20 July: The In-Laws
So it’s gettin’ close to ten and theah we ahh – me, Dave O’Brien and Joe Castiglione – just the three of us, commiseratin’ the way the Sawx can’t BUY a hit when it counts and now, last o’ the ninth, looks like anotha loss. And Dave Oh, always resuhved, says…
“…and the pitch, Ross swings. Lifts a high fly ball towards the wall, and…and it’s headed back, it’s GONE! A three-run homer! The Sox win! Ross with a walk-off home run and…”
And what a way to wind up the first night on Boston’s South Shore, or as Joe and the locals say, Shaw.
Anyway, that was last night. There was an early call this morning from the mooring ball. A lack of wind let the boat ride up on the plastic ball and it was caressing — well, banging on, is more like it — the hull at 0500, right by the skipper’s bunk. But that’s okay. There was scientific research to be done, as in, why isn’t the water pump pumping cooling water to the engine? Huh? Why?
After checking the usual suspects – intake strainer, impeller, heat exchanger – one does what one always does in such situations, i.e., call Bill Burry. Fortunately, Bill’s still within cell range, just over in P’town, and suggests — I am not making this up — disconnecting the intake hose and blowing on it to “make bubbles under the boat.” Whatever, something worked and on a re-start, Ms. Wes maintained her cool for a full hour, no problem. Looks like we’re good to go tomorrow.
But first, there’s the requisite visit to the in-laws. So, clean-up, go ashore and–as luck would have it–as I walk down the street, Gov. Bradford is standing right there!
Checking in with the colony’s first governor who, as you can see, is not as tall as he looks in the movies.
Besides being the man who pretty much held the Plimouth Colony together in the early years, the Gov is Kate’s great-great-great-who’s counting-grandfather, scion of the Bradfordss of Kentucky (and elsewhere). So paying respects was a requisite of the trip.
A leisurely stroll along the Plymouth waterfront disclosed much the same scene as in Newport: boats moored on one side, while on the other are seen tourists in shorts and flip flops shopping for tee-shirts. Except here there’s a replica of the Mayflower.
The Mayflower replica is on a pier just west of the Plymouth Yacht Club whose moorings lay beyond.
And there’s Plymouth Yacht Club where, so far, the staff couldn’t be nicer. It’s a set-up ashore much like the more familiar Hampton club, with pub-style dining upstairs, dressier on the first level. Quite nice facilities, all around.
And a strong signal from WEEI, “the voice of the Red Sox” again tonight.
Steadfast, out. Go Sawx!
21 July: Make Room
“Scituate Boat Club,” the woman’s voice betraying the fatigue of a long day on the water. “This is Dolphin’s Wake standing by at number eight.” No response from the Boat Club. At 2030, the sun nearly down, the crew of Dolphin’s Wake wants more than anything to hear that the club still has one mooring unspoken-for and that it’s a mooring in more than six-feet of water, DW’s draft.
Scituate is a popular harbor, it appears, and so crews keep steering their boats here even at this late hour. But even with 800 moorings bobbing on its sheltered waters, there isn’t always one for every boat that enters. And because it’s jammed with mooring balls, there is no place to anchor!
But with a light easterly the forecast, Scituate also would be a relatively easy run up Massachusetts Bay from Plymouth so that was the destination of the day. First, though, there was the matter of the six-mile Plymouth Channel just to get to the bay. There were just the few clumps of fluffy clouds hanging here and there along the horizon of an otherwise sun-drenched azure sky. Free of the mooring line at 0940, then bucking the flood tide’s one-knot current, Ms. Wes kept her cool and chugged along smartly.
Seas were two-to-three on the beam as the heading shifted to 000 and, with all sail set, Steadfast pushed north on a beat, then a reach, at about 4 knots. It being Saturday, there were many sails underway. The lobstermen don’t get the day off, though, and were working pots that seemed always to be, yes, dead ahead. (How do they do that?)
By 1440, the wind had begun to lay down and with Scituate just four-miles off, Ms. Wes went back to work and pushed Steadfast past the breakwater and into harbor at 1525. At that hour, “No problem, cap” was the yacht club’s quick response to the many inquiries for moorings. “Follow me. I’m in the launch.”
