29 August: Can’t Beat the Price
“Naw, naw, naw. Don’t go to Manchesta. Theyah’s nuthin’ theyah, Bill!” The speaker is none other than Cap’n Bill Lee. You remember Bill: presiding officer of the 1630 Club and Rockport’s resident expert in all things nautical. “Just pick up a moorin’ at Thatcher Eye-len. Theyah free, ya know.”
Bill has pulled his Ocean Reporter alongside to refuel Steadfast. (There being no fuel dock in Rockport, this is one more reason Bill is a popular guy on the harbor.) He then proceeds to pull up Cape Ann and Thatcher Island on the chartplotter in OR’s wheelhouse, pointing out the moorings. In answer to the question posed cautiously, he responds.
“Oh, yeah! They-ahs plentya wawtah in theyah! Look – 8, 12, 13 feet. You kin get in theyah easy with yaw boat!”
True. The trick, with an unforgiving rock bottom, is to be sure to find the “8, 12, 13-feet” and not the granite lurking just below the surface. But, it would shave off a couple of miles from the trip to Manchester–don’t tell Bill–to go through that narrow passage instead of going all the way around Thatcher. So, buoyed by the experiences of the last few days in Maine, Steadfast leaves Rockport at 1112, rounds the northern tip of Cape Ann and bends around the shoal to 210 degrees to make the passage Bill described.
Identical twin lights leave no mistake that this is Thatcher Island.
Closing on Thatcher, the depth sounder reads 68, 72, 68…then 16, as in feet. After readings in the hundreds through much of the coast, 16 feels slim even though it’s more than four-times the depth Steadfast needs to safely clear.
This passage affords a unique perspective on what may be a unique arrangement of two (2) lighthouses on a single small island. The reason for the decision to build oh-so-long-ago awaits a future conversation with Cap’n Bill.
Sails deployed, Steadfast runs wing-and-wing before a light northerly, hugging Cape Ann closely enough to hear the surf crashing on the rocky shore. Rounding Eastern Point, she passes the entrance to Gloucester harbor and turns due north for the channel into Manchester-by-the-Sea. It’s a short day–just 15.5 nautical miles–but another in a string of beautifully sunny days capped by arrival at a long, narrow and equally stunning harbor. The homes that line the banks of Manchester harbor rival those along Ocean Drive in Newport! Architecture, landscaping, each a gorgeous waterfront estate.
Gorgeous homes line a snug harbor filled with classic yachts at Manchester-by-the-Sea, MA.
And then there’s Manchester Yacht Club, whose launch driver explains, “Well, one night or two, doesn’t matter. We have plenty of moorings so the club stopped charging. It’s free.”
Just like Thatcher Island, but…15 miles closer to Hallieford.
Steadfast, out.
28 August: Whale of a City
“Call me Ishmael.” Well, not me, you understand. It’s just that, standing on the pier in New Bedford, it’s hard not to think of Ishmael, Ahab, Moby Dick and Melville. This, after all, once was the “whaling capital of the world” and remains one of the major fishing ports in the country.
There was little notable about the two days before Steadfast’s arrival in New Bedford, and there’s nothing wrong with that! “Uneventful” makes for a good day on the water. There was a straightforward hold the wheel at 200-degrees for the 25-miles from Manchester to Scituate; followed by a bit longer leg past Plymouth and on to Sandwich at the east end of the Cape Cod Canal. Then the fun started!
“Be advised, captain.” The voice on the VHF was that of Canal Control. Note that it is never good to be the person to whom the words “be advised, captain” are addressed. “The speed limit in the Cape Cod Canal is 10-miles-an-hour. That is 8 knots. Slow down and watch your wake!”
When your vessel is a small, slow moving, relatively under-powered sailboat, it is of some comfort to know Canal Control is watching to make sure big boats behave themselves. So after a quick stop at the fuel dock in Sandwich–it doesn’t take long to load five gallons–Steadfast nosed her way out into the canal and immediately went from motoring at 4.5 knots to 7.5. No change in engine RPM, understand. It’s all in the ebb current that had begun about an hour earlier.
The Bourne Bridge is one of three spans that pass quickly when the current’s astern through the Cape Cod Canal.
But wait – it gets better. When Steadfast reached the point where the current was greatest, she was moving over the bottom at better than 9-knots! Speed through the water–what Control monitors–was still just 4.5. But she was on a sleigh ride through all the swirls and eddies. Even through the 3-foot chop that built at the west end, under the railroad bridge, that speed held at plus-9.
It was good to see the sights along and over the canal banks, sights that were missed in the clouds and rain that punctuated the first trip through. This day, it was sunny and, once through the canal, a so’westerly wind coaxed the sails to be unfurled and Steadfast tacked down Buzzards Bay, turned to starboard at West Island and into the five-mile channel to the busy New Bedford Harbor.
New Bedford’s cobblestone streets lead to the waterfront where whalers once departed for the hunt.
The city’s done–and continues to do–a great job of making the waterfront attractive and accessible to visitors while retaining much of the history and character of this harbor. There’s a photo op at every corner it seems.
