Cape Cod Canal

16 July: Onset

Chris and Bill brought Plover, their 41-foot Dickerson ketch, north from Delaware on the offshore route and, after sailing straight through–including the storms Sunday night–sent an email that they’d turned into Buzzards Bay before dawn Monday, headed for Onset, MA.  It seemed reasonable in contrast to bring Steadfast the 30-or-so miles east from Padnarum to meet them.

In the process of so doing, today’s profound thought occurred, i.e., tools work far better when used for the purpose for which they were intended.  Example: a straight blade screw driver works quite well as an ice pick but not nearly as well as it does turning slotted bolts.  Likewise, many auxiliary powered sailboats motor quite well but never as well as they handle under sail.  Monday provided further proof of the latter.

A light nor’westerly followed Steadfast out of Padnarum at 0730, mainsail set to try–not altogether successfully–to keep her on an even keel with the two-foot seas running off her starboard quarter.  Once turned toward Onset and headed east, though, the genny was unfurled, Ms. Wes took a much-deserved break and we sailed.  Honest.  Here’s proof.

In what proved an unusual experience, wind filled her sails and Steadfast beat up Buzzard’s Bay.

It took a few minutes–not much of this has been done on this trip, after all–but we both settled into our respective roles and Steadfast began to behave in the manner to which she was born.  Ten knots of wind had her heeled 12 degrees and doing a smart five knots.  Not as quick as under power, mind you, but much more comfortable.  She likes to sail, by golly!

Onset lies just off the channel leading into the Cape Cod Canal, a handy place to stop and wait for a favorable tide.  Currents through the canal run about four knots so it’s best to have it running with you, ebb west or flood east.  And its quite a lovely little village, just a good 15-minute stretch of the legs from the mooring field.  There’s beach all around the harbor, more akin to the Cape than the rocky shores west of here, with handsome Victorian-era homes standing proudly among the more prevalent and modest weekend retreats.

The harbor at Onset is sheltered from virtually all directions

It was good to visit again with Chris and Bill–our wakes last crossed in Annapolis–and, indeed, we dined together tonight, charting the planned transit of the canal tomorrow afternoon to coincide with the favorable tide as we head into Cape Cod Bay.

Steadfast, out.

18 July: Sandwich

“That’s a really beautiful boat. What kind is she?”  Which is what any skipper loves to hear but that’s not what endeared Tom to me this evening.  No, Tom was…well.  I get ahead of myself.

Plover took on fuel early this morning as planned.  The rest of the day was spent waiting for the much-discussed “favorable tide” to carry us through the Cape Cod Canal.  The max is something over 4-knots so, in a boat that makes five or six at best, you want to have the current with you.

Fifteen hundred was the designated hour, about thirty minutes before slack tide.  Eldridge Tide & Pilot Book–the seaman’s Bible up here; don’t leave home without it–said that’s when to go so that’s when we went.  This despite the forecast that carried a severe thunderstorm watch.  But, hey, you know what that’s like.  Maybe yes, maybe no.  In fact, NOAA described it as a 50% chance.

The canal is just a 9-mile ditch, basically, a hundred feet across with 30-plus feet of water and rip-rap stacked on both banks.  Worst case, were a storm to hit and visibility shrink, just follow the east bank ’til you get to an opening, turn right and you’re into Sandwich Town Marina (not unlike Cape Charles Town Marina, by the way; nothin’ fancy, lot of work boats, and a Coast Guard station right there).  It’s the only place to tie up within 20 miles.  Given the late start and the forecast, I’d called this morning to make a reservation.  (Plover’s crew, intrepid as they are, never wavered from their stated intent to make Provincetown tonight.)

Not long after passing under the railroad bridge that greets eastbound traffic first, the temperature started to fall out of the 90s and the sky to the west darkened.  As the speed-over-ground picked up–5, 5-and-a-half, 6, eventually 7-plus knots–there was reason to hope Steadfast could be tied up before the storm hit.  Not confidence, mind you, but hope.

