Aw jeez. It is the last ride of the season. We will take Ginger Lee from Wareham to Fairhaven and put her up for the winter at the Moby Dick Marina. It’s a sad occasion, but it must be done. The morning is chilly enough to require long pants and a warm hoodie, but at least it’s bright and sunny. I like that. It warms my soul on a day when Swifts Neck Beach seems so lonely and deserted that it hurts my feelings. What a difference from just a few short weeks ago when shrieking children splashed joyously in its warm salty waters; when clutches of barefoot beachgoers sat in colorful aluminum folding chairs, snacking, gabbing, and slathering fragrant ointment on sun drenched skin; when the hoots and hollers of waterskiers echoed across the mooring fields; and when happy boaters did their happy boating things. But it is October in New England, a month when nobody would be surprised if it snowed. It’s time to get ready for winter.

Swifts Neck Beach in October.

Our first stop is the pump-out station at Zecco Marina in Wareham Harbor. Ginger Lee’s holding tank must be emptied for the winter. Boaters: you gotta try these Marriage Saver headsets. They allow instant and wireless two-way communication between the XO and me no matter where we are on the boat. Docking and mooring are so much easier. Before that we used hand signals and shouted.

Approaching Zecco’s.

A Successful docking. Thanks in part to our Marriage Saver headsets.

On the way to Zecco’s, the starboard fuel gauge suddenly goes from empty to over-full, the forward bilge pumps quit, and the depth sounder dies. I guess it’s time to start my list for things I need to do before the 2016 boating season. Not to be confused with the list of stuff I want to do.

Starboard fuel gauge reading over-full. The tank is actually near empty.

With the exception of the gremlin infested equipment, the three-hour trip is uneventful. Wave heights are a nice 1-2 feet and we have the waterway to ourselves. On this gorgeous day, it’s like my wife and I are the only people in the world. As per usual on the open seas, the helm is hers, and as usual, she wears it well. Sometimes she’s quiet, sometimes she’s talkative. Either way I try to follow her lead. Piloting a boat in these perfect conditions can be a good time to be with you own thoughts and this seems to one of those times; words are superfluous so I’ll go with the flow. Just take it all in and enjoy the moments. I’m going to miss this. It’s a good last ride of the season.

Bug Light in New Bedford.

New Bedford Harbor scene.

Waiting for the swing bridge to open.

Whenever I pull into the Moby Dick Marina, it feels like I’m coming home. Maybe it’s because I used to live on my boat here, or because I’ve been coming here for 13 years. I dunno, it just feels good.

Docking at the Moby Dick Marina.

When the tide is right, John, Arion, and the boys get ready to pull Ginger Lee out. This is how they do it: first, they attach a huge boat lifting machine to a tractor and back it down a ramp into the water. The machine is like a trailer with powerful hydraulic arms.

Backing down the ramp.

Hydraulic trailer detail.

Next, they slide the machine under the boat, then operate the hydraulics so that the arms rise up to meet the hull.They slowly pull the whole thing up the ramp, then power-wash the bottom.

Power-washing the bottom. Note Ginger Lees “cruisers moustache”. Many miles cutting through the water has discolored front part of the hull. It’s considered a badge of honor by other cruisers.

After the bath, they back her into a spot and install big metal stands in strategic places under her hull, and big wooden blocks directly under her keel. The tops of the stands are like jacks so they can be screwed up to meet the hull.

Backing in.

Setting the stands.

When everything is just right they simply lower the hydraulic arms and pull the trailer out.
Now it’s time for me to go to work. I crawl under the boat with a device that looks like a plunger with a hose attachment. After positioning this gizmo onto the raw water intakes, I run five gallons of RV antifreeze through each engine. This keeps them happy for the cold winter. Then I get on the phone and hire a contractor to completely cover the boat in taut, white, shrink-wrapped plastic that will protect her from snow and whatever Old Man Winter decides to chuck her way.
That’s about it. Once I turn off the batteries and drain the water heater, there is nothing for me to do except wait for spring. But I wont be idlely wallowing in sadness, oh no dear reader. I’ve got plenty of things to do.There’s the new holding tank project (removing the ancient 20 gallon one and installing a big 49 gallon one) and the transom shower project ( hot and cold running water for rinsing off on the swim platform) and finally, coating the deck with white Kiwi-Grip to protect and beautify. These major projects as well as the other stuff, like the wonky fuel gauge, the busted bilge pump and the depth sounder problem, can be done inside the boat, with the heater on. So you see, I’ll still be having fun messing about this old boat during the winter, and most assuredly, writing about it.

