Gratitude, both the name of the boat-home that would carry us far away and the feeling that washed over me as I boarded the boat on that morning of July 10th 2024. The name inspired in me a quiet thankfulness for this vessel that would carry us across the waves.
Having ensured we were well-provisioned with supplies, fuel, water, and a dinghy for shore access, we cast off the lines around 11AM and motored out of the harbor, leaving the familiar boston sailing center behind.
Southward we headed, turning east then southeast at Nixes Mate. We continued southeast through The Narrows, a less narrow passage than the alternative Nubble Channel, passing the iconic Boston Lighthouse. The wind picked up, initially playful but soon intensifying into strong gusts. To maintain control and prevent uncomfortable heeling, we reefed the sails and continued onward to Massachusetts Bay.
We were making great progress with steady winds pushing us along at a brisk 7-8 knots. We decided to have lunch on the way to keep the momentum going, cruising past Plymouth Bay around 5 PM and into the whale-rich waters of Cape Cod Bay. Back in Boston, it was a scorching 90 degrees, but out here, the wind had a chilly bite that made me want to put my jacket on. The wind temperature was confusing, with warmth in the air one moment and an icy chill the next, hinting at the mixed conditions we were in for this journey.
Our attention was soon stolen by a magnificent sight: out there in the solitude of Cape Cod Bay, where we appeared to be the only boat around that windy day, we spotted it–first, a spout broke the surface, then another. While we were watching, a massive whale was breaching right in front of us. It was an unbelievable, magical, jaw-dropping moment. We were so caught up in the magic that we totally forgot to grab our phones or cameras, but the feeling of awe we shared among friends will remain.
With the wind coming from the south, we had to tack a few times — our goal was to spend the night in Sandwich and cross the canal close to slack tide around 7:30 AM the next morning. The sun dipped below the horizon around 8:16 PM, forcing us into some night sailing. As we approached Sandwich Marina around 9:30 PM, the dark breakwater marking the entrance to the Marina loomed ahead without its usual reflective markers. To make matters more challenging, a large, well-lit fishing boat was gaining on us. We tried to let it pass, but it turned out we were both headed for the same marina. Maneuvering into our slip was a test of skill with the wind, current, and poor lighting working against us. After a few attempts, we finally secured the boat safely with Neil’s excellent steering.
We made use of the shore facilities and celebrated our successful arrival with a first dinner on board and plenty of cheering. Not bad for a first day on the water! We covered 52 nautical miles with a top speed of 7.2 knots.
Moonrise over the entrance to the Cape Cod Canal
Day 1 meditation: Long passages on a single tack are great for meditation and this first day was no exception; as I settled in the cockpit, hearing the waves and the gurgling of the water, I allowed my mind to wander. And, on that day, my mind naturally wandered to thoughts about my body changing as I get older. So, I allowed myself to explore those thoughts. Yes, I understand in theory that perimenopause brings significant changes, from bone degradation to a slower metabolism, but experiencing it firsthand is a different reality. I've been trying to frame perimenopause as a way to understand and accept these changes, moving away from the insecurities I felt growing up.
Back in 2022, I managed to fast every day until 5 PM and followed a highly restrictive diet, believing I could do it forever. I stopped fasting because I was constantly feeling unhappy: cold, weak, angry, and in pain. That, along with life events like changing jobs several times and the stress of accepting roles that stretched my abilities, took my focus away, and the weight returned.
The resentment of this yo-yo experience has a way of taking over my thoughts and muddying my experiences. As I lay in the cockpit, trying to reject the ever-present myth that I just need more exercise (a myth that is becoming increasingly obvious with the success of GLP-1 agonists), a thought emerged - the possibility of accepting the default state without trying to change it.
Let me elaborate—for my ancestors, the default state was the only state they knew. They accepted it because they had no choice; distractions from the default state were not readily available, and if they were hungry, they had to work for it! The default state is what I often forget to accept when I cannot change the conditions around me—like being in this cockpit, accepting the motion of the boat, and the pull and tug of the waves. The default state is often boredom and that is OK.
Made aware of the urgency to be present in the default state, I turn my attention back to what I know is real, to what my body is feeling. And that day was chilly and the waves had white caps on them. And then, a little hint of hunger, the baseline, the default state is broken, and I realize: it's not just external pressures that break this, it's also the internal ones. And I realize that the default state will change whether or not I behave in any particular way. We are in a perpetual state of change, the default state is change.
Perhaps true gratitude lay not in finding a fixed default, but in embracing the ever-changing nature of existence. And when we learn to become comfortable with these state changes, with accepting and sitting in discomfort without trying to change it, then we occasionally get rewarded - like noticing that whale breaching the surface - had I not sat in this slight discomfort of being tossed by the waves, feeling cold and warm, I probably would never have experienced it!
Day 2: A Battle with the Elements
We woke up early on day 2, eager to conquer the Cape Cod Canal. But the current proved to be quite the opponent the closer we got to the end of the canal! We made good progress at about 5 knots until we neared Buzzards Bay. Then, the current and strong wind slowed us down to a painful 1-2 knots, even with the engine in full throttle. To fight against the current and wind, Andrew steered us close to shore where the push was not as powerful. Fishermen on shore had their lines out, but as we approached, they frantically reeled them in to save their precious lures from becoming tangled messes. Determined not to be swept back, we pressed on.
The powerful current pushing us back also produced dangerous looking ripples in the water.
