We gotta be home soon, that is, if we want to keep our jobs, and we certainly do, so it’s time to leave beautiful Cohasset and start our journey homeward. We need to break up the long trip, but between Cohasset and Swifts Neck there aren’t a lot of ports. Scituate is way too close, literally right around the corner. Green Harbor is way too expensive, but I’m tempted to pay the $4.50 a foot just because I’ve never been there. Onset has a nice anchorage and cheap moorings, but it’s a little too far. That leaves Plymouth, which is about halfway home. I can definitely dig Plymouth again. So we pack it up, drop the pennants, and for the first time in a while, head south.

Leaving Cohasset.

In every port we visit, I like announcing our departure via radio.
“Cohasset Harbormaster, Cohasset Harbormaster. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee vacating the mooring. Thank you for your hospitality, and thank you for having us in your wonderful harbor. Over.
“You’re welcome Ginger Lee. Be good, travel safe, and come back soon. Cohasset out.”
“We will do all of that. Thanks again. Ginger Lee out.”

We turn our attention to navigating the tricky area outside of the harbor. It’s strewn with rocks and shallows and all manner of obstructions. I’m sure the local mariners have no problem picking their way through all the Stellwagen Ledges (there’s too many to name), but we opt to avoid the drama and head straight out into Massachusetts Bay. Once clear of the Grampuses (big honkin’ rocks), we make a long southerly curve around everything and set a course to Plymouth Bay.

Going around everything.

The “I Love You” light off Minot’s Ledge. It flashes 1 then 4 then 3.

I hail our friends at the Plymouth Yacht Club and they hook us up with a mooring for the night. It’s nice to be back.

PYC Launch.

We are safely tied to a mooring in Plymouth Harbor. The afternoon melts away in the summer heat until sunset brings a lovely cooling breeze. I feel good about our summer cruise, the new places we visited, the new faces we encountered, and the adventures we’ve had. I knock on Ginger Lee’s mahogany paneling for luck, and say a silent prayer that she may continue to keep us safe and comfortable for many years to come.

Sunset.

At the break of day, we leave Plymouth behind and head home by way of the Cape Cod Canal.  In a slow boat like ours, it’s important to transit the canal so that the tide pushes us along, otherwise we’ll only make 3 MPH and use a lot of fuel. The XO has calculated the optimal time to enter the eastern end. Soon we are zipping along at 12 MPH.

Zipping under the Bourne Bridge.

Mass Maritime’s training ship Kennedy.

The nice weather is spoiling me. I am so fortunate to have this boat, and this wife who enjoys boating as much as me. I don’t ever want to stop this boating life that we have enjoyed this summer. But why can’t I have it all the time? Not just summers. I want to cruise non-stop, follow the warm weather from port to port. I convey these feelings to my wife, and without missing a beat, she answers: “You can have that Rick, just get somebody to send you money.”
Sheesh. There’s always a catch.

Home safe in Wareham.

I don’t know if it’s the perfect weather we’re having or old age sentimentality, but this place is really growing on me. I mean big time! I could live here. Okay, okay. I know I’ve said that before about other places, probably more than once. Guilty as charged. But this time I really mean it. Really.
I’ve heard that Cohasset was stuffy and stuck-up, but for the first time this season, I get a visit from a friendly dude from a neighboring boat.

Fran Collins. A friendly dude from Cohasset.

The friendly dude’s boat. S/V Oceanus.

My wife is off on a kayaking adventure. She found a waterway to explore that’s too shallow even for our dinghy. I make a note to buy myself a kayak so that in the future I can join her, that is, if she wants me too; sometimes it’s nice to go off on your own. I respect that, but I wish I had the option. We used to have a tandem kayak, but it was so difficult to coordinate movements that we stopped using it. Eventually we sold it to a young couple who probably never heard them called divorce kayaks.

The XO at the helm of Kayan.

Cohasset Village is cute as a button. At Tedeschi’s market, people strike up conversations with me like I was a townie. And it’s contagious. I’m normally not all that talkative, yet I find myself blabbing away with total strangers like we were old buddies. It’s actually kinda freeing.

Cohasset Village scene.

Interesting storefront.

Walking by the water.

Waterfront mansion.

Salty old working boat.

