"Reservations will open for May 28th onward" felt like the sweetest, most life changing words ever spoken since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic had delayed our return to the sailor's life after another very long Boston winter. What Andrew was alerting us to was the fact that the Boston Sailing Center (BSC) had worked out an opening schedule with the city of Boston that would get us on the water by the 28th of May. Following the disappointing news that sailing season would not start on May 4th after all - and our 'may the fourth be with you' sailing kick off canceled - none of us really had any idea when BSC would be allowed to take in guests again. In spite of several attempts, I had failed to convince anyone that "sailing really is an essential activity!".
Having reserved Camilla - a sturdy, built-for-speed, Beneteau 36.7 - we showed up at the dock with our sleeping bags, plenty of food and a longing for adventure. The air was warm and there was plenty of wind to keep our sails full. A smooth transition from motor to sail as we entered the inner harbor and we were on our way to an awesome adventure!
A steady southern wind carried us on a starboard tack all the way to the Boston Outer Harbor in less than one hour - my mindset on the boat was one of disbelief: Was this real? Were we really sailing again in Boston Harbor? It felt too good to be true after so many months. But there we were! Andrew, Sergey and myself, approaching Castle Island and beyond - adjusting the sails to a close reach once more, entering President Roads once more. We had sailed on these waters so many times before and yet it still felt special and magic.
Where to go from here? We were so incredibly happy and excited to be sailing again that we hadn't really made any plans. There were some thoughts about anchoring in Scituate if we went South. But we could go North too. We also needed to decide on a channel to use to leave the harbor. We could go where our hearts would lead us.
The decision to go South was unanimous. Notus, the greek god of the south and southwest wind, agreed - he made his presence known and helped our crossing of the Narrows channel (which is not that narrow) and we were soon on our way to the next waypoint: Minot Light. This crew of three had visited Minot Light once before and it had been a very special moment. With Notus's blessing, we soon had Minot Light in sight. The wind was so incredibly in our favor that it wasn't even noon when we got there.
Emboldened by this achievement, we debated for a bit about what would be our next waypoint and more importantly: where to spend the night? Andrew and Sergey had stayed overnight in Scituate before so that would not be a very exciting adventure for them even though Scituate is a protected harbor. I had never been there but I could empathize with the need to explore a new harbor. Also, thanks to the respectable 6 knots at which we were traveling, we would be in Scituate in no time yet had a whole sailing afternoon ahead of us in case we continued past Scituate. Plymouth would have been another interesting choice - Andrew had studied Plymouth and so he knew that the Plymouth Yacht Club would be open for transient mooring in spite of COVID. But Plymouth is almost directly South of where we were - which meant that we would need to tack / zig zag our way there given the Southerly wind. How about Provincetown? asked Sergey. Both Minot Light and Provincetown had been on his bucket list for a while. We could simply head there - if not now, when else would we have another opportunity to do so, I wondered?
I have been worried about a Boston-Provincetown adventure ever since Andrew mentioned his desire to sail there, years ago. The reason to be caution about it includes the fact that it's a long journey, we would lose sight of shore - and there would likely be no cell phone reception for a while in case we needed to call for help for some reason. Also, these sailing club boats are not always the most reliable boats out there...Nor are we fully equipped to fix them. However, before I had a chance to articulate my concerns since I was in the galley making lunch for the group, the guys decided: we were going to Provincetown. In retrospect, if I had I articulated my concerns, the guys would have respected them. I would probably have objected otherwise and thus would not have a story to wrote about.
My adventure in the galley had left me seasick - Triton, the demigod of the sea, seemed to not be happy with our decision to collude with Notus to travel south east and decided to send some waves our way, which were registed in the NOAA Boston Approach Lighted Buoy as 4 foot waves. It had been a while since I had sailed in Massachusetts Bay so 4 ft waves felt to me like 14 ft waves. In addition, the wind had intensified and even though we had taken precautions against being overpowered - by adding one reef on the main and one on the jib - we were still overpowered and the boat was heeling pretty hard. Of course, none of this helped my seasickness predicament. Triton was displeased. To add to my discomfort, a heavy fog started also forming around us, preventing us from detecting container ships that we might need to get away from to prevent a collision.