Little did we know, the Canal was just a warm-up for the beating Buzzards Bay was about to give us. We were motor sailing with the main up, but still barely making 3 knots. The wind and waves were conspiring against us, pushing us back to where we came from. Then, Andrew spotted a rope hanging from the boom – never a good sign. Turns out, our second reef line had snapped! With the boat bouncing around in the big waves and strong wind, fixing it on site wasn't an option. We were officially defeated and decided to duck around Scraggy Neck in Pocasset Harbor for a breather. After lunch and realizing the weather wasn't improving, we decided to go deeper into Red Brook Harbor and find a mooring. It was only 2 PM, but an afternoon of hiking sounded way better than battling the elements!
After a nice lunch on the boat, paired with plenty of rosé, we called the yacht club’s launch and headed for shore to explore some hiking trails. We stumbled upon the Joyce Trail and decided to give it a shot. The woods were a total escape from the boat drama earlier in the day: the weather was actually pretty nice on shore comparatively – even the occasional rain shower added to the comfort. We wrapped up our hike with a visit to some super chill horses. A young horse came up to say hi while its mom munched on grass nearby. Our hiking day ended with dinner at the Chart Room restaurant, a highly recommended spot which started its life as a converted barge.
Friends enjoying the view
Hey buddy!
A shy sunset
Day 3: Finding Stillness
The morning on day 3 looked promising for a sail day, so we wasted no time getting underway. We’d lost a day, but reaching Nantucket on this adventure was still on the agenda. We needed to cross Buzzards Bay and the infamous Woods Hole passage during slack tide around 3.30PM, according to Andrew’s trusted Eldridge tide book – his go-to guide for sailing around Massachusetts. Sergey had also made progress in coming up with a jury-rigged solution to give us our second reef back.
Andrew not messing around
Sergey checking the chart
Buzzards Bay spread out before us, a total transformation from the previous day. The conditions were much better, and the boat was itching to go. We ripped through the water at an average speed of 6 knots, loving every minute of it. Sergey’s solution to the second reef had worked! We arrived in the vicinity of Woods Hole around 12.30PM, and Hadley Harbor offered a brief layover, where some members of the crew indulged in a refreshing swim before lunch to cool bodies and spirits.
Speed and Happy Crew
Hadley Harbor
Quick side note: On the way to Hadley Harbor, we had a major “head” issue. We'd dealt with the usual portable toilet smell before, but this was next level. As the boat tilted, the head filled up with, well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. The weird thing was, there was no drain! Our bilge pump was working fine, but the water wasn't going anywhere. So, Sergey and Neil got to work cleaning things up and using the shower pump to dump the mess overboard.
After doing what we could for the head and at the scheduled time, we navigated the narrow channel through Woods Hole, emerging into Nantucket Sound smoothly and without incident. The south-west wind filled our sails, propelling us forward at a steady speed, even reaching a max speed of 8.3 knots at one point–a stark difference from the day before. In the excitement, we almost forgot about the head disaster if the smell hadn’t gotten even worse, especially when the boat leaned on a port tack. Gross! But hey, Martha’s Vineyard and Vineyard Heaven’s West Chop were coming into view, so we tried to focus on that. With plenty of daylight left, we decided to keep going past Vineyard Haven and into Edgartown. After a few tacks, we dropped anchor for the night by Chappaquiddick Island.
It's a race!
Eight knots!
While Andrew and I made dinner, Sergey and Neil decided to launch Neil's shiny new DJI drone straight from the boat. Talk about risky business! It's hilarious looking back at the drone footage and seeing Sergey's sleeping bag waving like a flag in the wind.
Epic Drone Footage (sound on!) "And she flew her sleeping bag shaped flag, as if to say, here we stand, here we sleep!
Sergey wasn’t about to let the head situation slide and I’m very grateful that he didn’t because the “room” where I was sleeping was adjacent to the head. After another round of cleaning, he decided to figure out what was causing the leak. He removed the panels covering the tank and bam – there it was! A leaky cover on the starboard side–basically, every time the boat tilted, it leaked. We didn't have any duct tape (classic boat crew move), so Sergey used some electrical tape to hold the cover down. It was a temporary fix at best. We knew we couldn't go anywhere without pumping out the tank first, but the pumpout boat had already stopped for the day. It was time to relax and … hopefully forget about the boat’s less pleasant aspects.
Hello Gorgeous
Happy Crew
Day 3 meditation: We made rapid progress that day, with plenty of wind and sails raised to take full advantage of it. But what is wind? What is this force that we can harness to move us to our desired destination? Wind is a process that happens when conditions are unbalanced—it is air moving from a high-pressure area to a low-pressure area—the earth's climate trying to balance itself. As I sat on deck that evening, watching the sun dip below the horizon, a thought occurred to me: if we stop and wait, doing nothing to harness these forces, we drift, both in sailing and in life. And how do we avoid drifting? By harnessing these natural processes caused by unbalanced conditions. All we have to do is find them or learn to forecast them.
We cannot control the wind, just as we cannot control all the forces in life that move us—but we can learn to look for imbalances and harness the energy that results from the universe trying to balance itself.
