Independence Day weekend

Crew: Andrew, Ben, Lena, Lena

Lunch at Hull

The wind was blowing from the north-east. We arrived at the dock at 9AM—we were going to be sailing on the Osprey, a fairly recent Benneteau 323 that was built in 2006. A big warning sign on the whiteboard at the gate—“one reef on the mainsail”—told us that this was going to be a day for heavy wind. We had planned to sail to Scituate and spend the night there. The waves were supposed to get increasingly higher throughout the day so one option was to get to Scituate early and explore our surroundings. In spite of the promise of a potentially violent sail, I had waited for this trip all week long—I felt optimistic that everything would turn out alright.

Ben steered us out of the inner harbor. The northern winds were chilly but strong. We all wore our winter gear—in spite of it being July, we were all wise enough to know that warm layers are a must in the Boston Harbor. Given the northern wind, there were several options for us—we could go down the Narrows or Nubble Channel or go “under the bridge” that used to connect Long Island to the mainland. We decided to go “under the bridge”—which in practical terms meant going between the remaining pillars of the bridge that used to be there.

There used to be a bridge connecting Long Island (left) to the mainland (right). The bridge is gone but the pillars remain

We decided to have our lunch at Hull Bay since we would likely be protected from the northern wind and waves. There were a few underwater obstacles south of the “Long Island Bridge”, which meant that we needed to sail within the channel. The tide would reach its maximum height of 9.76 ft within minutes—at 10.25AM—which, on the one hand, made it hard to see obstacles such as the “sunken ledge” but on the other hand gave us the freedom to sail in areas that are normally too shallow for us. It’s inspiring to think that we probably never sailed in this exact same spot before: because of the high tide, we were sailing a few feet above all the other times sailing in these waters.

We followed the channel into West Gut around Peddocks and into Hull Bay. Although Hull Bay was fairly well protected from the waves, the wind there was pretty strong. We anchored and enjoyed our sandwiches in the salon as it was too cold to eat in the cockpit. We didn’t linger for too long—Scituate was calling.

We anchored next to Spinnaker Island in Hull Bay

Mission Abort!

We left Hull Bay through Hull Gut—a narrow channel where the current can be quite strong and tacking is not encouraged. We entered Nantasket Roads and turned East in order to clear Hull and turn southward toward Scituate. We were about to clear Boston Light when the waves started feeling dangerously high—the forecast had mentioned 3-5 feet waves but it was the short period of those waves that scared me the most. Our boat, heeling pretty hard because of the north east winds, was taking waves from the side. It’s disturbing to see a 4 foot wall of water coming right at you.

Even though I knew, rationally, that there was no way that 4ft waves could flip our boat, it was hard to convince myself emotionally. Also, I started feeling queasy—I was not looking forward to Provincetown 2.0—a trip that we took back in May which caused some unhappiness and where lessons were learned. When we started seeing some fog in the horizon and stopped being able to see land, I asked Andrew if we could turn back instead. He agreed. Scituate was going to have to wait—Boreas, the god of the North wind, was not going to let us through this time. In spite of my earlier optimism, we were not going to become the fools who, “for a drop of pleasure, drink a sea of wrath” (Thomas Watson). The sea and the weather must be respected—always! As we turned our boat around, a wave hit the starboard side of our boat and got me and Ben drenched. Perhaps Boreas’ way of saying “good riddance”.

Heaving-To

Much to my relief, the waves started slowing down as we approached Boston Light. However, Andrew had noticed that one of our bow lines was stuck under the boat. Not good. It likely had gotten caught in the propeller, which meant that we should not turn on the engine. As we approached George’s Island, we attempted to moor under sail to check out what was going on with the line but the area was too crowded and our approach was either too fast or not fast enough. Also, we were all still kind of queasy from the waves and disappointed about having had to abort the mission. We made a couple of attempts but gave up when we nearly ran aground and decided to try to heave-to instead.

