The week had been long—particularly long because I had been working 11 hour days and putting in several hours over the previous weekend to get ready for a presentation on Wednesday. So a day sail on Saturday was very welcome as a way to recover my strength.
Our boat was the Camilla, a Beneteau 36.7—the same boat with the giant steering wheel that we had sailed earlier in the year to Provincetown. Andrew asked me to steer her out of the slip. “OK,” I said, “let’s do this”. With the wind directly ahead at us at this point, I did not face any issues getting out of the slip and turning her to starboard. Before raising the sails, Andrew asked me to build some intuition for driving her in reverse and taught me how to rotate her 180 degrees in place with the motor (if I remember correctly, the trick is wheel to starboard, a jolt of the motor in reverse, then wheel to port, followed by a jolt of the motor forward). In reality, the Camilla did not really like the reverse jolt but we did manage to rotate her in place. Kind of…
Then it was time to sail! There wasn’t a lot of wind, but we were going to try to sail anyway. With the mainsail raised, she sailed a bit but not a lot, so we unfurled the jib. The inner harbor had some spots with wind, but it was very spotty. We made slow progress toward Castle Island. Andrew wanted to visit an island. I looked at the chart and both Middle Brewster and Outer Brewster seemed to be able to provide protection from the south wind—not that the wind mattered much for anchoring at that point as there wasn’t any! The Brewsters and neighbouring islands are always fun places to visit—this same crew had visited Calf Island earlier in the year and we enjoyed it. Sergey really wanted to go to Outer Brewster, where he and Andrew had been before—Sergey’s favorite island in the harbor.
We would need to turn the motor on if we wanted to have time to do some island exploration. Sergey turned on the engine—which was fortunately not very noisy—and steered us toward South Channel. Andrew and I were navigating.
I was still thinking about how to guide Sergey through Hypocrite Channel when Andrew asked “where are we going to anchor”. He’s always 4 or 5 steps ahead of me. I immediately said, “we need the cruising guide!” (I remembered how I had tried to google for anchorage in Nahant and failed!), to which Andrew responded “we don’t have a cruising guide” (because this is a blog and not a vlog, you’re going to have to imagine me making the “epic fail sound” here).
I glanced at the chart, and there were a few places where we could anchor. I was looking for depths of 15-20 ft that didn’t get too shallow too fast. What I didn’t consider though was the wind direction. There was a little bit of wind inside the arrowhead-shaped body of water between Calf Island on one side, and Middle Brewster and Outer Brewster on the other. The wind was blowing from the east, strangely enough. We aimed for the region just right of Flying Place, i.e. the channel between Middle Brewster and Outer Brewster, in the hopes that we would be able to row to Outer Brewster, the island that Sergey really wanted to visit.
Just like last time when we had been here, the profusion of lobster traps made for a high anxiety inducing anchoring attempt. I understand that the fishermen have to make a living, but it’s a big ocean, they could drop their lobster traps further away from anchorage sites (and give the lobster a little bit of space to roam free without having to worry about a trap!). Anyway, we aborted the anchoring because we were too close to Middle Brewster, and the wind was not blowing us away from the island as we expected it would. There were really no good anchorage sites along the north coast of Outer Brewster so Andrew made the decision of going around the island and trying the anchorage by the south coast.
Here again there was a profusion of lobster traps. After a careful anchoring maneuver while not getting our propeller caught in lobster traps, we were able to drop the anchor and verify that it was secure. I looked over the life lines and saw dozens of tiny jellyfish in the water—I think they were Mnemiopsis—they looked very cool! They don’t sting and they glow blue-green when disturbed. It might’ve been fun to swim among them but neither of us was very sure about whether the jellyfishes were the stinging kind or not.
Jellyfish
After waiting a few minutes to make sure that the anchor was holding the boat, we opened up the lunch buffet! Homemade bread and hummus, compliments of captain Andrew, complemented with smoked salmon and cream cheese, compliments of helmsman Sergey and navigator Lena. Andrew brought some of that nice rosé wine with grapefruit juice that he often brings, which had the double advantage of being a delicious wine and not staining the deck like red wine tends to do.
Then, it was time to go explore Outer Brewster—we inflated the dinghy and off we went. Sergey had seen a gravel beach on the way over that would be a good place to beach our dinghy, so he guided us there. There was indeed a gravel beach next to an abandoned fortification—the only problem was that there didn’t seem to be a way into the rest of the island from here. After looking around we found some rocks to climb and a path forward.