Cohasset yacht club is exclusive and closed to transient boaters. I can’t even find a phone number on the Active Captain cruising guide. There is no shortage of waterfront mansions either. We are obviously in a wealthy town. But Cohasset has an unusual mix of old and new, rich and not so well off, fancy and plain, and it casts a charming light over everything, enhancing its natural beauty tenfold. There’s a tangible easy-going vibe, a glow, a warmth unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. It’s not just a place, it’s a state of mind. Cohassetness.

It’s early morning in Gloucester Massachusetts. We are following a couple of working boats as they head out the South Channel past Rocky Neck, Ten Pound Island, and Niles Pond. We joke about sounding the air-horn and throwing the lighthouse keepers kid a wave, like George Clooney in The Perfect Storm. To bad there’s nobody to wave to.
Even though the weather hasn’t quite sorted itself out yet, it’s sure looking like “wicked nice.” Todays seas are predicted to be one foot or less, which is awesome, and almost never happens. I was able to chart a straight line course right through Massachusetts Bay. For the next four hours we will be following one long heading from Gloucester’s Dog Bar Channel to our destination: Cohasset, Massachusetts.

Course

All day yesterday I tried to reach Cohasset Harbor Marina, the only option listed for that small harbor, but it was like nobody was home. The phone kept ringing and ringing. I was planning on calling them this morning while underway, but we’re so far from shore that I can’t get a reliable signal.

There is not another boat in sight, no birds, no buoys, no anything. Not even clouds. We toy with the idea of bringing games with us for entertainment on long straight voyages like this one. Pop-o-matic Trouble would certainly work. I think we could play Yahtzee if we rolled the dice into the box top. Maybe next time. The ride is so smooth I’m able to whip up a cheesy 4 egg omelet with mushrooms, onions, peppers, mozzarella, and pepperoni. It tastes like pizza.

We’re all alone in Massachusetts Bay.

Finally the lighthouse on Minots Ledge comes into view. We’re very close to Cohasset but still nobody answers the phone at the marina. I guess we’ll have to anchor in the outer harbor, which is not so bad, but I really wanted to stay in the well protected Cohasset Cove. There is one more thing we can try: the radio.
“Cohasset Harbormaster, Cohasset Harbormaster. Motor vessel Ginger Lee, over.”
“This is Cohasset. Go ahead Ginger Lee, over.”
“Good Morning. We were hoping you have a mooring for us overnight, over.”
“I probably do! What’s your length?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Head straight in. Call when you get to the breakwater. I’ll have someone meet you.”
“Solid copy Cohasset. Call you at the breakwater. Ginger Lee out.”
Yee haw! We’re in.

Cohasset approach.

It’s very shallow here at low tide. Our depth gauge is bouncing between 3 and 4 feet. There’s a gaggle of young student sailors heading right for us. I know they have the right-of-way, but I have zero room to maneuver in this narrow channel. So we come to a dead stop. They’ll just have to go around us.

Sailing school.

Cohasset mansion.

As promised, two young Harbormasters in a skiff meet us and show us to our mooring. They actually handed the XO the pennants. What service!

Following the young Harbormasters. Whenever we dock or moor, the XO and I are always in direct contact with each other with our two-way headsets.

View forward from our mooring.

View aft.

After ten minutes we’re so taken by this gorgeous place that I call the Harbormaster and ask if it’s possible to stay longer than one night.
“Stay as long as you like,” was the answer. Cool.

Aw man! What a sweet morning in Gloucester. I can’t begin to describe how cool it is to be floating here. Well, actually I can.

We are all alone, the only cruiser in this small mooring field. There are other boats, but they’re unoccupied. The sun has just crested the eastern horizon. As you can see, the water is as still as can be expected in a major harbor, not yet disturbed by any passing fishing boats. Wait a sec. Here comes one.

F/V Miss Meredith

The Lobster boat passes slowly by. Its occupants smoke cigarettes, sip coffee, and talk loudly. They eye Ginger Lee warily, surprised to see such a vessel with obviously no fishing ability.

Gloucester morning.

It’s very warm, as it should be in July. Fairly humid too, again, just as it should be. The birds have been awake for hours. They chatter so constantly that I almost don’t hear them anymore. A faint fishy smell is ever-present, but not enough to bother me. I’m sure somewhere close by on shore, seafood is being processed for the masses, because that’s what they do here.