As an act of kindness, when Sergey and Andrew noticed how sick I looked, they asked me to take the helm in order to help me focus on the horizon instead of the seasickness. "We are sailing at 140 magnetic, Andrew told me". At this point, we were far enough away from shore that we had lost all sight of land and were sailing by compass alone (Andrew always sails without a chartplotter / GPS if he can). For me, this was a first: it's very disconcerting and takes some adjustment to lose all sight of land and to have to trust that the compass won't lead you astray or that the currents won't make you drift too far off from your charted course. All I could see around me was the blue ocean.
I had not been at the helm for long when I saw the headsail unfurl itself. However, when Sergey reached for the furling line, it was still cleated.. ! What was going on...?
It did not take long for Sergey to realize that the line had snapped. We were facing 20 knot winds and 4 foot waves and furling the headsail, which was now flailing uncontrollably in the strong wind and not allowing us to balance the boat. With some effort and a lot of violent luffing over his head, Sergey was able to tie the two loose ends of the furling line together. This allowed us to recover our ability to use the headsail to balance the boat. Yay Sergey!
At this point I freaked out - just a little - even though the headsail was now fixed and we had control of our vessel once more, I had the feeling that we had drifted significantly. The fog was now so thick that we would not easily see the tip of Cape Cod or any container ships heading our way. We had no navigational aid at this point since the compass does not detect drift and lack of visibility of any land or navigational features meant that we could not tell where we were on the paper chart either. I felt the sense of adventure disappear and be replaced by a feeling of wrecklessness. When they felt the exasperation in my voice, Andrew and Sergey looked at each other - time to turn on the chartplotter? Yes, Andrew nodded. After a few seconds we knew our exact position. We had indeed drifted. We were at Race Point: not exactly where we thought we were but close enough and, if we maneuvered correctly, we could get there in an hour or two. We had only a few miles to go before entering Provincetown Harbor, where the waves would likely (much to my seasickness relief) subside.
Since we were still in the midst of thick fog, all we could see around us was water and clouds. We knew, because we were looking at the chartplotter, that Cape Cod was close, but we could not see it. Triton finally gave us a break and the waves did reduce somewhat at this point.
Sergey was steering the boat when Andrew shouted "Land-Ho"! At first I thought "is this a mirage". On closer inspection, however, we did see what appeared to be a Cape Cod beach and possibly a lighthouse in the distance.
The lighthouse and beach soon disappeared and we were once again embedded in nothing but clouds and sea. As we turned to clear Long Point, the southern wind was now blowing from behind us and we could change the configuration of our sails - first, wing-on-wing and then a jibe. For the first time in the whole trip we were on a port tack. We saw the Provincetown breakwater and mooring balls soon after. We decided that we would try to find a mooring ball first and, if there were no moorings balls available, anchor. First, we radioed Provincetown Marina but nobody seemed to be screening the channel. We tried to use the phone also with the same result. After a little googling we learned about the only other sailing club in the area - "Flyers Boat Rental" - but they also did not answer the phone. In my eagerness to start sailing again, I had completelly failed to realize before this adventure that even though Boston might have opened their sailing season during COVID, other towns might not have made that same decision. I felt helpless. Anchoring overnight in these conditions would not have been ideal or safe.
We were out of comfortable options - since it was getting dark quickly, anchoring was the "safer" option since the crew was exhausted and sailing anywhere else in these conditions would be even more dangerous. We headed over to the anchoring area indicated in the chart, and dropped anchor. This area was deep enough according to the depth sounder but Andrew pointed out that it might not be deep enough for our ~6-7ft draft in low tide. We could not see any signs of land because of the fog even though we knew it was there. Very upsetting.
The first time we tried to throw the anchor overboard, we noticed that it didn't seem to be holding. We blamed it on a slippery algae bottom and Andrew thus asked us to lift the anchor and try to anchor further offshore where there might be less slippery algae. But that's where things went terribly wrong - while motoring toward the anchor in order to lift it, we somehow got the anchor line wrapped around the keel but still attached to the bottom. We thus were unable to pull it up by hand and the wind was making things even worse and pushing us sideways away from our anchor, which was connected to our bow via a line which was now going around the keel.
