Sunday the 16th of August was one of those typical Boston summer days that felt a lot more like fall... The weather had been hot for a few days the week before–some might say too hot–before the northeast winds took over and made the temperature dip to 17C. Nevertheless, I woke up excited–it was going to be my first sail day in 2 weeks so a sailing day was well overdue–nothing was going to stop me–not the cold and not the rain!
My time in Ireland had taught me that ‘there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing’, so warm and waterproof layers were definitely a must. When Sergey and I arrived at the dock, Andrew and Koby had already removed the sail cover on the Nelli–a Beneteau 34–and were ready to cast off. Andrew had planned to do some docking practice in Charlestown, so we motored there first. I found it interesting that telling myself that docking was just ‘practice’ made me pay special attention to the details and perform better than I would otherwise. Life is but a sequence of experiments and experiences.
We managed to successfully dock and undock a few times, with different people at the helm so that everyone could learn and build the intuition on approaching the dock at a 45 degree angle and then turning her into the wind. Until, that is, a couple of guys from the dock came to tell us to knock it off. That was the end of our docking practice exercise. We left Charlestown behind and raised the sails - it was time to start sailing.
The wind was blowing from the northeast so when Andrew asked me to decide where to go, I thought that a southern heading might be a good idea. With my finger over the chart, I drew an imaginary line going southeast and Hingham Bay was where my finger stopped - why not go there? The first time that I had sailed there with Ben and Andrew had been a cold day with 4ft waves–and the protection of Hull Bay had given us relief from the waves. Andrew considered that option for a bit and then said–let’s go to World’s End!
Choosing a course for our adventure
With the wind on our side, we made good progress toward and under the (missing) Long Island Bridge, then past Sunken Ledge and toward the West Gut channel that would bring us to Hingham Bay. With every sail, I feel my confidence as a navigator increase, my intuition for mapping the chart to the water and the water to the chart improving. The waters were peaceful–contrary to the 2-4ft waves that the National Weather Service had warned us about–Andrew steered while Sergey walked around the boat, from the bow to the cockpit, from the cockpit to the bow as he often does. Koby, who had brought a fishing rod, tried to troll for fish while I entertained myself by taking pictures around the boat with Andrew’s camera.
Hull and Hingham Bays were becoming two of my favorite places to sail - not only were they fairly well protected bodies of water close to Boston, they also had a lot of interesting things to see and to visit. There was a narrow channel that we could use to travel toward the mooring field on the east side of World’s End. Since our passing through the channel would be against the wind, Andrew decided to drop the sails and motor through. The channel transit was fun - to our port side, private mooring fields and plenty of boats and houses; to our starboard side, raw untamed nature. We moored in a nearly empty mooring field just at the right time - as soon as we started setting up for lunch, rain started to fall.
We ended up having a delicious gourmet lunch in the salon below deck. Lunch included rare treats such as vichyssoise, New England corn pudding, spaghetti squash casserole, small pastries and garden fresh tomato with mozzarella salad–all compliments of cook Koby. Since it was still raining after lunch I decided to lie down in the salon … and promptly fell asleep! Maybe it was because of the happy juice that Koby had made (spiked with rum, of course) or maybe it was the rain. When I woke up I noticed that I had not been the only one asleep–Sergey was right there with me!
Lunch and a nap
The rain had stopped, and even though I was feeling lazy and relaxed (and sleepy), we inflated the dinghy and rowed to shore in order to visit World’s end, which was lovely! We saw a deer grazing, took lots of pictures and walked to ‘the bar’ - a piece of sand that separates World’s End from Planter’s Hill. The walk was pleasant and rain-free, albeit busy–we were not the only visitors: plenty of other families and their dogs had decided to visit World's End on that day. The site had been proposed in 1945 as a location for the United Nations but fortunately for us (and the deer), New York City was chosen instead!
Deer at World's end
The Nelli and an interesting boulder
Since we had not found anything to tie our dinghy to at the beach–and the tide was rising–we did not linger in World’s End for long. We pushed the dinghy back into the water and rowed back to the Nelli. Because we could (the wind was behind us) we departed from the mooring under sail power, which always makes Andrew happy, and returned through the same channel that had brought us there. One key advantage of not using the motor was, of course, the silence, which allowed for the sounds of nature to take over.
We had not yet left Hull Bay when I felt the first few drops of rain. It was starting to rain again. Sergey had proactively put on his bright yellow foul weather gear and Andrew asked him to steer. The cold and persistent Boston rain continued as we went through Hull Gut and turned toward Nubble Channel and then the small boat channel to return to the inner harbor.
Reflecting back on this adventure a week later, it strikes me as odd that I remember the details of West Gut and World’s End so well.. Yet I can’t recall many of the details from the second part of the trip–the cold and uncomfortable return to Boston.
Andrew’s note: I am surprised that Lena doesn’t remember going through Hull Gut, arguably the most challenging place in Boston Harbor: definitely the one with the strongest current, strong enough to overpower a sailboat in light winds. As we were going through, Koby was recalling that, growing up in Hull, they would specifically drive to the tip of Hull to watch the passing boats having trouble in the Gut. We were going against the current, and lost most of the wind, and were making very, very slow forward progress—at times it felt like we were not moving at all. I was already considering the next steps (either turn the engine on, or give up and go back), but then we finally emerged on the other side. With the current weakening every second, and the wind picking up, we started moving again and sailed on, away from this difficult place.