The gravel beach that Sergey had seen
During World War II, Outer Brewster was part of a military reservation (thus the fortifications). Probably because of the low availability of freshwater (mostly from rainfall), the greatest biodiversity in the island is along the intertidal pools. As a side note—during my marine biology days, I learned that the reason why these pools are so diverse is because of the high availability of oxygen, which is very attractive for several underwater and bottom dwelling creatures, but it comes with the disadvantage that the pool can dry off or freeze, leading to a fierce struggle for survival that accelerates the emergence of biodiversity. The rock formation and the pools on the island reminded me of days spent collecting sea urchins from intertidal pools while the waves crashed on my cold and numb legs.
After going around the rocky shore, we found a way to climb to a trail. I was glad that I had decided to wear my jeans that day because the thorny plants were plenty (not sure what led the thorny plants on this island to thrive… or maybe they had been brought here for a purpose, perhaps related to its use by the military).
The Camilla and Boston Light
Sergey found a way into the barracks, which were pretty cool, and then he found the “dungeon” he was looking for—a T-shaped set of corridors that was long enough to be in complete darkness in certain places. We ended our Outer Brewster adventure by climbing to the roof of one of the barracks to admire the awesome view of the Boston Harbor Islands—we could see all of the Brewsters, plus Calf Island and Little Calf, Green Island and Roaring Bulls. We could also see Boston Light, the Graves Light and the city of Boston.
Our return to the Camilla was uneventful, and soon we were on our way back to Boston—contrary to what the forecast had predicted, the wind was coming from the west, not the south. Sergey was once again a helmsman, and I was a navigator—once we cleared Shag Rocks, the wind died, leaving me to wonder whether we should turn the engine on. Fortunately we didn’t have to, as the wind soon picked up again and we were flying toward the Narrows. With the east wind, I calculated, we would have to tack our way up President Roads. When we got there, however, Sergey noticed that he could steer close to the wind and point toward the line of red buoys marking the right side of the channel, which probably meant that the wind had shifted to a south south west direction. Hey, looked like we were going to make it without tacking after all. And we did! After a successful docking maneuver performed by Sergey, the crew lingered in the boat for a while and toasted to another successful day on the water.
It’s easy to get used to this life—knowing that sooner or later Andrew is going to ping me about an upcoming sail, and I’m going to do everything in my power to join him. However, as I witness the weather changing around me and the trees dressing up for Fall, and the inevitable “last day of the season” rapidly approaching, that feeling of “Mono no aware” or the transience of things becomes stronger and stronger. This time of year I often catch myself dreaming about travelling and settling in a place with warmer weather where I can sail year round. But I think I would not easily find anywhere else like Boston Harbor and Massachusetts Bay. In a way, it is the transience of the sailing weather in these parts that makes this a very special place to sail.
The Boston Sailing Center (BSC) had heard us and had felt our pain. Back when we were on the Anne on Martha’s Vineyard we had had significant “head” problems and left them several messages and emails asking for help. They were not able to help us at the time and as a result we lost a whole day of vacation doing work that none of us was equipped or motivated to do. So, to compensate us for our troubles, the BSC gave us a free 3 day cruise on one of their newest boats—the Eliza, a Jeanneau 349, a little sister of the Pura Vida, the Jeanneau 440 that we had sailed in the Spanish Virgin Islands back in January.
The original plan had been to cast off Friday morning, September 11th, and return on Sunday. However, we heard some bad news on Thursday: Sergey would not be able to make it on Friday and would have to join us on Saturday. That, combined with the forecast of NE winds of 15 to 20 kt with gusts up to 25 kt and seas 4 to 5 ft, made me wonder whether we should cancel the Friday sail and take off on Saturday morning. A quick call with the crew and we settled it—we would have the Shabbat dinner on the boat on Friday night (and potentially sleep there) but not cast off until Saturday morning.
You will do everything today
It was almost 6AM, and I could not sleep. The waves under the hull of the Eliza made for an uncomfortable night. “I’ll just get up,” I thought, “and wait for the sunrise.” One arm out of the sleeping bag and I lost all of my resolve—it was cold! I allowed myself to stay cozy inside the sleeping bag for another few minutes. Panic of missing the sunrise got me jumping out of the bed at 6.20AM and onto the bow to watch the sunrise over the airport.
It was better than I could have imagined—this was only my second time waking up on a boat in the sailing club, and the previous time the weather had been overcast so I had not seen the sunrise. Multiple cormorants perching on the pillings around the sailing center made for an entertaining show while the sun came up over East Boston. I wondered for a minute whether I might be happy living in a building by the seaport but as soon as I heard the roar of the first airplane lifting off at the airport I quickly realized—nope, not for me.
When Andrew arrived at around 8.45 I was in the cockpit reading my book when he said “Today I am just a passenger, you guys will do everything”. OK, this was new. First things first—we had to undock safely, so Sergey, Koby and I deliberated and decided that we would let the wind push us away from the dock. That worked well, and soon we were making our way to the middle of the inner harbor.