Processing Plant.

The XO is up and rustling around in the galley. After awhile, she climbs the companionway stairs with her big coffee mug and smart phone. We exchange our usual morning greetings and pecks.
“There’s a museum I want to visit,” she says, and sits next to me on the gunwale.
“I wanna see the Fisherman statue,” I gush.
My wife’s phone tells us everything we need to know. Like where the public docks are (so we can park the dinghy), and the route to our destinations.
“Bike or walk?” I ask.
“Walk. Definitely walk. Everything is so close.”

While drinking our coffee, we watch an unusual object float slowly toward us. It’s a bright yellow cylinder sticking straight up a foot out of the water.
“Broom handle,” I guess.
“I don’t think so. Why is it sticking up?”
“Because the broom part is still attached,” I venture.
“Can’t be. It would be floating sideways.”
“Maybe a mop. With the metal part weighing it down. The water’s too murky to see more than six inches under.”
“Only one way to find out,” the XO says as it floats closer.

Marine salvage treasure.

After breakfast we take the dinghy to shore. There are two public landings. One is right across the street from the market, a liquor store, and about a dozen restaurants, so that’s where we’re heading. The plan is to see the Fisherman’s Memorial, hit the museum, grab a bite at a restaurant, and provision up at the market.

Approaching the dinghy dock.

I love the boat. You know I do. But after a couple of days afloat, it feels so friggin’ good to walk on solid ground. You really do wobble for a bit.

Wobbly walk along the beach.

Gloucester Fisherman’s Memorial.

There are a fair amount of people out this morning. I’m sensing it’s a weekend. I pull my phone out to check on that, and spontaneously decide to call Joe, my next door neighbor. He’s a good man, and always agrees to watch our house while we’re away. We always leave our float plan with him. For those who don’t know, a float plan is a written way to let people know where you are going in your boat. Just in case something happens and you don’t return, the Coast Guard will have some idea of where to look for you. It does happen. A lot. In our case, because we don’t know exactly where we’re going, I can only leave general directions, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.

I dial Joe’s number, he answers immediately, and right off the bat I notice a weird echo. Suddenly, it’s one of those ridiculous and indescribable moments when we both realize we’re standing right next to each other! I mean, literally, one foot away from each other. We all have a good laugh and hang out for a while.

Our next-door neighbors Joe and Bernadette.

Today is one of those summer days that is so hot and humid, ya just know there’s gonna be thunderstorm. Sure enough, not long after we return to Ginger Lee, all happy and aglow from our busy shore leave, that familiar and ominous rumble begins. The sky abruptly changes from friendly blue to dangerous grey. Being engulfed by a storm while floating on your boat is not a happy feeling. All you can do is take the usual precautions and hope that you don’t get struck by a bolt of lightning.
It was all over in a matter of minutes. We survived and got a free boat wash to boot.

Clearing sky.

The post storm air is as cool and refreshing as an Autumn morning. I open all the windows and hatches to bathe in it before the hot July sun turns it to steam. This will be our last night here. Tomorrow morning at sunrise, we will start the diesels and head off with the fishing boats. I envy the people who live here. I wonder if they think of Gloucester Harbor in the same way as I do: friendly, historic, beautiful.

It’s wicked hard to leave Marblehead, especially on such a bright sunny morning. But off we go to another new port: Gloucester. With a fishing vessel as our guide out of the harbor, I take one last opportunity to soak in the beauty.

Good-bye Marblehead.

Today’s trip is not far, less than 20 nautical miles along the scenic coasts of Salem and Manchester, Massachusetts.

Marblehead to Gloucester.

Cape Ann castle.

Upon entering Gloucester Harbor, the sights, sounds, and smells of a major fisherman’s port assault us. It’s so very different from the idyllic harbor we just left. There isn’t a pleasure craft in sight. Every vessel docked, moored, or cruising seems to be built for one purpose only. Catching seafood and the support of boats catching seafood is all that matters here, and has been for centuries. No fancy houses or mansions line the shore. There’s no room for them, no use for them. This is a pure working harbor. As pure as any. More so than New Bedford. But that is where Gloucester’s beauty lies. There is nothing quite like it. We are both awestruck. And the gulls, so many gulls, their chatter a constant reminder of where we are. We rented a mooring from Browns Yacht Yard, and even though they told us the mooring number, we cant seem to find it, so I guess the first stop is their fuel dock for directions.

