We were just gonna motor around Bird Island and back; a short cruise so we’d have some hot water for a night on our Wareham mooring. But once we were out there in the brilliant sunshine and sparkling seas we were hooked. So we made a new plan:

The XO at the helm. Rounding Bird Island Light.

“Want to go to Sippican?” I toss it out there. The XO fields the question like Dustin Pedroia and quickly whips it back to me.
“Can we anchor?” she asks.
I scoop it up on one bounce like Mike Napoli on first base.
“I’ll check the Cruising Guide.”
Grabbing the well-worn book, I flip to the correct page.
“There is no anchoring allowed in the harbor proper,” I read aloud.
“But I’m up for a mooring,” I continue undeterred, and call the phone number for Barden’s Boat Yard, the first of three listings. I get a recording saying they are closed until Monday morning.
All three marinas: Barden’s, Burr Brothers, and Beverly Yacht club, have launch service in busy Sippican Harbor, and they all use channel 68, so as soon as we round Bird Island Light, I tune the radio to channel 68, key the mic, and in my clearest, manliest voice, say:
“Sippican launch, Sippican launch. Motor vessel Ginger Lee, over.”
“BYC launch. Go Ginger Lee.”
“Got a mooring overnight? Over.”
“Affirmative Ginger Lee. Length, draft, and current position?”
“Thirty-two, two-and-a-half, just passing Bird Island, over.”
“Solid copy. When you get inside call me and I’ll meet you at green nine.”
“Good copy launch. Ginger Lee standing by six eight.”
We marvel at the phrase: “solid copy” which we never heard before. “I’m definitely going to use that one,” I announce.

Following the Beverly Yacht Club launch to the mooring.

Sippican Harbor, Marion, is the closest port to us. So close in fact, that we hardly ever go here. On this amazing picture perfect day, vowing to visit more often is easy as pie.

Easy as pie.

High maintenance but worth it.

S/V Tabor Boy.

This is one of those rare open harbors where sailboaters can easily maneuver to and from their moorings completely on wind power.
Apparently there is a sailboat race! We watch as dozens of Herreshoff 12-1/2s zoom all around amidst a backdrop of gorgeous waterfront homes.

Herreshoff 12-1/2.

Lovely Sippican scene.

Morning brings us gusty winds and cloudy skies. The water is active, busy and white-capped. I get the percolator going and watch a small boat with three fishermen in drab rain coats leave the inner harbor. Coffees in hand, smiles all around, ready for a fun day of fishing, they gesture and talk excitedly as they disappear from view behind Ram Island. Ten minutes later they return behooded, huddled, and defeated. “Must be rough out there,” I say to myself.
I lay out a dozen pieces of bacon in the big frying pan and set the burner on low. I’m cooking my favorite boat breakfast: bacon and eggs where you scoop the hot bacon fat over the eggs to cook the top. I learned it from my mom.
“Smells sooo good,” the XO says from under the covers.
“I know. It’s almost ready. You up?” I ask. Silly question. Warm arms around my waist and a kiss on the back of neck confirms that she is most definitely up.

Sunny side up.

The trip home is lumpy. Three foot seas give Ginger Lee her first salt water bath of the season. I’m not surprised there are no other boats out here, but like I said, it’s a short trip, and once we get on the other side of Bird Island, in protected waters, it’s smooth sailing.
I would have liked to hang around Sippican Harbor longer. What’s not to like?

Sippican sunset.

On June 5 1975, in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch Country, hardworking Amish craftsmen completed the finishing touches on a brand spankin’ new thirty-two foot sedan cruiser. After polishing the mahogany veneer, and stamping the transom with hull number TRJ05620675, they carefully loaded it onto a cradle to be trucked off to parts unknown, at least to this writer. Imagine what adventures she had before ending up in our loving care. If she could talk, what wonderful stories would she tell?

Found on rear window. When was she there?

Yes. Our Ginger Lee, this boat that surrounds us with its warm wood interior, that protects us from rough seas with its strength, and pleases us to no end with its beautiful lines, is forty years old today.

Lotta wood inside.