Day 4: A Day of Delays and Decisions
Day 4 kicked off with the less-than-thrilling task of pumping out the boat. It's a necessary evil, but definitely not the most exciting way to start a morning. As soon as the harbormaster's office opened, Neil gave them a call to request a pumpout. We were told that the boat servicing this kind of thing wasn't running yet, but they'd be with us "shortly." Coffee and breakfast filled the time, but their "shortly" must have been operating on island time because we didn't see them until around 10:30 AM.
Pump Out
Sergey sporting a t-shirt that was very appropriate for the moment
We felt much better after the pumpout was complete and started getting ready to set sail. The forecast was calling for increasing fog, so we knew we had to get moving if we wanted to sail that day. As we lifted the anchor and ventured out from the sheltered anchorage by Chappaquiddick, we were greeted by a thick wall of fog on the horizon. A downpour quickly followed. Visibility was almost zero. Disappointed, we decided to head back, as the conditions were simply too dangerous for a pleasant sail.
Maybe we should go back :-)
We turned around and tried to drop the anchor again, but the place we picked was too close to other boats so we raised anchor to find another spot. As we did, Neil suggested we headed for the inner harbor before trying to anchor again in order to fill our water tank and give our boat another good scrub. As I mentioned in a previous post, finding the fresh water dock here is quite the adventure, but this time we knew what to look for! While deciding on our next move, and faced with relentless rain and a storm in the forecast, we spotted free mooring balls and enlisted Neil's help to secure one and hunker down while riding out the storm.
The water dock is the one with the picnic table
Since we were in town for a few hours, we wanted to stock up on supplies and also get rid of trash. The pouring rain continued, we were all wet or humid and didn't really feel like walking around drenched. We had some tea, ate some lunch and waited for an opening in the rain. Around 3.30 PM, after another massive downpour, we called the launch to pick us up. The launch driver was having a miserable day. We at least had a bimini that we could hide under while we waited and thus could avoid the hot and stuffy environment of the cabin. But the launch driver had no such thing.
We stocked up on ice, cheese, bread, wine, and beer. A trip to the local fishmonger yielded the catch of the day. At this point, after the shopping was done, I think we all sort of silently agreed that we weren't going sailing again that day. The allure of sailing out again after provisioning was tempting, but the prevailing weather conditions and our collective exhaustion outweighed our desire for adventure. So, we opted to stay put, sent Sergey and Neil with our provisions back to the boat while Andrew and I visited the Edgartown lighthouse, where I had a chance to talk to Andrew, who had recently visited Israel, about the current conflict in Gaza and to learn about post-second-world-war history that I never learned in school. The night ended with an indulging but well-deserved seafood dinner.
Edgartown lighthouse
Day 5: Summer Day!
What a transformation a day can make! On Day 5, Sunday, the weather gods smiled upon us. A brisk wind filled our sails as we departed early, the morning fog gradually lifting to reveal a stunning seascape and the start of the most pleasant part of the trip, weather-wise. Nantucket Sound welcomed us with open arms, the waves dancing a rhythmic dance beneath our hull.
Sunshine at last! And an opportunity to dry our very wet clothes
We had decided the night before to give up … again … on our attempt to make it to Nantucket. We would be too rushed, having lost our "buffer" days, and it was time to head back to Boston to return the boat to the Boston Sailing Center. So, we ended up retracing our steps. Our window to cross Woods Hole started around 11:30, and we made it just in time. A quick stop for a swim and a leisurely lunch at Hadley Harbor filled us with a sense of summer we hadn't experienced yet – sunny, warm, and... packed with motorboats! The harbor was bustling, a vibrant contrast to the relative solitude we'd enjoyed a couple of days before.
Infestation of Motor boats in Hadley Harbor
Refreshed and ready, we continued our journey across Buzzards Bay. The wind was our constant companion in this crossing, propelling us forward, helping us make progress toward our destination. The sun had come out as well, and we had a fabulous and pleasant day of sailing. The delicious sounds of the gurgling water in our wake filled me with joy. There was enough wind to propel us but not so much to overpower us. As the sun began its descent, we found refuge in the New Bedford Harbor, with its unique Portuguese influence, where I spied a statue of Infante Dom Henrique, the Navigator - a Portuguese prince better known for initiating the Age of Discovery that funded Portuguese ships to set out in pursuit of adventure across the seas. Despite the presence of fishermen's boats all around us, the night was surprisingly peaceful. The Portuguese fishermen did not awaken us at 4 AM like the ones at the entrance of the Cape Cod Canal.
Infante Dom Henrique, the Navigator
The sunrise was a breathtaking spectacle, casting a golden glow across the water. The gentle lapping of waves against the hull was a soothing melody, a reminder of the simple pleasures in life. In these moments, surrounded by friends and the ocean, I feel a sense of flow, a perfect alignment with the rhythm of the world.
Day 6: Plymouth bound
The morning of day 6 dawned bright and early, and with no time for lingering, we cast off - armed with an estimate of a seven-hour journey, we braced ourselves for a long day ahead. However, the sailing gods were still in our favor. Strong winds propelled us forward, and we made surprisingly swift progress. The promise of reaching Plymouth by nightfall began to feel realistic. We needed to position ourselves that night to achieve an arrival at Boston the following day in time to refuel before the fuel dock closed for the day and return the boat by 5PM.
While scanning the horizon for whales, I was met with disappointment–no whales on Buzzards Bay. But my spirits remained high as we approached the Cape Cod Canal. This time, the experience was vastly different. With little to no current, we leisurely cruised through, taking in the scenery.
