Moby Dick Marina, Fairhaven Massachusetts.
It’s early morning; the sun is gorgeous; the wind is calm; the seas are flat. As part of a long-standing good-luck tradition, I place a quarter between the feet of the gull statue that guards the docks, then head down the gangway to our boat, Ginger Lee. The XO is already rolling up the isinglass curtains in preparation of our annual cruise to our home port in Wareham.

Getting ready for boating.

It’s not just the first cruise of the season, this is the shakedown cruise, where we find out if anything is wrong with any of the boat’s systems. Obviously, there is nothing major going on, she’s still floating, but there are a few relatively minor problems. First of all, our new aft deck rug, which we had custom cut and bound, is the wrong size. A quick check of the receipt reveals that it’s the rug company’s fault and thankfully not ours. Okay, so we’ll just return it for the correct size. Next, the depth sounder wont turn on. Bummer. I open the access panel to the gauge cluster and discover a corroded connection which I quickly fix. Not unusual on a boat. Undeterred, I fire up the engines one at a time. Huh, that’s odd. The starboard engine alarm is blaring but all the gauges are normal. After awhile it quiets down and then shuts off. I know that alarm is connected to the oil pressure sender. I make a note to replace it or check the wiring. On to the next problem.
The voltage gauges are only reading 12.5 volts. They should be showing somewhere around 14 volts with the engines running. I may have to replace one or both alternators, or maybe the connections are a little funky. Not really a big deal right now, because unlike gasoline engines, diesel engines don’t have an ignition system and therefore need no electricity to keep them running. They only need power to start them. Once started, they’ll run until they run out of fuel, break, or are shut off. We’re still good to go. Next problem please.
The port engine water temperature gauge is fluctuating  between normal and zero. I recall recently messing around with the sender connections while adjusting the fan belt. I make yet another note to tighten them up. Finally we’re off.
The XO remains on the deck to stow the fenders and dock lines. I see she’s very concerned about the shallow water. Apparently the bottom is quite visible. My depth sounder reads 2.6 feet. So yeah, I confirm the shallow water sighting. I slow down and hug the docks and soon we have 4 feet of water under us. Typical low tide hijinks at Moby Dick. Never a dull moment!

Concerned XO.

I call the New Bedford bridge to ask when they will open and quickly discover our main radio isn’t working. I switch to the secondary radio and get an immediate response. Good thing I’m big on redundant systems! My to-do list is growing.

The New Bedford Bridge opens.

We slip past the bridge and enter a fairly busy New Bedford Harbor. Fishing boats, both private and commercial are underway on this nice day. Ferries and rowing club longboats are everywhere as well, all heading towards the narrow opening of the Hurricane Barrier.

F/V Italian Princess.

Rowing club longboat.

Approaching The New Bedford Hurricane Barrier.

Once clear of the harbor traffic, we set a course for home, more or less hugging the coastline. I’ve never seen seas so flat in this area, and as any boater knows, the wave height is everything. The XO knocks on wood at our good fortune. I follow suit.

On the marine radio, we listen intently to a boater calling for help. He’s lost steerage in the turbulent Woods Hole Cut, not far from our position.
“Not a great place to lose rudder,” I comment.
“I don’t like The Woods Hole Cut,” the XO says.
“Nobody likes The Woods Hole Cut,” I say, nodding my head in respect.
The Coast guard answers his plea almost immediately.
“Vessel calling Coast Guard. What is the nature of your distress? Over.”
“I think we hit a rock. I have no rudder,” the Captain answers in a surprisingly calm manner.
“Vessel in distress. How many people on board? Are there any children on board? Name and description of your boat. Over.”
“Four adults. 40 foot power boat. Black and white hull,” the same calm voice replies.
“Please have everyone put on their life jackets. Over.”
Suddenly, the Tow Boat US joins the conversation. These guys are one of the two organizations who make a living out of rescuing boaters. The other is SeaTow. As you can imagine, it’s not an easy job, but one that deserves recognition. The former is quickly on scene and assisting, demonstrating the most important purpose of the marine band radio, which is: everyone within range can hear you. Everyone can potentially save your ass! But in this area, 9 times out of 10, if you’re a boater who needs help, Tow Boat U.S. makes the save. For a mere 150 bucks a year, they will tow your disabled boat anywhere. It’s like AAA on the water, except they will help you even if you’re not a member. It won’t be free, but they will help you.

