmate who is large and afflicted with sleep apnea, so that every breathing movement and breath holding event causes a lurching shove against your shoulder. And of course, with the lurches comes some amount of squeeking squarking banging clunking noise from the various tied off but still not silent rigging. And of course, after a few rounds of this, a bigger wave train comes along and sets off an even bigger set of lurches, enough to dislodge me slightly from the thinnnish foam mattress that felt so soft a few minutes ago, and cause me to join the lurching.
How did I forget about this? How am I going to get any sleep? I get it, the physics of this; the mast up in the air and not stabilized by air pressure on the sail makes a counterweight to the round tubby bottom of the boat...a pendulum mechanism, with all the moments of inertia we learned about in HS physics. If the boat was facing perfectly into the waves, it would be different, but that's not possible. Now the stars are becoming sparkly annoyances and the moon: way to bright!! The wave noise has an annoying slapping quality. And Fuji's modest body weight on my feet is unbearable.
Well, I thought of chemical solutions; yes doctor, you do have the pain pills and the sleepers in that little bottle. And then it occurred to me that this was perhaps just the right time to practice being in the moment. When I had trouble with monkey mind while trying to sit, I found it much easier to let my thoughts go while running. As if the physical challenge of that coordinated series of jumps we call a run was just enough more demanding to attach my attention to the moment more securely than possible in the relative comfort of sitting. In any case, instead of trying to escape, I tried joining the whole event, clanks,clunks, lurches, squeals, and starting over again, tried not expecting an end, just being there. And of course, was asleep within minutes.
I woke, but without rancor, about every hour. To pee,to drink, to check the anchor, to look at the stars, to appreciate the navigation lights, and to feel the gentle and slightly cool touch of the night breeze. And the rocking and rolling continued, and became a part of whatever dreams I had, and when the light came up in the East over the headland to the North of Tarpaulin, I felt well rested and able to give Fuji her morning scratch with a clear head.
When I first got Susie P I bought an alchohol stove on EBay. Propane is not well thought of by most boaters, because if it gets loose it flows to the bottom of the boat and explodes, whereas alcohol vapor rises. The stove is cheerily noisy, once you finish the dangerous ritual of flooding in a little puddle of alcohol and making that loud 'WHUFF!' as it lights. Unfortunately, it makes a very similar noise when it has blown out and is just flooding again. Luckily the flame does not create a black ash, as gasoline does, so my flaring mistakes didn't leave any permanent scars. I made tea, and then took Fuji back on shore for her morning run.
The beach was all firm clean smooth sand from the high tide during the night, with just enough sprinkling of shells. Crepidula fornicata, the boat shell that deputizes one male in the whole family of females...the smallest one on the end. Pecten sp, the small Bay Scallop...delicious but oh so many for a mouthful. Calinectes..or at least bits of blue crab shell washed up by the storm. And jingle shells, anomia simplex, sometimes called mermaids toenails, all shades of butter yellow and metalic orange. And at the far end, wads and windrows and hills and mountains of dead, brown, blown ashore eel grass. The best compost ever, and nary a garden for miles! Fuji treated it like snow, leaping and porpoising through it, snorting and snapping at it. And mixed in, the limulus polyphemus exoskeletons, with their complex and ancient spines and smooth roundnesses, and the beautiful polyhedrons pseudopupils of their complex spider eyes.
Well, the wind was still out of the Northwest, and made me think about a second reef. This makes the sail about half its usual 250 square feet. But I could see white capped waves all over the Sound, and I remembered the three laws. We had bacon and eggs for breakfast, mixed with some kibble for Fuji and some toast for me. Ran the mental checklist for leaving, put away the loose stuff below, and puttered out to put up the sail. The sail immediately filled, the engine was stopped, and we swooped out of Tarpaulin, headed out across the Sound again. It was blue and sparkling, a solid wind to push us against the flooding current heading Northeast. This time, I could tie down the tiller and let Susie P sail heself, and so made some headway in "State of Wonder", recommended by Sala and by it's setting: I visited Manaus in 1967, and have my own memories of the smell of the meat market, and the black vultures perched like gargoyles on the wraught iron posts overhead. And our research location was, like the memorable Doctor in Anne Patchetts book, on the Rio Negro...only quite a bit further out..it took 3 days for the boat to get back to Manaus when we left our station.