Entrance to the Cape Cod canal on the Buzzards Bay side
Once through the canal, the conditions changed dramatically–it got significantly windier and waves rocked our boat. Anchoring at Scusset Beach for lunch was a chilly affair. The wind whipped around us, and the water temperature was far from inviting. We reefed the sails and the day was undeniably glorious, despite minor setbacks. The sun shone, the wind filled our sails, and the company was perfect.
By 4 PM, we entered Plymouth Bay. The expansive harbor, with its beautiful dunes and houses, was a sight to behold. Unfortunately, the peace was disturbed by the constant roar of speedboats. After securing a mooring, we took a much-needed launch to shore. Showers, a leisurely walk to Plymouth Rock and the Mayflower, and a delicious Mediterranean / Italian dinner rounded off the day. Ice cream and beer were the perfect nightcap before collapsing into bed. The allure of the remaining rum would have to wait for another day. Exhaustion claimed me before I could even make a dent in the bottle.
The two mandatory things to see in Plymouth
Plymouth wasn't just about history; it was also our chance to launch Neil’s drone once more. We found a bench by the seawall, the perfect launchpad for this aerial adventure. In mere moments, Neil's expert piloting had the drone soaring above Plymouth Harbor. And there she was, our beloved water-home, Gratitude, looking absolutely tiny and charming.
Neil ran a few circles around her, I’m pretty sure we caused a minor seagull panic in the process. But all good things must come to an end, and with the battery blinking red, Neil guided the drone back to where we were sitting. Phew, close call!
There it goes. Love the joy on Neil's face at the end :D
Sexy floaty thing!
Day 7: A Final Sail Home
We were up at dawn on day 7, eager to make the most of our final day on the water and a little rushed since we had a long journey ahead. As we exited Plymouth Harbor we were welcomed with good winds, setting the tone for a thrilling journey home. At the helm, I found myself fully immersed in the moment, my mind clearing of distractions. The boat became an extension of myself, responding intuitively to the wind and waves.
At the helm, I found myself fully immersed in the moment
It didn’t feel long at all before Minot Light became visible. We were navigating very familiar territory now. The wind lost some strength as we approached Boston which suited us fine since it was about lunch time and we had plans to have lunch under way. A few beers added to the relaxed lunch. As we approached Boston, the city skyline emerged, a welcome sight. The wind began to subside as we neared the harbor, requiring us to tack our way into President Roads.
Returning home
Our adventure drew to a close at the fuel dock, where we dropped off Sergey before refueling the boat. A minor incident with another vessel added a touch of unexpected drama to our final moments.
Reflecting on the journey, my thoughts turned to the delicate balance of forces that govern both sailing and life. The interplay of jib and main, the dance between high and low pressure systems, mirror the dynamics of daily life. It's about finding the right balance, understanding the flow, and positioning oneself to capitalize on opportunities.
Ultimately, like the wind, life is lived when one takes advantage of the forces in nature. We can't control them, but we can position ourselves to harness their power. Successful entrepreneurs and intrapreneurs, like skilled sailors, understand the direction of the wind and adjust their sails accordingly.
As I drifted off to sleep that night, cozy in my own bed, I could still feel the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull.
The week leading up to this sail had been a rollercoaster of emotions; to put it mildly. Some news that I had received threw me into the midst of a dark emotional cloud… with some decisions to be made. So, as this dark cloud insisted on hanging over my head, I told it to go away and instead teamed up with the crew on the sunny morning of June 15th, a Thursday. Dealing with the decisions was going to have to wait, I was going sailing!
The Arcturus - a Beneteau 323 - was primed for action, thanks to Neal and Andrew's early bird schedule. The traffic, let's just call it the 'nightmare on wheels', but I made it... 20 minutes beyond my estimated arrival. My Uber driver was fun, eyeing me dubiously as I wrestled with an assortment of bags, camping gear and whatnot. He was initially too shy to pry about my end destination. But when curiosity won, I let him in on our impending boat adventure. His face lit up like a Christmas tree! He started bombarding me with queries about our sleeping arrangements, shower, food, water, etc.
It wasn't long before Sergey made his grand entrance. After finding room for what seemed to be a three-month-long food supply and ticking off all the checks to ensure that everything was shipshape, including that critical boat hook, we finally set sail from Boston. Taking off from Boston was such a hoot that we did it not just once but three times on this escapade!
Our adventure on the open seas was off to a good start - or so we thought. We exited the inner harbor, ready to take on the waves. Only to find out that we had to go back... the excitement turned to apprehension just as we approached Castle Island and noticed that the stay tethering the mast to the port side of the boat was flapping in the sea breeze like a flag of surrender! An immediate radio call to the BSC (Boston Sailing Center) put us on a U-turn, and we trekked back under power.
A solid 90-minute delay awaited us there, with the people from BSC bustling around to fix the mischievous stay on the spreader. Neil and I, not ones to waste an opportunity, dove into an ice cream shop in the North End while Sergey and Andrew decided to stay back, probably more amused at Eliza shimmying up the mast of our boat. And so, our sailing morning turned into a show, complete with ice cream!
Eliza fixing our spreader
Once Eliza was done, we cast off for the second time that day
and were off again. Once more taking off the fenders and removing the sail ties.
