Going Through Life In A Fog

So there I was...coming out of Gloucester at 6 a.m. and entering into the Annisquam River, once I woke up the bridge tender with a couple blasts of my horn so he would raise the small drawbridge.  This beautiful 4.5 mile river allows the mariner to cut through Cape Ann on the Massachusetts coastline saving many miles of travel if you had to go around.  Halfway through, the mild fog became heavy to where a couple hundred feet was all I could see ahead of me.  Making it to the end of the river I pulled to one side of the channel, dropped an anchor and decided to wait this out with another cup of coffee.  In about a half hour I could see a couple hundred yards ahead so I set a course for the Isle of Shoals, a group of islands about 6 miles off the coast of Portsmouth, NH and Kittery, ME.  On the way I had several sightings of Pilot Whales.  Isle of Shoals looked like all those pictures you see of Maine.  There is a large retreat center on one of the islands that allowed me to bring my dingy to their docks to explore the island as well as their facilities.  They had the best ice cream in the snack shop.  About three days and I was off for Portland, ME and Casco Bay where it resides.  Had a Pilot Whale surface right in front of me on the way and a seal popped his head out of the water and watched me pass by shortly after.  About 10 miles off of Cape Elizabeth, ME the fog came in with a vengeance, so I never saw the cape, nor did I see any of the many islands I had to weave through as I made my way up several miles into Casco Bay to where I predetermined to anchor.  With about 200 ft visibility I had a close call with a large fishing trawler that came out of the fog fast and furious.  Adrenalin is good.  Once close to the anchorage, the fog lifted and the beautiful Maine coastline came into view making the 7 hour trip worth it.  Dingied into the town dock and walked up the hill to find this sweet little general store advertising "Fresh Native Ice Cubes" for sale.  I'm definitely in Maine.   

The Perfect Norm

So there I was...moving at a good clip through the waters of the Cape Cod Canal.  This canal is about seven miles long and effectively severs Cape Cod from mainland Massachussets and saves a mariner about 135 miles it would take to go around the Cape on the outside.  If you go through with the right tide and wind direction, it is a pleasure.  If you attempt the opposite of this you will have a very bad day.  Once I exited the canal into Cape Cod Bay I headed north on my way to Boston.  The seas were smooth all the way into Boston Harbor where I finally dropped anchor off the shores of the South Boston Yacht Club.  After dingying up to their dock I crashed the yacht club for a drink.  One thing tough about this anchorage is it is in the landing pattern for a lot of the planes coming into Logan Airport.  Very low, very loud.  So, early next morning I was out of there.  Continuing north, I slipped into Gloucester Harbor in the a.m. and found an excellent anchorage deep in the harbor where all the stores and facilities were.  Barely got the dingy in the water when I took note of a big 70+ ft multi-story yacht  dropping the lines from a mooring nearby preparing to leave.  There is this very handy and expensive addition on some boats called a bow thruster.  It is basically two large holes that are cut out on the left (port) and right (starboard) sides of the front (bow) of the boat that is underwater.  A fiberglass tunnel connects these holes together and a motor turns one or two propellers within this tunnel to create thrust that moves the front (bow) from side to side without the boat having to move forward.  I have one and it is extremely handy when approaching or leaving a dock.  You never use the thruster when a line is in the water.  The yacht in this story had a very big bow thruster that sucked the just dropped lines into the blades, jamming the thruster and eating the lines.   The massive boat was now hanging by the bow thruster and chewed up lines in a stiff wind.  This had the potential of being a very costly mistake.  I dingied over and suggested the guy drop me a line to connect them with the mooring again and after donning snorkel gear and a knife the guy dove from my boat as I assisted him in getting the bow thruster clear of line.  Once fixed, away they went with a lesson learned.  Talked to a nearby boat about what happened and that led into me being invited over to their boat for a most delicious dinner that night.  My brother joined me the next day for a short overnight visit and we added a few calories at the waterside restaurants that you get to by boat.  We poked around this working harbor, one of the oldest in the United States, where the true story "The Perfect Storm" that was made famous in book and film was based.  Something new and different, and sometimes perfect, every day.  But to me, this is just the norm. 