The F-32, touted as one of the best boats Trojan ever made, was produced from 1972 through 1992; an unprecidented twenty year run in which 2,200 were built. Not big numbers by automotive standards, but for boats, it’s a wicked lot.
I think they used way too much fiberglass; it’s one of the things I like best about Ginger Lee. I can see it the bilge and on the stringers, or wherever the raw fiberglass is exposed. When I added a step to the transom, it took forever to drill through. Unbelievably thick.
In 1949 The Trojan Boat Company was started by two young guys who were sick of working for someone elses boat shop. By 1968 they were the second largest builder of wooden boats in the United States.

ARGONAUT. The most famous wood Trojan from the TV show Sea Hunt starring Lloyd Bridges. It was my favorite show as a kid.

Things changed when fiberglass became the material of choice for boats. The dudes at Trojan thought it was only a passing fancy. They hung a sign in the factory that said: “If God intended there to be fiberglass boats, He would have made fiberglass trees.”
Yeah. They were wrong and suffered financially. Switching from wood boats to fiberglass was so costly they needed to partner up with The Whittaker Corporation. The F-32 was so popular it turned the troubled company around.

Ad flyer. Year unknown.

The Trojan name still exists today but since 1992 it was owned by Miramar Marine, and later the huge conglomerate, Genmar Holdings.
It happens a lot in this day and age; somebody buys a well-known name and makes the product in China, Taiwan, East Overshoe, or in this case, a Carver Yacht factory. They’re probably nice boats. But are they Trojans? Or just Carvers with a Trojan name stuck on it.

There is nothing–absolutely nothing–half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.

Kenneth Grahame The Wind in the Willows

On this forty-year old boat, there’s always something to do, and I like it that way. I need to keep busy lest I become a beer swilling layabout. Well, more so than I already am. I’m comfortable with my current L.W.R. (Layabout to Work Ratio.)
I finished the solar refrigeration project and it works! Yes! The new refrigerator runs full-time on solar power. This is big! I feel so civilized! All the comforts of home! The hardest part, aside from shelling out the money, was finding a place to put four huge lead acid deep-cycle batteries. I had to split them up because their weight would cause to boat to list if kept all on one side.

Solar array mounted on aft deck roof.

New fridge. Long door on the side for chart storage.

I wired all the batteries to the inverter with 4 gauge wire. Saved a ton of money by buying a set of 30 foot heavy-duty jumper cables and cutting the clamps off.

DC management center.

Charge controller. The solar panels pull anywhere from nine amps in direct sunlight, to half an amp in ambient light. I love the pictogram of the smiling battery.

Next on my list was to repair the broken anchor boom. I got the new one in two days just as the manufacturer promised. I feel fortunate that I was able to get a direct replacement for a forty-year old part.

New anchor boom.

Removing the old broken boom was an adventure; the nuts had all turned into rusted blobs. I plugged my electric angle grinder into the new 1500 watt inverter and hacked away. The bolts had also deteriorated. This thing was ready to fall off!

Bad bolts.

The new part was considerably beefier and came with stainless steel hardware. Nice upgrade.

New boom installed.

Another nagging problem was the old transom stairs. They tended to fold up  if you didn’t step on them just right. My wife and I have both stumbled, so they had to go. I built new ones out of three-quarter plywood which I stained, polyurethaned, and screwed together with stainless steel hardware.

rickety old transom stairs.

Sturdy new stairs.

Next, I plan to install another fuel tank which will bring our total capacity up to 200 gallons. But first I need to relax in the sun with a cold beer. Don’t want to throw off my L.W.R.!

I can’t wait to get on the water again. There’s nothing like it. Once your foot leaves that dock you are floating free, mind, body, and soul. Turn off you cellphones and hide your watches. They wont be needed for a while. There are no schedules. Not really. You have to work with the weather and the conditions of the ocean. If I absolutely had to be somewhere, I’d rather cruise on a rainy day than a wavy day. Today, however, we have both sunshine and flat seas, and as an added bonus, calm winds. Sure it’s a tad nippy, but the boat is heated.
 Ginger Lee hasn’t been floating or running for nearly 5 months. Special attention must be paid to everything, especially the bilge; this is where the water collects if something leaks. I lift the aft deck hatch and see a steady stream coming in from the starboard rudder stuffing box. Not a problem. It’s actually designed to leak a little. About 5 drips per minute is normal. With a special tool, I quickly make the adjustment. The next problem is totally unexpected. Because we pulled into this slip bow in, I had dropped the anchor onto the dock so people could walk by without impaling themselves. As I was hoisting it, the end of the roller boom simply broke off. I guess it’s better that it happened here instead of while trying to anchor.