Now what? We needed to rotate our stern somehow in the direction opposite to the wind such that the anchor line could go under the stern. It's not like we had a little side motor that could move us left or right... All our motor could do was forward and reverse. Since we did not have forward motion, turning the wheel would not to much good. That's when Andrew had a brilliant idea - what if we used the headsail for rotation? Since it pulls the boat away from the wind, and since we were still anchored, moving the bow away from the wind would rotate us thus forcing the stern to move toward the wind. We tried it but, no luck, the strenght of the wind pushing the boat against the anchor line was too strong. Then, I suggested - what if we tried the opposite? I wasn't really rationalizing but I thought "if we try left and nothing happens, then maybe it's a good idea to try right". To everyone's relief, this maneuver worked, we soon felt the line loosen and we were able to bring the anchor back into the boat. In retrospect, when we tried steering the boat toward the anchor and not against it, the added tension might have been enough to force the line to slip further down in the keel and caused it to be released.
We could still not see any signs of land because of the heavy fog but using the chartplotter and the depth sounder we steered the Camilla further away from shore and dropped anchor again. Already frustrated, cold and exhausted, the bow crew realized that the anchor, once again, was not holding. We would need try yet another spot. Unable to reach the mooring companies and too far, dark and foggy to sail anywhere, we had no other option but to keep trying. This time, Andrew told us, use the full anchor line. At last, the anchor seemed to hold.
I cautiously went down below to settle for the night while Sergey and Andrew confirmed that we would indeed not drift toward Provincetown during the night. I was not there long before I started feeling seasick again. The waves, which continued, had felt a lot less violent from the cockpit. Andrew came down and soon enough there were two of us feeling seasick. Our plans had included rum, wine, a proper dinner and an evening enjoying ourselves and celebrating the start of the sailing season and having made it to Provincetown. In reality, even though Sergey made the effort to cook a kosher meal - neither Andrew nor myself were able to handle dinner. It wasn't pretty so I'll spare the gory details.
I went to the v-berth cabin to lie down - staying horizontal seemed to help. I was not there long when I realized that I would not be able to sleep at all given that I felt like I was sleeping in a washing machine: I felt tossed and shaken back and forth and sideways in a very unpredictable way as the waves crashed on our hull from many directions. First I tried to turn around so that my head was facing the stern. It didn't help. Then I got up with difficulty and brought my sleeping bag to the salon to try to sleep. Definitely better! Sergey and Andrew checked the anchor a few times during the night to make sure we were not drifting. I was completely useless and out of action at this point.
At last, after a long night, the morning came! We didn't linger very long - Provincetown was still covered in uninviting mist. Only Sergey could handle breakfast. Any attempts to sit down or stand up were faced with serious resistance from my brain and seasickness. I dragged myself to the aft cabin to put on the foul weather gear since it was cold and wet and headed to the cockpit - at least there I could sit down without feeling dizzy.
We got out of the "washing machine" that our anchoring site was and tacked our way out of Provincetown Harbor. We had a long way to go ahead of us and the wind was going to die sometime in the afternoon. The waves were fortunately not as high. Triton was pleased. I was able to shake my motion sickness for a while and have some food, which made a huge difference in how I was feeling.
Our first milestone on the way to Boston was Minot Light once more. It must've been 10 or 11 AM when the fog began to dissipate and we could see the sun again. Layers of clothing started coming off. And then, around noon, the wind completely died! Seems like you can't have it all! We used this lull as an opportunity to prepare some lunch before turning on the engine / iron sail - if we didn't want to take another 10 hours to get to Boston, we had to surrender to the reality of our situation.
After a while, our boat started trying to heel again - we had wind! With both the sail and the motor we were able to hit 7.8 knots top speed, which would get us back to Boston in no time. The first few land features we saw in the distance were 3 stick-like looking things. Could one of them be the Minot Light? We would have to get closer to see it. With Scituate to our port side, and finaly lovely sailing weather, we turned off the Iron sail and pointed our bow toward the stick-looking things ahead of us, maintaining a heading of 310°M that would take us directly to Minot Light.