Might as well fuel up while we’re here.

The staff is friendly. The whole place just oozes New England charm.

I love places like this.

Just a stones throw away from the fuel dock, we find our mooring tucked between the North and South Channels. And it’s in a no-wake zone! That’s key in this busy harbor. I don’t know how we missed it the first time.

Ginger Lee making friends with the working boats.

The harbors of Marblehead and Gloucester couldn’t be more different, but they both have tremendous appeal. We have lots of exploring to do and plenty of time to do it. So for now, we will hang out here on Ginger Lee, cook up a light dinner, uncork a bottle of Cabernet, and let the darkness slowly wash over us. Tomorrow’s another day. I can’t wait!

Gloucester sunset.

Sunrise in Marblehead Harbor. The dawn of yet another beautiful day. I’m thinking about our lawn back home in Wareham, and how crispy it must be. The hanging plants and window boxes too. The lack of rain must be hard on them. Meanwhile, back on the boat, I’m lovin’ the sunshine.

With a boat-hook, I chase a gull off the fly-bridge roof, but he soon returns with a friend and they both settle onto the warm, black, Sunbrella fabric. I can’t have that. I don’t dislike the gulls, it’s their poop I hate. So it’s time to put up the Gull-Sweeps, so-called because they spin in the breeze and literally sweep the gulls away. We have three of them to protect the 10 square-foot area.

Ginger Lee with Gull-Sweeps installed.

Apparently, I’m not the only one awake at this early hour. Two working fishermen dinghy up to their boat and start messing about with their gear. I can see they’re busy, so I suppress the urge to ask them where they’re headed, and simply toss them a friendly wave and leave it at that. In return, they wish me good morning and go about their business.

Working fishermen.

After breakfast, The XO and I plan to go ashore for a walk and some much-needed provisions. I prepare a shopping list. We’re out of everything.

The shopping list.

The waterfront area is beautiful and quaint. With its brick sidewalks and narrow winding streets, it reminds me of the Beacon Hill section of Boston.We find the supermarket at the bottom of a hill, and as luck would have it, it’s pretty close to the dinghy dock, so I’ll be able to stock up on beer as well.

Crosby’s Market dead ahead.

After washing our clothes and taking showers in the cleanest facility I’ve ever seen, we return to the boat and kick back on the aft-deck to enjoy the warm afternoon.

Relaxing on the aft-deck.

A huge ship enters the harbor.
“Where the heck is that thing going?” I ask aloud. “It’s way too big for this harbor.”
I turn on the AIS and read the stats. “Renaissance” is a 116 foot fiberglass pleasure craft with a 23 foot beam, 6.1 foot draft, and flagged for The United States. Currently underway at 1.2 MPH at a distance of half a mile.
According to Active Captain (the on-line cruising guide) the largest boat previously accommodated in this harbor is only 80 feet. This is gonna be interesting.

The behemoth is slowly advancing toward us. Boaters stop and stare, jaws drop, everyone is oohing and ahhing. A crew of four Harbormasters are scrambling about the utility dock in front of their office.
“Jeez! I think they’re gonna put it on the Harbormasters dock,” I say. Sure enough, Renaissance pulls up, and is tied to the little dock.

M/V Renaissance docked near us. The Riva dinghy tied on the side costs more than our house.

This is pretty exciting. Binoculars are glued to our eyeballs. On the top deck, there is what looks like a family sitting around a table. Two young ladies, identically dressed in navy blue shirts and khaki shorts, are fussing about with silver trays of food.
“Dinner is served,” I say in my English butler’s accent.
“It’s a gold-digging husband and his over-the-hill Hollywood actress wife,” I continue.
“And their sullen teenager,” the XO says, describing the girl in the dark hoodie who is staring at her phone.
“His daughter from another failed marriage. Look. There’s a baby. Obviously the teens illegitimate child.” I offer.
“From a wealthy rapper.”
“From Justin Bieber,” I surmise.
“And the elderly man?”
“The patriarch of the family. He killed his wife for her money. Made it look like an accident.”
“Anti-freeze?”
“Pushed her down the stairs. It’s quicker.”
In no time at all we have the whole family story worked out. We made it all up of course. But it could be true!