This crew has sailed in Massachusetts many times and faced plenty of uncomfortable and inclement weather. However, we keep coming back.
Sometimes I wonder what draws me to sailing. Warm days and sunbathing on the bow is the image that sailing charter companies sell. And yet, there is so much more than that: sharing experiences, pleasant and unpleasant, solving problems, working as a team and learning to trust each other. That, for me, is the true nature of sailing.
After months of excited anticipation, the day was finally here: Saturday the 18th of July, the day when myself, Andrew, Ben and Sergey were scheduled to cast off on the Anne from Marion, MA to explore Buzzards Bay and to live on the boat for a week. The Anne was a Beneteau 343 owned by the Boston Sailing Club (BSC) that was moored in Buzzards Bay during the summer for the benefit of the members of the BSC who wished to spread their wings and explore the waters along the Cape Cod, Buzzards Bay, Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket coastlines.
With the grocery shopping completed the week before, all the crew had to do was to show up at the marina in Marion, load bags and food and cast off into a week of adventure. Ben picked up each member of the crew in his big car and drove all of us, our bags and our groceries to Burr Brothers Boatyard in Marion. We did hit a bit of traffic on the way but that did not dampen my enthusiasm, which became more palpable with every mile between us and Boston.
Loading all our stuff onto carts (left) and finding safe places for everything (right)
Very tall warehouses, masts lying on the floor and cranes fit for pulling boats out of the water told us that we were in the right place. The mooring field seemed small to me and there weren’t a lot of places to leave the car. I admired the beautiful docked wooden sailboats while Andrew figured out how to get to our boat. We swiftly loaded bags, groceries and ourselves onto a launch and it was during the short launch ride to where the Anne was moored that I noticed how large the mooring field in Marion really was.
Before taking off we made sure that all the necessary equipment on board existed and was functioning properly. We had made a checklist for things to check before casting off: fog horn, dinghy and oars, boat hook, first aid kit, anchor, docking lines. Then we also made sure we checked the motor, the head, the radio, the fresh water pump, the windlass, etc. On top of that, we also made sure that every item on our list of required food items and kitchen utensils was checked. Since sailors like ourselves enjoy going where the wind and currents will take us, being prepared to anchor and survive in the wild for a few days was a must.
Andrew reminded the crew several times about the need for a conservation mindset which included using fresh water sparingly, using on-shore facilities as often as we could find them, and avoiding opening of the fridge too often to preserve battery life (in addition to stocking up on food items that don’t require cooling). He also made sure that everyone was familiar with the chart and our planned course and possible places to spend the night, but more importantly, to understand how to use “Eldridge”—the tide and pilot book. Eldridge is a yellow book that shows the tides and currents from hour to hour for ports from Nova Scotia to Key West. There are a few narrow crossings from Buzzards Bay to Vineyard Sound—which we would have to cross in order to get to Martha’s Vineyard—where the current could reach 4-5 knots. Ouch! For a sailboat that travels at a speed of approximately 5-6 knots on a good day, strong currents could render our boat very difficult to handle and therefore we needed to have an idea of the ideal time to attempt a crossing—around the time when the current changed. The need to understand what causes these natural phenomena and how to work around them, the constant learning of new things about sailing and navigation is what makes sailing an even more rewarding experience for me.
The crew studies the currents using Eldridge 2020 (left) before casting off (right)
With all the details figured out and all items in the mental checklist checked, we unleashed the Anne from her mooring prison and pointed her bow toward the Elizabeth Islands and away from Marion. As the crew hoisted the main sail and unfurled the jib we saw a beautiful trimaran behind us that was quickly catching up. The winds were blowing from the southwest and our heading was southwest. That was an unfortunate combination as it meant a need to zigzag our way out of Sippican Harbor until we could safely assume a heading that did not match the direction of the wind. We were not in a rush, and tacking back and forth gave us an opportunity to familiarize ourselves with the Anne and how she sailed as well as a chance to feel the power of the wind in the sails of our vessel (which would also be our home for the week). To our port side, a small island called Bird Island was home to a former lighthouse which once acted as a beacon for mariners in Buzzards Bay. Today, the lighthouse is no longer acting as a beacon and only the building remains—beautiful still, but less charming than it once was. The water between the small island and the mainland is only about 2 feet deep, which makes it possible to walk between the two at low tide—an observation that brought back the conversation about whether any piece of land separated by water on all sides should be considered an island (and whether that means that the Cape Cod Canal turns Cape Cod into an island!).
We saw a trimaran (left) and a sailboat using a spinaker (right)
Weepecket Islands
As soon as it was safe to do so, after Centerboard Shoal and red buoy number two, the captain steered us south where we could take better advantage of the southwest wind and chart a course for the Weepecket Islands. It’s so easy to lose track of time while sailing—hours go by and we’re all just enjoying the sun, the speed, the magic of allowing the wind and the sails to carry our floating house. But a part of the magic lies in the fact that it’s not just the crew deciding—the wind direction and the water current can make for very comfortable or uncomfortable sailing, depending on the destination. So, in order to maximize fun and comfort, some flexibility in the planned course is required—the wind and the currents decide the rest.