Broken anchor boom.

Odd that it failed without any load, but I figure it’s original to the boat which is a 1975 model. Forty years of service is not bad. I call the GOOD AUTOMATIC WINDLASS COMPANY in New Jersey and order another.They tell me that the new booms are much stronger, will bolt up in the exact same holes, and I will have it in two days. Excellent!
The XO unties the dock lines and stows the fenders as I back out of the slip. Good bye Moby Dick Marina. See ya in the Fall.

Dredging operation in New Bedford Harbor.

Fishing fleet. Longboat rowers.

New dragger.

Old dragger.

Wicked old dragger.

I hail the New Bedford Bridge on channel 13.
“New Bedford Bridge. Motor vessel Ginger Lee. Over.”
“Bridge. Go ahead Ginger Lee. Over.”
“Good morning! What time will you open Sir? Over.”
“Ten minutes Cap. West side transit. Bridge out.”
“Good copy. Ginger Lee out.”

Waiting for the swing bridge to open.

Queuing up behind us.

This guy doesn’t have to wait. He can fit under.

The open bridge.

After we clear the swing bridge, I pull over and let a fast fishing boat go through the hurricane barrier first. Hey. He’s at work.

New Bedford Hurricane Barrier. Fishing vessel Sharon K. hard at work.

The rest of the 3 hour trip was uneventful. Just what ya want in a shakedown cruise. A beautiful start to the season. It was great seeing our home port from the water once again, even though he trees had no leaves on them, and there were no other boats in our mooring field, on any other mooring field for that matter. That will change. Soon the trees and foliage will become lush and green; the beaches will be filled with families and sun worshipers alike; shrieking children will frolic in the warm waters; kayakers, paddleboarders, clammers will be here as well; and there will be happy boaters everywhere, enjoying our Warehamian paradise.

All alone…for now.

Jeez! It’s 30 degrees outside. I’ll have to dig out the wool hat and gloves for my morning walk. Probably the scarf too. Silly me for thinking I’d be putting the boat in this weekend. Oh woe is me. Whatever shall I do? Whine about the weather like a true New Englander. That’s what!
Screw it. I’m going to the marina anyway. I’ve got to touch up Ginger Lee’s hull. Thankfully she doesn’t need a full bottom paint job this year, (the paint is almost 200 bucks a gallon), but there are a few bare spots. If I get really excited, I may cut the shrink-wrap off her. Can it snow in late April? Will I be jinxing it? Like when you take down the storm windows and put up the screens ‘cuz it’s so warm, then the weather turns cold. Or when you buy a new generator and the power never goes out. This is the reason I haven’t put the snow shovels away yet.
So on a sunny and chilly morning, I drove to the marina in Fairhaven with a can of Trilux 33, a paint brush, and a bag of sacrificial zinc anodes. I figure if I can spiff up the barnacle ridden running gear I would be very pleased with myself.

Before.

After.

After touching up the hull, changing the oil on both engines, and cutting away the shrink-wrap, I proclaimed Ginger Lee ready to be commissioned for the 2015 season. If only the weather would cooperate.

The XO defeats the shrink-wrap.

A few days later, on a nice weekday afternoon, I was at the marina happily messin’ about the boat. From inside the cabin I could hear the familiar sound of the boat launching tractor backing out of the building. “Wow! It’s high tide. I bet they’re launching boats, maybe I should ask when they can put me in, ” I thought.
I approached co-owner Arion.
“Hey hey Rick! How’s it goin’ buddy?” he gushed, holding out his big calloused hand. I shook it firmly, ignoring the diesel dirt, my hands being equally grubby.
“Arion! Good to see you. Sorry about the marina,” I said sweeping my gaze out towards the floating slips which were damaged by the icy winter. He seemed to brush it off.
“We got a handle on it,” is all he said about the subject.
“So when can you put me in?” I asked, fully expecting to wait my turn; there was only one other boat floating.
“How ’bout right now?” he asked. “Too soon?” he added.
“Nope. I’m all set. Just waiting for you guys,” I answered with a huge smile.