Shrink-wrapped for the winter.

The sun clears the treetops in Hadley Harbor. Its lovely rays warms my face and makes me squint. Just like the cream in my coffee, it adds something pleasing to my morning. After a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, we prepare to get underway. Destination: Quissett Harbor.  Even at this early hour, boats are circling like buzzards waiting for someone to vacate a mooring. Fat chance on this gorgeous weekend morning, until I fire up Ginger Lee’s diesels. In this quiet harbor I might as well send up a flare. The closest buzzard, who is on his way out after finding zero empty moorings, comes to a dead stop and completely turns his big sailboat around. “Here ya go pal. Lucky you,” I say to myself as the XO drops the pennant.

Happy boaters picking up the last empty mooring.

We slowly make our way out, following the marked channel between Bull and Nonamesett islands. Still in awe of the beauty that surrounds us, I throttle down to dead slow, much to the chagrin of the big ferry behind me. There’s no room to pass and no place to pull over. He’s crowding me a bit, but I’m doing the posted speed limit. So waddayagonna do? Shoot me? That’s about what it would take to spoil my mood.
When we clear Hadley Rock and enter the Woods Hole cut, the impatient ferry captain immediately passes me on my starboard side. I half expected him to flip me the bird, but he peacefully continues on his way.
Within an hour we have rounded Penzance and approach the Quissett Harbor inlet marked by an easily recognizable promontory called The Knob.

The Knob.

No problem finding an empty mooring; we have our choice of dozens. I head for one to starboard. It’s right off the main fairway and in front of a beautiful mansion. The XO deftly scoops up the pennant with a boat hook, and we’re in like Flynn.
“Just pick up any mooring with a QH on it. ‘Round about dusk, a nice man will dingy by and knock on your hull to collect his 35 dollars.” So sayeth the cruising guide.

Quisett harbor mansion.

It seems to me that this place has the highest concentration of Herreshoff sailboats. Twelve-and-a-halfs are everywhere. I mean the real deal wooden ones made by Nat Herreshoff himself in Bristol Rhode Island, and considered one of the finest small boats of all time. I’ve seen them for sale for $25,000 to $35,000. In 1947 Cape Cod Shipbuilding (of my hometown Wareham Massachusetts) bought the rights, and most importantly, the name “Herreshoff 12-1/2.”  You can still buy a brand new one from them, but these days they’re made of fiberglass, a good thing for those who dislike the considerable maintenance that wooden boats require.

Herreshoff 12-1/2.

Quissett harbor is home to many Herreshoff “S” class boats as well. Only 95 of these gorgeous vessels were built from 1919 to 1941. It’s reported that 70 still sail. There are probably a dozen in this very harbor. I saw one for sale for a bargain $120,000. At that price it’s probably a fixer-upper.

Beautiful and rare Herreshoff “S”. Note its curved mast.

After wearing a groove in my deck chair in Hadley, I’m ready for some exercise, so we plan to ride our bikes into woods hole, just a few miles away. Cycling has added a whole other dimension to our cruising. I can’t imagine boating without it.

How did we ever live without these bikes?

On the way to the dinghy dock we pass an unusual vessel. It looks like a cross between a Chinese Junk and a trash barge, and I mean that in a nice way. I kinda like it.

The steering wheel faces the back of the boat!

We find the dinghy dock and squeeze our way in. My wife has utilized her new smart phone and finds The Shining Sea Bikeway,  a bike trial that mostly follows the coastline all the way into bustling Woods Hole.

The Shining Sea Bikeway.

Woods Hole ferry.

Stocking up on junk food.

Waiting for the drawbridge.

Boats leaving The Pond.

After an invigorating bike ride, we head back to Ginger Lee, where the XO whips up some healthy snacks to counteract the junk food.

Healthy stuff.

As advertised, ’round about dusk, a nice man comes by to collect his fee. I ask him about his interesting dinghy. Obviously one of a kind, it features an Atomic Four engine, foot controls for shifting and throttle, and a tiller for steering.

Nice man in a nice dinghy named Ticker.

Atomic Four engine.

Foot controlled throttle and shifter.

It’s always a pleasure to stay at Quissett. It’s gorgeous, inexpensive and there’s always room.

Quissett sunset.