Then, it was time to raise the mainsail and unfurl the jib, which we did easily and without any drama after Sergey turned her into the wind (the perks of a newer boat are that her lines and sails are still new and glide up easily). We had good speed, perhaps 5 knots, and Koby was at the helm. We started feeling the 3-4ft waves upon passing Deer Island Light and venturing away from Boston Harbor and into Massachusetts Bay. At this point we had to make a decision about our route—with Andrew acting as a passenger only, Sergey and I had to put our heads together, look at the chart, consider the current wind and the wind forecast and make a decision. Since the wind was coming from the east, we could either go north or south. The forecast indicated that the wind would shift to the southeast, which would still work for either a return to Boston from the north (we would return on a beam reach) or the south (we would return on a run). Sergey made an executive decision to go north and attempt to make it to Gloucester before nightfall.
But before we ventured too far into North Channel that would take us there, we decided to reef the jib and the mainsail. The Eliza had the lines for the first and second main reef on the port and starboard sides of the mast, respectively. Without confirming which one we should be trimming, Koby and I started trimming the starboard reef line (second reef) before Sergey asked “are you sure you’re trimming the first reef?”. We weren’t. After clumsily fixing our mistake we were back in action and sailing at about 4 to 5 knots. It was my turn to navigate and plan our course to Nahant first, then Marblehead and finally—if we had enough light and wind—Gloucester!
Saying goodbye to Boston. For now...
Sea Sick
Maybe it was because I spent too much time staring at the chart, maybe it was because I had gone into the salon to grab my gloves, but at some point I started feeling sea-sick before we had even reached Nahant. Koby was also not feeling 100%, so the crew decided to stop in Nahant for lunch. Sergey asked if Nahant would be protected enough from the winds and the waves. A quick glance at the chart was all it took to realize that Nahant (bay) was too exposed to the east to make for a relaxed lunch. I had given up on Nahant at this point and was ready to keep going when Andrew had to intervene (the first time he did that day, he had been very disciplined so far letting me make navigation mistakes) and point out that there was another side to Nahant—Nahant Harbor.
Making good progress toward Nahant.
Aiming for Nahant Harbor was a no-brainer for Sergey and I after Andrew pointed that out—it was open to the west but since the winds and waves were coming from the east that day, it should be well protected. The next thing we would have to decide was whether to moor or anchor and where. My first instinct was to use my phone for a google search. Wrong instinct and unsuccessful search. Sergey went to the salon and came back with the cruising guide that Andrew always brings—aha! He learned that it was possible to anchor but that in order to do so we would need to call the harbormaster. As we were approaching the anchorage area, we saw a sailing boat drifting toward and getting tangled with a fishing vessel that was moored in the harbor. The fishing vessel had two outriggers sticking out of the sides which had caught their mainsail. Not a great position to be in. We briefly wondered if we should help them but it was unlikely that we could do a better job than their motor could, and we did NOT want to end up in the same situation. After some time they managed to untangle themselves and be on their way but, for me, it was a good reminder of the need to pay attention to the details but still be aware of the bigger picture when sailing in a confined space.
Andrew was at the helm, going around in circles while Sergey and I figured out how to operate the windlass since pushing the “down” button on the control didn’t do what it was supposed to do which was locking the chain and slowly letting it out. When we figured it out I shouted back “we can anchor”—I think I naively assumed that Andrew was going to take that as a hint to decide where to anchor but he just looked at me and reinforced his resolve: “You guys tell me what to do, I am not making any decisions today”. And we did.
Lunch was nice and relaxed. When it was over, there was some deliberation about inflating the dinghy and visiting Nahant. We ended up not doing it—which was a good thing too because we would not make it to Salem before the nightfall otherwise.
Winging it in Salem Sound
Either Sergey or Andrew (I can’t remember who) asked me to take the helm for cast off. Since the windlass would not work while the engine was off, we did not cast off under sail (although it would have been a good opportunity to do so otherwise). I asked the crew to raise the sails but something was off still. I could not sail very close to the wind—which was coming directly from where we needed to go—and tacked a couple of times to try to get out of Nahant Harbor and yet we were still stuck and tacking at 180 degree angles. Andrew said nothing, but I’m sure he was burning up inside. Still drowsy from seasickness, I handed the helm over to Sergey, and he quickly diagnosed the problem: both of our sails were still reefed even though the wind had slowed down! Which was a problem—what little wind that we had, we were not using. After shaking the reefs, we were able to travel much closer to the wind!