John and Arion splashing Ginger Lee.

And that was that. John and Arion went about the business of launching Ginger Lee. I put her in a slip where she will wait for the XO and I cruise her home to Wareham. Maybe April is not such a cruel month after all.

Ginger Lee waits to go home.

It’s been a long hard winter here on the South Coast of Massachusetts, and even though it’s Spring, big fluffy snowflakes are falling as I write this. It’s so deflating! I have much to do to get Ginger Lee ready for the 2015 boating season. But mostly, I just want to get outside and do something. Cabin fever has infected me.
I have a few projects planned. First and foremost is the solar refrigeration project. I’m excited about this one. The idea is to have full-time refrigeration on the boat without being connected to shorepower, without running the main engines, and without using our generator.
“How do you do this Captain Rick?” you ask. “Witchcraft? Voodoo?”
“Why no dear reader. No sorcery is involved at all. In fact, anyone can do this. All you need is the right equipment.” In my case, about 1,500 dollars worth.

New, energy-efficient fridge to replace the 40-year-old original

I’m wicked psyched. Do you know how much ice we have to lug onboard for a typical weekend trip? We were constantly looking for the stuff, because as any boater knows, there is no boating without ice.

Forty pounds of ice.

When your boat lives on a mooring, you can’t just “plug-in”. You have to make your own electricity and store it in large batteries. Power management is critical; you’re screwed if you drain your batteries and can’t start the engines. Solar panels connected to a dedicated battery bank solves that problem nicely, and with no moving parts.

Solar panels.

Battery bank, pure sine wave inverter, charge controller

The head needs more work as well. Last year I replaced the old toilet with a brand new Raritan PHII. A real beaut! Standard of the industry and known for its reliability. This year I’ll replace the faucet and shower head.

Raritan PHII.

New head fixtures.

Check out these props and rudders! Barnacles just adore the warm Cape Cod waters. I haven’t found a good way to keep ’em off the running gear, but I keep trying. Last year it was a liberal coating of STP oil treatment. Obviously with no success. This year who knows. I heard pure lanolin works. Maybe I’ll give that a shot.

STP doesn’t work.

Jeez I love looking at boats. It doesn’t matter if I’m cruising the waterways, at anchor, moored, or just driving down the street in my car. Wherever I am, I notice boats. Their size, their shape, their lines, their dinghy’s, the name of the boat, the name of the dinghy, their boat dogs, their burgee. How about the people on these boats? What are they wearing? Clean, pressed, yacht-y Thurston Howell type clothes? Rumpled cut offs and tee shirts? Muscle shirts and bikinis? I always have my binoculars handy.

Seen off Bassetts Island.

Older boats with character and classic lines usually catch my attention, but not always. Most of the time I don’t know why I like a particular vessel. It’s like music or art. Ya just like whatcha like. Right?

Seen in Sippican Harbor.

I don’t care for the newer style boats with swoopie lines that look like you could slide right off the deck. I wouldn’t want the bow of my boat to point downward towards the water. A big wave could plow you right under! My wife has dubbed these Sneaker Boats because they remind her of footwear. Have you ever tried to buy a plain pair of sneakers? Can’t find ’em. They’re all weird like they were designed for space aliens.

Sneaker boat.

Sneaker.

Seen in Vineyard Haven.

Annabelle Barnes. Great Hill Point, Marion.

Seen in Onset Bay.

Nice Lyman

Unlike cars, boats aren’t so restricted by size, which makes the variety virtually endless.
Whether they’re tiny or massive, power or sail, diesel or gas, working or pleasure, ugly or beautiful, there is nothing more wondrous than watching the comings and goings of boats.

Every once in a while, the old Honda outboard on our dinghy gets temperamental: shaking, puking gas, refusing to idle, and running rough. The remedy is a twenty-minute procedure. The only tools needed are a ten millimeter socket and a screwdriver.

10 mm socket.

Remove two 10mm bolts and the carb is in hand.

Remove four screws to expose the float assembly.

Brown crud collects everywhere inside the carburetor. I’m not sure where it all the comes from, but I suspect it has something to do with the ethanol they add to the gasoline. Oh yeah. It’s a government conspiracy.

You can see the brown crud on the float and the side of the bowl.