The XO googles the boat’s name, and discovers that anybody can rent Renaissance for a mere 85 thousand dollars a week. Quite the bargain right? Nope. Here’s the kicker. It doesn’t include food or fuel! Well the heck with that. I’m cancelling my reservation! All kidding aside, I’m happy right where I am, hanging out with my cool wife, and enjoying life in our own little boat.

It’s another nice summer morning in Hull Bay. Large fair weather clouds lazily drift across the sky, and flat seas are predicted for the next leg of our journey. How long can our good fortune continue? I have no idea, but to help keep it going, the XO and I knock on wood as we back Ginger Lee out of the slip, and say good-bye to the Sunset Bay Marina.

Todays course will take us through the Boston Harbor Islands. Specifically, we will leave Georges Island to port, head through “The Narrows” between Lovell and Gallops Islands, find the Boston North Channel, and ride that heading all the way to our destination: Marblehead, Massachusetts. Boston’s beautiful skyline beckons me. I love that port. I can’t believe we’re passing it by.
Ginger Lee, “Hey guys. Where ya goin’? Boston is the other way!”
Captain Rick, “Sorry ol’ girl. I want to go there too. But we decided to visit only new ports this trip. We talked about this. Remember?”

Passing Boston.

Ginger Lee reluctantly accepts her fate and passes through the edge of the Precautionary Area, where the large ships play.

Because we’re so close to a major city, the marine-band radio is alive with interesting chatter, and our AIS is picking up dozens of targets to check out. Technology helps pass the time. Here’s a tip: if you’re on a boat and the trip is kinda boring, it’s a good thing because it usually means smooth sailing.

A large freighter anchored in the Precautionary Area. From the radio, we gather that it’s waiting for a pilot to guide it into the city, and the pilot-boat is very late.

Finally, after a couple of hours, Tinkers Island comes into view. Yay! We are very close. The XO, who has been driving for most of the trip, gives me the helm, studies the chart, and switches into navigator mode. With her guidance, I steer our boat around Marblehead Neck, and into the harbor itself.

Tinkers Island.

There are many marinas lining Marblehead Harbor, not one has an available mooring. Fortunately, the Harbormaster has three, and for only 30 bucks a night, it’s a super bargain for this area.

The unusual light that guards the harbor.

No wonder we can’t find the entrance channel.

As soon as we enter the harbor, we both have the same reaction: WOW! The place sparkles with a heavenly glow. It’s so very near perfection, like a painting that comes alive, or a movie set when the director says “action.” But most of all, it’s one of those harbors that just feels good.
Our mooring is excellent! It’s near the showers, laundry, and dinghy dock. I also like that it’s adjacent to the main fairway and fuel dock where lots of stuff is happening. We have our binoculars at the ready!

Fuel and repair facility, dinghy dock, restaurant.

As the sun fades, we fill our glasses with the last of our red wine, and grill chicken and summer squash, the last of our provisions. We will have to buy more, of course, but tomorrow’s another day. I can’t wait!

Marblehead sunset.

It’s early morning at Sunset Bay Marina in Hull, Massachusetts. Sunrise is imminent and it’s very quiet. It’s like I have the whole place to myself. Thin, streaky clouds paint the sky with splashes of gun-metal gray. On land, countless birds, obviously also excited to be awake and alive on a such a nice morning, loudly make their presence known in the large oaks lining the shore. And it’s warm too. There will be no escaping the heat today.

With a bowl of Raisin Bran in hand, I stare at the now empty “party boat” across the fairway. Last night, in that boat, the locals were tying-one-on. No loud music, thankfully, but there was plenty of talking and laughing that increased in volume until about 10:30 when I think they ran out of booze. I briefly consider turning Ginger Lee around in her slip so that the aft deck–where we usually sit–would face away from the noise. Ah well. Maybe tonight will be different. Right now, I’m getting my walking shoes on. I plan to walk the four blocks to the other side of Hull Peninsula and check out Nantasket Beach, a name that conjures up all kinds of wonderful memories from my youth.

Nantasket Beach looking north.