Winter layers in the summer

In our attempt to moor, we had dropped the mainsail and were now sailing with the jib alone. We back-winded the jib, which made our boat rotate until it came to a full stop when the wind was behind us. Ben tried to turn on the engine in neutral and put it in reverse for just a second in order to free the bow line. That worked like a charm! The line came loose and we were back to normal. We raised the mainsail and headed back into the inner harbor the same way we left: through the pillars of the long gone Long Island Bridge.

Spectacle Island

Giving up on going to Scituate did not mean we had to give up on sleeping in the boat. Upon looking at the chart, none of the mooring fields or anchoring areas in the Boston Harbor seemed particularly sleep-worthy in northern wind conditions. Still, we decided to check out Spectacle Island. We set a course to return to the inner harbor through the pillars of the missing Long Island Bridge and once we were close enough to the Spectacle Island dock, we furled the jib and dropped the mainsail. As we attempted to dock, the wind pushed our boat away from the dock, which made for a particularly clumsy attempt to attach the starboard side of the boat to the dock—at some point we had Ben on shore, holding our boat by a bow line as the boat rotated itself and became perpendicular with the dock—we awkwardly accepted some help from some people at the dock, who took our spring and stern lines and helped us turn our boat parallel to the dock.

The rangers that work at Spectacle Island are always extremely friendly. They came over to our boat to welcome us (they were wearing face masks—a reminder that in spite of a few places starting to open up, Massachusetts continues to observe the covid lockdown). They weren’t sure if we could spend the night docked or moored and we did not try to figure it out. We were all exhausted from our fight against the northern wind and sleeping in our own beds started to feel like an appealing option. 

The Osprey in the dock at Spectacle Island

We hiked up the South Drumlin of Spectacle Island this time. Twice the rangers approached us to remind us that the last ferry departed at 5PM (it was 4.50PM), and we had to explain that we had come on our own boat. Since we were not allowed to camp at Spectacle Island, the rangers needed to make sure that everybody leaves the island before they do. 

The last ferry for the day

The best part of visiting Spectacle Island were the views of both Boston and several islands in Boston Harbor which are indeed spectacular. At the top of the south drumlin we had both within reach of our cameras.

A lonely white garden chair in Spectacle Island

A night at the dock

The decision to head back to the Boston Sailing Center was somewhat unanimous. It was still cold and since we had the Osprey for another day, we could always go out again the following morning—we could even bring another Lena this time, who had correctly predicted that a crossing to Scituate would be challenging and had therefore decided to stay ashore. As we entered the inner harbor, we had a close encounter with the green marker number 5—we were on a starboard tack and thought that we had enough speed to clear it before falling off. We didn’t take the strong current that was pushing us towards the marker into consideration. Andrew took quick and decisive action by turning the engine on and getting us out of there.


Safely back at the dock, we sat in the salon eating grapes and drinking wine when Andrew reminded me that, if I wanted, I could still spend the night in the boat. I had mentally prepared myself to do that anyway (even though I thought I would be doing it while anchored in Scituate). It didn’t take much convincing for me to say yes. Perhaps I missed the nights on the Pura Vida or maybe a night away from home would help me forget for one night that we’ve all been in lockdown and unable to escape to a distant hotel in a sunny place for nearly 4 months.

After the guys left, I wrote about the adventures of the day in my little notepad and soon was falling asleep in the aft cabin. I woke up to a loud bang in the middle of the night—I looked through the little window above my head and saw that the city of Boston had decided to celebrate the 4th of July with early fireworks.

I woke up to cloudy skies and the gentle rocking of a boat safely in the dock. It’s always a memorable experience to wake up and see water all around me. Unable to turn on the stove I could not heat water but that didn’t matter—I knew there was a Starbucks around the corner. My morning routine usually consists of 20 minutes of guided meditation followed by some reading, both of which I could do on the boat since I was able to charge my phone and access the internet (all hail to the comforts of the 21st century). It was quite an interesting experience. In the guided meditation app that I use, one of the things that the guide asks me to do is to be aware of my surroundings—including any sounds and sensations. Normally, I am sitting on my couch and the only sound I can hear is the refrigerator and the occasional car. This time it was quite different: I actually had the pleasant sounds of the water splashing on the boat to focus on, together with the gentle rocking of the boat. It felt quite extraordinary!