Turns out that 2 out of the 3 sticks we saw in the distance were the Prudential and Hancock towers. The Minot Light soon revealed itself as a majestic and impressive lighthouse emerging out of the water.
We were finally seeing home. After some time, Sergey pointed at something in the water - a spout? Could this be a whale? Indeed it was - even though we didn't have our cameras with us, we all saw it: a spout, followed by a hump, followed by a black and white tail. It could not have been a more perfect sighting of a whale. Andrew and Sergey saw a few more humps after that but no more tails. It was a magnificent experience.
It's always a magical feeling to see Boston in the distance after a long and perilous journey. This time was no different. The entrance to the harbor protected by winged guardians perched on the buoys that guide the ships. The sparkles where the sun hits the water. And a privileged view of one of the most bubbling cities in the country. One that is slowly returning to normal after a long quarantine.
Having reserved Camilla - a sturdy, built-for-speed, Beneteau 36.7 - we showed up at the dock with our sleeping bags, plenty of food and a longing for adventure. The air was warm and there was plenty of wind to keep our sails full. A smooth transition from motor to sail as we entered the inner harbor and we were on our way to an awesome adventure!
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| On our way to adventure |
A steady southern wind carried us on a starboard tack all the way to the Boston Outer Harbor in less than one hour - my mindset on the boat was one of disbelief: Was this real? Were we really sailing again in Boston Harbor? It felt too good to be true after so many months. But there we were! Andrew, Sergey and myself, approaching Castle Island and beyond - adjusting the sails to a close reach once more, entering President Roads once more. We had sailed on these waters so many times before and yet it still felt special and magic.
Where to go from here? We were so incredibly happy and excited to be sailing again that we hadn't really made any plans. There were some thoughts about anchoring in Scituate if we went South. But we could go North too. We also needed to decide on a channel to use to leave the harbor. We could go where our hearts would lead us.
The decision to go South was unanimous. Notus, the greek god of the south and southwest wind, agreed - he made his presence known and helped our crossing of the Narrows channel (which is not that narrow) and we were soon on our way to the next waypoint: Minot Light. This crew of three had visited Minot Light once before and it had been a very special moment. With Notus's blessing, we soon had Minot Light in sight. The wind was so incredibly in our favor that it wasn't even noon when we got there.
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| Notus, the god of the south wind, permitted a visit to Minot Light - a journey we had attempted so many times before but had accomplished only once |
Emboldened by this achievement, we debated for a bit about what would be our next waypoint and more importantly: where to spend the night? Andrew and Sergey had stayed overnight in Scituate before so that would not be a very exciting adventure for them even though Scituate is a protected harbor. I had never been there but I could empathize with the need to explore a new harbor. Also, thanks to the respectable 6 knots at which we were traveling, we would be in Scituate in no time yet had a whole sailing afternoon ahead of us in case we continued past Scituate. Plymouth would have been another interesting choice - Andrew had studied Plymouth and so he knew that the Plymouth Yacht Club would be open for transient mooring in spite of COVID. But Plymouth is almost directly South of where we were - which meant that we would need to tack / zig zag our way there given the Southerly wind. How about Provincetown? asked Sergey. Both Minot Light and Provincetown had been on his bucket list for a while. We could simply head there - if not now, when else would we have another opportunity to do so, I wondered?
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| Provincetown, here we come! |
I have been worried about a Boston-Provincetown adventure ever since Andrew mentioned his desire to sail there, years ago. The reason to be caution about it includes the fact that it's a long journey, we would lose sight of shore - and there would likely be no cell phone reception for a while in case we needed to call for help for some reason. Also, these sailing club boats are not always the most reliable boats out there...Nor are we fully equipped to fix them. However, before I had a chance to articulate my concerns since I was in the galley making lunch for the group, the guys decided: we were going to Provincetown. In retrospect, if I had I articulated my concerns, the guys would have respected them. I would probably have objected otherwise and thus would not have a story to wrote about.
