It’s a warm, late Summer’s day. Our 32 foot power cruiser Ginger Lee is in fine spirits this morning, eagerly cutting through the one foot chop with barely a wiggle as she transports us to one of our favorite destinations. Her two diesel engines, whom we have named Castor and Pollux, thrum contentedly in unison beneath our feet. They seem to be happiest running at a steady 1400 RPM, pushing us along at six to nine MPH, depending on the current.
We round rocky Angelica Point, take the stern of a large sailboat, and behold in awe the forest of masts that is Mattapoisett Harbor, wide open to Buzzards Bay with no obstructions; it is a sailboaters heaven.
I hail the launch service on channel 68. “We have plenty of moorings today.Take any vacant orange ball and call us when you get settled,” is their welcome answer. We choose one near the boatyard because it’s not in the way of the many vessels coming and going under sail, but also has great people watching potential, which is the real reason why we have two pairs of decent Nikon binoculars.
Mattapoisett Boatyard.
I love hooking up to moorings. It is free from the worries of anchoring, cheaper than a slip, and you can’t beat the privacy. But wait, there’s more! As an extra added bonus, your view changes with the wind.
I’m relaxing on the aft-deck, cold beer in hand. Our friendly dinghy Salty II gently rolls on the end of his long painter, then slowly nears closer and closer. Bump, bump, bump. His fine bow meets the swim platform. My guess is he’s lonely, or bored. We decide to take him out for a spin and have dinner at the Mattapoisett Inn. Last time we ate there, it was crowded and a bit formal, so I call to make a reservation and discover that it’s now called more plainly “THE INN” and has a more relaxed atmosphere. This is good because all I have on board is shorts and tee shirts: I can’t even find a pair of socks.
Town Wharf
Salty finds his way to the dinghy dock, and like most dinghy docks these days, it’s an ocean of rubber. Fifteen years ago, when I had a mooring in Wells Harbor, Maine, I had the only inflatable dinghy. Gradually, over the years, inflatables got so popular that a hard dinghy like Salty is unusual.
An ocean of rubber.
There’s not a heck of lot happening on the waterfront. Just a Harbormasters hut and a shop or two. We wander into one and poke around a bit but I’m way too distracted. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat!” 
Right behind the Town Wharf is “The Inn.” We have delicious homemade chips and dip for an appetizer. I order meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, she the lobster roll. Everything arrives in a flash and the waitress is wicked friendly too. The food is great! I’m definitely comin’ back.
We take the long way back to Ginger Lee, slowly motoring with Salty through the large mooring field. We comment on every boat we pass, especially their names. If there is no name, we jokingly refer to it as, “a sad little unloved boat.” Why wouldn’t a person name his boat? I just don’t get it. Sometimes my wife and I will assign a boat a name, usually a descriptive one: Hot Rod Sea Ray (loud exhaust), or Aircraft Carrier (large deck popular with the seagulls), or Four Gullsweep Formula (self-explanatory).
Once, we were hanging out on our own mooring. A couple from a nearby mooring dinghied over to introduce themselves. I asked him the name of his boat and he said it didn’t have one. Imagine how surprised he was to discover that I had taken the liberty of naming his boat for him! I don’t recall how I came up with Affinity, but we’ve been calling it that for years.
Swifts Neck mooring mates. (L-R) Penny Out, Affinity?, Ginger Lee.
Ned Point Light.
The choppy afternoon waters have matured into a calming, early evening ripple. Thankfully, our view now includes Ned Point Light. From our comfy deck chairs we take it all in and reflect on the days event’s. I make a silent wish on the first star that blinks into my consciousness and it comes true immediately. I am right where I want to be.