Once I clean everything up, it runs darn good for a couple of weeks.

No tools are needed to remove the float and the needle valve. I clean everything with cotton swabs and carb cleaner.

All the so-called ethanol solutions I tried didn’t work. I added a screw-on type water separating filter. No joy. I even switched from a 6 gallon tank to a 3 gallon one, figuring the fuel will be fresher if I fill up more often, but it made no difference at all. About every two weeks I’ve got to clean the carburetor. Marvel Mystery Oil added to the fuel extended the interval a few more days.
I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a motor that usually runs great. Besides, it gives me something to do while messing about the boat, otherwise I’d just sit around on my arse all day drinking beer, but as any boat owner knows, there’s always something to do, so I’m a busy beer drinker.
I really like this little Honda. It’s a four cycle (no mixing oil in the gas), has electric start, and pushes our dinghy along at nearly twenty MPH, which is pretty fast on the water. We go zipping around in it all the time.
In general, outboard motors are low maintenance; it’s part of their appeal. At the end of the season I simply flush it, fog it, pick it up, and put it the basement.

Hibernating in the basement.

Five years ago, I think I paid 700 bucks for it. Probably overpaid; it’s older than dirt. But what the heck, it was really hard to find a small motor with electric start. I love electric start. No more pulling your arm out of whack! Just push a button and presto, it’s running. Of course it needs a car battery to make it work, but the extra weight is negligible, and I hooked up an electric bilge pump to it. No more bailing out after it rains!
I bought the dinghy brand spankin’ new, a birthday present from my wife. It’s a Tracker Guide Lite. I peeled off all the fancy graphics it so it wouldn’t look so attractive; there’s nothing worse than a cute dinghy. I also added a wooden center seat because it was almost impossible to row from either of the two seats it came with. One was too far forward and the other was too far aft.

Since we favor moorings and anchorages, we rarely cruise without Salty. If we do take a slip, we always pull bow in so we can tie him off the back of the boat, where he, along with his old Honda outboard, wait patiently for us to employ them.

Salty hangs off the back.

It’s a late October morning and boy is it cold outside. Not the mid-winter bone-numbing cold, we’re talkin’ maybe 55 degrees, more like the cold you feel after your blood has been thinned out by a hot Summer.
There is not a cloud to be found in the sky, nor a puff of wind, and the diamond encrusted Buzzards Bay beckons us once again. This is the real last cruise of the season. The day we cruise our boat to its winter home in Fairhaven.
I am pleased at how good we have gotten at prepping Ginger Lee for departure. We barely need to talk, each doing our own jobs. Before you know it, the mooring pennants drop into the water, I let Ginger lee drift back clear of them, and engage the drives.
Yes yes, I know it’s a sad day. And yes, I know I will certainly miss boating. But I’m okay with that; I want this vessel on land, protected from the harsh New England Winter. I want our whole fleet, (dinghies, kayaks and sailboat), tucked away safely. They’re like friends. I’ll be good to them and they’ll be good to me. It’s boat Karma. Since we’ll be taking the boat out of the water, we need to leave our dinghy here, tied to the mooring. It feels funny leaving him behind, like something important is missing. He’s always with us, dutifully following us wherever we cruise, reassuring us that if anything bad happens to Ginger Lee, he would quickly bring us to safety.

Salty II left on the mooring.

“But Captain Rick, how will you retrieve Salty from the mooring?” you ask.
“With our other dinghy,” I answer. Yes, we have two dinghies on Swifts Neck! Sometimes the tide is so low that it’s impossible to move Salty’s two hundred pounds across the sand to the water, so we a have small aluminum pram with wheels. We can easily roll it down to the water’s edge and row out to Ginger Lee.

Introducing…Pepper!

We have a three-hour trip ahead of us, but first we need to pump out our holding tank, so it’s off to Zecco Marina, just around the corner.

Approaching Zecco Marina, Wareham Harbor.