Hadley: a place so cool it only needs one name. Everybody knows it. Everybody has stayed there. Everyone that is, except me. Why, oh why, did I wait so long to stay in Hadley Harbor? Oh yeah: because it’s too beautiful. That’s right. It’s so beautiful that you can’t find room on a nice day. Lord knows I have tried. Even in mid September, we are extremely fortunate to find an open mooring and it is the very last one.
Guess what? All the moorings are free of charge! Compliments of the Forbes family, your gazillionaire friends who live here on Naushon Island. In fact, they own the whole place, all the Elizabeth Islands except Cuttyhunk and Penikese, and they invite us boaters to come and enjoy it, including the beaches. All they ask is that you please not wander through their backyard and don’t trash the place.

Horses in the backyard.

This is my adaptation of a sign on shore:
“Hello happy boaters. Enjoy Hadley harbor, but please don’t go ashore on the main island because it is our home. You wouldn’t want strangers walking through your back yard would you? No of course not. Instead, have this other island, Bull Island, to explore and enjoy. Bring a picnic lunch. Bring your dog! Thank you in advance for picking up after yourselves. Have a wonderful day, your good friends, the Forbes.”

En route to pet friendly Bull Island.

Nestled between, and protected by these three islands: Naushon, Uncateena, and Nonamesset, you’d be hard pressed to find a calmer harbor. The heat of the summer is no longer with us, yet we are comfortably warm here out of the wind and salty air. We could actually hear conversations from boaters way on the other side. My wife reminds me to keep my voice down. It is really that quiet here.
I help her take her kayak off the roof and watch as she glides effortlessly off. Three strokes and out of sight; it’s that calm. After more than an hour, she’s back with tales of her adventures as she traversed the width of Naushon. I’m so glad I’m here to witness her happiness, and of course, her life. After securing Kayanne back on the roof, she proclaims kayaking in Hadley is “very entertaining”.

The XO aboard her command “Kayanne”.

We interrupt this program with some exciting news: WE GOT A NEW MOTOR FOR SALTY! Yes indeedy doo. As mentioned in our last installment, when we got home from Padanaram, we purchased a brand spankin’ new four-stroke Mercury 9.9  with an electric starter. Our aging, well-travelled Honda, who served us honorably and faithfully for many years, has found a good home on the back our next-door neighbor’s boat. And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Beer baptism. Christening the new Merc.

We could hardly believe our eyes when we saw a ferry come through this small harbor. It’s not a car ferry so they must use a winch for the little pick-up truck on the deck.  According to the last Massachusetts census, 80 people live here. That’s a lot of Forbes.

I assume this ferry came from Woods Hole.

Veckatimeset, Pasque, Nashawena, Nonamesset, Uncatena, Naushon, Weepecket, Gosnold: these are names of real places in Massachusetts. Most Bay Staters have never heard these names, and thanks to the Forbes family, you probably never will.  I just think it’s so cool that one family has kept these islands pristine and unchanged. I imagine they could make quite a profit if they sold them. Like billions of dollars. But no, not only do they keep them safe from developers and wealthy sheiks, geeks, and freaks, they allow the boaters to enjoy pretty much all the accessible areas like Tarpaulin Cove, Kettle Cove, West Beach, The Weepeckets, The Unnamed Bight, and of course, right here, the shining star of the Elizabeth Islands: Hadley Harbor.

Darn it, our annual summer cruise is nearing an end, but we need one more port-of-call to break up our trip home from Bristol. I whip out the charts and find a place roughly midway: Padanaram. It sounds like a mouthful doesn’t it? We asked a few locals how it’s pronounced. They all said it fast like this: PDARM.
  We have been blessed with good weather this whole trip and this morning is no different: hazy blue sky and a warm gentle breeze. The XO and I are still in our pajamas as we guide Ginger Lee out of Bristol Harbor.  We hang a left under the Mount Hope Bridge and find the Tiverton Channel which loops us around the northern tip of Aquidneck Island into the Sakonnet River.
For the umteenth time, I threaten to buzz-cut my hair.
“It would certainly cure this,” I say and point to the unruly mess on my head
“Nice hair-do,” the XO laughs.
“It’s like a rat’s nest. It won’t behave unless I wash and dry it.”
“Better get to it then. The water should be hot by now.”
I’m a bit jealous; she gets out bed, shakes her head a few times, and her hair is good to go.
In Tiverton, the two-mile wide Sakonnet River gets squeezed into a quarter-mile opening that looks like it used to be a bridge. As you can well imagine the water is tumultuous. It’s either rushing at you (swirling washing machine eddies) or rushing with you (desperately trying to shove the aft end forward of the bow). This morning, the moorings and nav aids are leaning towards us as we pass the Standish Boat Yard.  I power up Ginger Lee’s engines to max thrust and we forge through into the idyllic part of the Sakonnet, where the mansions on Aquidneck feature perfectly manicured lawns that can be measured in square miles. We wonder why these people don’t have deep water docks with a big honkin’ boat tied to it. Because that’s what I would do.
It’s calm enough to cook breakfast. I whip up a couple of “Egg Bowls” as we call them. It’s basically eggs scrambled with whatever you got and served in a bowl to make it easier to drive the boat while eating. This morning it’s pepperoni, tomato, and mozzarella. Yay pizza-egg bowl!
Wave heights increase dramatically as we near the river’s mouth. The wide open expanse of Rhode Island Sound greets us roughly as it forces it way up the Sakonnet. This is expected and normal albeit uncomfortable. We have to turn left around Sakonnet Point and if we’re not careful, three to four-foot waves will broadside us and force us into the treacherous Schuyler Ledge, the site of many shipwrecks.