On the Way to Provincetown
My adventure in the galley had left me seasick - Triton, the demigod of the sea, seemed to not be happy with our decision to collude with Notus to travel south east and decided to send some waves our way, which were registed in the NOAA Boston Approach Lighted Buoy as 4 foot waves. It had been a while since I had sailed in Massachusetts Bay so 4 ft waves felt to me like 14 ft waves. In addition, the wind had intensified and even though we had taken precautions against being overpowered - by adding one reef on the main and one on the jib - we were still overpowered and the boat was heeling pretty hard. Of course, none of this helped my seasickness predicament. Triton was displeased. To add to my discomfort, a heavy fog started also forming around us, preventing us from detecting container ships that we might need to get away from to prevent a collision.
As an act of kindness, when Sergey and Andrew noticed how sick I looked, they asked me to take the helm in order to help me focus on the horizon instead of the seasickness. "We are sailing at 140 magnetic, Andrew told me". At this point, we were far enough away from shore that we had lost all sight of land and were sailing by compass alone (Andrew always sails without a chartplotter / GPS if he can). For me, this was a first: it's very disconcerting and takes some adjustment to lose all sight of land and to have to trust that the compass won't lead you astray or that the currents won't make you drift too far off from your charted course. All I could see around me was the blue ocean.
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| The wheel on Camilla was very large, I felt like a hobbit trying to steer a boat that was built for giants! But it did help with the seasickness |
I had not been at the helm for long when I saw the headsail unfurl itself. However, when Sergey reached for the furling line, it was still cleated.. ! What was going on...?
It did not take long for Sergey to realize that the line had snapped. We were facing 20 knot winds and 4 foot waves and furling the headsail, which was now flailing uncontrollably in the strong wind and not allowing us to balance the boat. With some effort and a lot of violent luffing over his head, Sergey was able to tie the two loose ends of the furling line together. This allowed us to recover our ability to use the headsail to balance the boat. Yay Sergey!
Lena's Sailing Classroom: The reason why this lack of balance occurs when only 1 sail is powered / full and the wind is very strong has to do with the way the two sails work together in modern boats: the mainsail, which is supported by the mast, pulls the boat toward the wind. The headsail, which sits forward of the mast, pushes the boat away from the wind. When these two sails are balanced, the combination of forces (plus the downward force provided by the heavy steel keel + gravity) moves the boat forward. When one of the vectors / forces is missing, such as the flailing / unfilled headsail, the other two forces prevent the crew from controlling the boat as it was designed to be controlled. In the case of a missing headsail, the mainsail forced our boat to rotate itself toward the wind. When the boat's motion causes the boat to be at an angle of ~30/45 degrees from where the wind is coming from, the boat is "in irons" and the mainsail loses all its power also. As a result, the mainsail also starts flailing violently and the lines attached to it start whipping around the cockpit. The first danger of being in irons in such a situation is the danger of being hit by a whipping line. The second danger for the crew is the water currents, also caused by the strong wind, forcing the boat to drift away from its crew's intended destination. This was the situation that the crew of the Camilla was facing in that moment. With 1 member of the 3 member crew out of comission due to severe seasickness. These are the types of conditions that cause good sailors to shipwreck when they are close to shore or, when in the middle of the ocean, to be destroyed by a large container ship that the crew cannot detect due to the lack of visibility caused by the fog.
At this point I freaked out - just a little - even though the headsail was now fixed and we had control of our vessel once more, I had the feeling that we had drifted significantly. The fog was now so thick that we would not easily see the tip of Cape Cod or any container ships heading our way. We had no navigational aid at this point since the compass does not detect drift and lack of visibility of any land or navigational features meant that we could not tell where we were on the paper chart either. I felt the sense of adventure disappear and be replaced by a feeling of wrecklessness. When they felt the exasperation in my voice, Andrew and Sergey looked at each other - time to turn on the chartplotter? Yes, Andrew nodded. After a few seconds we knew our exact position. We had indeed drifted. We were at Race Point: not exactly where we thought we were but close enough and, if we maneuvered correctly, we could get there in an hour or two. We had only a few miles to go before entering Provincetown Harbor, where the waves would likely (much to my seasickness relief) subside.
