To Native Waters

10 July: Block Party

“Sheesh! Wair-YOU comin’ from – long sleeve sheuht and jeans? It’s a beautiful day!”

The New Shoreham harbormaster has a good sense of humor, as many Ro-di-landahs do. Good thing: he’s a busy man, especially this Tuesday afternoon when, for some reason, the town’s mooring field is chock-a-Block full. So he’s hustling about Great Salt Pond escorting each new arrival to a vacant private mooring for the same wonderful $40 fee.

And how did Block Island become the day’s destination, you ask? The temptation is to write about treacherous seas, the challenge of making passage in the deep Atlantic. In truth, it wasn’t hard.

Topped off the fresh water tank, scrubbed three week’s worth of scum off the bottom of the dink (easier to tow, maybe?) and, of course, drained the fuel filter. Ms. Wes fired again like a well-behaved lady eager for a day’s work and we cast off from Mystic Downtown Marina at 0925.

Without doubt, that was a delightful stop – the managers, Jack & June; the location, close to Main Street; and the ambience, including fresh herb garden.

There was a 10-minute delay for Amtrak to cross the Mystic bridge, then the hour motor downstream to Fisher Island Sound. It seemed a shame to waste such a lovely day–bright sun, clear skies, flat seas and 70-degrees. So once through Watch Hill Passage against a knot-and-a-half current, the decision was made: Newport would be more than 35 miles but the entrance to Block beckoned just 12 to the southeast, and was made at 1419. Getting here from Watch Hill is easier than finding Anegada from Virgin Gorda. On a day like this, Block you can see…all the way!

Not much wind but what the boat made use of, averaging close to 5 knots for the total 24.5 mile trip. Those 5 knots of apparent wind in the shade of the Bimini awning made it quite comfortable with sleeves and jeans, hence the harbormaster’s inquiry as he eased Steadfast up to her mooring for the night.

You get to know your neighbors in Great Salt Pond, with boats on all 400-or-so moorings and in the snug anchorage.

Interestingly, there was virtually no traffic coming across to Block, yet it’s packed in here. And they’re still coming in. One can only imagine what it must’ve been like for the Fourth.

Good thing the harbormaster has a sense of humor.

Steadfast, out.

12 July: Early Out

They rise early here in Great Salt Pond. Not everyone, mind you, but apparently those who want to be sure of riding on a town mooring.

It would be two hours before the anchorage would be roused by the rhythmic cries of “Ahndi-AH-mo. Ahndi-ah-MO!” from Aldo the baker motoring between boats in his red and white skiff. All seemed still and quiet while the coffee brewed at 0530. Then, the first cup only half gone, a hull was seen to leave a ball in the coveted town mooring field. Then a second a few minutes later. Ah, says the wily skipper, “I’ll snag one of those before the rest of the anchorage even knows they’re open.”

Wrong. Before I could even cast off, an inflatable dink zoomed through the mooring field and its pilot grabbed one. A 40-foot sloop swooped in to take the other and the party began. The 90 town moorings, you see, are at a premium. The same forty-bucks for the night BUT you can stay as long as you like. No reservations accepted; all first come, first served. As a result, the mooring field stays full.

But the skipper of a 25-foot Wellcraft sport cabin–Early Out of Noank, CT–was just sitting down to his first cup in the cockpit when Steadfast completed her first failed try at a mooring ball. He confirmed they’d be leaving in an hour or so. “Would you be willing to give us a call? Steadfast.” An hour later he did, the exchange of the mooring pennant was made and Steadfast was secure. Early Out, indeed. 0715.

Others continued to school like sharks ready to strike. Competitive, these yachtsmen. Your intrepid skipper, however, used the succeeding hours first to drain more water from the fuel filter (just a couple of drops) then, since we’d motored through a good bit of seagrass the last few days, check the filter for the engine cooling water intake.

Good thing, it would appear.  Once the filter was cleared and all once again stowed, it was time to row ashore, walk the mile or two to Old Harbor and lunch at Rebecca’s.  Good stuff.  There was a stop to reprovision at Block Island Grocery, another on the pier for a bag of ice, then back on board to restock the ice box.

A quintessential New England town, New Shoreham (Block Island) is a photographer’s delight.

Ashore, there’s a photo op in every direction.  Block is highly recommended to those who enjoy a cool ocean breeze and a generally laid back atmosphere as stated eloquently on the tee-shirts for sale at Payne’s Marina: “This doesn’t suck.”

Early out? Not when you come to Block. You gotta stay at least little while.

14 July: Honey, I’m home!

For such a busy and popular harbor, the day starts quietly in Newport. The gulls are laughing, of course. Watermen chat over coffee on the commercial wharf, waiting to head out. But after a night of sampling the entertainments on Thames Street, it appears the yachtsmen start their day slowly.

A striking contrast to the raucous scene on arrival in mid-afternoon. After motoring among kids in the sailing camp’s dinghy fleet, dodging the high speed ferry to the Vineyard and giving way to several large motor yachts, this was the harbor that opened after rounding Fort Adams.

Kids at sailing camp, tourists on a classic 12-meter, lobstermen with the day’s catch, all of Newport seems underway.

Annapolis, eat your heart out! THIS is the sailing capital of the US. From a 10-foot hydrofoil with Kevlar sails to classic 12-meter America’s Cup veterans and 100-foot schooners loaded with tourists, all manner of craft make way through the harbor…under sail!