We generally look for depths of 10-20 feet in the chart in order to find a place to drop the anchor. Seeing other boats anchored is another good indicator that it’s probably a good place to anchor. Approaching the islands we immediately felt a strong smell that told us who the real owners of the islands were—the birds! The crew initiated the first “shutdown” sequence of the trip, i.e. turning on the engine, furling the jib, turning her into the wind, dropping the main and waiting for the wind to stop her before dropping the anchor. Like her sister Emma back in Boston, the Anne was equipped with a windlass which made it very easy to drop and raise the anchor. The Anne was also equipped with a very long chain attached to the anchor, which helped prevent the boat from oscillating too much around the anchorage.
After a long leg on a warm day, it was hard for hungry sailors to decide between food or swimming. They were both equally appealing. Other ocean travellers around us seemed to be happily jumping in the water. We therefore decided to have a quick lunch followed by immersing ourselves in the deep blueness all around us. Weepecket Islands were a great spot for lunch but our captain had a better, more protected, harbor in mind for the night—maybe Cuttyhunk, the only major island out of the Elizabeth Islands that was not privately owned. We raised the anchor around 5PM and freed the Anne again from her iron shackles by hoisting her sails.
Happy swimmer
Kettle Cove
After sailing west for a few miles, we saw some fog on the horizon. Fog is never a good sign for a crew who relies mostly on spotting distant markers for accurate positioning. Sure, we could have used a GPS to locate ourselves—either on the phone or on the chartplotter; the captain had in the past conceded to the use of such electronic means when the crew was too stressed out due to the lack of visibility created by the thick fog and the chance of drifting. But the use of electronic equipment meant using up battery faster which in turn meant a need to turn on the engine, which in turn meant a need to find a civilized place on which to re-fuel, which in turn meant less opportunities to anchor in quiet and remote locations that were not equipped with fuel pumps.
Andrew’s note: To say the truth, conserving the battery is the last reason why I avoid using chartplotters. (We had one running most of the time to display our speed, and the battery was just fine.) To me, generally, it’s the challenge to do something myself (as opposed to computers and satellites telling me), and the satisfaction of doing so successfully. I navigate by the chart and the compass for the same exact reason I sail the boat with the sails and the wind rather than with an engine.
Now, sailing in the thick fog is just no fun. In addition to not being able to navigate visually, and not being able to enjoy the views, you also can’t see other boats or other navigation obstacles which may or may not be charted. I find it dangerous, stressful and not satisfying, and try to avoid whenever possible.
That’s why we stopped at Kettle Cove that day.
This was not going to be a day for sailing in the fog—a quick glance at the chart told us that Kettle Cove at Naushon Island could be a good place to anchor. Again, not what we had planned but the weather would fill our flexible plan with its own demands. A lady on an anchored boat seemed very upset as we approached with the intention of dropping the anchor—“You have the whole harbor”, she shouted at us. She felt we were anchoring too close for her comfort. We felt like these were not the kind of neighbours we wanted to have overnight. So we raised the anchor and went a little bit further east to find another anchoring spot in Kettle Cove.
As we finished anchoring, we saw another boat trying to anchor in the same spot where we initially tried anchoring, and in the distance we heard the same lady shout: “Oh, no no no!”—she reminded us of the seagulls in the movie “Finding Nemo”. The other boat—the Minx V—was managed by a single sailor (and a dog) who was running between the bow and the steering wheel in order to anchor. Having a dog on board sounds appealing but I imagine it creates an added layer of worry and planning. Whereas one can generally trust a human to not jump overboard while a boat is sailing and heeling, it’s unclear to me whether a dog would have the same instinct.
Having decided on our overnight spot, we inflated the dinghy to go explore the beach at Kettle Cove—one of the few spots on the private island that can be explored by visitors. The Boston Sailing Center provided an outboard motor for the dinghy, which is an improvement over having to row ashore to explore the islands. We quickly mounted the outboard on the dinghy, turned it on and made our way to shore. We were about half way when it died. We tried to restart it again but it would not start. We could not figure out what was wrong but fortunately we had remembered to load the oars onto the dinghy just in case something like this happened.
We were halfway to Kettle Cove beach when the engine stopped. This forced us to use the oars instead. Ben captured the moment.
The beach was cute but small—visitors from the other boats arrived to explore the beach and give their dogs some relief and space to run. We were still on the beach when the sun started setting—with fog still on the horizon, the sun was bathed in mist, which made for a particularly beautiful sunset. The shore was a mix of rocks and sand—perhaps a good place for snorkeling but none of us had brought our swimming gear to the beach so snorkeling would have to wait until the following morning. We rowed back to our floating home before it got too dark to see anything. The crew cooked dinner and settled in for the night—I felt it was going to be a wet night; Andrew tried to sleep in the hammock that he had brought but nobody ended up sleeping on deck.
Andrew’s note: That was the first time I brought a hammock on a boat. I like sleeping outside on a warm dry night, and I had high hopes that a hammock would provide me a comfortable sleeping place for the night. Unfortunately, the first try ended in a complete failure: the hammock kept swinging quite violently in the fresh breeze and waves, so I was sea-sick in the first ten seconds, and quite scared of falling off in the next ten seconds. I had to abort the hammock trial then and sleep down below, and after that never could find a good night to try again—it was always either wind, or waves, or rain in the forecast. Well, one more project that will have to wait for the next time...
Deciding on sleeping arragements and the first dinner onboard!