Our next milestone was the red buoy number 4 which marked the end of a shallow area by Marblehead neck. There was not a lot of navigation to be done between Nahant and our next milestone. Andrew showed me how to use parallel rulers to precisely determine our heading. Once we got to the red buoy number 4 which, as usual, magically appeared in the horizon exactly where it was supposed to be, we would have to make a decision about how to actually enter Salem Harbor.
We had two options: we could either take Marblehead Channel, which was clearly marked with lighted buoys or we could take the “shortcut” South Channel, which was more exciting (i.e. more narrow) and marked only with unlit buoys. Andrew, upon witnessing our deliberations, said “South Channel is tricky… like Woods Hole tricky”... Oops… that definitely raised all sorts of flags in my mind before he added “minus the currents”—I remembered all the planning that had gone into planning that woods hole crossing back in July and Sergey and I had done no planning whatsoever.
Andrew’s note. I did say so to make sure the crew paid attention in a tricky channel, but I didn’t mean to scare them off: I honestly misremembered that channel’s difficulty. It turned out to be nothing like Woods Hole (though honestly, Woods Hole itself also turned out to be not such a big deal). There were no side currents and related dangers in South Channel; the crew just had to carefully follow the buoys—which they did with flying colors!
It was getting close to nightfall so depending on how early we arrived at Marblehead Channel we would have to make a decision to either go through the safe (and long) route or go through the adventurous (and short) route. Furthermore, we had to consider the direction of the wind, particularly if it would force us to tack in the narrow South Channel (which we definitely did not want to do). Since the wind was still blowing from the east, and it was approximately 6PM when we approached Salem Sound (sunset was at 7PM)—we decided that we could make it through the short route! I felt brave—we were doing this!
Koby was at the helm and he steered us through the channel masterfully! Sergey had anchored in Salem Harbor before, so he knew where to go (Andrew also knew but he kept his professorial silence). In the distance we greeted the Fort Pickering lighthouse as we made our way to the massive mooring field in Salem Harbor ahead of us and dropped the anchor. The timing was perfect, too: the sun was going down and we were greeted with a wonderful sunset as we settled for the night. I was very proud of us.
Our anchorage site was as quiet as it could be—no wind, no waves. To our port side, there was an ugly fishing boat, and to our starboard there was a gorgeous two-mast, pale-green ship. Needless to say, we preferred to rest our gaze on the starboard side.
Salem Harbor
A morning in Salem Harbor
Waking up in Salem Harbor was magical. I admit that I had considered—just for a few minutes on the previous Friday—bailing out of the trip altogether out of fear that the waves that had been forecasted for Massachusetts Bay would make me seasick. That would have been a huge mistake—on that Sunday morning there was absolutely nothing I would rather be doing than enjoying the amazing sunrise with my friends and drinking my (french pressed) morning coffee surrounded by the ocean.
The morning had another surprise in store for us—seals! Lots of them! They were swimming around the moored boats, occasionally swimming just at the surface and making a big splash. Sometimes we would see their small black heads sticking out of the water. What a show! We watched them for a while, and then a guy came over on his pale green dinghy—he just wanted to chat. His name was Frank and he owned the two-mast boat that I had been admiring the night before. He gave us lots of great tips and where to go ashore. When he left I turned around and saw a feast was taking place in the cockpit table behind me—bagels, cream cheese, smoked salmon, tomatoes, eggs—you name it! Koby had everything (except capers—but I forgave him! :D ).
Frank & a bunch of fish
Frank's boat
Andrew was able to snap a photo of a seal having her breakfast
The boat needed a pump-out so around 9AM I called for the pump-out boat on channel 9. He told us that he would be with us in 45 minutes give or take. We had been very spoiled by the pump-out boat back in Vineyard Haven which had shown up only a few minutes after we called them. In the back of my head something told me that we should probably plan to head back to Boston early…Preferably right after pump-out. But it was so nice in Salem… and I really wanted to go to town (I had never been there before)... And we had come all this way to Salem… Also, I was very aware that this would probably be our last cruise for the year and wanted to make the best of it. So I said nothing.
The crew started preparing the dinghy to go to town while we waited for the pump-out boat. At around 10.15AM there was still no pump-out boat in sight so I called again. We learned through the radio that the guy had some issue with his pump so he would not be able to pump us out for a while. I rationalized that there would be no harm going to town while we waited for the pumpout boat to get fixed. In retrospect, we should have made plans at that point to get to Boston early and get pumped-out there. Well, hindsight is 20/20 and we ended up going to town anyway and using up precious sail hours there. Furthermore, thinking we were doing the right thing, Sergey and I called the pumpout boat and told him to get us off his waiting list since we were not going to be on the boat for the next few hours.