Towboat US to the rescue.

We take a left at Bird Island Light and cruise into familiar waters. It may as well be the Caribbean, because right now, there is nothing more beautiful than our home port of Swifts Neck, Wareham, Massachusetts.

It’s mid May in 2017, time to unwrap our boat friend Ginger Lee. This pleasingly warm and sunny morning makes me feel so good inside. Real tee-shirt weather, and it’s about time. I climb up to the fly-bridge and begin slicing away the white plastic shrink-wrap that has protected this vessel through the long winter. It falls to the side where I roll it up and throw it into my Jeep to be recycled at the dump.

On the fly-bridge.

Rolled up shrink-wrap.

I feel a twinge of excitement. The waking process has begun, and that means there will be boating soon. Awesome!
I’ve done what I can inside the boat, such as installing new oil coolers, replacing broken windows, changing both engine and transmission oil and filters, replacing two spent batteries, and a dozen other things. Now it’s time to lavish my attention on the exterior of the boat. Even though there’s a half-dozen vessels in front of me, all on jack-stands and all covered, it’s the time of year when things happen fast here at the Moby Dick Marina.

Boats in front of Ginger Lee.

Robins nest on my trim tabs. I relocate it nearby and the mother quickly found it.

Each day that I come here to accomplish another task, there is one less boat in front of me, until one day, there’s a knock on my hull.
“Rick! You in there?” It’s Arion, my friend and co-owner of this great marina.
“Yes Arion. I’m just cleaning up”, I answer. The big man’s head appears over the transom; he’s climbed my step-ladder.
“We’re launching boats. You wanna be next?”
“Hell yeah,” I gush.
He must have anticipated my answer because I can hear the clatter of the powerful tractor coming closer. John, the other co-owner at the controls of the big John Deere, leans his head out and greets me with a smile and a wave. It’s a good day.

Loading up.

John and tractor.

Moving towards the water. Arion on the left. Kenny on the right.

Arion and John still do the bulk of the heavy work here. I like that. It’s one of the reason I love this place and have been coming here for almost 15 years.
They make it look so easy; no muss; no fuss; no drama; no problems. Before ya know it, Ginger Lee is floating proudly in New Bedford Harbor. It is truly a good day.

She swims!

As soon as I heard about them, I wanted to be one.
“One what?” you ask.”
“A Looper,” I answer simply.
It’s a boater who is cruising on one of the premier American adventures: The Great Loop. It’s like the Holy Grail of boating. In a nutshell, ya cruise north up the Hudson River through New York, west through the Erie Canal and the Great Lakes to Chicago, south down the Mississippi River to the Gulf of Mexico, around Florida, and north up the east coast to back to New York. It takes about a year.

My burgee from AMERICA’S GREAT LOOP CRUISERS ASSOCIATION

Years ago, when I first heard about The Great Loop, I had a little bitty boat. As it turns out, smaller boats have an advantage on The Loop. They’re more maneuverable, easier to maintain, and less expensive. “Choose the smallest boat you feel comfortable in” is what experienced loopers say. But I don’t think they meant 15 foot Larson bow-riders. Although, after some research, I discovered this 7,000 mile trip around the eastern United States has been accomplished by all manner of boats including canoes, kayaks, and jet skis.

I hate roughing it, and bigger boats are more comfortable, but because there are restrictions for height and draft, you can’t go too big. For instance, if your boat can’t make it under a 19.1 foot fixed railroad bridge just south of Chicago, you can’t do The Loop. If your boat has more than 5 feet under the water, you can’t do The Loop.

And then there’s the other stuff that stands in the way. Like having enough money. I like to eat. Every day. And fuel for a trip like this is in the 6,000 gallon range. Dockage is rarely free, and health insurance is another major expense. We’re not rich, and we don’t have a trust fund, inheritance, or a “structured settlement”.

“Pollux” our portside engine. Starboard engine is named “Castor”.