Great view of the Kettle Cove harbor from the beach
Sunset in the mist at Kettle Cove
Cuttyhunk in the Mist
The morning was still misty—too misty for a good view of the sunrise. The crew slowly emerged from their cabins and the morning routine was initiated—water was boiled, eggs were cooked, tea and coffee were made and the crew jumped in the water to stave off the morning grogginess. Whereas most of the crew swam around the boat, the more adventurous Sergey swam all the way to the distant beach to attempt to do the snorkeling that we did not do the day before.
The morning was still misty
After Sergey helped me figure out how to use a fishing rod, I brought it on deck and got started on that repetitive motion that can sometimes render dinner from the deep blue. I had no luck catching fish this time (or any other time, to be honest) but the repetitive motion of throwing the jig in the water and reeling it in was a good replacement for morning meditation. I felt the tension of the workweek dissipate as I prepared for 5 more mornings like this. Andrew and Ben worked on the dinghy, called several people in order to ask for assistance on solving the problem we had the day before—after a while, they got the answer they needed: a fuel line switch was off. The outboard had had enough fuel in the system the previous day to get us halfway to the beach but no further as it was unable to replenish itself with fuel.
As the fog appeared to lift, the captain was eager to continue the journey—according to the forecast, the first two days of the adventure were the days with the best wind and therefore the best time to travel to Nantucket, which we still hoped to be able to do. The crew raised the anchor and hoisted the sails—our next stop would be Cuttyhunk to the southwest. Unfortunately, the further we traveled, the thicker the fog appeared to get. After a while the shore disappeared, and the Anne was enveloped in thick, dense, uninviting fog. Still hoping for the mist to disappear, we continued onward to Cuttyhunk. Sailing in the fog was a different type of sailing: looking at the horizon, there was no line separating water and sky; there was no land and no sea; closeby ships were invisible and the first sign of their presence was the sound of their engine or fog horn. Without a GPS it would have been impossible to track the location of the boat. With the fog horn ready, I went to the bow and started blasting it to alert others of our presence: one long blast and two short every two minutes or less. The boats that we did see appeared ghostly, as if plucked out of a Tolkien novel.
Blasting the horn while sailing in the fog
A few hours went by as the crew eagerly attempted to locate the buoys that indicated the entrance to Cuttyhunk Harbor. When we started seeing a lot of traffic around us and we heard the other boat’s engines roar, we knew we must’ve been close. In the distance, what appeared to be an anchored schooner reminded me of the ship that Captain Hook sailed toward Neverland. Then we saw two, three, four boats which appeared to form a row—it took us a few minutes to realize that they were boats anchored in the outer Cuttyhunk Harbor. That was all the signal we needed to initiate the shutdown sequence. We had made it.
Then came the most interesting part of the leg—the channel into the inner Cuttyhunk Harbor was ridiculously narrow. The depth sounder on the Anne indicated a depth of 10 feet—which was enough depth to allow her large keel to pass—but to the crew it felt impossibly shallow given how close the shore appeared to be—a mere 5 or 6 feet away on either side. A few motor boats were leaving the harbor and asked, “How does it look out there?”—“Really bad,” we answered. They ventured into the fog anyway. The inner harbor was crowded—most moorings were taken; in some cases moorings held several boats attached to each other. There seemed to be less fog here, maybe the land acted as a shield.
The ridiculously narrow channel that led to Cuttyhunk inner harbor
With the Anne safely moored, the tension of sailing in the fog was finally off. The crew prepared a quick lunch and motored the dinghy—which by now had been baptized “Bella”—to shore. The dinghy dock was full of boats but we managed to squeeze by. The tiny island had a population of 52 people and few touristy attractions. The dock included a few makeshift eateries, no doubt aimed at serving the crews of the boats in the mooring field, and an ice cream parlor with a long line of children waiting for their chance to purchase a cold sugary treat. After paying for the right to use the town mooring for the afternoon and disposing of trash, we proceeded to climb up the island toward “The Lookout Hill”—the highest point in Cuttyhunk and one of six defensive bunkers built by the US Coast Guard in 1941 to watch the surrounding ocean for Nazi U-Boats. With the persistent fog still hiding most of the horizon from our view, we could barely see the mooring field and the part of the channel that had brought us here.
The view from the Lookout Hill on a foggy day
After some more island exploration and a failed attempt to buy bread in the only market in town—which had closed one hour earlier at 2PM—the crew purchased 2 bags of ice to keep our refrigerated food cool, and Sergey decided to try some local ice cream. Of course, since we had already purchased the ice, expedience was key since we wanted to get the ice back to the Anne before it melted in our dinghy. This left poor Sergey to struggle with his melting ice cream as he tried to climb onto the dinghy and push us away from the dock. An amused island dweller looked at Sergey and could not help himself but to state the obvious: “Your ice cream is melting”. An excited dog in a neighbouring dinghy jumped on the dock as her owners approached, and a friendly sailor looked at us amused and said, “Our dog is our anchor!”. Once back on the Anne, Sergey shared what was left of his ice cream, and the crew went for a swim as the fog around us began to clear.
Quicks Hole and Menemsha
As Andrew steered the boat out of Cuttyhunk through the narrow channel once more, the fog continued to lift and we could finally see our surroundings: the anchored boats in the outer harbor no longer ghostly and the shore clearly visible to our starboard. We quickly hoisted the sails to catch the southwest wind and we were on our way to Quicks Hole—the channel that we intended to use for the crossing from Buzzards Bay into Vineyard Sound.