Doing vs Being
As our newly repaired ship sashayed back into the waves, I lounged on the deck - the first fragment of our adventure felt a tad dull... except for the seal that we saw while exiting the harbor. But it's always like this initially, until the hypnotizing sound and motion of the water and the wind cradle you into a magical trance. I wanted to rescue myself with some distraction, as is my usual habit. However, this time, I chose to embrace the stillness. It's quite alright to just exist without the constant need of 'doing'.
Creeping our way towards Minot Light - or as the French would call it, "El Phare de Minot" (don't forget the French accent, it adds a dash of class!) - took us a little while. I was at the helm, feeling the boat's heart throb under my control. As the speedometer marked a 4.2, I felt the kind of victorious joy that only a sailor will understand. As the day bowed to dusk, we steered the boat towards Scituate. I could barely wait for day two!
Moi & El Phare de Minot - read it with a french accent, it's way more entertaining!
I've been pushing myself to read Sartre. I admit, I cheated and watched a video about him. I learned that one of his most significant points is against the idea of living in 'bad faith' (mauvais foi), i.e., living unauthentically. In the back of my mind, I'm thinking, "I have to live like that sometimes, to keep a job, to act as a responsible adult." He's highly judgmental about simply going with the flow and allowing others to define who you are. The opposite of bad faith, “good faith” is to always choose to act and never concede to yourself that you had no option but to follow a particular path.
Interestingly, he also talks about nothingness in relationship to "being", which is like suspending our beliefs and biases. We struggle with sitting in this nothingness - we always want to believe something about ourselves and our identity in the world. It's difficult to accept that we have the freedom to act at every moment, to convert that nothingness into energy and create the person we can become. However, to create that person, we need to constantly act, which means we must stop accepting the person we were or the person that others expect us to be. Particularly, the concept of sitting in the nothingness, the stillness, was what I was striving for in that passage.
Upon reaching Scituate, a boat launch escorted us to our mooring spot. Sergey came alive at the helm, skillfully guiding us around the other boats. We had a bit of daylight left, making the delicate balance between day and night the perfect time to explore the city.
Scituate was adorable. We walked the town, laughing and immortalizing moments with quick snaps. There were an array of classic cars on display - it was fun. A charming city with stunning ocean views that allowed me to shake off the grim residues of my mental state back in Boston.
We indulged in a dinner to remember. Fresh salmon, seared to perfection by Sergey on our portable propane grill, paired with a side of rice - comfort food in the coziest place, our boat.
Scituate
Spinnaker and Rain
Morning greeted us in hues of orange and gold. Sergey and I, having chosen the deck as our bedroom and the stars as our ceiling, awoke to the spectacle of a glorious sunrise. A sight that tops my list when sailing overnight - the break of dawn. The tranquility, the silence... It somehow breaks through, sculpting memories from moments of nothingness. It's almost therapeutic, the beautiful freedom of life at sea.
Our second day of the journey saw us casting off towards Provincetown. However, the wind seemed to be quite uncooperative for our sailing endeavors. This gave us a brilliant idea! Time to unfold the spinnaker and dress our vessel in all its seafaring finery.
With no wind to wreak havoc, we puzzled over the unmarked clew and tack of our asymmetrical spinnaker amidst the calm seas. Sleeves rolled up, a bit of fussing around, and a YouTube video marathon later, we had finally cracked the enigma of which side was likely the clew and which side was the tack. It felt like victorious archaeologists deciphering an ancient script, we just had to look at the angles of the corners and pick the most obtuse one as the clew
Flying
We fastened the clew, tack, and head of the sail to the lines and halyard before hoisting it up. To our pleasant surprise, the first attempt was a wild success, screaming out beginner’s luck. We hauled the sock up the mast, paving the way for our brilliantly colored blue and yellow spinnaker to unfurl and ripple gracefully in the light breeze. The main sail was brought down due to shadowing issues, and we learned our lesson for next time - the optimum angle to the wind for spinnaker sailing should be maintained at about 120 degrees. Despite the initial hiccups, the spinnaker propelled us efficiently towards our destination of Provincetown.
Suddenly, nature decided to switch gears - the wind shifted, altering our course to one that wasn't quite as friendly to our spinnaker. With a tad bit of disappointment, we had to reel it in. As Provincetown peeked on the horizon, Sergey excitedly pointed to a whale painting her silhouette against the sky. She playfully revealed her fin a few times, spouted, and then, like a dream, she disappeared beneath the waves.
Whale!
But the marine mammal exhibit was not over! As we approached the tip of Cape Cod we noticed some lumps on the sand. With binoculars we soon recognized them as seals! And frolicking in the water!
Seals playing on the beach
Once there, Neil had luckily arranged for a two-night stay at a slip, forecasting that Saturday's expected rain and lifeless wind would prevent us from sailing that day. And so, our sailing day would become a Provincetown exploration day.
The marina was wide and quiet, a friendly sailor caught our lines as we arrived, serving a warm welcome and telling us about his adventure from Marblehead. The amenities were awesome! Showers, bathrooms, and a cozy nook with a fire pit and lounge chairs. Portuguese flags fluttered on the balconies and were suspended around the port - a telltale sign of an approaching Portuguese festival.
I have no idea what I was complaining about but it looks funny
Firepit
The crew ventured into town in search of a meal. We found a quaint waterside place, and after devouring our entrees, we huddled around the fire pit sipping red wine. The night ended with me as the first one to retreat, no dreams under the stars that night for the forecast promised rain.