Koby found a dinghy dock at Pickering Wharf using his phone and guided us there (Andrew would have probably argued that the cruising guide would have been the right way to learn that but Koby’s solution did get us there)—it took about 20 minutes just to get to the wharf and dock our dinghy. On the way there, I kept remembering how we had once broken our motor in Hadley Harbor and had to row all the way back to our boat. If we broke our motor now, we would have to row at least twice the distance that we had to row back in Hadley Harbor. As we went around the tiny Derby Wharf Light, a couple sitting on the wharf smiled at us, possibly entertained by the bright orange life jackets that we were all wearing.
Bacalhau-à-braz
At this point I was totally in “island” mode (even though Salem is not an island, but you get what I mean). Sergey and I made the decision to return to the dinghy by 1PM, which sounded reasonable. I think neither of us really appreciated the fact that we were 20 nautical miles away from Boston and that it would take us a good 6 to 7 hours to cover that distance.
We walked along Derby Wharf to go checkout the lighthouse, took lots of pictures, and saw the Friendship of Salem on the way. We were just relaxed and having fun. As we were walking back from the lighthouse, I proposed we had lunch in Salem before heading back to the Eliza. There were no enthusiastic “yeses” but no disgruntled “nos” either so we found a place that had outdoor seating.
That masts that belonged to the Friendship of Salem were lying on the grass and their cleets were huge.
To my surprise, the place we had chosen was a Portuguese restaurant. The main menu was filled with Portuguese dishes! I hadn’t had Portuguese food since my lightning visit to Lisbon in March just before the pandemic closed down borders all over the world. I was thrilled that I got to introduce the crew to a little bit of the Portuguese culture. There’s still a smudge of nationalistic pride in me, I admit. Codfish was never my favorite food growing up in Lisbon, but whenever I find a Portuguese restaurant in the US, I am always compelled to order codfish… perhaps because salted cod is such an odd thing to order at a restaurant.
All of this delight and excitement also meant that I had totally lost track of my priorities at this point. As the appointed navigator, I should have known that we would be very, very late getting back to Boston. Getting back safely to familiar waters before the sunset should have taken precedence over a Salem visit, but it would have been a tough decision that I had not been willing to take.
On our way back to the Eliza we saw what appeared to be a floating, moving, tiki house. Turned out it was a bar. It was around 1.30PM when we arrived at the Eliza, and we still needed to pump out our boat. I called the pumpout boat again but got no response. They must’ve been backed up (no pun intended!). We could not wait much longer. We tried calling the Marblehead harbormaster to see if they could pump us out on the way but got no response either. This was when I realized our predicament: we would not be able to pump-out; we had to return to Boston ASAP to avoid sailing in relatively unfamiliar waters in the dark.
Night Sailing
We left Salem Harbor via Marblehead Channel—Salem Sound was a popular place that Sunday, and there were lots of boats sharing the channel with us. We did our best to tack our way out of Salem Sound, but our progress was slow—we needed to travel southeast against the wind, which meant a lot of tacking before we cleared the Sound. Sergey had considered reefing the mainsail but gave up on that plan given our experience the previous day at Nahant. As a result, the crew had to contend with some heeling (well, maybe a lot of heeling ... I was too focused on the chart and sailing as close to the wind as possible to notice that the crew was uncomfortable… )
The helmsman and the navigator
It took us what felt like forever to get to the red buoy number 4—the part of our course that was supposed to be the “short” one. But it was fun, I admit, to be on a tack facing the open ocean and then back to seeing a familiar (i.e. charted) landscape, zigzagging between the adventure and the familiarity. The only non-fun part was having to dodge lobster traps, there were dozens of them!! It reminded me of that scene in The Empire Strikes Back where Han and Chewy fly into an asteroid field (“never tell me the odds” ;-) ).
It must’ve been around 5PM when we cleared the red number 4 and anxiety settled in–Sergey and I looked at each other, and we both knew our predicament: we had 2 hours before sunset and we were not going to make it to Boston before dark. In a moment of blasphemy and weakness we considered turning on the engine for the passage to North Channel. There was a problem with that though (other than the obvious problem of motoring when we had a perfectly good set of sails)—Andrew had promised the sailing club that he would return the boat with a full tank of diesel. Even if we motored we would not be back in time to refuel (and the tank would not be full). But if we didn’t motor we would be potentially putting the crew in a perilous situation: we would have to sail against the wind, at night in unknown waters and thus unable to precisely track our position or detect rogue waves and treacherous lobster traps with enough time to react. It took one look at Andrew to know that there was only one option in that situation: we were sailing all the way.
Getting ready for some night sailing
The sun disappeared behind the cloud as we cleared Nahant. There was still a long way to go, and soon enough the water would turn pitch dark and the green islands would become dark shadows against the landscape. Our next tack had us facing the Graves Lighthouse, which was reassuring … for a little bit. Then we saw our first lit buoy: a dot and a dash (representing an “A” in Morse code) from the red white buoy that marked the entrance to North Channel. Night sailing had begun.