Day 2. Peddocks Island

The rest of the crew arrived promptly at 9AM. I was wide awake by then and studying the chart for our trip to Buzzards Bay later in July. We prepped the boat for departure and exited the slip. Once out of the mooring field, we raised the mainsail and unfurled the jib. We were not moving though. The wind had abandoned us. There were some puffs of wind here and there, but they were not coming from any particular direction. It was quite a contrast from the day before. We therefore turned on the engine and motored our way into the outer harbor. The water looked like a grey mirror—motionless, windless. 

As we approached the non-existent Long Island Bridge, we tried to unfurl the jib again to see if she would sail. She would—albeit slowly. Behind us, we saw the first glimpses of a blue sky as the dark grey clouds disappeared. I always feel happier when I see the blue sky—not sure whether it’s universal or just me. As the clouds over us disappeared, the wind returned and soon enough we were gliding over the water and on our way to Perry Cove at Peddocks Island. 

The sun was beaming and I could finally dry my shorts which had gotten wet by thumbling into a puddle of water in the forward cabin the day before. It’s always a funny sight to see the life lines of a boat being used as a clothesline but it’s all part of living on a boat.

We arrived at Peddocks around noon and were able to moor under sail (something that the crew had been yearning for since the day before when we had failed to do so next to George’s Island). I tested the water temperature—it was swimmable but not warm. That didn’t bother Andrew, who jumped into the water without thinking twice. We all enjoyed the fish and wine that Lena and Andrew had brought. The bread and hummus were delicious too!

Mooring under sail is always a treat for our captain

After lunch, it was time to inflate the dinghy and explore the island. Rowing toward the island was quite a challenge—the current kept pushing us left. We finally made it and decided to visit the Portuguese village located to the right of us. The last time I’ve been to Peddocks Island with Andrew we had visited the fort—Andrew wrote a blog post about it which describes the history of the island including how it was used to host prisoners of war during WWII.


The Portuguese village is VERY different from the fort. The village came about when Portuguese settlers—fishermen that probably sailed to these shores looking for cod fish—were forced to relocate after the city of Boston took control of their original settlement in Long Island in 1887. Instead of rebuilding their cottages in Peddocks, they simply floated them across the harbor. As a native Portuguese, it always amuses me to think of this story because it’s a testament to Portuguese ingenuity and the art of “desenrascanço”, i.e. to hack or improvise a solution to a problem*. The Boston Magazine called it an “impressive feat”—I suspect that when the fishermen decided to float their cottages and move them up the Drumlin at Peddocks, they underestimated how hard it would be to do so. To their merit, they succeeded!

* According to wiktionary.org, "Some Portuguese people regard desenrascanço as a key Portuguese virtue and a living part of their culture."

Portuguese village and Prince’s Head

The trail that led to the Portuguese village had a beautiful green canopy sprinkled by sunlight. Once on top, the view was gorgeous and the houses were incredibly cute! They all had some sort of decoration on their porch or in the area around the house. A couple of them had tiny lighthouse decorations—I wondered if these were a sign of love and respect for the lighthouses that probably guided their ancestors' back home and prevented them from getting lost at sea. I kept looking for a Portuguese flag but none could be found. I suspect that, the day being 4th of July, the Portuguese flags might have all been replaced by American flags. We should return on a Portuguese holiday.

The green canopy over the trail that led to the Portuguese Village in Peddocks Island

Tiny lighthouse decorations could be seen in a few places around the island

The trail ended on a beach on the other side of the island. To our right a stretch of sand led to Prince’s Head—a piece of land that extended toward the sea and deserved our full attention the day before as we tried to avoid it while making our way to Hull Bay. An interesting phenomena happened in the water at the tip of Prince’s Head: waves from two different directions merged at this point, creating a little triangular beach.