Provincetown: Pilgrims Monument and Causeway
The night was wet and rainy so Sergey and I curled up in the salon. The drizzles carried on to the daybreak, but the persistent rain didn't deter us from our plans.
Off we ventured to the Provincetown Pilgrims Monument and Museum. As we ascended the funicular, my anticipation bubbled. From the mountaintop, the breathtaking views of Provincetown beneath us offered plenty of picture opportunities! Next, we stepped back in time exploring the museum. It was a kaleidoscope of fishing culture, complete with storytelling and intriguing imagery. Surprisingly expansive, it ended with a large model of the Mayflower, a spectacle that left me marveling for many minutes while the crew waited.
...
“We come on the ship they call The Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age's most uncertain hours
And sing an American tune”
Post-tour, my stomach growled for sustenance. We contemplated a restaurant, but opted for a do-it-yourself sandwich back on the boat since the food would otherwise be spoiled. After lunch we plotted our next adventure, nudged on by Andrew's energy.
The rain continued to fall around us as we embarked on a trek along the Provincetown causeway, a jumbled trail of stones bridging "Pilgrim's First Landing Mark" and Long Point. The rain-slicked rocks offered a slippery challenge, transforming our hike into a mini thrill ride. We stumbled and clumsily made our way to the other side of the mile-long causeway. There, sitting lonely atop the trail, was an old boat affectionately named "Gramps." I contemplated commandeering him for our return if only I had some fiberglass to patch him up. Alas, I did not.
Provincetown
Andrew brought us to a large empty beach and the Wood End Lighthouse. A group of two seals were curious about us, taking breaks from their surf-dancing to investigate the humans who dared to enter their territory. Rain subsided by the time we reached the lighthouse, so we paused to snap a mini photoshoot. Back on the causeway, we found the high tide receding, revealing a sandy route ready to be explored.
Shoes off | Seal
Kicking off our shoes, we carried on through the salty water and squishy sand, occasionally stopping to check out the crabs scuttling. The leftover tide eventually cut our sandy journey short, forcing us to climb back onto the causeway. But thanks to Sergey's eagle eye for route-finding, we navigated it easily.
After a day brimming with adventure, we returned to an abuzz Provincetown, its streets bustling with happy and proud faces. The crew shopped, soaking up the atmosphere before retreating to our boat sanctuary. Chef Andrew prepared a dinner – one delicious sauté that put a satisfying end to an exciting day.
Making dinner
The Engine
We woke up to another rain-spattered morning. With the sweet smell of coffee and fluffy allure of breakfast pancakes in the air, we cleaned ourselves up and set off on a new adventure heading north at around half past nine. Before leaving, we did a bit of clean-up, pumping-out and refilled our water supplies. There was a lively buzz of excitement in the marina. A boat race was set to take off, a regatta from Provincetown to Marblehead, with several participants already dashing off with their spinnakers fluttering in the wind. The morning arrived with a little bit of breeze, just enough for us to enjoy a leisurely sail on a close haul. However, despite our exciting start, unexpected engine issues came out of the blue, leaving us in a spot.
Adding to the drama, two of our boat-adventurers, Sergey and Andrew, suddenly succumbed to seasickness. Sergey, usually our boat-problem solver, was rendered helpless, leaving me to play detective in the engine room: I, a person who has an extreme case of engine-illiteracy, rifle through a labyrinth of mechanical parts, guided by a voice on the phone (Jim) who might as well be speaking klingon.
Estimating our Fuel
With guidance, luck, and a winch handle (basically a bigger lever), I managed to access the back of the engine, and alas, disproved Jim's theory about the emergency switch being stuck. Following this, Jim suggested a more complicated exercise of checking for fuel by bleeding the lines, but I was in over my head. I retreated to the cockpit and did some breathing exercises to avoid ending up like Sergey and Andrew.
Managed to find the emergency shut off valve
The idea of flying the spinnaker flashed through my mind. However, considering our under-staffed, unwell crew situation, especially with Sergey incapacitated who earlier had helped me rig the mighty thing, it seemed like a recipe for disaster.
Determined and with no other option but to sail ourselves back to Boston and the BSC (my apologies to Sartre, but sometimes the other option is not an option), we kept floating along with only the main and the jib up. Luckily, the calming effects of the breeze and the sails worked their magic and helped Sergey and Andrew regain some health. Andrew bravely tossed his bucket aside and took over the wheel while Sergey managed to pull himself together enough to help me hoist the spinnaker. There's something truly uplifting about seeing it majestically unravel against the sky. As luck would have it, that thing made us move along at 5 knots, even without the main sail, much faster than we anticipated.
So, were we really out of options? Let's play this out in the way Sartre would. In the grand scheme of things, I think the answer is: yes, we were. There was a clear set of constraints around us. I believe even Sartre would agree that the fact we're humans and not, let's say, whales or birds, does create certain constraints and limiting our options in that particular instance. Furthermore, since we are responsible members of society, and we enjoy sailing and do not want to get kicked out of the sailing club, we obviously could not abandon the boat and let it drift towards the rocks.
However, on a smaller scale, we did have options. We could have chosen to ignore the direction of the wind and not set our sails correctly. That was an option -- not a clever one, but an option nonetheless. We could have gone back to Provincetown, but that did not seem like an appealing option. On a microscale, we had numerous options, just like the waiter that Sartre describes in his book as living in "bad faith" because he succumbs to societal expectations. But, on the microscale, he is exercising his options, even if Sartre disagrees. Perhaps he's choosing the option of putting aside some savings instead of buying a beer or a pack of cigarettes so that he can contribute to his parents' retirement.
