The painted brick Sandy Point Light tower sits among beach front homes on on the east shore of Prudence Island.

Everything on Prudence comes via ferry from Bristol.

Sunday, 10 August

There’s a perfectly round slice of cantaloupe hanging somehow just above the treeline to the east, the oaks and spreading maples that stand tall along the shore of Dutch Harbor on the west side of Conanicut Island (Jamestown, RI). The engine of a small airplane rumbles through the night air to the east. A couple of chuckles curls across the water from a cockpit to port but otherwise, it’s a quiet night.

This is a much welcomed contrast to the day. A tad tense, it was. Nothing major, mind you. Just not the idyllic sunny day on the water one might imagine, sailing blissfully from one welcoming harbor to another.

No, it wasn’t the lack of wind. Hey, the wind isn’t what you want every day. C’mon!

A slow-moving trawler leaves no wake at all.

And it wasn’t so much the fact that every manner of motorboat—from cruiser to center console to inflatable dinghy—managed to buzz on by at close quarters, sending Steadfast a-rocking and rolling.

No. Normally, not a big deal, s’all good. Just boys being boys, after all.

No. It was that little plumbing issue that made itself known this morning, first thing. You know how much fun plumbing “issues” are at home. They become every bit as interesting and more so when “home” is afloat on twenty-seven feet of fiberglass hull. It’s the “7 Steps.”  There’s denial, i.e., “Here, let me try.”  Anger is sure to follow, as in, “It was workin’ fine!  What the *#%& happened?!”  Resignation leads to acceptance, diagnosis, a the plan for reconciliation.  This is followed by the ever-evasive quest for parts (a reason to visit Dutch Harbor again, Conanicut Marine chandlery being within walking distance), a back-up plan when some parts can’t be procured. And then, only then, the denouement as it were, the actual repair itself.

The frugal Rhode Island lobstermen’s pot floats abound in Narragansett Bay.

At which point, the idyllic life aboard resumes.  Assuming, of course, the parts fit and nothing broke. Oh, and none of the fittings leak.

Yeah, baby. The cruising life. Warm breezes. Breathtaking sunsets. And clogged plumbing. You can’t beat it.

Steadfast out.

Epilogue: pump, hoses and fittings all got back together and the system was operative again by mid-morning Monday.  In fact, the pump’s working better than ever in the eleven years Steadfast and crew have been together!  Now that’s progress.

A classic light marks the shoal at the southern tip of Hog Island.

Saturday, 9 August

The thing about Bristol—that is Bris-tul, Ah-Rye—is that it doesn’t have that “touristy” feel about it. Sure, there are visitors, passing-through as for instance those aboard the little sloop Steadfast. But coming ashore, the feeling is one of authenticity, that those on the streets—on a bench outside the Dunkin’ Donuts or leaving Aidan’s after a frosty beverage—live somewhere near here.  In other words, downtown Bristol is not all about tee-shirts and salt water taffy.

Bristol’s a fairly short run from Wickford, about 13 nautical to the nor’east, past Jamestown, round the south end of Prudence and up the east passage to Hog Island before turning into Bristol Harbor.  Once upon a time, a fifteen-year-old spent an all-to-brief summer on Hog, just about the best summer a kid could have.  That was the first experience with the ways of a boat of any kind and the seeds planted for sailing sailing many years later.

Saturday, for example, there was a semi-successful attempt to do as much of this leg as possible under sail. With today’s wind, or lack thereof, the hour-or-so of sailing was at a blistering pace as much as 2 knots, at times. Not the speediest leg of the trip but pleasant, nonetheless. And it’s remarkable how much longer a tank of diesel lasts when sailing.

Its industrial past remains evident along the Bristol waterfront.

Wide and deep, the approach to Bristol is simple. It might well be an ideal destination but for the fact that the harbor’s open to the so’west, i.e., the direction from which the wind typically blows this time of year. Still, it’s got to be a pretty good blow to set the harbor rocking so there’s a good-sized fleet moored here.

Cap’n Talbot made a statement when he built his house on Hope Street in 1807.

Thames Street runs along a tidy waterfront that features a winding pier-like “boardwalk.” But the main drag is Hope Street, one block up from the harbor. The centerline on Hope is painted red, white and blue for the Independence Day parade and stays so all year. Hope features its own collection of impressive homes from the 18^th and 19^th centuries, historic churches, the imposing granite Colt Memorial School, and the kinds of shops and restaurants any town might have. Not a tee-shirt shop in sight.