It was just starting to spritz when the Sandwich Marina appeared to starboard and the turn was made.  The dockmaster stood on the fuel dock and motioned to an open slip.  “Do you want me to come around to help or do you have it?” he shouted over the then rising howl of the wind.  It appeared there’d be no need as Steadfast slid gently between the pilings and slowed to a stop.  Sort of.  Right then, the wind shifted a bit more to the north and a gust swung her sideways across two (fortunately empty) slips.  And that’s when Tom left the snug cabin of his 35-foot fishing boat to grab, first, the bow rail and, when offered, a stern line.  A bit of a fire drill as it turned out but Tom was most gracious as he stood in the spritz and offered his previously mentioned assessment of the boat.  “Well, she sure is pretty,” he added.

We chatted further as docklines were secured and the dinghy made fast.  And just then, BOOM! an impressive jagged bolt discharged about a quarter mile to the west and the heavens opened.  Others bolts of lightning followed, all around, and briefly the boat bent to the gusting wind, heeled at 10 degrees in the slip.

It was done in a few minutes, of course.  With any luck, it may have missed Plover altogether.  We wait to hear.  But for the moment, Tom is my new best friend and this is by far the best Sandwich in a long time!

Steadfast, out.

19 July: Providence

A pair of sockless, ‘Sider-shod feet are seen through the port over the galley stove.  “Hey, Bill?  My brotha Jawj and I ah gonna go get some breakfast.  Wanna come?”  The voice is Tom’s.  You remember Tom, right?  He of the impeccable pre-storm timing?

Breakfast out wasn’t in the morning’s plan but, sure, what the heck.  And into Jawj’s (that’s George’s) cah we go.  “I’m givin’ ya the nickel toowah,” says George as he drives through the village.  “That’s the steeple that Christopha Wren designed.”  Tom’s home is Falmouth, on the other side of the Cape but George lives here in Sandwich.  Lovely village, Sandwich, and one which would’ve remained unseen were it not for George.  Or maybe Tom.

Tom, you see, discloses that “I’m not even shewa why I came in heeyah last night.  I thawt I was goin’ home to Falmuth but, for some reason, just came in heeyah,  I don’t know why.”

The tour ends at The Marshland diner where the bench out front is full of hungry would-be patrons.  “Don’t wawry,” says George assuringly.  “It won’t take lawng.”  He knows, of course.  Three seats soon open at the counter and breakfast arrives shortly thereafter: the Poppy Bagel McNagle – toasted bagel with a cheesy omelet on one half, the other smothered in mushrooms, onions and diced tomatoes.  No need for lunch today.

When learning of the need to re-provision, “I don’t mind takin’ ya thayah.  Tha Stop-n-Shop isn’t fah.”  And it goes on.  “I can pick ya up, too.  I insist.  Glad to do it.”

After giving a boost to the local economy, stowing provisions and saying goodbye to Tom–he decides to head home–Steadfast re-fuels and ventures into the remaining few hundred yards of the Cape Cod Canal at 1300, then turns north toward Plymouth for what has all the signs of an uneventful 20 miles.  Then – no warning – Ms. Wes starts breathing hard.  She doesn’t feel well, it’s clear.

Steve Blake, in Newport the other night, told a story about snagging such a big wad of sea grass one time that the prop jammed.  Steve’s remedy – revving in reverse – was tried but to no avail.  That story, though, prompted a thought: could there be more grass in the water intake strainer?  After shutting down, the quick inspection showed, yes, indeed – a wad that’d choke an elephant!  Once cleared, Ms. Wes was happy again and back making 5 knots-plus.

Seaweed became an on-going problem, clearing the Perko a morning routine.

Then, right at the turn into the Plymouth channel, it happened again.  This time, there was no clearing the problem so the genoa was deployed on a dead run into the first leg of the 5-mile-long channel.  The Harbormaster responded to an FYI call–no engine, under sail, just want you to know–by sending a boat to check.  He continued to check in the rest of the way and, two hours later, the Plymouth Yacht Club launch came along side.  “The Hobbah Mastah told me to give you a tow into yaw mawring,” reported Gary, the launch driver, and the day was done.

Could be coincidence, Steve Blake telling his vignette about the seagrass a few nights ago.  Could be serendipity, Tom being on the pier last night just in time to help Steadfast tie up before the storm hit.  But remember, he’s not even sure why he was at Sandwich Marina.

The reason seems clear to me: providence. Providence in Newport, Plymouth and Sandwich that made for a truly memorable day.  A darn good breakfast sandwich, too.

Steadfast, out.