“Man. It’s just impossible. I’ll never be a looper,” I said to myself.
But wait a minute. What if a guy had an understanding wife who loves boating, trying new things, and having adventures? And what if that guy’s wife was a Zen Master at money management, and could save like nobody’s business? Well I’ll be darned if I ain’t that very guy. Saving is the XO’s superpower! Granted, we live simple lives. We pay cash for our cars which are all old, but I manage to keep them running. So no car loans, repair shop visits, or expensive insurance. And between the two of us, we maintain the house and yard. Still, it’s not easy tucking away the substantial amount of dough required to bring this amazing adventure to fruition, but we did. I can hardly believe, that after so many years, we are finally ready to do this: a 7,000 mile, year-long cruise in our boat, Ginger Lee. Psyched!.

You would think after so many years I would have this prep thing down. It always sounds easier than it is. There are the usual things that must get done. Like protecting the bottom from slime and critters, usually by painting it with stuff they hate to adhere to. That stuff is fairly expensive. Nevertheless, it must be done. Then there’s the running gear, or the moving parts underwater, like propellers, rudders, and shafts. I have yet to find anything to coat them with that will effectively protect them from barnacles. Apparently, because they spin and move, anything you put on them wears off pretty fast. All you can do is attach sacrificial zincs to them to protect the metal they’re made of from dissolving and corroding. Electrolysis will attack the less noble metal, zinc, instead of the bronze and stainless steel.

An assortment of sacrificial zincs.

I try to get the bottom things done first because everything else can be done while floating. I want to be ready when the guys at the marina say it’s my turn to get launched.
The usual stuff above the waterline includes fluid and filter changes for the engines and transmissions. No easy task either, but again, it must be done. In a way, I envy the guys who can afford to have someone else do it, but then again, it’s rewarding to accomplish these things myself. It gives me a more personal relationship with Ginger Lee, and helps me come to a better understanding of her wants and needs. It’s not so unlike our relationships with humans.

The tiny transmission filter on the left costs about fifty bucks. The big oil filter on the right cost five bucks. What’s up with that?!!

Every year, I usually try to make improvements, but because our schedule for this year includes lots of long-range cruising, I have especially lofty goals. Many of these goals have already been reached, like the new extra-large waste holding tank, the added fuel capacity, the extra fresh water tank, new isinglass for the flybridge enclosure, and the new safety rail inside the salon. I’ve also replaced all the broken windows with new safety glass and channels so they open and close smoothly.

New safety grab rail that spans the salon.

New transmission oil coolers.

New solar panels. Got three.

I plan to add extra in-line mufflers to further quiet the loud Lehmans, and I’ve got to do something about the crowded flybridge interior. Oh. And I have to get more storage capacity in the vee-berth area, probably by adding shelving. Then there’s the new transmission coolers to install, and I will add more solar panels to beef up the power. Piece of cake. Right? You got this Rick!

New Mantus anchor for Christmas.

“The fog will clear. I’m sure of it,” I said, glancing toward the western sky and the expanding brilliant blue.
“The seas should be less than one foot. We got radar and AIS, so we’re going anyway.”
It’s early morning in Wareham Massachusetts. For the last time in the 2016 boating season, the XO drops the mooring pennants into the chilly waters of Swifts Neck. I slowly back the old Trojan away, then turn her bow toward Wareham Harbor. We need to pump out the holding tank at Zecco’s Marina, and empty our fresh water tanks as well, lest pipes will freeze and burst over the long, cold, winter. It’s that time of year again when we make our annual pilgrimage to New Bedford Harbor, and put Ginger Lee into hibernation at the Moby Dick Marina in Fairhaven Massachusetts.

The Hurricane Barrier.

The trip usually takes between 3 and 4 hours. Today we are lucky. Flat seas and a gentle pushing current brought us to the New Bedford Hurricane Barrier in three hours and fifteen minutes. But the trip is far from over. The marina is at the farthest end of this huge harbor and there is a swing bridge to wait for. I contact the bridge operator on channel 13.
“New Bedford Bridge. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee approaching from the Hurricane Barrier. What time will you open Sir? Over.”
“Ginger Lee. We will open at quarter past the hour. Pass through the western channel behind fishing vessel Justice”
“Solid copy Bridge. Ginger Lee out.”

The swing bridge.

At exactly quarter past, a siren sounds, gates come down across the road, and the old bridge slowly swings open. The bridge operators voice crackles over the radio.
“The New Bedford Bridge is now open to marine traffic.”
F/V Justice moves through and I follow. There are no other boats in line. When clear I key the mic and announce it.
“Ginger Lee clear. Thank you Sir. Have a nice day. Over and out.”
“You too Ginger Lee. Bridge out.”