Friends...Old & New

 So there I was...getting ready to pull anchor and make my way out of the Mystic River and onto Block Island.  While I was in Mystic I managed to catch up with old friends that stopped by my boat one evening and have breakfast with some other old friends at Carson's, my favorite breakfast place, in Noank, CT.  Went through a wicked squall early one morning that killed a guy on shore when a tree limb dropped on his car.  This happened the day after I avoided the very disturbed ex-Hartford cop that was loudly ranting as he motored his sailboat by me after being arrested for the third time a couple days before.  I read he was arrested again once he got to New London harbor.  Spent a couple hours on a Paceship 26, the same sailboat make and size I used to own, moored near where I was anchored.  The owner, Jim, was a canvas guy and had taken this boat down the intra-coastal waterway to Florida.  Finally, I stopped and spent some time with another couple I know that own the most beautiful deep green tugboat docked in Mystic.  After a tour of the boat and a few stories exchanged it was time to leave for Block Island.  Dropped anchor in Great Salt Pond (Block Island) only to realize that I was right next to another old friend of mine. Rob used to service the elevators in the library I worked at.  He and his wife were gracious enough to invite me on their sailboat for dinner(s), coffee and a bit of storytelling.  Coming back from my early morning dingy run to shore for coffee, I came across another couple I'd gotten to know from two of my previous cruises.  I'd met them before out on Long Island and as always enjoyed catching up on our adventures.  She has been kiteboarding for years and every time I talk to her I get excited about trying it.  Two days ago I stopped to talk to a couple that had a 34' Mainship trawler, just like mine, and got caught up in a trawler tour with other owners of like boats where we dingied from one to the other, including mine, to see how each had customized.  It was late and dark before the last dingy made his way back to his own trawler.

Floating...finally!

So there I was...watching Eventide being lowered into the waters of the Connecticut River after more than a year and a half sitting on dry ground while I removed the entire upper helm station, cut off the top fiberglass, dug out all the saturated balsa coring, put new layers of fiberglass, balsa coring, more fiberglass, even more fiberglass, two part fairing compound, two part primer and deck paint.  Then the upper helm station was painted with the most expensive two part paint I hope I will ever have to buy and after being craned back onto the top of the boat was fastened with some 50 screws and bolts that went into epoxy that I had poured into oversized holes that I had drilled in the newly fiberglassed floor.  If this written description feels long and drawn out, you should have been there for the real thing.  I have never sweat, itched, ached, or felt so tired in all my life.  Now she (Eventide) was dipping into the element she was made for and alot like childbirth, so I'm told, the horrors of getting her to this point were a fleeting memory.  NOT.  I'm still tired!  I still ache!  I did stop itching...and I'm out here floating again where the stories are made and found.

Lake Tashmoo

So there I was...pulling into the narrow opening between two break walls on the south shore of Martha's Vineyard taking note of Diane Sawyer's house off to the right a couple hundred yards down the beach.  As we continued along the tight channel into Lake Tashmoo there were people standing in knee deep water only twenty feet from our boat making me think twice about trying this harbor out.  Eventually the channel widened out and we found plenty of water to drop our anchor in this quiet and pristine harbor.  After landing the dingy at the towns convenient dock, we hiked the mile into Vineyard Haven where amenities were in abundance.  After purchasing a clamming license Kim and I retraced our steps back to the dingy and made our way to the shallows of the harbor at low tide.  There we would perform the little twisting motion, while standing with weight on the heels of our feet, until we felt that familiar bump buried in the sand.  Bending down to dig this bump up would reward you with either a clam or a quahog, both worth eating.  After filling our bucket we would head back to Eventide to put our catch in a mesh bag and tie it in the water off the swim platform so these bi-valve mollusks could naturally clean the sand from the inside of their shells.  Later we steam them by the dozen, dipping them in melted butter to complete the experience.  Taking a harbor tour in the dingy, we meet an architect who has lived on his boat for many years and now found himself in Lake Tashmoo.  He tells us that just about an hour before sunset we should take our dingy to the end of the harbor, tie it to an overhanging tree limb and hike several hundred yards along a dirt path to enjoy an outdoor Shakespearean Theater.  For a small fee, we sit on a terraced hillside in the middle of the woods, enjoying a bottle of wine and hors d'oeuvres, as we watch an amazing performance, sans electronics or lights, by professional theater actors from New York and Boston.  After offering a standing ovation, we make our way back to the dingy with the last bits of daylight.  We motor our way through the many moored and anchored boats to where Eventide is waiting, promising to rock us to sleep in this wonderful place. 

