I've now connected the last remaining unconnected dots in Narragansett Bay, I think. As I built my first boat, ambition grew in me to to sail, over time, as much coastline as possible. Over the succeeding seven seasons I've covered all of Narragansett Bay from ramps in Oakland Beach, Fall River, Narragansett, Bristol, Tiverton, Newport and Little Compton. I have sailed around Prudence and Patience Islands, around Conanicut Island (Jamestown) and Aquidneck Island (the original "Rhode Island"). I've been up the Providence River as far as the hurricane barrier and then a few miles up the Seekonk River as well. I've been up the Taunton River (or drifted down it) pretty much as far as it is navigable. I've been up and down both East and West Passages and been all over the Sakonnet "River." I've spent time sailing Point Judith Pond. Finally, I've used the Bay as jumping-off point to sail to Block Island (from Narragansett) and New Bedford (from Sakonnet Harbor, Little Compton). Taken together, my tracks have interlaced into such a webwork that--tracing with a finger--you could go from anywhere in the Bay directly to anywhere else without picking up your finger from the chart.
-except one small but nagging gap: Although I have sailed up and down the Sakonnet "River" many times, I had never been to Sakonnet Harbor (my launch pad for excursions to New Bedford and Newport) from anywhere else. These are the dots now connected: a rainy day's sailing from Fogland, Tiverton to Sakonnet Harbor, Little Compton, six nautical miles away.
Of course, you could argue that one trip up and down would "cover" Narragansett Bay, but for me the shoreline includes every navigable cove and river--which for a 20-foot sailboat that draws less than a foot of water, covers a lot of ground. Even more if you're careful with tides.
Moreover, it is the shoreline that makes sailing a shoal-draft boat worthwhile: there is an endless variety to be found along open shores, little coves, and peaceful rivers that is not to be found in open water, and is only hinted at in views from the deck of a deep water boat.
I made the day trip that connected these last dots on a rainy May 17th with rare northerly winds, delighting in the idea that Surprise would get a workout in the conditions I built her for: those that involve keeping me comfortably enclosed. The forecast was for showers, and in preparation I had made a little cover for the one remaining hole in the boat's slot cover: the 3 1/2-inch square hole for the mast. Although Surprise will keep her crew dry once aboard and underway, I expected rain on the road down, and wondered how I could load and rig in rain, not to mention get underway and anchor in the rain.
It turned out to be dry all the way to Fogland, dry while I heaved the boat off with the tide just a few inches too low for the trailer, and dry while I rigged. Beginning after noon, I had a glorious fast sail (5+ knots almost the whole way, with excursions into the 6s and once touching 7) south to Sakonnet Harbor. In fact, so fixated was I on the imposing Sakonnet Light that I missed the little harbor entrance and had to back-track a quarter-mile from the toothy shoal the light marked. All this in dry weather. Darn!
It took me a good long while to get the boat comfortably anchored since I wanted to be able to step ashore dryshod in rubber boots but didn't want the boat pounded on the shingle by the waves. (Sakonnet Harbor is well-protected from any wind except the rare northerly that sped me south that day.) But I finally went ashore with my thermos of coffee and a nice (if somewhat squashy) sandwich from Provender, a lovely dessert-and-sandwich place in Tiverton.
I had no sooner sat down on the rocks with a beautiful view of the Light, when the sky opened up. I stuffed the last of my sodden sandwich into my mouth as water streamed off the waxed paper in my lap, then high-tailed it for the beach and my dry cabin. Back aboard, I was grateful for the foresight that led me to button-up tight before going ashore. As I sat and ate my dessert and finished my coffee, I reflected that a dry boat isn't nearly as comfortable when you're clothes are damp. I considered the need to remove the covers that were keeping the rain out in order that I might make sail and get the anchor up, and wondered how much wetter I (more importantly the boat) would get in the process. But the rain stopped long enough for me to get underway and well out of the harbor, only coming down with a satisfying patter on the roof and dimpling of the sea when we were well underway about 4pm.
The trip back north was much slower than the one down since it was "uphill" in rising wind and seas. I kept full sail up and the boat made best speed heeled so her chine (rather than the flat bottom) was presented to the waves. Even so, the pram bow makes it difficult to keep way on in a tack, and I had several times to wear around (jibe) to come about. One of those times I laid the boat right down in the water--starboard windows submerged. This isn't nearly traumatic as you might suppose, and I've had to get used to it. I anticipated this particular problem, what with the wind and waves and lack of my usual crew for ballast, and when the windows went under (accompanied by the sound of all my gear shifting and crashing), I released the sheet and scooted as close to the bottom as I could. After a long 5 or 10 seconds we were back upright and quickly under way on the new tack. Surprise's pram shape dislikes chop--especially tacking through it--but moved briskly in the smooth water sheltered by various spits. Surprise hit the ramp at about 7:30pm, the rain holding off once more while I got the boat packed up on the trailer, ending a modestly successful excursion.