Waves from two different directions at Prince's Head in Peddocks Island

Gliding toward Boston

The mooring field where we had left the Osprey was getting quite crowded which is usually a sign that it’s time for us to go. We were able to depart from the mooring using only our sails and with the wind behind us, we headed toward Nubble Channel on a broad reach. After passing Nubble Channel and falling off toward Boston, we noticed that a couple of sailboats behind us had their sails on a wing on wing configuration. We decided to do the same. Ben used the boat hook to keep the jib in position (desenrascanço!) and we glided through the water and into the inner harbor without changing our tack. It was another perfect day on the water.

Swimming in the Harbor

Crew: Andrew, Lena, Sergey

For most of the year, the water in Boston Harbor is too cold to swim—but for a few short weeks every summer it is just warm enough (that is, warm enough to avoid hypothermia!!). Having tested the waters a few days before, Andrew was confident that he could do it again—so for this sail we had a mission: to find a nice anchoring spot and go for a swim! 

We arrived at the dock around 9AM. Our boat was Amorina, a Sabre 30—probably one of the oldest boats owned by the Boston Sailing Center,—but a sturdy lady nevertheless. The GPS/chartplotter was broken, which made it the perfect boat for this chart-obsessed crew! The boat laid waiting for us at the end of the dock quietly, ready to take part in an adventure.

Knowing that we had to be back at around 3PM, there was no time to waste! Sergey and I raised the mainsail and unfurled the jib as Andrew pointed us into the wind. As we unfurled the jib, we noticed something terribly wrong—there was a flap at the foot of the jib that should not be there. After a bit of investigation, we concluded that the jib halyard was unlocked and therefore not all the way up. Amorina used a clutch system that we were not familiar with: instead of locking when the clutch was down, it locked when it was up. Sounded odd since anyone can accidentally sit or walk over the clutch (like I did at some point!) and the sails would come tumbling down. It was not until later that we discovered that there was a way to lock the line even when the clutch was down. Live and learn!

The wind was weak and blowing from the South East (SE). That meant that we were going to have to slowly and patiently zigzag our way out of the inner harbor since SE was our heading. A smaller boat on our port side was also struggling to catch enough wind in her sails. It was a shared struggle and we empathized with them. However, we had a motor and they didn’t. Noticing a few sailboats further south in the channel that seemed to be happily sailing with plenty of wind, we concluded that we needed to turn on the motor and get out of the shade of the Boston buildings. Which we did. We looked at our friends in the smaller boat, they looked at us as they heard our engine roar. I felt a little guilty—but later we found out that they managed to get out of the no-wind zone by themselves—which made me feel less guilty!

The wind was indeed better out of the shade of the Boston skyline and soon enough we were happily flying our sails toward the outer harbor. We had several options once we cleared Castle Island. We could go find a public mooring—Spectacle, Peddocks, Georges, and Gallops Islands all have public moorings—or we could anchor somewhere. As Andrew would say, “We have a perfectly good anchor and we know how to use it!”. In order to moor, we would have to go through either Nubble or the Narrows channels and—because of the SE wind—they would both require us to zigzag our way across, which would be annoying since those channels are narrow and we were short on time. So we decided not to do that and instead anchored just by the North East side of Spectacle Island. We approached the shore and when the depth sounder showed 10 feet of water under us, we furled the jib half-way and turned the boat into the wind. 

Andrew had a special treat reserved for us: we were going to be anchoring without a motor! Sergey and I waited for the boat to stop and once it did, we dropped the anchor. It went down vertically as expected and soon enough we felt it hit the bottom. The main was still up and some combination of wind and current turned our boat around such that in a few seconds the anchor line was under the boat and at risk of being caught by the keel! During our trip to Provincetown we had managed to catch the anchor line on the keel and it had taken us a while to figure out a way out of that mess.