An impressive breakwater lines the entrance to Scituate Harbor.
Then tidy the boat, on deck and below; head ashore for a stroll along the waterfront, then back on board for dinner, during which the plaintive call was heard once more.
“Boat Club? Dolphin’s Wake. Standing-by at red eight for a mooring?”
The mooring master finally responds. “Comin’ out to meet you in a minute and take you to your mooring.”
Her simple answer, “Excellent,” which could also describe the entire day.
Steadfast, out.
22 July: Cape Ann
The approach to Boston’s Logan Airport has many planes flying over Massachusetts Bay. It’s a good bet that at least someone on each of those leaned toward the window and remarked on the boats sailing below. There weren’t many, though, for some reason.
Sunday dawned clear and cool, 58-degrees in Scituate, MA, with a light westerly funneling down the harbor. A post-breakfast check of fuel filter was clear, too. For the second day in a row, no water bubbles. A few fronds of grass were cleared from the strainer and Steadfast slipped her mooring lines at 0936, making 5 knots at 2200 rpm as Ms. Wes did her thing.
An hour later, she took a break, all sail was set for what then was a light so’easterly and, the day being so glorious, a heading of 025 was set to carry to Gloucester, MA (anyone for Cape Pond Ice?). A bit more ambitious than Marblehead but it was still early and at 4 knots-plus, what the heck!
By 1230, Mass Bay was half behind her, her speed building with the wind and seas. From mere ripples earlier, the occasional white caps now appeared off the starboard quarter and speed over the bottom–now 212 feet below–was pushing 5. Amazingly, there was little traffic: one lobsterman was passed and eight or nine sets of sail were seen around the horizon. That’s it!
Twenty-minutes later, her speed was holding better than five and by 1330, the genny was reefed and still she was surfing down the back side of 5-foot rollers at better than 6.5 knots! At 1400, it was time to fur the genny altogether and the last five miles to Gloucester were made under main alone.
Running before the so’easterly at 6 1/2 kts. made for a challenging ride across Mass Bay.
“The approach to Gloucester is littered with lobster pots,” says the cruising guide, and it ain’t kiddin’. A particular challenge today, what with them playing hide-and-seek behind breaking waves and the quartering seas doing their best to push Steadfast off course. The outer harbor was made at 1450 and, once inside the relative protection of the breakwater, Ms. Wes sprang into action , the main was doused and a mooring grabbed at Eastern Point Yacht Club, a stunningly beautiful lay-out with a panoramic view of the ocean, bay and harbor.
Eastern Point Light with the sea beyond as seen from the yacht club on a breezy afternoon.
NOAA promises the 20-knot winds will lay down overnight and maybe the harbor won’t be so lumpy. Right now, it’s a lot like being anchored in front of the Cooper Island Beach Club when the northerly swells are running, i.e., lumpy enough to lie athwart ships in the bunk to keep from rolling around tonight.
But this is what New England’s supposed to be like in the summer. This is the kind of wind for which Steadfast has been yearning since the middle of June and this day, she showed her stuff.
From that plane into Logan, travelers saw only a handful of boats under sail and, by golly, Steadfast was one of ‘em! Arrrrrrrrrrgh!
Steadfast, out.
23 July: Fried Clams, Anyone?
There’s a steady industrial-sort of hum emanating from the block-long gray box-of-a- building across the north channel of Gloucester’s inner harbor. But this city’s industry is, as it always has been, fish. So it should come as no surprise that the company generating that steady drone is Gorton’s Seafood, each package proudly displaying the image of the Gloucester fisherman’s monument.
Tourism’s important here, too, a big boost coming when Hollywood arrived a few years ago to film “The Perfect Storm.” You now can board a mock up of the Andrea Gail, the boat that took George Clooney and crew to their doom. It’s moored in the parking lot next to the real Cape Pond Ice Company, “the coolest guys around,” made famous in the book and movie, too.
But Gloucester, MA, has always been and very much remains a working fisherman’s town. This is not Newport or Annapolis. Boats here work. Fun boats, yachts, are welcomed but they are in the minority.