This pump out station is self-service, so for obvious reasons we put on rubber gloves. The XO stands by the pump switch on shore while I handle the nozzle. It’s really easy to do and environmentally responsible. To help keep our waterways clean, Massachusetts and many other states provide free pump out stations in most harbors. Since our boat lacks the ability to discharge waste at sea, we know this routine well and do it about every three weeks.   Uh-oh. A loose fuel fill hose on the center tank caused a gallon or two of diesel to spill into the bilge. I turn off the bilge pumps so it doesn’t end up in the water. I’ll have to deal with it later, when on the hard.
We set a course for the Moby Dick Marina on the Fairhaven side of New Bedford Harbor. The seas are pretty much flat for most of the trip until we make West Island. As we turn Northeast into the New Bedford Entrance Channel, three footers suddenly appear and dog us all the way to the Fort Phoenix Reach.  There’s not a lot of pleasure boats out here in October. The working boats are busy though. We give them all plenty of room to do their thing.

Passing through the Hurricane Barrier.

 New Bedford Harbor is scenic, historic, and definitely worth exploring, but there are so many nooks and crannies you really need a small boat to do it properly.
Finally we reach the swing bridge and the last half mile of this cruise.   Because the tide is a little on the low side, we approach Moby Dick Marina with great care. Even so, our props kick up some mud as we dock in front of the ramp. Ginger Lee will be the next boat pulled out.

Lined up with the ramp.

As usual, marina owners Arion and John greet us warmly. These guys are great! Friendly, hardworking (they do most of the work themselves) and just down to earth. I think I was their first customer. Years ago, after a sudden and catastrophic relationship failure, I was stuck for a place to put my boat. Nobody would take her. Probably because it was December. I talked to a lot of answering machines, but Arion answered on the first ring. “Sure. C’mon down. We got room for you,” he said. I could feel his big smile right through the phone. Stuff like that means a lot to me. I’ve been a loyal customer ever since.
John told me that he and Arion went to the Moby Dick Marina to check out a used boat and ended up buying the place!

Arion

John

“How do they pull a 16 ton boat out of the water?” you ask.
“Very carefully!” Sorry. Couldn’t resist. For those who don’t know the real answer:
They have this huge trailer with four, hydraulic, articulating arms. With a tractor, they back the trailer into the water, float the boat over it, operate the powerful arms so that it captures and lifts the vessel, then pull the whole mess up the ramp. When on level ground they power-wash the bottom.

Power-washing the bottom.

After cleaning the bottom, they back it into a space.
Wooden blocks are placed under the keel and big jackstands are positioned all around.

They screw the jackstands up to meet the boat and pull the articulating trailer out.

It’s quite a big job that requires nerves of steel. One dropped boat can ruin your whole day!
Back at home on Swifts Neck, I row Pepper out to meet Salty, remove the mooring ball and pennants, attach the winter stick to the mooing chain, motor back to shore and put everything on a trailer.

Out for the Winter.

We only have the one trailer, so I leave Salty in the back yard and go back to the beach to get Windsey, the XO’s sail boat.

Windsey, out for the Winter.

And so ends the 2014 boating season. It was a good one too! We experienced new places as well as visited old familiar ones. We covered almost 500 miles and the engines clocked just over a hundred hours. All doing an average of six MPH. We are fortunate to live in such an awesome boating area. From our South Coast location, there are so many wonderful place to explore, here in Buzzards Bay, and of course, beyond. 

      It’s late September. The time of year when South Coast boaters must come to grips with the horrible notion that the boating season is nearly over. Exactly when depends on the fickle forces of nature, and ones tolerance for chillier temperatures. Boating has never been strictly a warm weather activity, but jeez, it’s so much better in shorts.
In New England, a wicked bad snow storm can happen anytime between October and March. I’ll keep an eye on the weather to see how long we can cruise before I have to put ol’ Ginger Lee on the hard and cover her in a shrink-wrap blanket for the Winter.

Onset Town Pier.

We are in Onset Bay, Massachusetts, hanging off a town mooring. This afternoon the temperature is in the mid seventies and the sun is shining brightly. I’ll take it! Will I be swimming today? No. Unless I fall in. For now, I’m comfortable sitting on the aft deck in my shorts and tee-shirt. There won’t be too many more warm days like this.

Ginger Lee, moored near Wickets Island, Onset Bay.

As soon as the sun drops below the trees, I need to fire up the heater to stave off the nighttime chill.
I am excited about our trip to Scituate tomorrow morning. We will transit the Cape Cod Canal and head North up the coast for about three hours. Ginger Lee hasn’t seen the other side of the ditch for a couple of years now.