We trimmed the main in order to drop it, which seemed to help with reversing the rotation likely caused by the current rather than the wind (a boat will naturally turn into the wind… unless the force exerted on the boat by the current is stronger). Since we did not have plans to go anywhere (other than swimming, of course), we didn’t care too much. We decided we would deal with that later. For the time being, we were all eager to jump in the water! After all, that was our mission for the day. 

The water was not unpleasant—there were pockets of warmer water and pockets of colder water but we all enjoyed the freedom of being able to swim around the Amorina. We did not see any jellyfish this time in spite of several warnings of giant jellyfish having been seen in Boston Harbor. After the swim, it was time for lunch. Andrew had brought a bottle of Rosé with hints of grapefruit which was a very pleasant addition to the sandwiches we made. It felt nice to hang out in the cockpit after a swim. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, but be present and enjoy each other’s company.

Since we had to be back by 3PM, we didn’t linger there for very long. The anchor line was still resting on the keel so we would have to be careful bringing the anchor back up onto the boat. We tried unfurling the jib half way but there was no easy way to rotate the boat without wind. Sergey and Andrew ended up pulling on the anchor line in the hope that it would rotate us enough to force the bow to rotate toward the anchor. What happened instead was that the anchor came loose and they just pulled it back at the stern. Which was awkward... but it worked! Sergey carried the heavy anchor to the bow and we secured it. Then we were ready to sail again! With jib unfurled and mainsail raised, we were on our way back home. 

With the wind now to our port side and the tide with us, the trip back to the dock on a beam reach was easy and relaxed. We were almost at Castle Island when Sergey and Andrew felt the first drops of rain. We knew rain and thunder were on the forecast for late afternoon but were hoping that we would be back in the dock by then. Sergey quickly went to the salon to change into his bright yellow foul weather gear—Andrew and I decided that it might be a good idea to waterproof ourselves also. Other boats didn’t seem as scared by the potential of a downpour as we did. Plenty of motor boats and sailboats were buzzing past us on their way to the outer harbor. The wind seemed to be getting stronger.
It was only 2.30PM when we approached the BSC, so Sergey—who was at the helm at the time—decided that we hadn’t sailed enough. As a result, instead of dropping the mainsail at this point like we would normally do, we just kept going—past the U.S. Coast Guard docks and up toward Charlestown where we got a glimpse of the USS Constitution before coming back.

Foul weather gear

The USS Constitution in Charlestown

Once at the dock, we celebrated another successful day on (and "in") the water by drinking a bottle of red wine that Andrew had brought. In spite of our efforts to get rid of Andrew’s cases of wine, he pointed out that we still have a long way to go! Which means we need to work harder at it next time!

Night Sail

Sailors: Andrew, Ben, Lena, Sergey

The Osprey 

The Boston Sailing Center has some rules about scheduling. With the 4th of July coming up, we decided to proactively book a boat for that weekend. That meant, according to the rules, that we would not be able to make a reservation in advance for a couple of weekends. However, we were determined to find a way to sail this weekend even though every other member of the BSC would have priority over us.

Instead, Andrew called the BSC on Friday and asked them if they had anything available for our crew. They had the Osprey available for 7PM. Not the most obvious time to be sailing in the Boston Harbor, but we took it. Better to sail at night than to be grounded all weekend!

This would be my first nighttime sail. I was curious about how it would feel - and a bit concerned as well - but I knew I was in good hands. Our only constraint was that we had to return the boat by 8AM the following morning. Knowing Andrew, I knew that this exercise would entail navigating in the dark, without a chartplotter, guided only by the chart, the compass, and the light and sound patterns from the multiple buoys sprinkled around the harbor.

Coming out of the harbor at 7PM was easy. There was still plenty of light as the sunset was not until 8.25PM. Most ships were coming back, we were one of the few coming out. With a south / southwest wind filling our sails, it did not take much for us to leave the inner harbor. Andrew reversed the boat out of the slip and led us into the inner harbor, where we promptly raised the main and unfurled the jib and we were on our way to adventure.