Yachts take up the mooring field but work boats predominate along the piers that line Gloucester Harbor.
Steadfast laid-over in Gloucester for a couple of reasons today. One, the forecast was less than favorable although the day turned out to be lovely: mostly sunny, 78 degrees (and 78% humidity) and a fairly steady so’westerly that cooled the harbor. The big reason for staying, though, was the wind last night that blew two-foot seas around the breakwater at Dog Bar and rocked the mooring field ’til dawn. Rolling first to port, then back to starboard, does not make for a good night’s sleep. Odds are much more in our favor tonight, tucked in as we are in the northern most reaches of the inner harbor. There’s still a breeze. The boat still swings. But it’s nothing like out there by the breakwater.
And, there’s something somehow restful knowing fried clams are being frozen and packed for all of America just a few hundred yards away.
Bon appetite!
Steadfast, out.
25 July: The Sixteen-Hundred Club
The cockpit has a good view of the homes that line Mt. Pleasant Street, Atlantic Avenue and the dining room at Ellen’s Harborview Restaurant, about 50-feet away. The reverse is true, too, so there is a sense of being in a fishbowl. But mainly to enjoy the harbor view for ourselves, cocktails move to the foredeck. Almost immediately, a sturdy voice bellows across the water.
“Com mon ovah-riff you wahn. Join us!”
Ocean Reporter is a black-hulled steel vessel of some 40-feet or so, one whose fit and finish defy description. It’s clear she’s a working vessel of some sort but her mission is not easily discerned. What better way to find out than to join those assembled on her aft deck.
There are many workboats in the tiny harbor at aptly-named Rockport, Massachusetts. The Atlantic waves wash over the granite boulders that line the shores of Cape Ann. Rock jetties flank the narrow entrance to the harbor whose rock banks lay bare at low tide. This is the panorama that greeted Steadfast on her arrival Wednesday evening.
Vessels of all sizes and shapes surround the much-photographed Motif #1.
The wisdom of the decision to lay-over another day in Gloucester was affirmed when Tuesday turned out to be all that NOAA predicted with an afternoon storm punctuated by high winds, heavy rain, thunder and lightning.
A boisterous but brief thunderstorm rocked the harbor in mid-afternoon.
NOAA also foresaw gusty winds Wednesday but the morning sun made Rockport worth a try so mooring lines were slipped at 1027 and Gloucester harbor was cleared 20-minutes later. The nor’westerly wasn’t nearly the 10-15 knots of the forecast but, for awhile at least, enough to warrant wearing sail, close-hauled toward Thatcher Island. Once round Thatcher, the remainder of the 12-miles into Rockport Harbor was under power.
Reprovisioning took the greatest part of Thursday (Rockport’s one grocery closed last year so it’s not easy). Friday morning was for laundry. Then Kate arrived on the midday train from Boston. So by cocktail hour, it already had been a big day! Then, the invitation to board Ocean Reporter. Wow! We like this place.
After climbing up from the dinghy, we were made welcome by Capt. Bill Lee and introduced to Dave, Bob and Jim. Roy and Jane couldn’t stay but Midge and Alan came aboard before too long, after which Bob and Wanda joined the crew, too. Oh, and Steve was there, with Karen expected shortly. A most congenial group. These and others, we assume, form Capt. Lee’s “Sixteen-thirty Club,” which convenes many–if not most–evenings on the Reporter’s ample aft deck and adjourns promptly at 1800 hours.
Her big diesels wake each morning at 0530 as Bill goes off to set moorings, repair docks, splice rope, retrieve disabled boats and, it seems, whatever else the waterfront of Rockport wants or requires. He’s a popular guy, which becomes all the more apparent when he serves Saturday as chauffeur and tour guide for two sailors from Virginia. You may know them.
“Notta problem. Glad ta do it. Now ta-mahra, don’t fah-git–coffee an’ pace-tree zat the yot club, oh-nine-hun’red. See ya theyah!”
Rockport’s a special harbor for many reasons. The rocky shore. Snug harbor. Quaint waterfront town. But mainly for the people who live here.
Steadfast, out.
At Sea with Steadfast 
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