On our way to Martha's Vineyard
As our floating home glided over the blue water sparkling in the sun, the crew resumed the usual navigation routine of screening the horizon for buoys that would guide us to our destination. Andrew asked me to steer for a bit but as we approached and turned into Quicks Hole I asked Ben to take the helm—it is a big responsibility to transit a channel where the currents can be stronger than your boat’s ability to outpace them and I did not feel prepared to steer the crew through the narrow channel. Fortunately the wind had shifted and it was no longer blowing directly from south—our heading—which meant that we could transit the channel without tacking. The current was against us, which created some resistance during the crossing.
As soon as the Anne cleared the channel we could see Martha’s Vineyard, our destination, across the Sound. It was exciting! Vineyard Sound is known to have pretty strong current and we did feel it dragging us away from Menemsha, where we intended to spend the night. Twice we were forced to tack in order to correct for the powerful pull of the ocean. To the east we could see Gay Head Light, but we could also see, much to our dismay, patchy fog blowing toward us from the ocean. Finally, at around 7PM we arrived at the green buoy—which we could barely see due to fog—marking the entrance to the Menemsha marina where Andrew had reserved a slip.
Fog from the east
The beach next to the marina in Menemsha was filled with people, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of the sunset, which meant that we had an audience watching us perform our clumsy shutdown sequence—partially because the head of our mainsail required more encouragement than most to slide down the mast—and enter the marina. The strong winds made docking a challenge—the slip was made up of 4 pillings, one on each corner of the slip, and no way for a member of the crew to jump onto the dock and help prevent the wind from pushing us into the pillings until the boat was completely inside the slip. Fortunately, the owners of a neighbouring boat noticed our struggle and with kindness and support helped us dock into our slip unscathed. Later we learned their names—Sam and Peggy—and they told us that they remembered seeing us enter the Cuttyhunk harbor as they were leaving.
Shutdown sequence
Menemsha was a town from another time—almost everyone there made a living off of the sea (directly or indirectly). It was also where Steven Spielberg filmed the movie “Jaws”. We went looking for a place to have dinner at around 9PM, but everything was closed or closing. Even the facilities, which I had hoped to use to take a nice shower, were closed due to COVID-related concerns. We ended up cooking dinner on the boat and enjoying a bottle of wine in the salon while listening to woodpeckers peck away at the wood in the pilings.
There were a lot of chores to complete in Menemsha when we woke up the following morning: we needed to re-supply and buy fresh fish for dinner, to pump-out the holding tank and to refill the water tanks with fresh water. I made another unsuccessful attempt to fish dinner and at around 10.30 the crew was ready to continue onwards to the next leg of the adventure. Sam and Peggy helped us exit the slip while the wind pushed us against the piling, and soon enough we were raising the sails and setting ourselves on a course toward Vineyard Haven.
Menemsha
Social distancing in Menemsha
Vineyard Haven and Head-aches
The wind had shifted to the southwest which meant that we could travel on a run and avoid heeling the boat. We were sailing at a respectable 5-6 knots and I attempted trolling for fish which was, once again, an unsuccessful endeavor with the jig jumping up and down on the waves and entangling itself in the line. I didn’t care much—the freedom of the sea was all I needed to be happy. Catching some fish would’ve been just a bonus.
Four happy sailors
Wing-on-wing
After a few hours of sailing and navigating we finally saw the buoy that marked the entrance to Vineyard Haven Harbor—red number two. I was a bit bummed that we didn’t get to check out Oak Bluffs, known for its cute “Gingerbread houses”, but I also recognized that this would also give me an excuse to do Martha’s Vineyard part II at some point. As we approached Vineyard Haven we felt the mix of two currents, which made for an interesting sail. With the harbor in sight we turned our bow toward the town and sailed for a few more miles before starting the shutdown sequence. There was a lot of activity going on the water: a few dinghies sailing in the distance, possibly racing; lots of windsurfers, a lady and a happy small toddler on a sailboat and a lot of anchored boats. We found our special spot and dropped the anchor. The weather was lovely, I was finally able to entirely let go of work-related worries and to fully allow myself to step into vacation mode.
With a population of ~2000 people, Vineyard Haven blends the past and present with a touch of the bohemian (I read that somewhere!). The original inhabitants of Vineyard Haven (and of Martha’s Vineyard) were Native American Wampanoags, who taught the settlers how to capture whales and tow them ashore—a practice which fortunately ended with the Civil War. We walked around the town for a bit then found a nice Italian place for dinner—it felt nice to drink wine in real wine glasses and to eat food that we didn’t have to prepare on dishes we didn’t have to wash. I really enjoyed my eggplant parmigiana and the conversation with the gang. When we returned to the launch, Buck was waiting for us and promptly drove us to our destination—the Anne was hard to see in the dark but we recognized her. She was our home after all!!
The beach next to the launch dock in Vineyard Haven
Andrew felt like going for a swim and in the process saw some bioluminescence. Sergey followed but I was too lazy to put on my swimsuit at that point.
The tapestry of white sprinkles against the deep blue night sky on a clear night always reminds me of when I was young and used to lie on the lawn at my parents’ garden after sunset while staring at the night sky and waiting to catch a shooting star. Sergey used his binoculars to help us find the comet Neowise, and another awesome day on the water came to an end as I brought my sleeping bag to the cockpit and fell asleep under the stars.