We still had a long way to sail to get to Boston when the sun disappeared
At this point we could see Boston’s many lights in the distance—some blinking, some not. The new mission was to try to find the “right” blinking lights and avoid the unlit buoys (we would not be able to see them) while at the same time avoiding the lobster traps sneaking up on us. But we had a plan! Since we knew—based on our previous tacks—that we could travel closed-hauled at both 120 and 210 degrees, Sergey and I looked at the chart and figured that we could just tack into the North Channel (~210 degrees) and that heading would take us back home. Turns out we were wrong about the 210 heading (either that or the wind had shifted)—we ended up having to tack between the North and South Channels multiple times. Also, we had failed to account for the huge and very well lit dredging barge that was anchored in the middle of North Channel!
Andrew was at the helm at this point, and he decided to tack before we were too close to the barge. It’s really, really hard to tell how far you are from an object—even a well lit one—when everything around you is dark. The problem with this tack was that we were moving quickly across both North and South Channels and would soon pass beyond South Channel, which had its own dangers in store: Sergey and I estimated that we were heading straight to Ram Head, which is appropriately marked with a green buoy but one that was unlit and thus completely invisible to us—we would not be able to see it until it was too late! So we asked Andrew to tack back toward the North Channel. It was then, I think, when I lost my bearings. Examining the chart felt so safe, as if it was clear where we were supposed to go. But then looking around me, all I could see were blinking lights—from Boston, some from buoys. I was not able to tell if a blinking light was near or far. Was that buoy flashing every 4 seconds or 6 seconds? And how the heck do you count 2.5 seconds?
I had never been so relieved for clearing Deer Island Light before. This meant that we were finally travelling in familiar waters. The familiar President Roads channel was finally within our reach. I relaxed for a few minutes as we made our way to the inner harbor. And then Andrew asked—so are there any obstructions in Inner Boston Harbor? Oops… I was not prepared for that question. I never noticed before! He reminded me of the airport landing strip that stretches out into the Inner Harbor. But where was that on the chart? I looked and looked but it was not there! Koby pointed it out before we found it on the chart. Stressful indeed!
We asked Andrew—who was still at the helm—to steer towards Zakim Bridge and bring us back home. We passed Rowes Wharf, dropped the sails, and that was the end: no more charts, no more planning. Or so I thought. Turned out that the Boston Sailing Center boat house was really hard to identify in the dark. When we finally saw it, Andrew asked me and Sergey to figure out how to approach it and how to dock. We barely had time to discuss it, and Andrew was already reversing into the dock. I grabbed the stern line, jumped on the dock, and totally botched the landing by running forward instead of back. No harm done though—Andrew yelled “tie it behind the stern”, and I did. We finished docking, and we were home safe.
This whole experience—of learning by doing and making mistakes—made me realize how much I used to depend on Andrew to make decisions and to plan our sailing trips. And there are a LOT of decisions: where to sail given the weather conditions? anchor or moor? Where to pump-out? Where to refuel? Will we be able to get back before the nightfall? I admit that most of the time I just want to “wing it”, but that’s not the right approach. It’s not like going on a road trip where you can count on some gas pump to be open at odd hours or some motel to have a room for you in the middle of the highway. There are a lot more constraints in sailing, and you have to work within those constraints.
The feeling I remember the most though was the quiet confidence of knowing where I was and where I was headed: when I was at the helm heading toward North Channel, and I had a firm grasp of the chart and a firm grasp of how my heading and speed translated into a specific course on that chart—THAT felt awesome. If Andrew were a GPS-dependent type of person, I don’t think I would ever have been able to feel that.
There are days in Boston Harbor when the wind is so weak and feeble that I wish we had a third or forth sail to grab as much of it as we can. Then, there are days like August the 30th, 2020. The forecast had warned me of wind gusts up to 30 knots and seas with 2-3 ft waves so I had a vague idea that this was going to be a day of intense sailing which would require skill and caution. I had worked on mentally preparing myself for what was to come, on remembering that the only way to grow is to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. In strong winds a sailboat can easily become overpowered—for that reason, the mainsail in most boats is rigged to allow one or two reefs, i.e. to reduce the amount of sail surface that is exposed to the wind by means of a set of lines that pull the sail down and secure it over the boom and back toward the stern.
I took some pictures of the water around the sailing club as I waited for the rest of the crew. The water appeared calm; “Maybe it will not be as bad as I imagined”, I remember thinking. We left the marina in the Aeolus—a blue Sabre 30 owned by the Boston Sailing Center. Our exit from the slip was smooth and with the west winds to our stern we were soon on our way to the outer harbor. We didn’t notice until we were pretty far from the marina and ready to raise the mainsail that our boat was rigged for the first reef but not the second. When Andrew pointed it out, I didn’t immediately fully appreciate what that would mean for our ability to steer and control the boat.