Ishmael was not seen, may still be at sea.
Steadfast out.
29 September
“Securi-tay, securi-tay, securi-tay. Hello, all stations.”
The voice on VHF channel 16–the marine channel on which to call another boat or to call for help–was loud and clear. It was just 1000, still fairly early in this clear, sunny day, so maybe this was just a routine alert of some kind. But the voice continued.
“This is TowBoatUS New Bedford assisting a sailboat that has grounded at the Dumpling Rocks. All mariners in the area are requested to proceed with caution. TowBoat, out.”
Hmmm. Grounding on rocks. That’s not good. And to think, that being the most direct route out of Buzzards Bay to Newport, that was the plan for Steadfast this morning. But, as lovely as it was sailing on a broad reach, the two-foot seas on the starboard quarter made it a challenge to steer, read the chart AND pick out the distant markers, so the decision was made to take the “safe route” and skirt the main shipping channel instead of ducking past Dumpling Rocks. Prudence prevails.
As Steadfast motors out of New Bedford Harbor, these women practice for their next dory race, a popular sport in New England harbors.
Steadfast had been tardy in shoving off from Pope’s Island and New Bedford Harbor at 0845. Still, other than the commercial fleet, she was about the first boat out past the hurricane barrier this day. The light northerly was dead astern but with the tide running, she was making better than six knots while Ms. Wes churned over at 2200 RPM.
As the wind picked up, prudence–there’s that word, again–dictated putting a reef in the main, still on a reach, wind over the quarter and Ms. Wes took a well deserved break. The wind abated, the full main was up and shortly after noon, Ms. Wes was called on to enhance the wind, as it were.
Unlike the eastbound passage, Steadfast this time stayed closer in shore and with the bright sun, familiar landmarks from the past were easy to pick out. The enormous boulders at Tiverton Point where a college boy perched and dreamed of sailing oceans. Sachuest, the favorite beach. Marble House, The Breakers and all the other mansions whose “back yards” spill down to the Cliff Walk. Then finally, Brenton Reef, Castle Hill Light and Fort Adams, home of the Newport Jazz Festival.
One of the several classic 12 Meter America’s Cup veterans thrills a crew of tourists out for a day-sail past Aquidneck Island.
A beauty day, 35.4 nautical miles averaging 5.5 knots along the way. And this time, with the miles that lie ahead, the night will be spent aboard, not ashore.
Prudence dictates.
Steadfast, out.
01 September: Plans
Spartina is on the prowl.
Spartina is a well-cared for 31-foot Pearson sloop of mid’80s vintage whose skipper reported yesterday, “I left home this morning at four-o’clock so I could get a mooring and look: nothing!”
That’s because, as noted previously, Labor Day weekend began Thursday on Block Island. A few of those town moorings opened early Friday but not many. So when Spartina got there late Friday morning, he was out of luck. His expression was one not so much of disappointment–although he clearly was disappointed–as simple disbelief. How could this be?
So now, 0600 Saturday morning, he is on high alert for that first mooring that becomes vacant. As Spartina slides by, he is informed that Steadfast will cast off soon, will call to let him know and, hearing this, his sense of relief–and appreciation–are clear.
Once through the channel and into Block Island Sound, clouds begin to consume the morning sun to create the cover image for volume from Deepak Chopra.
No description needed for the view looking back toward Block Island and Great Salt Pond.
The nor’east wind picks up enough to make sailing a reality and the Sound waters froth off the bow and hiss past Steadfast’s beam. It only gets better when a dozen porpoise swim from their pod of a hundred to say hello. They criss-cross under the keel, streak along side and briefly cavort in the bow wave. Then they’re off to entertain the crew on another boat.
The crossing goes from the sublime to the ridiculous at Watch Hill Passage, the easternmost entry to Long Island Sound. It is jammed with boat traffic of all kinds–workboats, families out fishing, a regatta of one-design sailboats and big yachts–underway to their holiday destinations. Combined with the suddenly strong current, wakes from powerboats, a bloom of seaweed and an attack of biting flies, the traffic makes it easy to forget that this is supposed to be fun!
Stonington slides by to starboard, a great harbor to visit but it’s too early in the day to stop. Steadfast presses on and is rewarded with a freshening breeze that carries her by mid-afternoon, instead, to New London. She spends the night on the Thames River in the shadows cast by the Coast Guard Academy and the Cutter Eagle.
There was little about this day that was planned, including the destination, but it seems all to have worked out, moving Steadfast another 35 miles closer to home while Spartina and many others move toward a memorable holiday.
Steadfast, out.
02 September: What’s the Hurry?
The Thames River is barely rippled by the light zephyr that comes from the east. There are some clouds but more of the sky is blue when Steadfast sets off downstream making 5.5 knots as Ms. Wes hums along at her now familiar frequency of 2200 revolutions a minute. It’s just a few minutes after 8 o’clock when the holiday morning calm is shattered by an angry voice calling frantically from some nearby harbor, seeking justice on channel 16.
“Hey, buddy! SLOW DOWN! It’s a ‘no wake’ zone, you know. Watch what you’re doin’!”