Barge and tug.

We Traverse the dredged channel, take a right around Riverside Cemetary, and slowly approach the Moby Dick Marina face dock. It’s shallow here, probably mid tide. The XO has a concerned look on her face as our props kick up goo and mud. I pull it a tad to starboard and the mud stops swirling. Always an adventure docking here after mid tide. The XO has a line cleated to the bow and run along the port side gunwale, and a stern line coiled and ready. She is standing on the swim platform. When I bring the boat near, she simple steps off onto the dock with the stern line in hand, cleats it, then walks up the dock to the bow, grabs the line from the gunwale, and cleats that as well. Easy peasy.
“We’re in,” she says over my headset.
“Alright hon. Shutting down.” I answer and turn off the diesels for their six month rest. They’ve earned it.

On the face dock. Note how shallow it is.

That’s it. That’s all she wrote for the 2016 boating season. Thank you Neptune, for not claiming our boat, and for keeping us safe another year.

Good night Ginger Lee.

For early October, the weather couldn’t be better. Brilliant sunshine abounds. Not the heavy, hazy, humidity laden stuff we have in August, I’m talkin’ about the crystal clear, bone dry weather that only appears in Autumn. As an extra added bonus, it’s warm enough for shorts, so we bring ol’ Ginger Lee out to our neighboring harbor for possibly the last cruise of the 2016 season. I would be very surprised if we see another cruise-worthy weekend this year.

Mattapoisett has one of those harbors that sail-boaters just adore. One end is completely open to Buzzards bay, meaning the conditions are just right so that having a motor is optional. Sailors can take off and return to their mooring completely under sail. That’s the main reason why this place is littered with masts.

The sailing mecca of Mattapoisett

There is no breakwater, so it’s always a bit choppy, but not overly so. Ya just gotta deal with it. We rent a mooring from Mattapoisett Boat Yard, and after settling in, we dinghy to the Town Wharf for dinner.

Checking in with the Harbormaster.

When in Mattapoisett, we always dine at “The Inn”, one of our favorite restaurants. It used to be a wicked fancy, reservation only, dress up kind of place, but new owners turned into a lovely, casual, pub.

The Inn.

Mattapoisett is one of the best South Coast destinations for both power and sail boaters alike. I love it here.

It’s never easy to say good-bye to Martha’s Vineyard, but my wifes 2016 birthday vacation is nearing an end. We have time for one more stop, and it’s a good one.

Hadley Harbor is nestled between three Massachusetts islands that few Bay-Staters have ever heard of, and even fewer have ever been to: Naushon, Uncateena, and Nonamesset. The names of these islands are so seldom heard of that my computers spellcheck refuses to acknowledge that I have in fact spelled them correctly. It’s like they don’t exist. But I assure you, not only do they exist, but they are among the most beautiful, unspoiled, untouched pieces of real estate anywhere in the entire Commonwealth. Nobody is allowed on these islands unless you are a guest of the very protective owners: the Forbes. They are truly unsung heroes for protecting these incredible natural wonders for so many years. I bow to their wisdom and pray that forever may it be so.

Hadley

Our trip home via Hadley Harbor.

All the moorings are first-come-first-serve, and free of charge, compliments of the Forbes family. Usually, Hadley is so popular, you’d be hard pressed to find an unoccupied one, but because it’s so late in the season, we have our choice of several.

Plenty of room.

In this secluded paradise, the chilly wind is blocked on all sides, leaving the toasty warm Sun to stream in unabated. It’s funny how the word “chilly” is subjective. In September, after a hot Summer, our “chilly” 68 degrees causes us to break out the sweatshirts, but if we hit the same temperature in March, we put on tee shirts and shorts, open up all our windows, and fire up the barbecue.

A warm perch

Horses roam free on Naushon Island.

The Naushon to Woods Hole private ferry. Apparently, even the horses get to go off-island.

Morning brings us overcast skies. Heavy rain is predicted for the next few days. Hadley Harbor is one place I would love to be stuck in, but we gotta get home, and after checking the weather map on the XO’s smart phone, we see a small window of opportunity, so we reluctantly free Ginger Lee from the mooring and make the move toward home. The grey threatening sky grows darker as we leave the Woods Hole Cut and direct our boat across Buzzards Bay. Surprisingly, the waves remain quite small.