The morning brings us cloudless skies and calm winds. Warm, wonderful sunlight streams into the salon, drying the fog on the windshield. We watch the osprey hunt while sipping hot mugs of strong coffee.
“Ready?” I ask after a while.
“Sure,”  the XO answers, draining that last drop.  Still in her plaid pajamas she makes her way to the bow, drops the mooring pennant, and we are underway, boating in our pee-jays.
The current in the Canal will be working slightly against us, but since it will be hours before it swings the other way, we’ll just have to power through in order to catch the favorable northern winds on the other side.

Cape Cod Canal approach.

Mass. Maritime Academy.

As expected, we fight the swirling current in the Canal, barely making 5 knots until we round the breakwater in Cape Cod Bay, where a decent northerly catches us and sends us speeding along at a breakneck 8 MPH. The seas are running one to two feet and going our way, pushing us along smartly.

The Lighthouse on Gurnet Point. North side of Plymouth Bay.

All winter long we pray for that first sixty degree day. When it finally happens, we open our windows and run outside and do stuff in short sleeves. Right now it’s seventy degrees inside the salon, yet I close the windows, turn on the heat, and dig out a pair of socks and a sweatshirt. The air has definitely lost that summertime feeling.
Off our port beam, between us and Gurnet Point, a fisherman in a white and grey lobster boat toils away. A cloud of seagulls swirl over his wake. To starboard, a lone sail breaks the horizon. We wonder where she’s heading.
“Can’t be P’Town. She’s way too North.”
“Ocean crossing? Canadian Maritimes? Greenland?” we romanticize, wishing we could talk to its captain. It would be nice to know the destination, but mostly it would help pass the time. I’ve already washed the dishes, made the bed, vacuumed, and repaired the shower head.
All around the friendly ocean sparkles, whitecaps paint the tips of a wave or two, just to add a touch of scenic beauty. The big houses on the rocky shoreline catch our attention. From our vantage point a nautical mile away, erosion is an obvious problem for many of them. A few look as though they could topple into the sea at any moment.
Finally, Scituate Harbor is in sight. Suddenly, Pollux, our port side engine, drops out of sync with his twin brother Castor. I’m so attuned to their consistent hum, and in general, all noises on this boat, the effect is immediate and dramatic. Time stops. Something is definitely wrong. Boaters hate when stuff goes wrong; when at sea, everything is potentially life threatening. The left tachometer drops to 900 RPM, holds for a few seconds, then plummets to zero. Oh crap. Pollux has stopped running!
It’s not the first time we’ve come into port on one engine, but I am concerned. I try a restart. No joy. I can tell by the momentary movement of the oil pressure and temperature gauges that Pollux most likely still retains his life-giving fluids. No time to fully diagnose the problem; we are in the entrance channel. “Let’s get a mooring and figure it out later. There’s not much else we can do.”    I contact the launch service and request a mooring. The captain instructs me follow her through the crowded mooring field, but with the strong current and gusty wind, I quickly realize that maneuvering Ginger Lee on one engine is gonna be a problem. Even with the rudders hard to the left, she refuses to respond. I look out at all the expensive boats between us and our rented mooring, cross my fingers, say a prayer to Neptune, and hit the starter button. To my surprise and relief, Pollux fires right up and stays running! Just like their namesake mythical twins, Castor has transferred his immortality to Pollux in order to save us all.

Launch Captain.

Whew! it’s just a clogged fuel filter. My bad. I let one of the fuel tanks empty to less than one eighth before switching to another. Some crud probably got sucked into the system after hitting a wave. I change the filters on both engines as well as the big Racor unit. After bleeding the fuel lines, both engines are singing happily.

New fuel filters installed.

We get a wonderful spot close to the Northern shore and the picturesque lighthouse. Later on, we ride our bikes through the Cedar Point neighborhood beside the massive sea wall. There is no sandy beach here so the residents simply perch on the rocks.

Happy Residents.

It’s always hard to leave beautiful Scituate Harbor with its dramatic skies, amazing scenery, and friendly people. Hopefully we will visit again soon.
The weather gods smile on us the whole way home. And we catch the good current through the Canal to boot! Is this our last cruise for the season? If so, it is a worthy one.

Scituate Sunrise.