For Steadfast, the crossing from Block was uneventful–the preferred status, by the way–but not nearly as relaxed as the trip over. In fact, once out of Great Salt Pond at 1028, it was not relaxed at all. The Pond was still, the sun hot, so there was no expectation of sailing.  Despite the light so’easterly, the ocean swells outside quickly built to 4-feet and a parade of passing motor yachts left it confused with their wakes. There was no stepping away from the wheel. The helm demanded two hands at all times, so no photos out there.

But about noon, the beam seas began to moderate enough to suggest unfurling the genoa. That worked so well that three miles south of Point Judith, the main went up, too, and–are you sitting down?–Ms. Wes took a break. We sailed. In the deep Atlantic, and Steadfast settled into an easy motion on a broad reach making 4-to-5 knots.

That was carried almost to Brenton Reef–the southernmost point of Newport (Aquidneck) Island–where there just wasn’t enough wind to make the more northerly run into the harbor. Rounding Castle Hill light gave a good view of several stunning estates including Hammersmith Farm, where young Jackie spent summers learning to a horsewoman.

The famous Hammersmith Farm is one of the many stunning properties on the Newport shore.

Making Block Island felt good. It is part of my native state, after all, and there are childhood memories of trips over on the ferry with Dad. But boats in harbor and cars on the roads are mainly from New York or Connecticut. Everywhere you go, Rhode Islanders seem in the minority.

Certainly tourism abounds in Newport but there’s no mistaking, this is Ro-die-lan. One need not explain the Red Sox cap nor preference for Sam Adams. And having spent a good bit of the college years with friends in Newport, it was special to be at the helm today coming into the harbor.

“Honey, I’m home!”

13 July: Little Bitty

Venturing into the Atlantic swells, coming across Block Island Sound, 27-feet seems a small hull, indeed. Steadfast does not gain in stature in Newport Harbor, passing the vintage sailing yacht with uniformed crew of six or mega-motor yachts the size of the shoreside hotel. As Larry the Launch Skipper says, “Ya gotta have at least a 60-footer ta stand out in Noopawt.”

Steadfast did stand-out in one way, however, that being her ability to secure the last available mooring Thursday evening because, yes, she’s only 27 feet and could squeeze in among a handful of daysailers on the harbor’s north end.

Friday the Thirteenth began with breakfast at Benjamin’s, one of the few remaining local hangouts among the chi-chi shops and myriad tee-shirt vendors on Thames Street.

The raw bar is open for breakfast at the Thames Street landmark Benjamin’s.

It then morphed into a layover day. The deciding factor was not superstition, mind you, but a further lack of tolerance for the state of the cabin. After four weeks at sea, there was sprucing up to be done: minor repairs to hatches and rails, and, polishing the bronze ports (but I don’t do windows). Amazing how much better she looks.

There are eight of those guys to maintain, if one is so inclined. There’d be more, of course, on a 40-footer. It’s further proof of the wisdom of the well-known philosopher of song, Alan Jackson: “It’s alright to be little bitty…”

Steadfast, out.

14 July: Wind!

There’s a reason Newport is a center for sailing. This part of the world is well-known for the so’westerlies that typically blow 10-15 knots, all day, all summer long. But Saturday’s forecast was not quite as encouraging–light winds early, not building ’til late in the day–and an early spritz gave way to a thick but bright overcast.

No matter. Two days is about the limit in any one harbor so the mooring was cast off at 0945, the island’s southern point, Brenton Reef, cleared an hour later and somewhere off in the haze on a heading of 115 was Buzzards Bay. The main was up but mostly as a steadying sail with the three-foot seas on the beam.

With this sky and from two miles off, photos of the coast would not show much.  So you won’t see any shots from the morning. By noon, the light southerly freshened enough to coax out the genoa which helped pull her along at 6 knots with Ms. Wes turning just 2000 RPM.

From there, the log is sketchy at best. Just know that NOAA was prescient, the wind continued to build, Ms. Wes took a break and by 1230 we were sailing a broad reach making a steady 5 knots.  Not bad.

Turning north into Buzzards Bay meant the wind was dead astern, not the easiest point of sail to handle, especially with the following seas. It became moot, though, when the skipper of a tug towing a half-full fuel barge announced his intention to use the Buzzards Bay channel, too. Discretion in this case meant Steadfast altered course ’til the tug passed and once again could head north.

Some thought had been given to maintaining the earlier heading straight out to Martha’s Vineyard. The decision to head, instead, into the Bay proved more prudent as the wind kept building. By the time the call for a mooring was made to New Bedford Yacht Club, it was a steady 15-18 and gusting in the 20s. The anxious moments that followed, hoping a mooring would be available, were wasted. There reportedly are more than 800 moorings in Apponagansett Bay. And access to the moorings means using a tender of some kind, some kinds quite colorful and traditional.

Dinghies describe a colorful palette while owners are ashore at New Bedford Yacht Club in Padanarum.

A late start to the morning, an hour’s stroll around Padanarum, home to the well-known Marshall catboat, and skies threatening thunder storms all conspired to keep Steadfast on the mooring for another night. But this being the second day, she’ll want to be underway again tomorrow, seeking those so’westerlies again.

Steadfast, out.