"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet...—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can." Moby Dick Herman Melville
Nice, relaxing couple of days in the Sakonnet "River" (really a salt water passage) last week. Wanted to test new anchors and more comfortable seating, among other ideas. And just plain wanted to get in the water.
I can only use Fogland ramp above half-tide (with high about 4:30). Since I got there about noon, I spent time listening to the radio (Steven Jobs had just died), walking the beach and listing species, and treating myself to lunch at nearby Provender.
Boat finally floated at about 2:30, I walked her to windward around the gentle crescent of beach, paddled out and dropped the new claw anchor in about six feet of water. I could only stay an hour or so, since I had to go back for choir rehearsal. I spent the time establishing landmarks against which to judge the holding of the anchor, then settled myself with my tattered Moby Dick first in the cockpit with my back against the cabin (fairly comfortable but a bit too sunny and windy), and then on cushions on the floor in the forward part of the cabin, looking out the companion (very snug and comfortable--and the only way to have full sitting headroom in my cabin). I find I need a backrest for long-term comfort; a bunkboard leaning against the forward seat was just the thing.
The claw anchor had grabbed the bottom immediately, in accordance with its reputation, and in the hour-and-a-half I puttered and read while the boat swung to the 10 mph breeze it didn't budge a foot. The claw also has a reputation for rather low holding power; for this reason I bought one sized for 24-30ft boats. Of course, this was hardly any test, coditions being as light as they were.
I paddled the little kayak to the beach, secured it on the trailer, and drove the hour back home, confident the boat was safe in my absence. I didn't get back to the beach until about 11pm. It was now 52 degrees and windy and I was in shorts and short sleeves. I shivered as I paddled. I'd been aboard almost an hour before I had completely warmed up. I washed the salt off my legs, got into warmer clothes, closed up the cabin and got into bed. I was snug in my sleeping bag with book in hand and wine at elbow. On the seat opposite were laid out all the necessities so I could have my coffee and breakfast the next morning without ever leaving my sleeping bag (a very attractive option just then). I slept pretty well.
In the night I dreamed of a dilapidated house compound, a house like a ship, with lookout and decks, and a number of children who were vaguely familiar. I woke feeling slightly guilty about leaving Beatrice as sole parent.
I got up pretty lazily next morning, knowing I couldn't get into "Pirate" Cove 4 miles away until the flood began late in the morning. Though the temperatures dropped to 52 inside the cabin the previous night--42 outside--it was now a comfortable 57, and I got fully up and washed up before pouring the first cup of coffee.
Looking south in the Sakonnet, then north.
At 10:30 we were under way. The boat sailed herself for the first minute or two after I landed the anchor, while I stayed on the foredeck and secured it. Then we tacked north up the Sakonnet, making an average of 3kt in the light wind. Sitting in the wind chilled me, and I eventually ended up in a light down jacket, warm hat and gloves. I began to regret the late start, anticipating a lunch rendezvous with Beatrice in the cove, and not wanting to be late. But the wind cooperated by swinging more westerly with time, so that the last part of the trip was a close reach straight up the passage, and I anchored off Grinnell Beach just outside of the cove, and was just about to get in the kaykak when Bea called to say she had just parked.
I didn't think to take a picture of the food (which Bea would have considered important).
We checked out Evelyn's, a well-regarded clam shack a mile away, but it had closed for the season. We had a nice meal at Stone Bridge Restaurant: a gyro for me and a sausage wrap, pudding and coffee for desert.
The Beatrice Ann rides nicely on her lines.
Afterwards I decided to have a look at Nanaquaket Pond, a nice anchorage avoided by sailboats due to a bridge. It wouldn't be too much of a challenge for the big boat since the masts could be lowered without too much fuss, and the direction of the channel would be favored by the sw winds usual in the warm season.
Nanaquaket Pond
I didn't bother rigging to sail the last half-mile into Pirate Cove with the last of the flood, then under the bridge into the adjoining Blue Bill Cove. The yuloh needed a fair test, I decided, but I found it awkward to use, and after it had slipped off its pivot a few times I put it away in favor of a canoe paddle. When we cleared the bridge by only a foot, I was even gladder we weren't under sail. I dropped the claw anchor off just off Spectacle Island before 5, this time dropping my new home-made pipe anchor after the claw, then slacking off on the claw so that the pipe anchor would hold first. The water was shallow even at the top of the tide, so I retracted the centerboard halfway so it could kick up easily in the night if need be. Then I decided to explore the cove by kayak.
Exploring the cove.
I paddled north towards route 24, looking for a beach I remembered seeing years ago, and a tiny sub-cove that shows up on Google Earth. I didn't see any beach, but did find the little cove, meeting (I think) a great blue heron along the way. Going ashore on a marshy spit I soaked my jeans by trying--and failing--to extricate myself from the kayak in a dignified manner. Coming around the back side of Spectacle Island, I discovered it was inhabited: a red two-story house was nestled in the trees on the highest point, and a pontoon boat was tied up at a dock not far away. Not far from my own anchorage was an old wooden cabin cruiser sunk to its portlights--a sad story, and probably one of neglect, I suppose.
With dusk sinking towards night, I boiled up water and took a warm water and alcohol sponge bath, got into clean clothes, and ate a supper of clam chowder and toast and wine. I settled snugly into my reading nook in the cabin, but had a hard time arranging the light to my liking and couldn't keep my eyes open anyway, so I got into my sleeping bag relatively early, and turned off the light before 10pm.
Didn't sleep well: my foot was giving me trouble and I couldn't get comfortable. Up before 7, made coffee and cooked oatmeal while a few confused mosquitoes tried to figure out why they were here. I was fortunate this was their first appearance this trip. The centerboard had kicked up in the night--probably the source of a half-remembered sound in the night. The pipe anchor had not budged, but winds had been even lighter than the previous night.
Since Beatrice had a commitment this afternoon and I was needed at home, we got underway fairly briskly by 8am, the boat again self-steering while I tidied ground tackle--but this time heading confidently toward a small group of moored boats. I had gotten a good look at each anchor in the clear shallow water before lifting it: the pipe anchor was dug in less than halfway, while the claw had dug in sideways, one fluke buried to the shank. I scurried aft and got us on course for the bridge, while a couple of cormorants took heavily to the air ahead, their wing tips touching the water splash splash splash splash splash splash with each beat as they slowly gained altitude. We shot out of the cove on the ebb at over 4kt, about half of which was current.
The current flows fast through the cove entrance; fishermen on the rocks.
Gould Island ahead.
"Pirate" cove behind.
Gould Island up close.
A cormorant spreads wings to dry on the end of Gould Island.
We cruised slowly south with a light beam wind, while I took photos. We rounded Fogland Point and dropped anchor not far from our original spot at 10:30. I was driving away, leaving the boat closed up and swinging once more at anchor, by 10:50.
I scooted for home, kayak strapped to the roof. Later in the afternoon I returned with two sons, taking advantage of the empty trailer to put on a new roller before taking out the boat. While I fussed with tools, Stephen asked to paddle the kayak. I agreed before remembering that I had not brought life jackets. Finally I let him wear my own over-sized inflatable while he paddled in EXTREMELY SHALLOW WATER VERY CLOSE TO SHORE. Meanwhile Trevor sat in the car and read his book.
Stephen paddling in VERY SHALLOW water; the big boat at anchor.
This time there was tension on the claw anchor rode: the pipe anchor had dragged. I again chose to paddle to the ramp, though this time it was upwind. We were back in the driveway before 7pm.