The following morning had broken with a gorgeous orange sunrise on the horizon and a long reflection in the quiet and undisturbed water. I woke up just as the show was starting. Sergey heard me say “wow” and joined me in the cockpit to enjoy the show. Soon after, Andrew heard us talk about “sunrise” and joined us. In mornings like this I remember how incredibly lucky I am to have the opportunity to share these moments with special friends.
It wasn’t long after the morning routine of making breakfast and jumping in the water was underway that we heard some unfortunate news from Ben: the head was clogged. I spent enough time sleeping on boats and relying on the “onboard facilities” to know that this is not good news for a sailboat… which tends to heel and jump on the waves while it’s moving so if the toilet is clogged... well… you can figure out the rest. In short, we could not sail anywhere until we fixed the problem: we were stuck.
The crew had come prepared for a head clogging situation (or so we thought). Back on the Pura Vida—which I blogged about back in January—we had been super proud of Ben for solving clogged head problems with a clothes hanger. So this time hangers were part of the list of things we had brought on board. We simply assumed that we could solve the same problem with the same solution. We were very very wrong… Andrew spent hours on the phone hoping to find a marine plumber or a regular plummer or anyone that could help us with our head-ache but none could be found—we were on our own!
We called the pump-out boat so see if the driver could help us
For many hours, poor Ben kept trying several things with no luck. Throughout this whole episode, I was spared the gory details since the head-fixing related conversations stopped happening in English… Which in retrospective was a good thing—I ended up spending my morning swimming, reading and relaxing. After a few hours of this, Ben, myself and Sergey decided to call the Vineyard Haven launch and pay a visit to a local hardware store where we bought everything we could think of that might’ve helped us solve the problem. Good thing we did too because Sergey realized that he had left his credit card in the restaurant where we had had dinner the previous night.
We all learned a lot more about Jabsco marine toilets than we ever wanted to know. We also learned that calcium deposits are a very common problem in the pipes of marine toilets, and they tend to cause clogs. We collected quite a few pebbles this way and took a picture to show the sailing club that we were not entirely responsible for the problem. Once we returned to the boat, Ben and Sergey—the all-star team—spent many more hours trying to isolate, diagnose and fix the problem using their new hardware.
The all-star team finally started to make some progress and Andrew decided to slowly motor us to the town dock to try Sergey’s hypothesis—that water pressure from the water hose could help us push whatever was stuck in the pipes into a new-fangled container with a handle which they had made out of a water jug (the crew’s MacGyver-like skills always come in handy for situations like this)! It worked!! It was nearly 8PM at this point and everyone agreed that it was a good idea to grab a mooring ball in the Vineyard Haven inner harbor and spend the night there. The sunset was lovely, the boat was squeaky clean (Sergey made sure he hosed the hell out of it), and we were all relieved and relaxed. We grilled the fish that we had bought back in Menemsha and were soon falling asleep to the gentle rocking of the waves.
The all-star team after solving our head problem
The sunset in the mooring field was lovely
Foul weather gear and Edgartown
I was rudely awakened by the loud horn of the morning ferry which was about to depart for Woods Hole—our anchoring the night before had been far enough away from the ferry dock that it was easy to ignore. I don’t remember seeing the sunrise (even though Andrew has a picture of me bathing in the orange morning sunlight that day!). To me, every missed opportunity to see the sunrise makes those mornings when I can see it that much more special. After a quick visit to town to re-provision and pay for our mooring, we were able to cast off the mooring ball under sail: something that I know makes Andrew very happy.
Andrew took this awesome picture of the sunrise
Sleeping on the deck
The forecast had warned us of some possibility for showers and very little wind. Turns out “showers” was an understatement: we had just passed the green can that marked the end of Vineyard Haven Harbor on our way to Edgartown when we started feeling some rain drops. Then a downpour—fortunately we all remembered to bring our rain gear. The downpour stopped almost as quickly as it began but as soon as it was over, we were out of wind—the rain cloud had taken away our wind!
Rain can't stop us
We ended up motoring most of our way to Edgartown. When I used to sail with Liz in Boston Harbor on Sonars—which don’t normally have a motor—I learned to value the “iron sail” for moments like this. With no motor and no wind, a boat is at the mercy of the current and will drift toward wherever the current will take her.
As we approached Edgartown Harbor, we could feel some wind starting to blow. We raised the sails to test if the boat would sail, and she did! It was a very pleasant trip along the coast of Chappaquiddick. As we approached the anchorage and dropped the sails, it started raining hard again! If you’ve never seen rainfall in the ocean, I highly recommend it—it’s a pretty awesome phenomena because the fresh water droplets don’t immediately sink—they do a little dance in the salt water (because of the lower density) before they merge into the ocean.
We anchored easily, had lunch and hopped onto the dinghy (Bella) to go visit Edgartown. It was further away than I thought! We struggled to find some space to dock the dinghy at the dinghy dock but managed to push some boats aside and make space for ourselves. Once on shore, we decided to visit the Edgartown lighthouse—and what a treat that was: the lighthouse itself was very well maintained and located next to a lovely beach and some protected dunes. The way there was also very nice: well maintained, cute houses and a good view of Edgartown Harbor.
Anchorage in Edgartown
The lighthouse itself had major renovations completed in 2007 which allowed the interior of the Edgartown Light to be open to visitors—however, given that the threat of COVID was still a concern in July 2020, the lighthouse had been temporarily closed. The Edgartown lighthouse is not only a historic reminder of a bygone age, but a working beacon that still sends a light out into the night.