Anniversary

So there I was...celebrating 32 years of marriage with my best friend last week.  As we reminisced over dinner that night I could still feel the fear, as if it were just yesterday, watching her father walk her down the isle with a shotgun in his hand.  We had little in common when we first met but over the years her dreams have become mine and mine hers.  In our early years together she soon realized that I could not get enough time "messing about in boats" and adventures would become a norm.  Many would have run the other way, or at least distance themselves from the insanity, but not Kim.  If it was important to me, it was important to her.  She was, and is, such a giver with enthusiasm to top it off.  She was right there with me rappelling down that hundred foot cliff in Missouri, motorcycling across Oklahoma in wicked thunderstorms, hiking to the top of Tuckerman's Ravine on Mt. Washington, NH in two feet of snow for our fifteenth anniversary, hoping out of a Jacuzzi in bathing suits to throw ourselves into a Colorado snowbank (just because) and so many boating experiences when we thought we might lose it all.  As I prepare for another adventure on Eventide this summer it is Kim going out of her way to make sure I have this opportunity.  There is no better wife, mother, friend.

Close Call

So there I was...too weak to stand, crawling on my hands and knees from the cockpit of Eventide into the main cabin.  A few years ago a hurricane was making its way up the east coast bent on hitting New England.  Many boats had been pulled out of the water and placed safely ashore in expectation of the very high winds and waves expected to hit the Mystic, CT area.  Several boats that were moored next to me headed up nearby rivers to get some protection inland.  I looked at this as a great adventure.  To ride out the storm on my mooring, a 1,200 pound train wheel and axle securely planted offshore at the mouth of the Mystic River, and feel what it's like to be in the middle of all the action.  By late morning the winds began to increase as I put the finishing touches on all the extra lines I had attached to every available cleat on the boat with an abundance of chafing gear to keep them from wearing through once the waves got crazy.  As I looked around there was nobody anywhere to be seen on the remaining boats near me.  After preparing their boats they had headed for shore.  I was taking lots of pictures as the storm grew in intensity, fascinated by the incredible forces knocking my boat around,  like it was a mere toy.  Then several boats broke away from their moorings, one almost ramming me on its way to crashing onto the rocks at shore.  This was all quite an adrenaline rush and I was thinking that I was glad I got to have a front seat to this spectacle when something happened that I didn't expect.  I got seasick.  As the storm churned it's worst with no end in sight I relinquished my lunch, then breakfast, then yesterdays dinner to the sea from the aft rail of the cockpit.  Though I had no more to give, my stomach had obviously missed the memo.  Eventually, from the many hours I'd spent in the strong winds and my drained physical condition, my core temperature and hydration were getting to dangerous levels as I started shaking uncontrollably.  No longer able to stand, I fell to the floor of the cockpit keeping my eyes shut to stop the dry heaving that refused to cease.  Knowing I was in real trouble here with no one able to get to me in these conditions, I crawled, eyes closed, into and through the main cabin getting tossed onto my side several times from the violent jerking of the boat straining against the mooring lines as one huge wave after another made contact with Eventide.  Finally making it to the V-berth I flopped on my bunk and blindly started pulling anything my hands could reach on top of me to hold in the heat.  After about two hours I finally stopped shaking though the storm raged on for many more hours.  By next morning friends came to check on their boats and gave me a ride to shore, beaten up but still in one piece.  And boy was I hungry.