The water around the sailing club appeared calm and serene
As we approached Castle Island, Andrew asked me to pick a destination. We could go southeast or northeast. After some discussion, we decided that we would try going northeast—we might even be able to reach Marblehead, something that this crew had attempted before but had run out of wind and ended up anchoring in Nahant instead. Going north seemed like a good idea, not only because we had been mostly sailing south this year but also because Andrew expected (or rather hoped) that the wind would veer northward and become northwest, which meant we would be returning home on a beam reach.
Andrew’s note: I was glad that we decided on Marblehead. We rarely go there for a day sail. It's 18 nautical miles from Boston to Marblehead. Since I refuse to go under motor (unless cornered), it’s only possible to comfortably do the round trip in a day if the wind is just right. In fact, I think it was just the third time in my life I'd done it. The first time was years ago, when I was learning to sail and took a coastal navigation class which included a day trip to Marblehead. That was also the first sail in my life outside of a harbor. Fortunately, we were practicing the traditional paper-chart-and-compass navigation back then, and I was just thrilled by sailing a compass course and then, after an hour or two, seeing the buoy we were heading to magically appear at the horizon. And then, of course, Marblehead itself is a cute town to visit, and Salem Sound (the body of water from which one enters Marblehead Harbor) is an interesting and challenging place to sail. Turned out it had some new surprises for us, too.
The waters began to appear choppy as we approached Castle Island
Turning toward the North Channel after Deer Island was when I first felt the full might of the wind—and the impact of that missing second reef. The gusts and the waves made the Aeolus very hard to control and even though I had been trying to hold on to the wheel and keep her steady and on course, my shoulders started to hurt from the stress and the tension and I had to ask Andrew to take the helm. We were travelling at a respectable 7 knots and were zooming past buoys but she was definitely putting up a fight, occasionally heeling intensely due to a stronger gust or two.
Moving past Nahant
At 11AM—a mere 2 hours since we had left the marina—we were by Nahant. There was therefore no reason not to aim for Marblehead. The conditions remained the same as Andrew diligently kept her on course toward the red buoy number 4 which was 6 nautical miles (or about 1 hour) away from the red and white buoy marking the beginning of the North Channel. Koby and I adjusted the sails occasionally but mostly remained silent and enjoyed the wind in our faces.
On passing red number 4 the gusts intensified and Andrew felt it was time to further reef the jib, i.e. to furl it even more to reduce its power. Still in charge of navigation, I gave Andrew the instructions to arrive at our next target—a red and green buoy marking the entrance to Salem Sound. The required heading and distance were clearly annotated in the chart (I would have had to use a ruler otherwise), but I still felt proud of playing the navigator role—this was the first time that I was doing it alone.
Our plan was to leave the buoy to our port side and then tack to enter Marblehead Harbor. Instead, as we approached it, I saw a partially submerged lobster trap floater cross our bow. When I heard the captain utter the words “we have a problem”, I knew we were “trapped”—in all meanings of the word. The line connecting the floater to the trap had got caught either on our propeller or keel and even though we had plenty of wind, the boat was stopped, and Andrew could not steer. He suggested that we jibed her in place instead. After making sure that there were no heads on the way, Andrew used the jib to turn the boat away from the wind and the boom swinged violently toward our starboard side as the wind caught the sails on the other side. Something was happening—we were moving—but it was not clear to me whether we were moving forward or rotating around the trap. After a few agonizing seconds wondering if we had regained control of our ship, I saw the guilty floater a few feet behind us—we were free!
Marblehead Harbor was finally within reach, so we dropped the main and turned on the engine; it was time for some relaxation! Marblehead Harbor was a sea of boats with a little bit of water in between. The deeper into the harbor we went, the less windy it became. We followed the tiny channel between the moorings and the shore which led us to the town dock, where we were able to easily dock thanks to the practice we had done the week before.
There were lots of boats in Marblehead Harbor and a few sailors having fun
Then came the gourmet lunch—which always happens when Koby joins the adventure and gives us the pleasure not only of his company but also of his cooking. From the galley and by Koby’s hand, food kept coming up to the cockpit—bread, multiple types of sandwich fillings, cole slaw, crab salad and of course wine! We ended up having a very pleasant, very filling lunch under the sun with almost no waves and no wind.