There’s no indication of where the call is made but it appears the intended recipient did hear.
“Kiss off!” is the simple suggestion offered, one assumes, by the perceived offender.
And so this last Sunday of the summer season begins, fellow boaters enjoying their time together on the water.
For Steadfast, the combination of favorable current and a rising so’easterly push her speed over ground to a fairly startling 7 knots. Eights then become fairly frequent and she ultimately starts hitting speeds in the nines! For a couple of hours, motor sailing this way, the miles click off in most encouraging fashion. A course change passing Faulkner Island moves the wind astern and the speed backs down into the five-and-a-half range but, had it not been for the earlier numbers, five-and-a-half would feel pretty good!
By 1400, she slides south of Branford Reef and shortly afterward turns for the breakwater guarding New Haven. Forty-four nautical miles, in all, at an average 5.9 knots, make this one of the most productive days of the summer.
The thought had been to anchor in Morris Cove, a broad bight on the eastern shore just north of the breakwater that’s home to New Haven Yacht Club. At 1500, there’s no way there’d be an open mooring but, hey, what the heck – give ’em a call.
The first try on 16 yields no response. Nor the second. Nothing comes back after calls on channel 68, either. So anchor it…
Then a faint voice announces “Na Haven Yot Club.” The mooring inquiry quickly follows. “What size boat? Yeah, we got a moorin’ for ya. Come on in.”
Once on the mooring, the club “launch”–a somewhat tired flat-bottomed skiff adorned with a half dozen formerly white fenders on the port side–arrives with Phil–an 80-year-old in navy polo and matching Kangol cap–at the helm of the outboard. “I’ll need ya life hist’ry now,” he chuckles. “We need to know if tha police ah lookin’ for ya.”
Once he’s made note of the usual info, Phil is asked about amenities.
“Sorry. No dinin’ room. Not even a bah! Can you believe that? A yot club with no bah!” and he chuckles again. “No showha, eitha. They just tore it out to replace it.”
Hmmm. So what exactly is the charge, then, one wonders?
“Oh, thayh’s no chahj. The moorin’s free. And let me know if you need any ice. No chahj for that, eithah. I’ll bring some out for ya.”
There’s a lot to like about the New Haven Yacht Club. Just the basics. With apologies to Kenny Chesney – no shower, no bar, no problem. And there’s no hurry, either. Phil likes to take it slow, the way life on the water ought to be.
Steadfast, out.
05 September
Redheads have a reputation, so it goes, for being, well, explosive, might we say? Think Maureen O’Hara in “The Quiet Man,” Rita Hayworth in any role and, of course, Lucy. But the redhead on boat Steadfast has been hard-working and, as long as the skipper does his part, dependable. You know her as Ms. Wes but, as much time as we’ve spent together this summer, that now seems a bit stilted, impersonal. So she’s become “Little Red” or just “Red.” And she’s given no indication she minds in the least. For Red, Labor Day, as it turned out, was no holiday.
By 0714, as Steadfast slipped her mooring, the thick cover of dark, forboding clouds had given way to bright sun over “the second oldest yacht club in the country.” Phil proudly proclaimed this tidbit about New Haven Yacht Club the evening before, adding offhandedly “Some club in New Jersey is the oldest but I don’t know what.”
Nosing out into Long Island Sound, there were ripples on the two-foot swells rolling in from the east but not much wind to speak of, maybe five knots. So it would be up to Red to get us to Stamford, some 34 miles away. The main went up in hopes it would help counter some of the rolling motion induced by the seas moving under the port quarter. With the main drawing and a favorable current, Steadfast was making six-and-a-half knots or better by the time she crossed the bar at Stratford Point. She still need Red to run her 2200 RPM, though, or she’d end up wallowing in the troughs. Not pleasant.
Motor-sailing along the Connecticut shore, the dinghy strains at her painter.
Two miles south of the South Norwalk Light, the wind had built into the teens, brewing Guinness-like seas: dark and foamy. The motion had become much like a ride at Kings Dominion, going side-to-side, up-and-down and forward all at once. All this while speed over ground hovered near 7 knots, maxing out at plus-9 along the way!
Turning a few degrees to starboard at the rocks known as The Cows, it became clear the couple of miles into Stamford Harbor would be a wild ride. Catching on the beam what by then was a steady 20 knots, gave Red a chance to catch her breath as Steadfast sped along at plus-5 under just the main! Once past the breakwater, the water immediately flattened out, enough to allow the main to be furled even though the wind continued to howl. Red took over from there completing the day at an average speed of 6.2 knots, probably the fastest overall run yet.
With the threat of rain and thunderstorms through mid-week, Red gets some well-deserved rest. And attention. A clean fuel filter, fresh fuel, a little more coolant, maybe, and a thorough check of all her clamps and fittings. This in preparation for the run down the East River and through New York City when, once again, it’ll pretty much all be up to her!
Since departing in mid-June, Red now has been on the job more than 300 hours. That’s a lot of work for her two little cylinders with another couple of weeks still ahead. With that resume, she deserves an Oscar!
Steadfast, out.
At Sea with Steadfast 
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