Looking a Little More Energized
As dark clouds painted the sky around sunset, and made El Phare de Minot resemble Mordor and the eye, we took the spinnaker down and set our eyes on the Graves light to navigate our way to Boston -- many hours away still -- slowly but surely inching closer. The only thing on our agenda as we navigated into the dark moonless night was to avoid lobster traps and stay awake. Unfortunately, I lost that last battle a few times and, next thing I know, I'm deep asleep in the cockpit with Sergey trying to tell me that I needed to trim the jib.
The eye of Mordor
At around 00:30, the tidal current that had carried us forward all the way toward castle island even in moments when the wind died, had now turned against us and started carrying us back. Quickly, Sergey and Neil inflated the dinghy and tried to give us a push. It worked for a few minutes but then, even the dinghy's motor failed! In a twist of fate, a breeze sprouted up as Neil was trying to re-start it, and we moved forward again, just enough to make it to the marina.
Towing the boat with the dinghy
When we finally reached the dock, which we could not tackle without a motor (although Andrew tried, but we were coming in at a wrong angle) Sergey showcased his brilliance by suggesting we tie ourselves to a moored boat and manually pull ourselves up to the dock. Exhausted, proud and relieved, we docked and settled for sleep at around 2.30AM, possibly after a small meal, though I forget the details I was too drunk with sleep.
Made it!
Rockport: Come in we’re open … Sorry, we’re closed
Rose-tinting our glasses on, we waltzed into the new day. Coffee was brewed, and then there was a “good morning folks” coming from the deck. It was our good old friend, Jim from the Boston Sailing Center (BSC). He stepped onboard to inspect our motor. "Needs fuel, folks!" he blurted, busting our stress bubbles from yesterday's wild trip. We could've easily refueled in Provincetown, if only the fuel gauge hadn't been so sneaky in showing full. Reminded us of an important survival hack: never put blind faith on a fuel gauge that's showing full but is bizarrely static!
“Needs fuel, folks!”
Jim saved the day with a quick fix. He stirred some life into both our motors (dinghy + sailboat), left us with some fuel, and off he went. With supplies mustered while Jim was doing his magic, we cast off from Boston, for the third time in our voyage. Powered by some really good wind, we relished a silky cruise to Rockport. Amidst all the excitement, I managed to take some deep nap time. Waking groggy, I was informed of the sudden change of plans to make progress toward Rockport instead of Gloucester as originally planned. Fine by me - the wind was blowing and the seas were comfortable, it was a perfect sailing day!
Nap time
As we sailed by Marblehead, reminiscent of the quaint miniature house at the breakwater's end, the wind's push and an upbeat spirit propelled us towards our new destination - Rockport, a place I had only heard of. Mistakenly thought it'd be a bustling city like Gloucester, turned out it was a peaceful town tucked away. Navigating into the marina through a tiny slit, we made our way into the floating dock that the team had booked. A couple of women across from the dock were filming us, but we missed the opportunity to add their movie to our repertoire. We could've exchanged stories if we had their emails!
Marblehead breakwater and the tiny house || Hello Sunshine
As our dinghy, now nicknamed the "Surfer Dude", pulled us to the shore, propelled by Neil and Andrew’s rowing, we huffed and puffed our way up to a breathtaking vista, atop the yacht club house, because the tide was at its lowest, 9ft deep. Soaked in the view, clicked some photographs but then came the stomach growl for food! Unfortunately, Rockport chose to take the day off on Juneteenth, which was awesome of them! Greeted by the comedy of a tantalizing "Come In, We're Open" sign outside a restaurant only to find a "Sorry, We're Closed" sign at the doorstep, we explored further to no avail. Instead of hoofing it 4 miles to Gloucester, where some restaurants were still open, we took to our mobile kitchen on board.
Row, row, row your boat
Neil's Boston-bought empanadas, enjoyed under the night sky in the cockpit and a curious concoction of potatoes, tuna and curry tantalized our palates completely. Or maybe we were simply starved...The round trip to Boston also conveniently refreshed our spirits cabinet, a Port wine for dessert and leftovers of scrumptious Portuguese pastries from Provincetown just hit all the right notes to end our day in the water!
Dinner
Wild Anchorage & Deer
Waking up to an overcast day, I stuck my head through the companionway in the hopes of a colorful sunrise but all I saw was Sergey in deep slumber in the cockpit. For our morning routines, we dove into a “bulky” omelet to finish all the eggs, peppers, parsley and cheese. With adventure in our eyes, we set our sights on traversing the Annisquam River. After a fun sail around pigeon cove towards Ipswich bay, it was time to motor down the river (or was it up the river?). As we attempted to furl the jib, things went a bit topsy-turvy. Provincetown PTSD struck again! The jib wouldn't furl or unfurl, forcing us to untangle the sheets around the forestay to fix it. Just to be on the safer side, Sergey wrapped a few more turns of the furling line around the furler.
As we were tackling this, a giant cloud came down upon us with a heavy shower. Yet, the Annisquam River crossing was an enjoyable one, as we were flanked by the shoreline on both sides, while our gadgets stayed dry indoors, so we ended up not taking a lot of pictures. Wish we could've captured the funny floating homes, but the rain preferred us to just enjoy the moment firsthand.