First wave.

The first wave washes over the bow. We know the drill. Fold up our seats; it’s too rough to sit and they’ll just go flying about the cabin. Close all windows and hatches, stow everything, put the Philodendron in the sink, put towels under the leaky windshield, and save the booze! (Take the liquor bottles off the shelf and lay them on the bed.) Beer cans too. Last year, a full can of beer rolled into a loose screw, punctured, and sprayed its entire contents onto our bed.
The waves are knocking us about but I’m not worried; Ginger Lee has handled worse. Our plan is to keep heading southwest into the waves until we’re well clear of Schuyler Ledge, then, while between waves, quickly turn northeast towards Horseneck Beach.

At 8 MPH it seemed like it took forever to make that turn, but here we are, off the coast of Little Compton, Rhode Island, and making a run toward Gooseberry Neck, Massachusetts. The waves are now our friends, pushing us along rather smartly.
It won’t be long now, all we have to do is thread ourselves through the rocks called “Hen and Chickens”, go around Mishaum Point, and catch the marker system that will feed us into Apponagansett Bay (PDARM).

Padanaram approach.

We aren’t surprised to see a forest of masts as we approach; sailing has been a tradition here for centuries. It’s actually Apponanganset Bay. Odd that nobody ever calls it that. It’s always PDARM.
Anchorages are disappearing fast. More and more harbors are getting filled up with moorings and disallowing anchoring. Panadaram is one of them. Personally, I prefer the privacy and peace of mind a mooring provides, but they’re not free. Yes, my wife and I are fortunate in that we can afford it, but I just hate that boaters are losing the freedom to choose. On the way over here, while listening to chatter on the radio, we discovered that New Bedford Harbor is now closed off to all anchoring as well. There is no more anchoring allowed in that huge harbor! Imagine if cars were subjected to the same rules.
“Come visit our lovely town. Spend your money here. Shop in our stores. Eat in our restaurants. Enjoy our beautiful scenery. That’ll be fifty bucks a day.”
“Take a hike pal. I’ll just park on this side street for free.”
“You can’t. It’s not allowed. We’ll tow you away if you try it.”
You would be outraged and rightfully so. Probably take your business elsewhere.
Well that’s my mini-rant for today. Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
It’s time to raise someone on the radio and get a mooring. In Panadaram, they’re all controlled by The New Bedford Yacht Club. On channel 68, I get an immediate response from a friendly launch driver who directs us to a spot just inside the breakwater.

Inside the breakwater.

No sooner had the XO cleated the pennant than the launch driver called back.
“Ginger Lee, this is launch, over.”
“Go launch, Ginger Lee, over”
“It looks a bit lumpy over there. Would you like to move deeper into the harbor? Over.”
“Yes sir. Awesome, over.”
“Follow me. One just opened up. Launch out.”
“Solid copy launch. Thank you so much. Ginger Lee out.”
We follow the launch deep into the harbor to a much better mooring.

A better mooring

We’ve only visited Panadarm twice, but I can’t help but notice that for such a popular boating destination there’s not a heck of a lot going on. I recall our first visit when we found a cool little second-hand shop, picked out a few items only to find out they didn’t take credit cards and there was no ATM anywhere nearby. My cruising guide said there was a market, but it was closed and boarded up. Near the swing bridge, we found a tiny bakery/pub that had great food and cold beer. Other than that, a big ol’ nothin’. I guess that’s why it’s advertised as The place where life slows down.
This time we don’t need provisions or any shore based stuff; we plan to head home in the morning when the seas in Buzzards Bay will be a manageable 1-2 feet.