Andrew takes a picture of the Edgartown lighthouse
Andrew and I walked a bit around Edgartown in order to buy some fish from a fish market, and by the time we got back to the dinghy dock we saw that thick fog had started developing over the town. We had planned to bike to the Cape Poge lighthouse in Chappaquiddick, but the fog would not make that a pleasant bike ride: we would not be able to see much. Instead, we all dinghied back to the Anne and decided to wait out the fog and hope it would clear.
Fog over Edgatown
As the fog, oddly enough, appeared to be limited to Edgartown, we decided to raise the anchor and sail to the Cape Poge lighthouse instead! The way there was clear, windy, sunny—in essence, the opposite of Edgartown where we had just come from. The first (wooden) Cape Poge lighthouse was built in 1801 for $2000. As the ground underneath it kept eroding, the lighthouse had to be moved in 1825 and again in 1838. The current tower is the fourth iteration of that lighthouse and it has also had to be moved 4 times (once using a helicopter—the first lighthouse to be relocated that way!)
Picture time
Chappaquiddick lighthouse
Sergey, look at the sails
Anchoring for the night is always a bit more ‘dramatic’ than anchoring for lunch and our return to the Edgartown anchorage after the Chappaquiddick lighthouse excursion was no exception: the captain needed to make sure not only that the anchor was holding but that the boat was far away enough from both shore and the other boats in case the wind changed overnight. As soon as we decided that we were probably anchored safely enough, we saw the fog return—our little day sail adventure had been timed perfectly!
The crew enjoyed some perfectly grilled bluefish and settled in for the night. While enjoying wine in the cockpit, we could barely see the anchor light from the boats around us, which had appeared to be so near only moments before. The one exception was one sailboat which had an oddly strong strobe light for an anchor light and even that started fading as we continued to be enveloped by the thick fog.
Woods Hole and Hadley Harbor
We had to leave Edgartown relatively early and make our way to Woods Hole. We raised the anchor and motored to town to try to find some place to refill the water tanks. Inner Edgartown Harbor is a confusing place with lots of private docks. We must’ve looked lost because a guy steering a pumpout boat came over to ask us if we needed help. “Where can we get water?” we asked. “See that barge with the picnic table? Go there”. Huh?! We looked in the direction that he was pointing at and indeed saw a lonely barge a few feet away with a water hose and a picnic table. We had hoped to at least dock somewhere where we could have access to onshore facilities and leave our trash before venturing through the Woods Hole narrow channel. Nope!
Saying goodbye to Edgartown and Chappaquiddick
On our way to Woods Hole
We left Edgartown with its lovely lighthouse behind and set course to Woods Hole—since this was going to be the last night, we wanted to use the day to return to Buzzards Bay through the Woods Hole channel which separates the Elizabeth Islands from Cape Cod. This crossing required more planning than most—the captain explained to us that currents at Woods Hole were very strong and at some point it could flow sideways and push us at the rocks—a good time to cross the narrow channel would therefore be close to the time when the currents changed (at 1.30PM that day)—preferably while the current was against us so that we could travel slowly through the rocks that surrounded the channel.
Before reaching Woods Hole we would first have to cross Vineyard Sound—the wind was behind us which made for some very pleasant, heeling-free sail. As Ben was steering—we were making about 5 knots—I used this opportunity to lie down on the cockpit with my eyes closed while enjoying the airflow and the speed. Five knots on land is not very fast—it’s about 5.7 miles per hour. But on a sailboat it felt incredibly fast! After a few hours of being on a run we had to turn toward Woods Hole, which meant that we had to go on a port tack and our boat started heeling—a new kind of adventure was about to begin!
Andrew assigned roles for the Woods Hole transit: he wanted a navigator to read the chart, a buoy spotter to read the number on the buoys so that we could match them to the chart and a person to steer. As we approached the entry to the channel, we saw a ferry coming our way—they were way faster and bigger than us and we definitely did not want to share the channel with them—so we stalled for a bit to let them through. The crew was tense, focusing on the task at hand as we started our crossing: a pair of green and red buoys, then a red to the starboard, a green day marker on the port side, another couple of greens and we were done! The whole thing lasted about 20 minutes. As soon as we were out of the danger zone, Andrew steered us to his “secret place”: Hadley Harbor, a small, well hidden harbor next to Woods Hole where he had anchored before with his sailing instructor and planned to anchor for the night.
Andrew’s note: Woods Hole is one of the most complicated channels on the East Coast. There are pages upon pages written about how to negotiate it, and we spent a lot of time planning the transit and trying to time it reasonably well. Some charter companies even forbid their customers to transit Woods Hole. I remember the first time Lena and I were discussing it, she was also like, “Lets not go there!”, which of course only strengthened my resolve to actually do it.
The morning we left Edgartown, we kept making slower progress than I anticipated and were running out of time, but in the end we managed to hit Woods Hole while the current was still reasonable, and as Lena has mentioned, it turned out a bit anticlimactic: easy navigation and very quick transit. Just the way it is supposed to be! Navigationally, it was definitely a highlight of that day and the entire trip.
There were two small buoys marking the entrance to the harbor but otherwise we had to steer and avoid running aground by looking at the depth sounder. We followed the narrow channel into the mooring field, lapped around it to look for a free mooring ball but could not find any. We ended up anchoring off Goat’s Neck, a piece of protruding land that provided a wonderful view of untamed nature.