We passed over middle ground and Hey!, Presto!!, another bluefish. By this time Fuji is an old hand at fishing from the sail boat, saving her barks for when the fish is actually in the dinghy. And the whole process of making fillets on the beach, which gives her a chance to run has worked out well. Washed out the Diaper Rash ( it's about as big as a bathtub), and decided to head back across the Sound to Naushon. Still sailing against the tide,but even with the double reef, Susie P made good time, and we came up on Robinson's Hole by about noon. Not as many other boats as I would have expected for t he start of Labor Day..presumably Irene disrupted some plans. The current was still running strongly against us at Robinsons,which is the Hole between Naushon and the next island, Pasque. It's pretty narrow,and no possiblity of us sailing through until the change, which was due in about 2 hours. So we sailed on in the Sound, along the East Shore of Pasque. It was time for Fuji to be ashore for a while, and with the wind still out of the North, there was a nice looking little bay, albeit with a rocky shore. As we got closer, I could see large erratics, the boulders left by the Laurentian Glaciation, appearing as vague blue brown shapes under the clear water. But Susie P draws only 21 inches with her centerboad up, so we anchored without diffiiculty.
It was hot, and the wind blowing over the land was gentle here. However,it was plenty enough to catch the Diaper Rash and start it moving away from Susie P's stern when I accidentally dropped the tow line. In fact, in the several seconds since I realized what I had done, the little dinghy, light as an eggshell, was picking up speed and already beyond reach.
This probably makes the 3rd or 4th rendition of this little puzzle. Do you jump after the boat...or figure out how to retrieve by other means? The last performance, in the Pacific off Muir Beach, I had bailed out of my kayak, towed it to a nearby rock, poured the water out, set it down rightside up, and thought I had hold of the bow line when I turned away to size up the situation. By the time I turned back, the kayak was on its way towards the Farralones, and moving faster than I thought I could swim. That time, it took several hours to recover the boat, which had drifted beyond sight. This time, I suppose I thought about how longit would take to get the anchor up, and what a hassle that would be, and whether the boat would lodge in some downwind rocks, etc, but in real time, I jammed both hands into the pockets of my shorts, pulled them out holding whatever I could grab, dropped it on the seat, and dove in, hat, sunnies, and all. Worked fine, and after I had swum the dinghy back and fastened it to the Susie P (with Fuji looking on and wagging her tail, assuming this was some new game whose point might or might not ever be evident), I discovered that it was possible, as I had hoped, to squirm in over the stern of the dinghy without totally swamping the boat, and thus get enough of a platform to get back in the Susie P.
Imagine these people who sail single handed around the world. Every day must have many such little puzzles, any one of which could come to grief. There is no changing channels. No one has inspected the roller coaster. There is no one to sue if the ride goes awry.. I guess thats why I generally avoid amusement parks and like being outdoors alone. 'Because it is there', as I believe Mallory said. There is no there there in an amusement park, or a water slide.
Refreshed by the swimming, and the exploration of the foreshore of Pasque, we returned to the Susie P. The hurricane had herded all the wrecked lobster pots, longline bouys, and assorted flipflops and beer cans into an absolute battlement of wrack and ruin, and there was plenty to look at,and smell if you have a Fuji level smeller. About 10 beaches south on Pasque, we passed the beach where I was more of less driven ashore in my kayak several years ago, blinded by fog and beset by rolling waves coming in past Nomans Land from the open Atlantic. This time, on the lee side with a wind that was still pretty much out of the Northeast, the beach looked hot and a little desolate. And it was 3:30, the current had turned, and was ebbing out through the larger Hole between Pasque and Nashawena, known as Quick's Hole.
Quick's Hole is nice and wide, and mostly East/West. The wind seemed to have shifted a little West, but it should sitll be possible to make a single starboard tack (wind coming from the right side of the boat, remember?) and with the current behind us, shoot right through. I headed for the space between the red and green channel markers, just like the book says. And then I looked up ahead. The horizon was no longer flat. Stretching across most of the space between the islands, the line between sea and the distant blue hazed land of Rhode Island had become a jagged band of white.
Now sometimes a line like that means just a bunch of 6 inch wavelets. Sometimes it's a very shallow reef. Depends on the current, the wind. But in this case, and seen at a half mile distance, it probably meant that there was a pretty big tide rip with current opposing wind, waiting for us at the end of Quicks Hole. That's about 6 minutes at our combined water and wind speed. And short tubby boats are not the best conveyance to take into a tide rip.