A nice, warm, afternoon.

We cook up the last of our food in a pot-luck lunch, then take Salty out for a ride.

The swing bridge.

Dinghy dock, yacht club.

Attractive wooden boat.

The old Honda outboard is acting up again. I always manage to get it running, but lately it’s becoming more finicky. We make a decision: when we get home we’ll replace it with something brand new. It’ll be costly, but sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and open your wallet.

Sunset in Padanaram.

Morning comes and we say goodbye to Panadaram. I really do not want to go home.
“Why can’t we just keep cruising forever?” I ask.
“We can! All we need to do is find someone to send us checks,” the XO cracks. She’s absolutely right. If anyone out there would like to support our cruising addiction, call me and I’ll tell you where to send the checks.

Good-bye Padanaram.

Summer vacation is ending. We have jobs to go back to, a house to take care of, and land based stuff to attend to. It’s not the end of the 2015 boating season by any means, (we’ll be on the water every weekend that we can) it is however, the end of this years extended cruise, one that took us through four states. Our summer cruise is like living a dream. We get to totally immerse ourselves in life on this boat and the things that this boat needs to stay afloat and alive. A dream where the rules are so much different from on land, where challenges are more exciting, downtime more relaxing, rewards more rewarding, memories more memorable. Hopefully, next summer, if good fortune smiles upon us, we’ll get to do it again.

Home: beautiful Swifts Neck, Wareham.

Even though it’s still morning, I’m sweating my butt off. It alreadty feels like the hottest day of the year. I cover the windshield and open all the windows and hatches to let the most delicious breeze run rampant through the boat. The XO and I are barefoot and dressed in our boat togs: clothes probably too skimpy or too thin to be seen in by the general public. It’s not as bad as it sounds; I’m wearing short pajama bottoms and a well-worn cotton tee. Bathing suits are totally acceptable on a boat as well. Reluctantly we change into our go-ashores including those infernal shoes and socks. After tossing the bikes into Ol’ Salty we head off to check out The Coggeshall Farm Museum, a real working farm that is run just like they did in the 1790’s.

Hot farm women. Literally.

A typical period kitchen. The fireplace is always going. Wicked hot in there!

Root cellar.

We have a nice conversation with a man making shingles using an interesting bench-like device. I was fascinated by the fact he was walking around barefoot over all the wood splinters. He had feet like Barney Rubble. For some reason he refuses to let me take any pictures. Unfortunately, it’s the most interesting thing going on. In fact, it’s so darn hot, it’s the only thing going on. Even the animals are hiding in the barn, sprawled out on the cool floor. I want to join them! We roam around for about an hour or so before heading off for a cool shower at the marina, and a hot lunch at Leo’s: a famous Italian restaurant downtown. Hopefully it has air conditioning.

I did an emergency repair of the XO’s only pair of glasses.

Leo’s restaurant is practically empty. Excellent. We timed our arrival perfectly for that slow period between lunch and dinner. Yes, the place is air-conditioned.

Leo’s. We have the whole place to ourselves.

I love this place! I could subsist on the garlic bread alone. The lasagna is to die for, the chicken parm melts in your mouth, and the portions are so large the doggie bag will be another meal. I highly recommend Leo’s in downtown Bristol.

To die for.

What a wonderful way to cap off our stay in Bristol Rhode Island. We’re comin’ back for sure. Cheers!

On the water, it’s always so calm in the morning. Usually as calm as it’s going to be for the rest of the day. We are tucked away in the northernmost corner of beautiful Bristol Harbor, away from the hustle and bustle of the town and working waterfront. Off in the distance, the growl of an outboard motor starting breaks the silence temporarily until the small wooden john-boat it’s connected to finds its way to open water. The happy skipper, one hand on tiller and the other on a white paper coffee cup, directs his rig around a channel marker and out of sight.
Large schools of tiny fish undulate and ripple the surface next to our boat. “Breakfast is served,” I say to Mr. Osprey, who is circling ominously. Graceful. Majestic. Powerful. Deadly. He is death from above. Wings pull in close, talons at the ready, his body turns into a guided missile screaming full speed toward the water. There is such a crash that I wonder why this handsome creature isn’t killed instantly. But there he is, mighty wings pulling him skyward. Dripping. Shuddering. Successful. There is no escape for the unfortunate silver fish that is carried off into the trees. The cormorants are awake too. Oily black feathers cling to their streamlined body. With ugly yellow beaks and big webbed feet, they are not an attractive bird. So clumsy and ungainly above the surface–they’re terrible flyers–but underwater, they have amazing skills. Death from below. Those poor little fish haven’t got a chance.After breakfast we dinghy over to the marina to check out the showers and have a bike ride before the summer sun turns angry. When I was younger, like three years ago, I would stay out all day long, broiling away, no sunscreen, no hat. Forget about it now. I love the sun. It feels so good, but it’s sooo bad.