Nantasket Beach is wicked wide. It must be a couple of hundred yards to the ocean. And it’s long too. One continuous sweep of sand that covers at least three and a half miles. I walk south toward what used to be one of New England’s, and arguably, the nation’s premier destinations, mostly because of a cool amusement park that closed in the mid eighties. Years ago, I used to spend the day at the beach, then hit Paragon Park for the usual stuff that amusement parks offer: rides, greasy food, and girl watching. Now, only the carousel remains. I’m getting a sad feeling because it’s not at all what I remember.

“Jeez Rick. Get over it. Things change, life goes on. It’s a gorgeous day and you’re on vacation.”

Having talked myself out of the sadness, I happily head toward the water’s edge where walking is easier on the wet, hard-packed sand. It feels good to stretch my legs. So good in fact, that I increase my pace, lengthen my stride, and push off hard with every step until my body starts to complain. The sun is just beginning to bring the heat, and I have no water and no defense against its onslaught. So I think it’s wise to head back.

Nantasket.

The only thing left from Paragon Park is the carousel.

On the way back to the boat, I find a wallet on the street. It contains no cash and no drivers license, but there are credit cards, debit cards, and most importantly, some kind of veterans ID with a picture and a name. I google the name, and up pops a video of a parade through the streets of Hull featuring a young dude wearing a fancy, full dress Marine uniform. I’m talkin’ sword, tassels, scrambled eggs and everything. It was obviously the same dude on the ID I found. Apparently the guy is a war hero and the son of a prominent politician in Hull. I call the town hall, inform them of my find, and leave my phone number. The morning slips by and nobody is calling me back, but the XO and I want to bike to a museum. I figure I’ll leave the wallet at the marina office, that way, if he calls, I can just tell him where to pick it up.

We stop at the office and explain the situation to the nice lady behind the desk. I hand her the wallet and she looks at the ID. “Oh. It’s Johnny,” she says and dials his number from memory! So the story has a happy ending. The young veteran will soon be reunited with his wallet, and the nice lady gives us free ice.

The museum at Point Allerton.

We ride to Point Allerton to visit the oldest remaining Coast Guard life saving station. This place is absolutely fascinating. I’m impressed by the historic artifacts and the story of Captain Joshua James. He and his crew were credited with saving over 600 lives! These brave men lived and worked right here in Hull.

Captain Joshua James and members of the United States Life Saving Service.

Life saving boats on wheels.

They had all their equipment on wheels, so if there was a ship wreck, they could quickly haul it to the beach. I love the breaches buoy rig. Basically, with a small cannon, they would fire off a cannonball with a line attached to it over to the ship in peril. The sailors on board would tie off to a high point and they could zip-line to shore.

Breaches buoy cart.

I must admit, at first I was a not too impressed with this place. “What’s all the hullaballoo?” I said to myself.  But the more I got to know it, with its friendly people, rich maritime history, and beautiful waterfront, the more I came to love Hull, Massachusetts, and the Sunset Bay Marina. I would come back in a heartbeat.

So many ports, so little time. Sometimes it seems like we’ve been everywhere, but this morning we are cruising to a new place. Yay. As usual, I’m up with sun, excited about the impending trip to Hull Bay, but the XO is still lights out. I pull out the large frying pan and start cooking a rasher of bacon. Finally, I sense movement in the berth. Yeah, the aroma of bacon cooking gets me going too.

After breakfast we head out of Scituate Harbor, go north, and hang a left at the famous I Love You lighthouse. (So called because its flashing sequence is 1-4-3.)
The sun is strong and bright, the waves are small, and the wind negligible. We knock on wood at our good fortune. So far, the weather gods have smiled upon us.

The I Love You light.

We rarely rent a slip, but at the Sunset Bay Marina in Hull, Massachusetts, it’s our only option. When we get close, I hail them on channel 7, a nice lady answers and dispatches a gaggle of able-bodied children to guide us in. They have us tied up in no time, spring lines and everything. Very pro.

Ginger Lee is slipped.

It’s nice having a slip. For one thing, you can walk off your boat onto a dock. Also, we can have real electricity and not have to use battery power. Lastly, we can connect our boat to the town water system. That means taking a shower and washing the dishes with the water running, just like at home. Something we never do while anchored or on a mooring simply because Ginger Lee only holds 80 gallons of water.