There was plenty of light leaving the dock at 7PM

A south / southwest wind made it easy to leave the inner harbor. A very different sail from the previous Tuesday, when a northern wind forced us to tack several times before we could reach Long Island.

A gorgeous red-orange sunset over Boston waved us goodbye as we made our way to Spectacle Island and beyond. I was at the helm at the time so all I could see from the sunset (unless I turned around to look over the stern, which is not advised for very long when one is steering a boat!) were the pink and orange reflections on the cockpit! We tacked a couple of times to clear Castle Island and then fell off to find the pair of buoys that mark the entrance to Nubble Channel.

Sunset over Boston

I was still at the helm when, possibly navigating too close to Long Island, a weird phenomena happened: a motor boat passed us on our starboard which caused some waves - soon after, and even though the steering wheel was all the way to the left, the Osprey started to turn right - straight into Long Island! I shouted, “Andrew, it does not want to turn!!”. Andrew and Sergey quickly released the main sail and the jib sheet and the Osprey was responsive again - the sails had been over trimmed perhaps?

I was a bit distraught but we didn’t spend too much time confirming our hypothesis: soon after this episode, we saw something swimming in the water - a seal? Yep, it did look like a seal. As we were all distracted looking at the seal and grabbing our cameras, most of us failed to realize that the wind had died and we were helplessly drifting toward Long Island. Furthermore, we were pointing at the wrong pair of buoys marking Nubble Channel - with decisive action, Andrew turned on the engine and soon enough we were out of the shadow of the island and back in control of our ship. That was weird… and exciting!

I handed over the helm to Sergey after the crossing of Nubble as the world around us began to really get dark and mystical. To our left, streaks of light seemed to come up out of nowhere, as if a second sunset had just happened but in the wrong side of the world - a phenomena, I am told, that is called anticrepuscular rays. This turned out to be a night for weird physics phenomena.

The world started to darken around us

Sailing in the dark has the advantage, I discovered, of making one acutely aware of sounds - the water rushing past us, the roar of distant fishing boat and tugboat engines returning to the dock - and the many, many lights in the distance flashing green, red or white. 

We saw Boston Light immediately - it’s such a great beacon in Boston Harbor that we rarely lose the sight of it. It was about time to start really carefully reading the chart - we were looking for the lighted buoys. Some buoys flash green or red light following certain patterns such as 2 flashes followed by another flash with repetitions on a 4 second interval. The patterns and timing are annotated in the chart and help navigators know precisely where they are. Before GPS, this was the only way for sailors to navigate at night. We also saw in the distance the Minot Light pattern of 1, then 4, then 3 flashes every 30 seconds - a sequence that has earned it the name of “lover’s light” because 1-4-3 matches the number of letters in “I Love You”. According to LightHouseDigest.com, “many a romantic couple sat on the rocks or on beaches within sight of Minot’s Ledge being inspired by its visual message”.

As Sergey steered us toward Boston Light and beyond, I was sitting in the cockpit facing the stern and saw two or three lobster trap floats in our wake which felt dangerously close to having been captured by our keel or propeller. Lobster trap floats are impossible to see at night unless we’re really close to them. Having had the experience in the past of having a lobster trap float stuck in our propeller, I really did not want to experience that again… especially at night! Fortunately, we managed to escape the lobster trap obstacle course of Boston Harbor once more.

Boston Light as a beacon of hope in the dark

It was not yet 10PM when we cleared Boston Light - the wind was good so we decided to keep going. At this point, we had two options - either we turned around and came back home through Nubble Channel - or we kept going all the way to The Graves and then left into Nantasket Road. I asked Andrew why not go between the Roaring Bulls and The Graves - there seemed to be plenty of water. That’s another thing that is different while navigating at night - although we can clearly see obstacles during the day, the only way to know where we are at night is by looking for objects that emit light - buoys and lighthouses. Without them, it’s impossible to tell exactly how far from obstacles we are navigating, therefore the probability of running aground increases significantly.