It’s been fifty years since your correspondent last stepped ashore in Bristol Harbor. Of course, much has changed since then, including your correspondent. But Bristol still has the feel of a working-class town, albeit one on a lovely harbor.

Steadfast out.

God speaks often. We just need to listen for His voice.

Friday, 8 August

Twelve-meters like Heritage can find wind when others can’t.

Nautical charts tend to have a lot of little numbers, wavy contour lines and the all-important symbols for buoys, lights and markers that help a sailor find his way. Every once in awhile, though, there’s an odd notation that catches the eye.

“Torpedo Range,” for instance.

There wasn’t much wind when Steadfast motored out of Newport Harbor today. Enough to coax out the sails for a bit but not enough to keep her going up the East Passage. So Little Red kicked in and pushed her smartly over a slick calm sea the ten miles over to Wickford on the western shore of Narragansett Bay.

The Navy hasn’t used the firing pier to test torpedoes since 1999.

But that meant passing by Gould Island which, for nearly half a century, was the principal site for the evolution of the modern naval torpedo. During the Second World War, it was home to the Torpedo Test-Firing Facility. First two floors of the firing pier remain, essentially a large platform from which torpedoes were launched into an underwater testing range up the east passage of Narragansett Bay. At its height, the Gould Island complex was capable of firing 100 torpedoes per day, operating seven days a week round the clock. But it lies dormant today, as it has since the last firing in the late 90s.

Boats in Wickford moor to pilings, the old school way.

Still, the chart notation gets one’s attention, especially while motoring quietly round Conanicut (Jamestown) Island to the western shore town of Wickford. It’s another one of those communities of which you’re beginning to tire, i.e, quaint, historic, charming, photogenic. Any other adjectives you’d like at add?

It’s just hard not to like Wickford. More than 300 years old—“Ante-bellum” up here means pre-Revolution—it boasts a snug little harbor to keep in mind in a blow. And the village—really part of the town of North Kingstown—is friendly and picturesque. No place to provision, or launder, or replenish the wine cellar. But a lovely place to spend the night.

And from all reports, safe from torpedo attack.

Steadfast out

Thursday, 7 August

From outside, hulls in Cuttyhunk hide behind the sand spit.

One-time America’s Cup challenger Nefertiti found the wind to her liking near Buzzards Bay.

Thunderstorms again were in the afternoon forecast when Steadfast shoved off from Cuttyhunk about 0945. The destination, Newport Harbor, offers reasonable protection and would be within easy reach, given NOAA’s call for five-to-ten out of the north.

Once past the shoals, rocks and ledged that guard Cutty and through the channel between her and Penikese Island, Steadfast turned to a heading more or less due west and held it all the way to Brenton Reef. Sails unfurled, Little Red took a break, and Steadfast was making 4 ½ to 5, thanks in no small part to a fair current. Even when the wind laid down, then shifted so’west, Red had to turn just 2000 revs to maintain speed.

Castle Hill Light marks the rock ledge leading to Newport Harbor.

Then, pleasant surprise, the wind backed some more and Steadfast was able to sail the remaining two hours, from Sakonett Point on.   The Mate had the helm from Brenton Reef all the way into Newport Harbor, tacking among the usual fleet of runabouts, yachts, megayachts, ferries and cargo ships that seem always underway in the East Passage off Fort Adams.

A little over 26 nautical for the day, average speed five-plus. Not bad. Oh, and the thunderstorm never materialized, not for Newport, at least. Just a brief spritz. But passing to the north, it did display an always welcomed message from heaven.

After a hard day, some sailors may well see Newport as their “pot o’ gold.”

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 6 August

Storms threatened the tiny harbor all afternoon but passed without a drop.

There’s a pleasant little breeze over the thin spit of sand between Steadfast and Rhode Island Sound. Well, really, the Atlantic Ocean. A few hundred yards away, it throws itself against the sand and rock, sending spray in the air along with a steady rumble that has yet to rest in the eight hours since Steadfast arrived. The sun nears the horizon.

Oh, and there’s fresh caught steamed lobster in the cockpit.

Yes, after a week of foiled attempts, Steadfast finally made it to Cuttyhunk. And there now is understanding as to the countless urgings of weeks, months and years past.

“Did you stop at Cuttyhunk?” or “What about Cutty, did you go there?” or “You’ve GOT to go to Cutty!” Or the ultimate, “I can’t believe you went all that way and didn’t go to Cutty!”