Off for a shower and a bike ride.

Nice old launch.

Chain drive steering.

Project boat?

We couldn’t have picked a better day for a bike ride through Colt State Park, one of the places recommended by our friendly Dockmaster. This 460 acre park was once owned by industrialist Samuel P. Colt who kept his prize-winning cows here. The dude loved his cattle so much he polished their horns and kept them in a huge heated barn. Each cow had its own personal caretaker. He died in 1921, and his will stipulated that the land would be open to the public forever.

A ride in the park.

Colt State Park.

It’s getting towards noon, not a great time to be out in full sunlight for my lovely fair-skinned bride, a descendant from the land of the pink people. My ancient epidermis is crisping a bit as well. It’s time to head back to the boat. I’ve got a new bottle of Gosling’s Black Seal, and a rack of Bud on ice.

Chillin’

“What day is it?”
“Uh. Tuesday. I think,” my wife, the XO, answers somewhat tentatively.
“I don’t even know the date. How cool is that?”
“Is it important?”
“Heck no. I already had my birthday!”
It’s so true. It absolutely does not matter in the slightest. There is no place we need to be. We’re just enjoying the beautiful summer weather on our boat. So comfortable with cruising Narragansett Bay, we pick our next destination moments before leaving. In fact, I’m actually making phone calls en route. We know we’re heading to Bristol R.I., but not exactly where in Bristol, and since there are a few choices, I’m checking my cruising guide for marinas that have moorings and pump-out service because our holding tank is so full we can’t use the head.
“But Captain Rick, why didn’t you take care of that at your last port of call?” you ask.
“Because they wanted a whopping sixty bucks! Ridiculous! Extortion! Piracy! I won’t pay it!” I answer. And I didn’t. So now we’re peeing in the sink.
The first marina I call, Bristol Marine, informs me that there’s a self-service pump-out station at the town municipal dock on the east side of the harbor, just past the ferry landing. I thank the nice lady for the info, and reserve a mooring.

The ferry landing.

At the pump-out station, this gent helped us dock.

After pumping out, I hail Bristol Marine on channel 69 and get an immediate response from the Dockmaster who is apparently standing on his dock watching us approach. But instead of saying: “Head north toward the shore and pick up number 12 on the outer edge”, the conversation went something like this:
“Ok Ginger Lee, drop your speed to dead slow and pass in front of our dock. over.”
Really? I usually go full speed when I pass a crowded dock full of boats.
“Okay. I’m passing the dock. Over”
“Do you see that sail boat with a blue hull and black canvas, named Andiamo? Over.”
Duh! It’s like two feet in front of me!
“Yes. I see it. Over.” 
“Very good. Pass it slowly on your starboard side and be carefull not to hit the Boston Whaler next to it. Over.”
Are you sure I can’t hit that Boston Whaler? I love running into boats.
“Copy that. Which mooring number? Over.”
“Okay. Once you pass Andiamo, turn slightly to port, or left, and pass the white trawler named Riddley, on its right side, and proceed carefully toward the sailboat with the red sail cover. Do you see it? Over.”
Hello! I’m running out of water! Next stop: the beach.
“Yes I see it. Is that my mooring right next to it? Over.”
“Ok Ginger Lee. Now I want you to carefully loop around the sailboat with the red sail cover, and head back toward the dock. Over.”
Just tell me the damn number!
“Yes yes. Looping. Heading back. Which number please? Over.”
“Do you see the mooring in front of you, marked twelve. You will need someone up front with a boat-hook to catch the line that’s floating off it and attach it to a cleat. Over.”
Are you sure we need a boat-hook? I thought the pennant would jump out of the water and cleat itself!
“Good copy. Number 12. Got it. Ginger Lee over and out.”

“I thought the pennant would jump out of the water and cleat itself.”

Is it better to assume every boater in an idiot? I suppose you can’t come right out ask someone if they actually know what they’re doing. “Hey buddy. D’ya know how to handle that thing?” And many times when you visit a new harbor, you sometimes need a lot of detailed direction to get where you’re going, so I get it. It’s better to be cautious. But for me, just tell me where the mooring is and I’ll handle the rest. Everything looks a lot different from the helm, and I know how this boat behaves.