I am embarrassed to admit that soon after we cleared The Graves and turned toward Nantasket road at around 11PM - knowing that the crew had everything under control - I felt a strong urge to just lie down in the salon and take a nap. Which - I am told - meant that I missed the best part of the trip*. Oh well, I will never know. By the time I came back to the cockpit, we were already by Deer Island and making our way into the inner harbor.

Taking a nap in the salon

The return to Boston was uneventful - the crew kept a watchful eye out for unlit buoys because those are barely visible. Unlit buoys mark the entrance to the inner harbor and they must be obeyed - not to mention one should avoid hitting them at all costs. Sergey stood at the bow looking for obstacles and helped us to avoid them. I was in the cockpit, shivering due to the cold (even though Andrew had gracefully lent me his jacket) and Ben was at the wheel. As we approached the inner harbour around 1AM, fireworks over Castle Island were set off welcoming us home. It was the end of another adventure and my first night sail!

Fireworks to welcome us back home

__________________
*The most” interesting” and the most adrenaline part of the sail was (according to Ben) the difficulty to find navigation lights on the background of Boston lights

Rain and thunder in Calf Island

Emma

One of the things to appreciate about sailing in Boston Harbor is that the weather is never boring. The weather forecast had advised us of the possibility of rain and thunderstorms in the afternoon. But looking at the clear skies and a clear weather radar, we were optimistic that the probability would drop and that we would have another lovely sunny and windy day in the water. A south / southwest wind of 10 knots with waves of 1ft or less sounded like the perfect sailing weather - too good to waste.

We cast off from the Boston Sailing Center on Emma - a Beneteau 343 - at around 9AM on Saturday. No big plans, just a few friends trying to have an adventure together. Unexpectedly (to me at least :) ), as we were preparing the mainsail and the dock lines for cast off, Andrew said "Lena, I want you to steer us out of the dock". I didn't know what to say - "thank you" didn't sound like the right expression. “Holy s***, wow, really?!” sounded more appropriate. So I said "Yes!" and mentally prepared to focus on not getting us killed.

With Andrew's guidance and mentorship, I turned on the engine, pushed the throttle lever slightly forward and we were on the move. A right turn as we came off of the slip, then onward toward the inner Boston Harbor. As soon as we were far enough away from the other boats, Andrew asked me to turn into the wind so that Sergey and he could raise the mainsail. With the main raised, the jib unfurled and 10 knots of wind, we were on our way and ready to turn off the noisy iron sail.

Leaving Boston behind for another adventure

Clearing the inner harbor was easy - the conditions were such that we were able to reach the outer harbor and President Roads on a beam reach and a starboard tack. It tooks us under one hour to get there and start planning the rest of our adventure.

Andrew had requested a dinghy so that we could venture into one of the islands. Sergey immediately proposed the Brewsters. We all agreed that would be a good idea.

Andrew takes the helm and Sergey tries to avoid a sunburn

As we passed Spectacle Island and approached Deer Island, a swarm of 10-15 fishing boats seemed to just be hanging out there, randomly distributed. Why were they all there at 10AM on a Saturday in the same spot? We had no clue, but they didn't bother us other than making our journey toward the South Channel a bit busier than usual. I asked Andrew to take over the helm as we approached the swarm of fishing boats.

The entrance to the South Channel in Boston Harbor is marked by a green-red buoy - one of those rare hybrids that mark the entrance to two channels simultaneously: the green serves the purpose of informing us of the port side of the South Channel to our right whereas the red serves the purpose of informing us of the starboard side of the north (preferred) channel to our left.

Once within the South Channel, we made our game plan: we wanted to cross over to the little cove formed by Calf Island and Middle Brewster via Hypocrite Channel. For that, we would need to exit the South Channel (preferably without running aground) before the green buoy number 9. All worked as planned and without requiring a change of tack.

I entertained myself taking pictures around the boat on the way to Hypocrite Channel and beyond

Calf Island

The little cove was indeed as lovely as promised - with both Boston Light and the Graves Light in our field of vision, we started anchoring while trying to avoid the many lobster traps in our vicinity.