Food kept coming up to the cockpit
Andrew and I went for a walk after lunch (Koby stayed with the boat as the harbormaster did not allow unattended boats in the town dock). We came across a lovely park with great views of the harbor and a lot of “in loving memory” benches, water fountains, statues and other memorials. Looking down into the harbor helped us fully appreciate how busy this harbor is: there are about 2000 moorings crammed in the 1 mile-long, 700-yard-wide horseshoe-shaped harbor! There’s also an interesting tidbit of maritime history that I didn’t learn about until later: Marblehead Harbor was home to the first armed vessel of the United States Navy (originally called Continental Navy). The town of Marblehead—originally called Massebequash—used to be home to the Naumkeag people, who were unfortunately decimated by smallpox (or so it is believed) in the 1600s, and it was later colonized by European settlers, who renamed it "Marblehead" when they mistook its granite ledges for marble.
The Aeolus quietly awaiting her crew (lower left) in the town dock at Marblehead Harbor
A little castle
Back into the fray
With the wind pushing us away from the dock, our undocking maneuver was easy, and soon enough we were back in the small channel that would lead us back to Salem Sound. We had partially unfurled the jib before we left the channel, and I was at the helm. As soon as we left the protection of Marblehead Harbor, I could feel the strong wind on the jib. As I turned her into the wind with the intent of allowing Koby and Andrew to raise the mainsail, I felt extremely strong resistance from the jib, which was turning our bow away from the wind—with full throttle on the engine I still could not keep her facing the wind, so that Andrew could work on setting up a second reef on the mainsail. In retrospect, having the jib unfurled before raising the mainsail in these wild wind conditions was probably a mistake: live and learn!
Eventually, I freaked out about the lack of control and asked Andrew to take the wheel while Koby and I attempted to push the mainsail down and backwards with a makeshift second “reef” line that we had tied to the main and wrapped around the boom. Our reef job was ugly—we had nothing but sail ties to try to keep the lower part of sail from filling with air, but our combined strength could not compete with the power of the wind and there was only so much we could do about tying the main to the boom. Even with a handicapped main and a reefed jib we were moving at about 6 knots. Relieved that Andrew was at the wheel and that we had reefed the sails as much as we could, I sat down and settled—I had had enough excitement for the day… or so I thought!
The return to the North Channel was uneventful—even though I was tempted to fix the ugly second reef job, it would be too dangerous to do so: Andrew would need to turn her into the wind to release some of the pressure on the sail, but that would have made the sail luff so violently that it would have been a danger to the crew. I was glad I decided to not do anything about it. Until, that is, we turned into Presidents Roads to take her back home.
With the wind coming directly from the northwest, which was our heading, the handicapped/reefed sails meant that we had to sail her at a large angle relative to the wind direction. We were heeling a lot but moving slowly. To make matters worse, the wind was pushing us toward Spectacle Island. We tacked to avoid a collision with the island but did not have enough speed to cross the “no-sail” zone due to our handicapped main and our jib trying to turn us away from the wind. I had experienced this many times while sailing on the Charles River (in fact, the only time I capsized in the Charles was caused by a jibe tied directly to my frustration at the inability to tack due to lack of speed), but it had not occurred to me until that very moment that the heavier the boat, the more speed it needs to tack successfully. And we did not have enough speed for our heavy boat.
Andrew quickly turned on the engine and we were soon getting out of that perilous situation. And then, he taught me and Koby a new technique that I had never learned before: backwinding the jib while tacking. So here’s how it worked: every time we tacked, we would allow the jib to catch the wind on the opposite side before letting it flip over entirely to the other side. The intent was to use the jib to help push the bow across the wind (to help us rotate past the “no sail zone”) until we were safely tacked instead of in irons—and it worked! According to Andrew, this is often used as a tactic when racing to minimize the inevitable speed loss caused by crossing the wind.
We tacked a few times within Presidents Roads but left the engine on… just in case. Poor Koby got violently hit by the whipping jib sheet a few times before he learned to stay away. As we approached the inner harbor, the wind slowed down, the sun was low, the full moon showed up and we saw two of the most beautiful ships in Boston Harbor sail into the sunset: the Liberty Clipper and the Adirondack III. It was an idyllic setting after a fun—but intense—day on the water.
Liberty Clipper (left) and the Adirondack III (right) sailing into the sunset
Writing this blog a week later, I appreciate that the most important lesson I learned that day was that sailing in heavy wind is part of learning to become a good sailor. It is fun to do it for the challenge and the pride of having done it, but I always need to remind myself that these conditions need a lot more preparation, focus and attention. I can’t express how grateful I am to Andrew for being willing and able to take me out in these conditions and for patiently holding my hand when I inevitably panic and mess up. Overall, the day was very successful, and in spite of the intense pressure on our sails, the only thing broken was the cockpit table which came off of its support when I was bringing it down after lunch (and that had nothing to do with the wind!).