Three bridges were to be passed - the first one was a breeze as it was high enough to us, but the other two needed a bit of orchestration. A quick radio call to the operator of the first, and the bridge opened up for us without a whisker of waiting time. My first experience of such an event! I nabbed a time-lapse of the bridge opening as the rain obeyed our wishes and took a breather. A ditto situation unfolded at the second bridge, but with a twist - a lot more traffic that had stopped for us. I felt mighty responsible for the "traffic jam" that had formed with at least 10 cars waiting for the bridge to close! Apparently, this bridge was also infamous for strong currents and amateur sailors getting stuck without enough power to cross them, which makes for a fun Instagram feed (link here). Glad we escaped the drama due to Neal and Andrew’s proper planning!
Time Lapse Opening the Bridge
Mooring just outside Annisquam, we enjoyed our penultimate lunch on the boat, before setting out towards Salem with good wind. Looking around for some right whales, encouraged by Andrew and Sergey's past encounters in those waters, we continued our journey.
Looking for Right Whales
Arriving early near Salem Sound, we decided to explore Great Misery Island. Mooring our boat in a slightly dicey and shallow spot while Sergey took a refreshing dive and the rest of us watched some geese families go by. Sergey helped us move over to a new moring ball before exploring by sliding into the dinghy and rowing to another ball with our line. Ready for the night lowering of the tide, we hopped onto the dinghy and rowed towards the island. A tranquil meadow welcomed us, where a deer was leisurely grazing. As we tried to capture the serene moment, the deer got spooked and in an instant, we saw a flash of about ten deer sprinting across. Sadly, the photo op was missed!
Us and the Other Guys
Following a fun tree-climbing session, beach exploration and a peaceful walk along the shoreline, the setting sun beckoned us back to our vessel for some sundowner celebrations.
Deer | lighthouse and a sailboat
tree climbing
We were treated to a breathtaking sunset and decided to spend the night at our quiet mooring field, accompanied by a solitary boat from Salem. Our dinner was a challenge to polish off all the perishable food and bread we had stocked. It turned out to be an exciting first night in the wild, far away from the hustle and bustle of any city.
Sunset
Racoon and Skeleton Shrimp
Another dawn and, yes, the early bird catches the worm, or in my case, one heck of a sunrise. Pre-dawn at 5, I got up to snap a few photos of the spectacular symphony of colors making the sky their canvas. With my duty as morning photographer fulfilled, I burrowed back into the sleeping bag, catching a couple extra winks.
5AM
A couple of hours later, the crew was all stirring, breakfast was made and coffee brewed. We were sitting in the cockpit when Neil, eyes wide, pointed out a raccoon across the water, rummaging around the rocks. Taking turns with binoculars, we observed this tiny adventurer, starting his day with a free spirit just like us. Feeling inspired, Sergey and I took the plunge – into the water that is. A little chilly slap didn't mar the invigorating experience. How could I resist when I had my fins and snorkeling gear just waiting for a dip?
Racoon
After the swim and with everybody ready to go, a minor hiccup ensued – Sergey accidentally leaving our docking line on the mooring ball as we attempted to sail off the mooring field. So, we had to power up the motor again to retrieve it. Case closed, we set off for Boston. The wind was generous, and our sails billowed with optimism as our towels dried on the life lines, mirroring our content sailing.
Deflating the dinghy
As we approached Boston, we seized the time and stopped at Peddocks Island. Adding a sprinkle of education to our adventure, we had Sergey teaching Andrew the art of flying the spinnaker. He had been eager to use the Spinnaker one more time. The lesson, however, took a rocky turn with a twisted sail that ended up in the water. Abandoning the wet sail, we retracted the rebellious spinnaker just in time for our docking at Peddock's under my helms(wo)manship.
Eager, but careful, I floated us towards the mooring ball so slowly it felt like we were in a slow-motion movie. But we made it. Under sail. Me at the helm! The cherry on top of the cake was Sergey's find of "Skeleton Shrimp" all over the mooring line - these guys captivated our attention before we settled down for the last boat meal.
Skeleton shrimp
Feeling the nip in the wind, no one volunteered for a dip this time around. Soon after, we resumed our journey to Boston. A quick detour to the fuel dock for some refueling and pumping-out, and we were back on track. The pit stop came with an unexpected audience, lazing around with their beers on lounge chairs. A strange spot for lounging, but hey, as long as they're having fun!
Finally, we slipped into our harbor berth, offloaded our gear, and were all done before 5PM. Ending on a high note, we clinked our (plastic) glasses of rum together in a final toast to our epic adventure and crew. Everyone parted ways, embarking on their own voyages of Uber rides back home, but we held onto the shared memories.
Disembarking
Group Picture with all the props of the adventure
A week and a half has passed since the adventure and the dark cloud has returned. However, true to Sartre's philosophy, I am aware that I always have options, even if at the microscale. The trip, paired with the experience of accepting the "nothingness", the gradual embrace of the sea and the sun, living on our own time, living off the grid with people whom I care about and who care about me, helps me see through the clouds even at their darkest. Indeed, merely writing this blog post and sifting through the photos and videos is enough to keep the cloud from taking hold. Resolution may take a while and, as Sartre pointed out, it's healthy to strive toward being my true self and maintaining authenticity, even if that means living with the anguish of uncertainty.