Bird Island.

Two miles from home, we pass Bird Island. Extra large raindrops splatter on our windshield, then increase in intensity until our wipers can barely keep up with the deluge. But it’s not scary at all. We are safe and warm and driving from the salon. It’s sort of like driving from your living room. The couch, TV, and refrigerator are close by. It is really pouring outside and the visibility has dropped significantly, but we are in our back yard, with familiar landmarks and nav-aids. We’ve cruised through here so many times I almost think Ginger Lee could drive herself to our mooring.

Is this our last cruise of 2016? I hope not, but here on the South Coast of Massachusetts, one never knows.

The XO picks up our home mooring in a deluge.

It’s morning in Edgartown Harbor. Rags of clouds float lazily against a backdrop of milky blue. And it’s warm too. The chill of the other day has left the area. There are no working boats here, and so the water is as yet undisturbed. It seems that even the boaters who have somewhere to go, stay for a while longer, in order to enjoy this lovely harbor scene. It feels so good to be alive.

A still morning.

Right after breakfast we excitedly head ashore to Chappaquiddick Island. I check with the Harbormaster and confirm that it’s okay to leave our dinghy on the sandy beach near the ferry landing.

Salty on the sand. The little dock nearby is for loading and unloading only. Ten minute tie up.

The ferry landing.

Chappaquiddick, or Chappy, as the natives call it, is very different from the big island. It’s like going through a time portal and stepping out into an era before big development. I’m willing to bet that the residents fight hard to keep it that way.

Stark beauty.

Paved road!

After less than a mile, the smooth paved road we ride on gives way to loose dirt and gravel. Difficult to bike on. We have to find the hardest part, usually the very edge nearest the grass.

Dirt road. The residents seem to enjoy speeding down these roads creating great clouds of dusty grit.

We ride all the way to the Wasque Reservation, and gladly pay a fee for the privilege of visiting this magnificent conservation area.

Pronounced “way-skwee”.

On the beach, four-wheel-drive vehicles drive up to their favorite spots to fish, swim, or sunbathe. We leave our bikes and shoes behind to spend an enjoyable couple of hours taking in the sunshine, meeting friendly people, and walking hand in hand in the soft sand. Just two lovers strolling barefoot and without a care in the world. God! It’s so beautiful. The water is pleasingly warm and as blue as melted popsicles; the air soft and amiable; a remote paradise off a remote paradise. Is this really still Massachusetts?

Wasque Beach dunes.

Fishing for False Tuna.

On the ride back, we can’t resist checking out the only store on Chappie. Apparently it’s also a junkyard for cars, bikes, tractors, boats, etc.

The store.

The tiny store is not well stocked, but seems to have one or two of each item that you would find in a typical convenience store. We buy a couple of bottles of water. The friendly young man behind the counter gives us a brief history of the store and introduces us to his little sister who refuses to be photographed. I honor the request.

Chappy store cashier.

There is plenty more to see and explore on Chappaquiddick, maybe on another trip, but for now, we’ve run out of time and energy. Well, I have anyway. Time to drag my tired butt back to Ginger Lee and pop open a cold one. My younger and more energetic wife is now two city blocks ahead of me and still pedaling strong. I let the distance increase until she is out of sight behind the next rise, so that I may further enjoy my time here, and sear the beauty that is Chappie forever in my memory.

We just picked up a mooring in Edgartown Harbor. There are plenty available, but we choose this particular one because of its beautiful view of the shoreline, and its excellent boat watching potential.

Boat watching.

The weather is really nice, as you can see, but the air temperature is probably in the mid to low sixties, and with a substantial wind blowing, it feels darn chilly. All the passing boaters are wearing jackets and sweatshirts. We’re going to need our heater tonight for sure. Tomorrow, however, is supposed to be much warmer, almost eighty degrees, so we plan to hit the town and see what’s shakin’. Meanwhile, the XO and I fritter away the afternoon, enjoying a bottle of cabernet and each others company.

The XO bundled up on the fore-deck.

MV sunset.