Anchor Trouble
Since we were still in the midst of thick fog, all we could see around us was water and clouds. We knew, because we were looking at the chartplotter, that Cape Cod was close, but we could not see it. Triton finally gave us a break and the waves did reduce somewhat at this point.
Sergey was steering the boat when Andrew shouted "Land-Ho"! At first I thought "is this a mirage". On closer inspection, however, we did see what appeared to be a Cape Cod beach and possibly a lighthouse in the distance.
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| Land Ho after about 3 hours of fog! |
The lighthouse and beach soon disappeared and we were once again embedded in nothing but clouds and sea. As we turned to clear Long Point, the southern wind was now blowing from behind us and we could change the configuration of our sails - first, wing-on-wing and then a jibe. For the first time in the whole trip we were on a port tack. We saw the Provincetown breakwater and mooring balls soon after. We decided that we would try to find a mooring ball first and, if there were no moorings balls available, anchor. First, we radioed Provincetown Marina but nobody seemed to be screening the channel. We tried to use the phone also with the same result. After a little googling we learned about the only other sailing club in the area - "Flyers Boat Rental" - but they also did not answer the phone. In my eagerness to start sailing again, I had completelly failed to realize before this adventure that even though Boston might have opened their sailing season during COVID, other towns might not have made that same decision. I felt helpless. Anchoring overnight in these conditions would not have been ideal or safe.
We were out of comfortable options - since it was getting dark quickly, anchoring was the "safer" option since the crew was exhausted and sailing anywhere else in these conditions would be even more dangerous. We headed over to the anchoring area indicated in the chart, and dropped anchor. This area was deep enough according to the depth sounder but Andrew pointed out that it might not be deep enough for our ~6-7ft draft in low tide. We could not see any signs of land because of the fog even though we knew it was there. Very upsetting.
The first time we tried to throw the anchor overboard, we noticed that it didn't seem to be holding. We blamed it on a slippery algae bottom and Andrew thus asked us to lift the anchor and try to anchor further offshore where there might be less slippery algae. But that's where things went terribly wrong - while motoring toward the anchor in order to lift it, we somehow got the anchor line wrapped around the keel but still attached to the bottom. We thus were unable to pull it up by hand and the wind was making things even worse and pushing us sideways away from our anchor, which was connected to our bow via a line which was now going around the keel.
Now what? We needed to rotate our stern somehow in the direction opposite to the wind such that the anchor line could go under the stern. It's not like we had a little side motor that could move us left or right... All our motor could do was forward and reverse. Since we did not have forward motion, turning the wheel would not to much good. That's when Andrew had a brilliant idea - what if we used the headsail for rotation? Since it pulls the boat away from the wind, and since we were still anchored, moving the bow away from the wind would rotate us thus forcing the stern to move toward the wind. We tried it but, no luck, the strenght of the wind pushing the boat against the anchor line was too strong. Then, I suggested - what if we tried the opposite? I wasn't really rationalizing but I thought "if we try left and nothing happens, then maybe it's a good idea to try right". To everyone's relief, this maneuver worked, we soon felt the line loosen and we were able to bring the anchor back into the boat. In retrospect, when we tried steering the boat toward the anchor and not against it, the added tension might have been enough to force the line to slip further down in the keel and caused it to be released.
We could still not see any signs of land because of the heavy fog but using the chartplotter and the depth sounder we steered the Camilla further away from shore and dropped anchor again. Already frustrated, cold and exhausted, the bow crew realized that the anchor, once again, was not holding. We would need try yet another spot. Unable to reach the mooring companies and too far, dark and foggy to sail anywhere, we had no other option but to keep trying. This time, Andrew told us, use the full anchor line. At last, the anchor seemed to hold.