You get the idea. Block is beautiful. Newport’s nice. The Vineyard’s fun. But…

After the disappointing tries of the past couple of days, the 19 nautical down Vineyard Sound today seemed simple and straightforward. Fast, too. There were clouds and some haze when Steadfast slipped her mooring in Vineyard Haven at 0940. She motored slowly past the breakwater, along the outer harbor and north toward West Chop. That’s where the fun began, i.e., the ebb current that caught her and swept her westward down the Sound at up to 9 knots (over the bottom).

There’s not much room to spare when vessels meet in Quick’s Hole.

That single tack took her to Quicks Hole and the short, narrow, rocky pass through to Buzzards Bay. When she popped out on the north side, she was just a couple of miles from the little island of Cuttyhunk. Even with the slow start, her average speed for the day was close to seven knots. Nice ride.

There’s a wee bit of tension aboard coming into Cutty’s inner harbor. The channel’s thin and narrow—nine deep and maybe sixty feet across—stingy compared to other harbors up here. But once inside, there’s shelter from winds from every direction. Even on a Wednesday afternoon, the pond is packed. Boats hang on all 45 of the town moorings, a couple of dozen have slipped into the town marina and another half-dozen hulls lie to anchor in the little space left along the north edge of the mooring field. It is packed.

Cutty’s answer to the Mall of America: the town pier.

Once ashore, the reason becomes clear.

The one-room schoolhouse now serves a student body of two.

Cuttyhunk charms. Not with a fancy dress and flutter of eyelashes, wispy voice or come-hither glance. No, there’s nothing made-up about Cutty. She is the real deal, small—roughly a mile-and-a-half by two—and tough. Tough enough to be “home” to islanders for more than 400 years since Captain Gosnold camped here five years before helping settle Jamestown (VA).

Something like half the island remains undeveloped—the islanders like it that way—and the rest has room for about 150 mostly modest homes plus the Gosnold Town Hall, Post Office, Library, Historical Society, one-room schoolhouse, multi-denominational church and the marina. Nearly all is shingled in cedar shake turned gray.

Lobster’s a little sweeter when enjoyed on board.

There are a couple of places to eat—the tables at Soprano’s Pizza are in someone’s driveway, as is a twice-a-week lobster dinner near the harbor—one B-and-B and a mini-market of sorts. A row of doors on the pier open to an ice-cream-coffee-and-pastry shop and three options for take-home seafood. Door Number-3 was the choice for steamed lobster this night for Steadfast. Place your order by five; be back to get it at 6. Or go hungry.

On Cutty, the sun provides local color.

Not without a distinct charm that is simple, tough and so seductive. Like the views from the top of Tower Hill where, once you’re there, you don’t want to leave. It seems you could see forever and stay at least twice that long.

The surf roars. The sun sets. The lobster’s gone. But memories of Cuttyhunk will last forever.

Steadfast out.

Tuesday, 5 August

The LORD brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; he frustrates the plans of the peoples. Psalm 33:10

Not your run-of-the-mill Chesapeake Bay fog, only Clark Kent can see through this stuff.

The wind was willing, the current fair and an early fog cleared from the harbor in plenty of time to follow the day’s plan: west down Vineyard Sound, through Quick’s Hole and into harbor at Cuttyhunk Island. An easy day of just 15 miles or so.

Holmes Hole Cemetery holds a number of surprises for those who visit.

So Steadfast eased off her mooring, a little later than planned but still with plenty of that three-knot current to make it work. But when she got the two miles to West Chop, there it was. The fog had lifted off the harbor but still laid the full width of Vineyard Sound. The only evidence that Cape Cod even existed was the Woods Hole ferry emerging eerily from a thick smoke gray curtain.

Steadfast returned to harbor and when the Cape came slowly into view tried again, got just past West Chop but the Sound again disappeared in fog.

Since the current had begun to turn east, fog or not, a run to Cutty would wait for another day. Steadfast would spend another night in Vineyard Haven.

Not a bad thing at all, as it turns out.

“Tough but fair,” reads the epitaph.

The image is that of the Underwood used for so many columns.

How many have been inspired by Styron’s dreams?

The lay-over meant time to walk out to West Chop to enjoy the views at the old lighthouse. Holmes Hole Cemetery offered a shady respite along the way and a few surprises, too. Along with those of early residents are stones in memory of four of the island’s more famous summer colonists. Mike Wallace of “60 Minutes”; humorist Art Buchwald; author William Styron (“Sophie’s Choice” among others); and journalist-author John Hersey (“Hiroshima” and “A Bell for Adonno”).