After breakfast, we load our bikes into Salty and find the dinghy dock. My bike has a flat tire, but as luck would have it, there’s a bike shop nearby, and they have the tube I need. I buy a couple and make the repair right on the sidewalk. Took all of ten minutes.

Bike shop.

The streets are crowded with people and cars. It’s hard to believe it’s a weekday. It seems the warm temperatures has brought everyone outdoors. It’s literally Summer’s last gasp. Tomorrow is the first day of Autumn.

Busy Edgartown scene.

In our travels, we happen upon a museum, and I’ll be darned, it’s actually open.

It’s open!

Martha’s Vineyard Museum is closed one day a week, and the last time we were here several years ago, was on that very day, so we missed out. Not so today! Being the museum loving geeks that we are, we’re wicked happy to find it open.

Cool piano.

I accidentally caught the XO’s image in the mirror.

Most, if not all of the shops in Edgartown are expensive. I suppose that’s what happens in a place where literally everything is shipped in. Food and fuel prices are astronomical. Booze prices too. I go into a wine shop and nearly choke on the cost of a bottle of wine. The cheapest one I can find is 30 bucks! Even the knick-knack huts are pricey.

Pricey knick-knack hut.

Despite the steep prices, I think it would be pretty cool to live on Martha’s Vineyard. I just get a good feeling when I’m here. It’s like every day is special.

Tomorrow, we plan to visit a unique part of Martha’s Vineyard. A place I’ve never been to: Chappaquiddick. I’m psyched!

Edgartown inner harbor.

It’s mid September, the time of year when a South Coast Boater never knows exactly when the last cruise of the season will occur. Maybe this is it? I don’t know. It all depends on the weather. A couple of weeks ago, I had hoped to meet up with my friend Captain Skerry and his 12 meter Trojan Knee Deep somewhere in the vicinity of Martha’s Vineyard, but hurricane Hermine ruined that. Too bad man, John Skerry rarely comes out this way. All boaters are slaves to the weather.

We do what we always do this time of year: enjoy the boat until it gets too cold, or a storm forces us to remove it from the water. When the XO took time off work to celebrate her birthday, we decided to take a boat trip to a place we haven’t been to in a dog’s age: Edgartown. As a matter of fact, the last time we were there, it was in a different boat. A 28 foot express cruiser with a 5.7 liter gas engine and an Alpha One outdrive. She was a good boat but ridiculously expensive to operate. I surely don’t miss that “slow speed wander” that’s inherent in inboard-outboard boats.

The Cleveland Ledge East Light. On the way to Quissett Harbor.

On this gorgeous fall-like day, we headed out as soon as the tide allowed us to drag our dinghy off Swifts Neck Beach, which was about noon. Kinda late for a non-stop run to Martha’s Vineyard, so I figure Quissett Harbor is a good first stop. I love Quissett, its scenic beauty is unmatched, and it has an open mooring policy. Simply pick up any empty mooring that’s marked QH. If you’re staying overnight, a nice man will come by and collect his 35 dollar fee; no phone call; no VHF; easy-peasy.

Serene Quissett scene.

It’s too late in the day to explore land based stuff, so we just kick back and enjoy the nice weather. It’s sunny, and a little on the cool side, so we leave the side curtains up, and put on long sleeve shirts.

Steak and zucchini for dinner.

Patiently waiting for the food to cook.

Quissett sunset.

After breakfast we set out for Edgartown Harbor. We timed our passage through the Woods Hole Cut well, and zoomed through with a favorable current. On the other side, in the Vineyard Sound, massive ferrys come and go all day long.

These big guys travel at 12 knots, twice our speed.

M/V Katama. It’s like a big floating flat-bed.

The course.

The sun is warm, the winds calm, the waves small, and the current is like Neptune himself is pushing us along. In just a few hours, we reach the familiar lighthouse that marks the entrance to the Edgartown inner harbor. We did the whole trip in our pajamas!

Boating in pajamas.

I hail the Harbormaster on channel 74. She instructs us to pick up any blue and white mooring, and to please call her back with the number of the one we choose.
In the entrance waterway, which is not very wide, two ferries constantly criss-cross between Edgartown and Chappaquiddick Island. They can come out at any time, they move pretty fast, and I hear they don’t stop for boats. So watch out! We just barely squeeze through.

Edgartown — Chappaquiddick  criss-crossing ferrys.