A couple of orange-tinted jellyfishes swam happily around our boat as we attempted to anchor. Emma was equipped with a windlass - an electrical contraption that is supposed to make anchoring easier. In our case, it did the opposite: as we were clearing the line and setting up the anchor in the anchor roller, the windlass - which seemed to have a mind of its own - decided to turn itself on... twice. That made us nervous, to say the least. There seemed to be no way to take the anchor line out of the windlass without taking it apart so we did our best to pass the anchor line and chain through the windlass without mangling our fingers. Fortunately, we succeeded.

Then it was lunchtime! Andrew had brought us some treats (besides the sailing itself, which is always a treat): homemade bread, hummus, tahini spread and duck meat. Yum! Sergey had brought El Dorado rum, which was the perfect complement to the feast. After lunch, Sergey went for a swim - he seemed happy! But when I tested the waters for a few seconds, it felt like a thousand knives piercing through my skin. I guess growing up 6 degrees south of the Polar Circle gives one a certain resilience. I suspect the rum also helped. 

Sergey happily swimming in freezing water

After the swim, we inflated the dinghy and got ready for Calf Island. The current was not very strong and rowing was easy. As we approached, we saw lots of kelp floating just at the surface of the water - it was the kind with the air bubbles that keep the leaves just at the surface. We rowed right through the field of kelp without thinking twice. Then we were off exploring the island. It was clear from the get-go that the many seagulls that lived on the island did not appreciate our visit.

As with all islands in the Boston Harbor, Calf Island has its own history and charm. Originally, the island was used by Native Americans. Its first "owner" was the Elder Brewster of the Plymouth Colony. After that, it changed owners a few times until it was acquired by Benjamin Cheney in 1902. Together with his wife Julia Arthur, he built a colonial style estate with 2 big chimneys, of which only one still stands tall in 2020. Andrew has visited Calf Island before and wrote about his adventure and his research into Calf Island history in his blog.

Calf island has a lot to offer

When we got to the west side of the island, where we could get a glimpse of Deer Island, we saw dark heavy clouds in the sky robbing us of the chance to enjoy this distant dreamy view of the Boston skyline. Worried that this might be a sign of bad news coming our way, I looked at the weather radar and the storm appeared to be north of Boston. I predicted (wrongly) that it would not hit us and it would instead be pushed east. We carried on our way around the island, taking pictures and both ignoring the seagull cries of anger and the darkening skies. We saw a few nests, walked around the ruins and admired the views. As we completed our round, we felt a few drops of water. We could also hear the sound of thunder. Oooops ... My amateur meteorologist prediction had been completely wrong. The wind was blowing the storm toward us, not away from us.

The storm clouds I saw on the radar appeared to be moving East. I was wrong. They were moving South

As we reached the dinghy, we noticed with a bit of panic that as the tide receded, the kelp that we had rowed through on our way in was now resting on top of rocks, giving them the appearance of furry green, wet, slippery monsters (they reminded Sergey of The Groke from the Moomin universe). We would have to carry the dinghy over several meters of slippery, kelp covered rocks in order to get to the water - and we had to do it quickly otherwise we would be drenched as the rain was starting to fall hard.

Emma and the seagulls

Safe and Sound

We all did get a little wet but we made it back to Emma just in time to avoid the worst part of the storm. As the wind, the rain and the thunder rolled past us, we rested safely and somewhat dry on Emma's salon and allowed it to pass over us. It must've taken less than 30 minutes and soon enough the sky cleared up again and we were good to go. We lifted the anchor and were on our way back to Boston. Sergey steered us around the outer brewster and through Nubble Channel, a course that afforded an uncommon low-tide view of both the tail of Outer Brewster as well as - a few miles ahead - the zigzagging tail of Nix’s Mate which has grounded ferries more than once.

Nix's Mate and its zigzagging tail

The Epic Provincetown Adventure!

"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!

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.