The Dockmaster approaches.

We finally meet the dockmaster. Not only is he a really nice guy with a lot of experience, he knows the area well. “Normally, Bristol Harbor is very windy,” he offers, as if apologizing for his micromanaging demeanor. As far as I’m concerned, no apology is necessary. You are who you are, make peace with it.
Before he leaves he graciously turns us on to some excellent places to check out. I can’t wait to explore them!

Safely moored at the very northern end of Bristol Harbor, RI.

It’s a lovely morning in Jamestown. Warm and tropical. How I wish I could awake to this beauty every day of my life. I know why that guy built a house on a rock here. They must have thought him such a fool. Such a waste of money. But I envy him.

House on a rock.

Given our proximity to the wide open East Passage of Narragansett Bay, I’m surprised at how calm the water is.
There are a lot of birds here, especially Gulls. I mean them no harm, but for obvious reasons, I can’t allow them to sit on Ginger Lees warm, comfortable, black Sunbrella roof. I set my coffee cup down on the gunwale and climb up to the flybridge to install our three Gullsweeps, the spinning devices that humanely keep all birds away. They work good but aren’t perfect; they need wind to spin, and there’s not much of that right now. I keep the broom handy to shoo off any offenders.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sun rises confidently. His bright countenance smiles down on a fishing boat as it slinks by. It feels like a good day.

Early morning fishing boat.

Bacon and eggs (sunny side up with the bacon fat spooned over the top) is the breakfast of choice this trip. Toast is a luxury. An electric toaster, like any appliance with a heating coil, far exceeds the amperage available on our boat while moored. I’ve tried those devices called camp toasters but can’t get them to work right, burns the bread every time. Buttered rice cakes are a reasonable substitute.
After breakfast we get ready for our trip across the bay to Rose Island. This basically means donning our “go-ashores”, or clothes suitable to be seen in by the general public.
Rose Island sits next to the Pell bridge. It features a working lighthouse that is open to the public, and has rooms for rent, kind of like a bed and breakfast. They welcome you to pull your dingy up onto the beach, and leave the dock open for the ferry from Jamestown.

Our dinghy “Salty” on the beach at Rose Island.

The Rose Island Lighthouse.

Old fashioned kitchen.

The bedrooms for the paying guests are off-limits, but we tour every part of that house that we can. From the honor-system souvenir closet, I buy a great tee-shirt and a refrigerator magnet, and leave the required money in a lock-box.
Eventually we make it to the cupola that houses the Fresnel lens–the heart of the light system.

Fresnel lens.

We duck through a small iron door to the outside and surprise a very frightened gull. In the narrow walkway, the poor thing is unable to spread his wings enough to fly off. He’s trapped. I devise a plan to free him, or her.

Frightened gull.

I open the door fully so that Mr. Gull is between it and me, then I place a  cinderblock that I found next to the railing. The bird was able to hop onto the block and over the railing. I watch him soar gracefully down the steep slope until he disappears from view.

Mr. Gull soars off toward the Pell bridge.

Two boats pull up to the dock and a dozen tourists spill out. Up until now we had the place pretty much to ourselves. It’s time to go! We hop into our dinghy and zoom off to check out Newport Harbor: the mega-yacht playground.

Tourist boats.

Mega-yachts at Newport R.I.

More mega-yachts.

There’s a massive yacht anchored in the bay. I hail it on the radio, and to my surprise, I get an immediate answer from an amiable captain with a Australian accent.
“Hello Captain. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee off your starboard beam. Switch to one-eight please. Over.”
“Copy that Ginger Lee. Switching to eighteen.”
“Captain, I wonder if you could settle a bet. I say you have a crew of six, my wife says ten or more. Over.”
“You lost Cap. We have a crew of twelve!”

Crew of twelve.

Jamestown has a big, wide open feel. Big boats, big bridge, big view. So different from Dutch Harbor on the opposite shore less than a mile away. But variety is one of the things I love about boating. It occurs to me that boating means different things to different people. To many, it means advising the captain of your destination, choosing which towels the maid should lay out in the guest staterooms, which silverware you would like in the main salon. aperitifs on the sundeck or in the hot-tub? It’s just not my style, but it is boating, so I feel a kinship. I’ve heard it said that there is no such thing as a bad day on the water. I’m inclined to agree, but then again, I’m an incurable optimist. It is indeed a very good day.