Prime view of untamed nature
I think this was my favorite anchorage—of course, it was the last night so I was also trying to hold on to that feeling of unencumbered freedom for as long as I could. I’m sure I was not the only one. We ate lunch, swam a bit, then motored the dinghy to Bull Island, just a few feet away from where we had anchored and one of the few of the Elizabeth Islands that could be visited by the public—fortunately for us, Andrew had done his island research ahead of time and so he knew that this island could be visited.
The island was small, cute, and the trail we followed ended at a rocky beach which opened to a lovely view of outer Hadley Harbor where three other sailboats were anchored. We had not done much exploration of uninhabited islands on this trip so it was nice to have the island all to ourselves. We saw a few edible mushrooms (Russula) and a poisonous one (Fly agaric) growing on the island, and there was also an unmarked grave. Coyotes and foxes also live on the island (both onshore and swimming between the islands in search of resources) but we didn’t see any. We tracked our steps back to the dinghy, but since we were so close to the Anne, Andrew and Sergey decided to swim instead of using the dinghy.
The view from Bull Island
It was such a nice afternoon—warm, lovely weather and a wild shore. We did have a few neighbours to share the anchorage with, but that was to be expected since we were not very far from Cape Cod.
After some more swimming, Andrew proposed exploring the shallow waterways around Goat’s Neck: there were a few tiny private islands around us which made for great sightseeing. We all jumped on the Belle and went for a ride. As we motored through the waterways we could clearly see seagrass a few inches from the surface and a few rocks. Rocks and propellers don’t go well together. Nevertheless, we were all so relaxed that we didn’t really care: the surroundings were beautiful—the waterways kept going on and on—like a wonderful watery labyrinth. We saw an egret fly away in a graceful flight; we noticed how the houses on the private islands perfectly blended with nature, surrounded by trees and hidden away from prying eyes. Living on these islands is a different lifestyle—they are owned by the Forbes family, which on the one hand feels unfair (how can they own an entire island chain?!) but on the other hand, it was clear that they enjoyed nature as much as we did since they kept these islands beautiful and pure. Had they been owned by the state of Massachusetts they would probably have been sold out to real estate developers a long time ago.
The aquatic labyrinth
When we reached the ocean and the water started getting choppy we decided to turn back. Soon after… the motor stopped. Oh no… Ben and Sergey looked into the problem—looked like some seagrass had gotten stuck in the valve that the motor uses to bring in water to cool itself—it had simply overheated. We waited a few seconds before trying to start it again, and it did start. Yay! A few minutes later the same thing happened. But this time… it was not the valve… it was something much more serious—upon further inspection, Ben diagnosed the problem: the propeller had hit the bottom and in a last ditch effort to save the rest of the motor, a shear pin had broke and the propeller had been detached from the motor (I always learn so much about engineering from Ben!). It took me a few minutes to accept reality—without our trusty outboard, we were going to have to row back to the Anne. Sergey quickly volunteered to do it and that’s how we got back to the Anne on the last night of our adventure.
When the dinghy motor went kaput, Sergey volunteered to row
Wild Harbor and Back to Marion
That last night was special but… I don’t remember much of it. Too much wine and rum will do that to you. The morning was glorious (as it often happens in these amazing untamed anchorages), and there was a bonus: as this was the last morning, we could afford to use all the freshwater we wanted so showers after salt water swims were a big bonus that day!
We raised the anchor at around 9.30AM. We made our way out of the meandering waterways that had led us to Hadley Harbor the day before, and soon enough we were sailing and in our natural element again. I walked over to the bow and just sat there, taking in the wind and the water—I was one with the wind, I was one with the water. When the boat started heeling too hard I came back to the cockpit and Andrew read it in my eyes: “Do you want to steer?”. I took the helm and felt that the Anne was sailing herself—she was trimmed to a 15 degree heading and that’s where her rudder stayed. Any intervention would have been excessive.
After a while the wind shifted and the Anne needed a little encouragement to stay on course so I leaned on the steering wheel gently to force her downwind as she soared gleefully through the waves—I was looking for “the groove” and I had found it.
The Anne sailed herself
We were travelling at about 6 knots—at this speed we would be in Marion in no time so instead of going directly there, Andrew and Sergey crafted a better plan for the day: we would first anchor in Wild Harbor (it would be our first and only stop in Cape Cod), eat lunch and be back in the water around 3PM to return her to Marion. This was a bonus to me since I had made my peace with Hadley Harbor being our last anchorage!
The last day of a vacation always has the effect of reminding me of the brevity of life, how important it is that it is lived. So as I handed over the helm to Ben who steered us toward Wild Harbor, I sat in the cockpit and thought about how I could make my life more about sailing and living closer to nature and less about computers.
We entered our last anchorage—Wild Harbor—“like a boss”: even though there were plenty of smaller fishing boats and a few dinghies—and a few kids playing in the water—we were the only big boat in the middle of the harbor as we dropped our anchor and prepared for lunch. It was time to finish the rest of the food (I remember we had the leftover of the leftover salad from the previous night!).
At 3PM that Friday we raised the anchor one last time: the crew was silent, the sun was beaming. As we sailed those last few miles that separated the Anne from her home in Marion, I meditated on all the experiences and wonderful places that we had visited and, just as important, on figuring out how to create a life where summer adventures are the norm, not the exception. Days after our return, I am still waking up with the feeling that I have fallen asleep on a boat (called land sickness). The only cure is to start planning the next adventure!