Lena's Sailing Classroom: The design of the hull on a keelboat such as the Camilla is such that the boat will always naturally rotate to where the wind is coming from as that is the position of least resistance. If the anchoring site is selected carefully, the wind will push the boat away from land, thus preventing a shipwreck overnight in case the anchor, which is basically a heavy hook burried in the sand, is not firmly securing the boat. Because of this rotation with wind shifts, the less distance between boat and anchor, the smaller the rotation circle and the more comfortable the crew is. A second reason to use less line - especially close to the shore - is that in low tide, the extra slack on the line means that, if the wind direction changes 180 degrees, the boat will not only be pushed toward land but the distance between boat and land is shortened, thus potentially causing the boat to hit the ground and the keel to hit the bottom thus tipping the boat sideways and causing water to come gushing in. On the other hand, if not enough line is used, the anchor does not sit firmly in the bottom and thus its hook won't be as strong, which means the boat might drag and drift overnight.
Shaken, Not Stirred
I cautiously went down below to settle for the night while Sergey and Andrew confirmed that we would indeed not drift toward Provincetown during the night. I was not there long before I started feeling seasick again. The waves, which continued, had felt a lot less violent from the cockpit. Andrew came down and soon enough there were two of us feeling seasick. Our plans had included rum, wine, a proper dinner and an evening enjoying ourselves and celebrating the start of the sailing season and having made it to Provincetown. In reality, even though Sergey made the effort to cook a kosher meal - neither Andrew nor myself were able to handle dinner. It wasn't pretty so I'll spare the gory details.
I went to the v-berth cabin to lie down - staying horizontal seemed to help. I was not there long when I realized that I would not be able to sleep at all given that I felt like I was sleeping in a washing machine: I felt tossed and shaken back and forth and sideways in a very unpredictable way as the waves crashed on our hull from many directions. First I tried to turn around so that my head was facing the stern. It didn't help. Then I got up with difficulty and brought my sleeping bag to the salon to try to sleep. Definitely better! Sergey and Andrew checked the anchor a few times during the night to make sure we were not drifting. I was completely useless and out of action at this point.
A beautiful day for sailing
At last, after a long night, the morning came! We didn't linger very long - Provincetown was still covered in uninviting mist. Only Sergey could handle breakfast. Any attempts to sit down or stand up were faced with serious resistance from my brain and seasickness. I dragged myself to the aft cabin to put on the foul weather gear since it was cold and wet and headed to the cockpit - at least there I could sit down without feeling dizzy.
We got out of the "washing machine" that our anchoring site was and tacked our way out of Provincetown Harbor. We had a long way to go ahead of us and the wind was going to die sometime in the afternoon. The waves were fortunately not as high. Triton was pleased. I was able to shake my motion sickness for a while and have some food, which made a huge difference in how I was feeling.
Our first milestone on the way to Boston was Minot Light once more. It must've been 10 or 11 AM when the fog began to dissipate and we could see the sun again. Layers of clothing started coming off. And then, around noon, the wind completely died! Seems like you can't have it all! We used this lull as an opportunity to prepare some lunch before turning on the engine / iron sail - if we didn't want to take another 10 hours to get to Boston, we had to surrender to the reality of our situation.
After a while, our boat started trying to heel again - we had wind! With both the sail and the motor we were able to hit 7.8 knots top speed, which would get us back to Boston in no time. The first few land features we saw in the distance were 3 stick-like looking things. Could one of them be the Minot Light? We would have to get closer to see it. With Scituate to our port side, and finaly lovely sailing weather, we turned off the Iron sail and pointed our bow toward the stick-looking things ahead of us, maintaining a heading of 310°M that would take us directly to Minot Light.
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| Minot Light from the other direction |
Turns out that 2 out of the 3 sticks we saw in the distance were the Prudential and Hancock towers. The Minot Light soon revealed itself as a majestic and impressive lighthouse emerging out of the water.
We were finally seeing home. After some time, Sergey pointed at something in the water - a spout? Could this be a whale? Indeed it was - even though we didn't have our cameras with us, we all saw it: a spout, followed by a hump, followed by a black and white tail. It could not have been a more perfect sighting of a whale. Andrew and Sergey saw a few more humps after that but no more tails. It was a magnificent experience.
Lovely Boston
It's always a magical feeling to see Boston in the distance after a long and perilous journey. This time was no different. The entrance to the harbor protected by winged guardians perched on the buoys that guide the ships. The sparkles where the sun hits the water. And a privileged view of one of the most bubbling cities in the country. One that is slowly returning to normal after a long quarantine.
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