But there is a downside to having a slip: the lack of privacy. People are always walking by, and other boats are very near. And they’re not always quiet. The boats, I mean. There is a tendency for boat owners to leave their air-conditioners on even when they’re not around. And then there’s the dreaded “Party Boat.” Every marina has a boat that the local slip owners gravitate to for some after hours drinking. I understand they’re just having fun, and I certainly have nothing against drinking, but sometimes it can get a little loud. We have the misfortune of being across the fairway from such a boat, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightly event. In their defense, they are not playing loud music, which surprises me, but they are whooping it up. Hopefully they’ll knock it off at a reasonable hour. Meanwhile, the XO and I retreat to the foredeck to watch an event this marina is well-known for.

The sun sets behind the Boston skyline.

Jeez! I hate to leave Plymouth. So beautiful. So much to do and see. And the Plymouth Yacht Club is a gracious host. Their fifty dollar mooring fee gets you launch service, showers, and access to their bar. Nevertheless, I’m itching to move on.
It’s a warm, sultry morning. I towel off the dew clinging to the deck chairs and plunk myself down on one to enjoy my coffee. The sun, although still low in the eastern sky, is already kicking ass and taking names. On shore, large trucks loudly scoop up full dumpsters and bang them back down. Commuters are walking and driving to their jobs. Shop owners unlock their doors and sweep the sidewalk. It’s obviously a weekday, which means there won’t be so much boating traffic. Only working boats and a few recreational fishermen will ply these waters. This is a good. Like driving your car, it’s always better when there’s less traffic.
Soon, my wife joins me with her own cup of java, and we enjoy a quiet moment together on the sun drenched aft-deck. For the time being, we are not among the working landlubbers, and I sense that she is as thankful for that as I am. Oh, we’ll be punching that clock soon enough, but for now, timepieces are as superfluous as polished shoes.
“Ready?” she asks, taking that last sip.
“Yeah. Lets light ’em up,” I answer, and make my way to the lower helm station. The diesels start right up and thrum happily. The XO, looking quite adorable in her fuzzy pajamas, un-cleats the mooring pennant and gives Ginger Lee her freedom. I back away slowly, being careful of neighboring boats and the lines in the water. When the XO signals that we are clear, I shove the shifters forward and make way towards the channel.
“PYC, PYC. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee vacating mooring number two. Thank you so much for the hospitality in your awesome harbor. We’ll be back for sure. Ginger Lee out.”
“Ah, you’re very welcome Ginger Lee. Safe journey, and come back soon. PYC out”

Bye-bye Plymouth.

We leave the Bug Light to port, follow a working boat out into Cape Cod Bay, then head north past Duxbury Beach, Brant Rock, Humarock Beach, and the North River approach called New Inlet. (Ha! The so-called “New Inlet” was formed from a storm in 1898!) After a few hours the familiar lighthouse that guards Scituate Harbor greets us warmly. “Welcome back kids! Why’d you stay away so long? I miss you guys.”

Scituate Harbor Light.

Oh yeah. This place is one of our favorites, and it has everything a cruising boater needs: fuel, provisions, booze, and restaurants. All conveniently located near the water. But most of all, it’s just so darn pretty. It really gets ahold of you.

Rainbow over Scituate.

Three marinas have moorings available, and they all answer on channel 9. Perhaps they take turns with the transient renters, I dunno, and I guess I don’t care because they’re all very nice and attentive, and they all charge the same price: 45 bucks.

View from our mooring.

We’ve been here twice before, and each visit was chock full of wonderful memories. The last time, our port engine quit as we approached the entrance to the harbor. It was a windy day and the current was pushy. So naturally, the launch driver who was showing us to our mooring, took the scenic route around several wicked expensive boats probably owned by lawyers. Because of the wind and the flow of the water, Ginger Lee refused to turn left on just one engine. After a near miss with a six figure Hinckly, I hit the port engine starter, and to my surprise, it fired right up and stayed running. With the usual awesome twin-engine maneuverability, we caught the mooring with no lawsuits. A clogged fuel filter was the culprit. I always have plenty of spares on board so it was a quick fix. Click here to read about a previous trip to Scituate Harbor.

Scituate Harbor scene.

All boaters know that sometimes the weather and ocean conditions can boss you around. In order to take advantage of a good weather window, we make the decision to head out tomorrow morning to a place we’ve never been to: Hull Bay. I’m wicked psyched!

Scituate sunset.