The Vineyard Haven Band has been entertaining Islanders for 150 years.

With the sun going down, the Vineyard Haven Band continued the tradition begun in 1868. Taking the hillside bandstand at Owen Park, it filled the harbor with the music of Mancini, Puccini, John Phillip Sousa and more, closing the concert with a stirring rendition of the national anthem.

This well-cared for beauty got the worst of a collision with a 45-footer.

Oh, and then there was the excitement of seeing Harbormaster, Fire & Rescue and Coast Guard boats all respond to an emergency call off East Chop. The sun was shining out there but apparently not for the crews of two boats that collided. None among the crew of five on a 45’ nor the woman single-handing a 32’ saw the other boat in time. No injuries but the classic wood sloop lost her rig and had to be towed back to her mooring. As the Old Salt was heard to say, “A collision at sea can ruin the whole day.”

This day in Vineyard Haven, two people you may know again planned to sail a small boat the fifteen miles or so westward to the island of Cuttyhunk. God laughed and blessed them in ways unexpected.

Steadfast out.

Monday, 4 August

Edgartown’s Mad Max makes day charters work even in the rain, right through the harbor.

After two days of rain and clouds, it was with much anticipation that Steadfast prepared today to leave Edgartown. The morning turned out to be too much like a ketchup commercial—you know, Carly Simon singing while the Heinz stays in the bottle—as a thick gray-brown fog crept up Vineyard Sound and hugged the island.

That left time for a couple of minor items of deferred maintenance along with the usual checks of fuel filter, oil and cooling water intake. Eel grass and seaweed haven’t been as much of a problem here as in Maine two years ago but some seems to get sucked into the line every day.

The early fog lifted but left so little wind, sailing camp crews resorted to paddling to make way.

But taking time for those duties meant losing most of the morning’s favorable current down the Sound to Cuttyhunk, the intended destination. Given the total lack of wind once underway, this didn’t seem like that much of a problem…until Steadfast came around East Chop. Just like that, the wind went from nothing to 15 knots on the nose and into the southeast current, so seas went from slick calm to white caps that sent spray all the way back to the cockpit.

All hands quickly reached consensus and Steadfast turned hard-aport to head back into Vineyard Haven for what turned out to be another ten-mile day. And for yet another day, Cutty remains on the list of “must see” harbors.

Steadfast out.

Friday, 1 August

A schooner heels to the wind beating across the Sound.

There was some bias aboard, based not in fact admittedly, that Edgartown might be a bit too chi-chi for the crew of Steadfast. But when asked about harbors on Martha’s Vineyard, Tony had urged, “definitely Edgartown,” so why not give it a try?

It’s a short ten-mile run from Vineyard Haven which, on the first Friday morning of August, is good. This is peak season for sailing in New England and harbors fill early in the day on weekends. And by golly, when Steadfast motored into the inner harbor in Edgartown, she snagged one of the last couple of town moorings still available at 1045.

Edgartown Light stands on the north side of the narrow entrance.

A ten-knot southerly coaxed a number of other boats out of harbor including a handsome schooner (tall ship #9) seen beating toward Oak Bluff. Once past the white cast iron light tower on the beach at Starbuck Neck, a turn to port reveals a long narrow harbor running north-south to Katama Bay, Chappaquiddick Island forming its east shore. There’s plenty of depth, plenty of swinging room (unlike Vineyard Haven), and plenty to do ashore. The latter assumes that one understands this is an island, where everything here arrives by boat; ergo, nothing is cheap (a ten-pound bag of ice, for instance, is six bucks!). Add to that the fact that shops and restaurants cater to a “fashionable” clientele and a sailor’s wallet could slim down in a hurry.

Edgartown YC has a splendid view of the harbor.

Still, it doesn’t cost anything to stroll the brick sidewalks that run along narrow streets with all-American names like Water, Winter, Summer, School, Church and Main. This was the first settlement on Martha’s Vineyard, dating to 1642, but it really began to prosper when whaling and the China trade made huge fortunes in the first half of the 19^th century. The captains and merchants built handsome white clapboard Federal-style homes with black shutters, many of which remain in great shape. Each typically is accented by a colorful cottage garden of roses, zinnia, hydrangea and more.

Daniel Fisher built a fortune on the whaling business that flourished here, then built this house in 1840.

The harbor’s not too narrow for some sailing.

What Friday seemed a nice place to be became a haven on Saturday. An early sprinkle became a shower replaced by mid-morning with a steady, drenching rain. Boats now rock and swing to a rising easterly that chops up the harbor just a bit. Nothing like what one would imagine it’s like today on Nantucket Sound.