We are on our way to Jamestown, Rhode Island. The weather is quite warm and humid, not unusual for mid summer, tee-shirt and shorts weather, bare feet goes without saying, as well as a large glass of carbonated water with extra ice. I’m thankful for the hazy, quasi-foggy conditions; full sunlight would be way too uncomfortable.
Our heading is northeast toward the northern tip of Connanicut Island, then south down its eastern coast and under the expansive Claiborn Pell Bridge. Ginger Lee lopes along at a leisurely five knots, barely ruffling burgee or ensign. It’s a relatively short jaunt so there is no need to go any faster.

The Claiborn Pell Bridge.

We’ll avoid the hustle and bustle of the Jamestown Yacht Club, and instead, rent a nice quiet mooring at Clark Boatyard, located about a half mile south.

The bustling Jamestown Yacht Club.

Nice and quiet mooring.

I tried to get a mooring in Newport, the expensive playground-for-the-rich harbor in Rhode Island, but nobody answers their phone or even bothers to call me back. Just as well; the view is incredible here at Clark Boatyard, just across the bay.

View aft. Foreground is a hydrofoil windsurfer whipping by at about 50 MPH.

Starboard view. Jamestown Harbor.

Portside view of a house on a rock.

A sailing class.

We idle the rest of the day away, loitering on the aft deck enjoying cold drinks and unhealthy snacks, watching all manner of ships lumber slowly through the bay. I offer my hypothesis of where they are going, their cargo, and where they have been. The XO adds her version, and soon we have a whole imaginary story down pat, complete with main characters, subplots, and locations, ready for publication.

Southbound freighter.

Large unknown objects being towed north.

The hot July sun nears the horizon, and the lighthouse comes to life on Rose Island. Tomorrow we will visit that lighthouse, and maybe tour Newport Harbor, if the mood strikes us.

Rose Island Lighthouse.

You don’t have to fill every day with activities. Sometimes ya just gotta get lazy, and in a setting like this, it almost becomes spiritual. Floating here, not connected to land, I have everything I need, and someone to share it with. I feel like the luckiest man in the universe.

Every season there is one destination that really stands out. I think we’re at that place; I’m really liking me some Wickford.
Reader: “Jeepers, Rick! You say that about every place you cruise to.”
Captain Rick: “I know, I know. But I really mean it this time. Honest.”
Reader: “The season’s not over yet, and by the way, you use way too many superlatives. Show some restraint man!”
Captain Rick: “But jeez! Free WIFI!  This place is all that and a bag of chips!”

Despite my love of Wickford, free WIFI, and chips, I’ve made up my mind to leave in the morning. The pull of the open water and the excitement of a new destination is that great. The XO must feel it too: “Where to next?” she asks as if she can read my mind. Am I that transparent? I guess I’ve always wore my heart on my sleeve. “Jamestown,” I answer, conserving my words, sort of like a test, to see how it settles. It sits well; I’m definitely looking forward to it! Now that it’s all settled, we can concentrate on the present and enjoy one more day in paradise.
It’s time to toss the bikes into the dinghy and head out to explore some land based stuff. The cruising guide says you can tie up at the Town Dock, so that’s where we’re heading..

Low bridge.

Duck!

The XO plots a bike route.

We found the Wilson Park Bikeway and spent a couple of hours stretching our legs.

Beautiful views along the bike path.

Downtown scene.

We also found the Tavern By the Sea restaurant.

A hearty lunch.

After a hearty lunch we hit a souvenir shop for the required refrigerator magnet.

The souvenir shop.

Wickford Village is pleasingly quaint, everything is pretty much contained within a four block area near the waterfront. Lots of brick and granite like a miniscule Beacon Hill.
We load our doggie bags and packages onto the bikes and glide off to the Town Dock; it’s time to get ready for our boat guests: Andrea Peitsch, her date, and her two kids, Billy and Wendy.
Actually, there’s not that much to do to get ready, just clean up the boat a bit, and get some ice.

Stopping for ice at the Wickford Boatyard.

Andrea and her date. We forgot his name.

We have drinks and snacks on the aftdeck. The children provide the entertainment. With endless energy, they jump and dive off the gunwales, swim and splash about until dusk.

The Peitschlings at play.

It’s been a while since I’ve watched children playing. Their laughter and goofiness is contagious enough to prompt the boaters moored next to us to jump off their boat and loudly splash about as well.
It’s a good last night in wonderful Wickford. We’ll be back. I just know it.