However, this was a catboat situation. Catboats originated in Buzzards Bay, the body of water we were approaching. Susie P would do fine, as long as I didnt do something stupid. Hmm, about 3 minutes now...smooth sailing as we zipped past the foaming and gurgling red channel marker on our right. Fuji, perhaps sensing something, retired to the cabin and made a bed in my sweatshirt. In another few hundred yards, we came out of the lee of Pasque, now to the North and fading East, and got a taste of what the North wind had been up to as it came those miles down Buzzards Bay. The waves ahead were making that kind of ripping noise I associate with big rapids. And it seemed that the wind has shifted a few more degrees to the West, giving us even less power. The logical thing to do is called 'heading off' (which I know form experience means nothing to intelligent non sailors like Sala when I scream it without explanation..I mean heading the boat more downwind, to pick up more wind on the sail). But that meant heading to the left, and right there, edging closer, was the shore of Nashawena, complete with a giant erratic boulder, big as a house, reaching out ahead of us. We couldn't head off.
Those of you who read nautical books,or sail yourselves, will recognize what was happening as yet another version of a 'lee shore' experience. It happens when you are close to land, and the wind is driving you ever closer. Without sufficient speed, or space to turn and gather speed, you cannot bring the boat about. For example :
"In 1898, the four masted schooner, Lunet, loaded with coal, anchored here (in Tarpaulin Cove) to wait out a Southwesterly gale. The next day, the winds changed direction to Northeasterly, and the hurricane force winds were accompanied by a blinding blizzard. Unable to escape, and now on a lee shore, Lunet was lost when her anchor parted and she sank in 60 feet of water with all 200 persons onboard. It was one of the worst disasters in New England shipping history." (http://www.setauketyc.com/CruiseGuide/tarpaulincove/index.htm )
And then we hit the waves. Hmm, bigger than I thought. Oh well, I can start the engine. Meanwhile, Susie P has started a combination of pitching up and pounding down, which is what 18 foot boats do when they encounter a 6 foot chop. As I finally got the engine running, there is a loud noise from down in the cabin; the cooler has leaped off its bench and was down on the deck. Thankfully, it is also wedged semi shut, so the color of the water flooding out isn'tcolored milk mixed with fishblood , at least not yet. From the security of her nest, Fuji looks wistful, perhaps wishing me well. Nah, dog's don't worry about lee shores. Meanwhile, the engine, trying hard, is alternately racing and bogging, as the propellor lifted out of the water or the boat pitched out of the trought between waves. The sail is making those machine gun snapping noises that sails make in high wind conditions trying to sail too close hauled.
Hmm, indeed!!
Of such situations are religious converts made. With the combination of motor and sail, Susie P maintained just enough seaway to stay clear of the lee shore, and make it out through the tide rip to the relatively safe yet white capped rollers of Buzzards Bay. Clear of the North tip of Nashawena and it's waiting boulders, we were able to head off a bit, and pick up speed. A few minutes more, engine no longer needed, we were rolling down wind towards our destination, Penikese Island.
Penikese lies to the West off Cuttyhunk Island, which is the Southern most of the Elizabeths. You can read about its history as a leprosarium,and about the New York sporting bankers and their Cuttyhunk Fishing Club. Both are public land, and their own county ( Gosnold). Nashawena is Forbes owned, with some beautiful houses and a very protected little bay about half way along (visitors not really welcome). A fair number of reddish shaggy Highland cattle,and even some sheep I think. It's the same grey to reddish granite rocks and sloping green covered un farmed land that I find so attractive all along these islands. We jammed along, downwind and down waves now, and steering again required constant attention to avoid jibing. Jibing is where rather than turning into the wind and through it, to sail the other direction upwind, you turn further downwind and then try to bring the sail gently around before the wind, now from the other side of the boat, blows the boom violently around and bonks someone on the head or shakes the mast loose when it hits the end of its travel. It's easier to avoid unintentional jibes with a reefed sail, which ours was. Thank you, three laws of catboat sailing!
About half mile offshore between Penikese and the end of Nashawena lies Gull Island, really just a bunch of rocks and sand washed by the tide, Once on a long ago kayak trip I tried to stay there, and was evicted by the constant noise and smell of the seagulls. The sandbar is where wailing seals haul out to get warm...I think I mentioned that in a dispatch several years ago. The official channel into Cuttyhunk lies to the Northeast of Gull Island. I wanted to go the more direct route, between Gull and Penikese, Hmm, the old chart has several "x" marks, which means single rocks. But I should be able to see those within three feet of the surface, so with the centerboard up, I should be fine.