Yep. A good day to stay in harbor and Edgartown’s a good harbor to be in. Definitely!

Steadfast out.

Thursday, 31 July

Morning sun gave rise to hopes for a good sail.

At 0900, there’s just enough wind to ripple the waters of Mattapoisett Harbor and, with that, to suggest there may be enough to fill sails, too. So while Little Red sleeps in, the main is hoisted, Steadfast swings to starboard and moves slowly off her mooring. The genny unfurls, she tacks to port and quietly sails out of the harbor on a heading of about 160 magnetic.

Even reefed, she sails well with the new Ullman genny.

The light so’westerly—maybe 12 knots, that’s all—let’s her carry that tack all the way across Buzzards Bay, nearly to the Cape Cod shore. (BTW, the new benny from Latell Sails in Deltaville makes all the difference!)  Another couple of tacks take her close enough to Woods Hole to make it prudent to rouse Red. She answers the call, providing the push that Steadfast needs to handle the tricky current that boils through the passage to Vineyard Sound.

Flying everything but the bedsheets, Shenandoah didn’t slow despite her main mast spearing the clouds.

There’s traffic through there but the big girls, the ferries that shuttle back and forth to the islands, are still at the steamship pier or out on the Sound when Steadfast slips through. Rips through is more like it, her speed over the bottom topping out at more than nine knots.  Once through Woods Hole, the current keeps going. So does the traffic. Multi-million-dollar mega-yachts, T-tops, tall ships and, of course, the ferries.

How does the island not sink under the weight of tourists, trucks and cars that come all day long?

It’s a real kick to see Steadfast among them, close-hauled up Vineyard Sound at seven-plus knots. That tack carries all the way to East Chop where she turns to sail into Vineyard Haven for the night.

The cast iron East Chop Light marks the Oak Bluff side of Vineyard Haven.

By the time she’s passed the breakwater that marks the inner harbor, she’s put another 19 miles under her keel, all but a couple under full sail.

That was a great suggestion the wind made this morning, to raise sail. Two days in a row now.

A crew could get used to this.

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 30 July

The replica Amistad passed in Hog Island Channel, tall ship #7 seen so far.

Standing at the helm, there’s a high-pitched whistling that doesn’t stop. It sometimes changes pitch, rising, but it doesn’t stop. Just keeps whistling.

Or is it the wind asking a question, “Who-o-o-o-o-o-o-o?” as in “Who wouldn’t want to sail with me today?”

The answer, of course, is no one. The sun is bright, the sky blue and Buzzards Bay barely makes the bow bounce. The five knots NOAA predicted is more like—in fact, is—a steady 15 but who-o-o-o-o-o-o’s counting? There’s a reef in the main, the foresail’s reefed to working jib size and Steadfast still sails southward making 4½ to 5-knots. Not bad.

With lookout on the bow, the Ice Cream Boat trolls Onset Harbor.

In Onset last night, the fireworks proved to be a one-hundred year event, a show worthy of the Canal centennial. Two barges tied-off at the west end of the canal launched their first missiles about 2100 and kept at it for thirty minutes or more. Multiple bursts, many colors, going all the time. Quite a display.

Boats filled Onset Bay for the Big Show.

After laundry ashore and chores aboard, it was 1235 before Steadfast was underway today. Landfall in the Elizabeth Islands was the goal. Hadley Harbor, maybe Cuttyhunk. But NOAA’s shy westerly turned out to be a southerly with sass. She started kicking about the time Steadfast motored out of Hog Island Channel. Tacking from there, shore to shore, she somehow managed to squeeze three-and-a-half hours out of what is a five-mile trip “as the crow flies.” Go figga.

Many homes here date to when the whaling business was good.

But great fun, which is how she happens to sit tonight in the broad and deep harbor at Mattapoisett. That’s the port just east of Fairhaven and west of Marion. Where the locals built whaling 400 ships for New Bedford, ships with famous names like Achushnet (on which Herman Melville gathered material for “Moby Dick”) and Wanderer. Whaling is why streets are lined with home after home built in the first half of the nineteenth century.

The granite Town Wharf leads to the Town Green where colorful folding lawn chairs form neat rows for their occupants. A swing band takes its place under the copper dome of the bandstand and old standards float across the harbor.

The Town Wharf is full but there’s plenty of room to anchor in the broad harbor.

No whistling, though. Not ‘til tomorrow.

Steadfast out.