Well, when you have two foot waves at low tide, it means that a barely seen rock at peak of a wave becomes a sure thing direct hit at the trough, Plus I had not counted on the sun, reflecting off the water as it began to set in the Southwest, directly ahead. Actually, when I hit the rock, the centerboard was down about 6 inches, but slanted backwards, so it was just a loud clunk. A heart attack clunk! I pulled the board the rest of the way up,and then jumped up onto the seat,trying to keep us on course with one foot on the tiller, Nothing dead ahead; ominous blue brown shapes underwater to both sides. And a lobster pot dead ahead. No problem, we'll just sail over it. Wait a moment, whats a lobster pot doing here? Quick course correction, and then, way too late to have avoided it, the rock that was marked by the informal lobster pot bouy went boiling by on the left, and ahead the water looked clear and blue green.
We rounded up into the little semi protected harbor at Penikese, Two kids were playing with plastic floaties on the pier used by the boat that brings supplies to the Penikese School, which has operated as an alternative to prison for juvenile boys over the past several decades. I had heard it had closed for lack of funding, and that volunteers were 'island sitting' to maintain a watch over the facilities. My plan was to anchor up in the shallows of the harbor. With the sail down, we puttered around for a few minutes, but the entire upper harbor was a weedbed of eelgrass. The kind of anchor I have ( a Danforth) is a beautiful design for sand or gravel, but slips right through weeds. The kids, and a bearded adult, had left the pier by now, and so I changed plans, and puttered in to the dock. With the north wind blowing, Susie P hung nicely clear of the dock on a bow and stern line, and Fuji gladly leaped ashore, ready to chase anything in sight.
Actually, Penikese is public land and a bird sanctuary; the school has some caretaker arrangement with the state and Audubon. It's a nesting spot for roseate terns and a special shearwater that returns to one specific wall near the main building every year, So...no free ranging birc chasing attidogs. We climbed over the tangle of weed and lobster pots deposited by Irene, marveling at the disappearance of most of the sandy beach since we were here last year. The small roads, suitable for tractor or ATV's only, are very familiar. I came here first after the last private enterprise lobster and farming scheme had failed, and before the school was begun. During the school years, I went inside only once, for some minor medical issue one of the boys had, This time, Chuck was out on the porch tending to the grill, and Deb emerged a few moments later. They and Deb's kids were there for 4 days island sitting. No other boats were expected, and it was fine with them if I tied up to the dock for the night. At about that time, two guinea fowl came around the corner of a shed and noticed Fuji about the same time as she noticed them. They had been quietly discussing the weather and the state of the universe, but noticing Fuji broke into that gratingly shriekingly loud cxpletive amazement that guinea fowl specialize in. Fuji, hampered by the leash, was unable to deal with this noise as she wanted to. In fact, we took it as a good time to go back to the Susie P.
Take one cold bluefish fillet, and slice the meat thin, discarding the skin as biodegradable, while braising broccoli florets in white wine diluted with water and flavored with salt and pepper. When the broccoli is al dente, remove into the only bowl., having forgotten most of the kitchen and eating ware back at home. Reserve the reduction sauce in the green plastic cup, which probably contained the last of the morning tea. Add butter to the pan, get the durned alcohol stove going again, wait for the fireball of extra alchohol to abate, and then fry the bluefish slices for a few seconds on each side, add back the reduction, cook for enough time to fill Fuji's bowl with the kibble she doesnt like but will eat if hungry enough, and then put on the water for tea, take the cooling pan of fish and added broccoli back up to the cockpit bench. Feel the fading North wind coming across the tip of the island. Smells of seaweed, iodinated and tangy. Take a gander at them stars emerging, at the glow over the island to the Wes, at the shy new moon quietly asserting it's presence over the lights of Gosnold town on Cuttyhunkt. Lookie at them clouds, definitly animals tonight, and scooting right along towards the Vineyard and Nantucket beyond. Listen to the wavelets providing backup for the crickets in the catbrier and bayberry tangles at the base of the pier. And most of all, do NOT worry about the anchor! Eat and enjoy.
Tomorrow, swimming with diatoms, how to move an 18 foot boat at 4 AM, breakfast with Chuck, and reflections on relationhip, all on the way home.
Alan
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