Around Cape Cod: Day 2

I awoke before 6am to another blowy day, made coffee while Trevor slept on (this takes some fore-thought, as the stove stores at the head of his bunk, and he sleeps atop the cooler) and then got underway with reefs in both sails.  We had some windward wave-bashing to do getting out, and took water over the deck a couple of times, and also put the port coaming under briefly once or twice.  The bow rode a trifle low and resisted pitching, thanks to the deep-cycle battery stowed well forward on the cabin floor.  I'd known this might be a problem, but I already had two batteries stuffed under the thwart, and can only stand to have so many obstacles underfoot.  I also wanted to see if I could get the boat to ride level with both of us in the cockpit.  (As it turned out, that was the ONLY way, loaded as she was, to get her on her lines.)

 Trevor sails across Nantucket Sound toward Monomoy.

Rounding Monomoy Point.

Abandoned tower on South Monomoy.

Once out of Hyannis, it was a straight shot across the open Nantucket Sound toward the south end of Monomoy Island and its famous Pollock Rip.  (We later saw a marker in Chatham that insists the Mayflower was turned back from going south to Virginia by the dangers of the Pollock Rip.)  The currents were with us and the Rip occasioned no trouble, as we headed up the east side of Monomoy Island. 

Eastern shore of South Monomoy.

A gethering of seals on east shore of South Monomoy.

The island, a long spit of sand that projects from the elbow of the Cape, is a wildlife sanctuary in which large areas are cordoned off from visitors to protect nesting birds, so I had hopes of seeing wildlife if we could keep close enough to shore.  But keeping more cautiously to deeper water meant hours of speculating what one or another dark spot on the sand might be.  Only once did we venture close to discover a big gathering of seals--our first sight of them on this trip.

Going in closer to see seals.  Trevor would sail us right onto the beach if I'd let him!

We were headed for Chatham Harbor on the northeast side of Monomoy, rather than the more navigable and well-marked Stage Harbor on the northwest.  Chatham Harbor, with its unpredictable currents and constantly-shifting shoals, is only to be used "with local knowledge," but with no other safe ports along the outer shores of the Cape, a trip from Stage Harbor around the eight-mile-long Monomoy and then up the coast all the way to Provincetown would have been an impossible distance.  Therefore, Chatham Harbor it was. 

The only untoward event of this day was the breaking of the main sprit.  The sprit was a replacement for the original, which had given out last season.  It's replacement was of light-weight pine.  It had been all I had, but I thought I had gotten a knot-free length of it.  As the boat jibed one of the many times it did so on this downwind trip, the sprit snapped and fell, one half hanging from the snotter at the  mast, the other dangling from the clew.  As it turned out, the sprit had broken across a knot I had discounted. Our sail suddenly boomless, it quickly became evident we would not be sailing much more that day.  Fortunately, Chatham Harbor was close ahead.

 At Chatham seals were near-constant companions.  A dozen might be around the boat at a time, popping their heads up in threes and fours to look us over.  Of course, the increase in the seal population has been blamed for an increase in great white sharks in the area--a shark whose tendency to attack swimmers may be due to the similar size and appearance of swimmers and seals.  We never saw a shark, for which I am grateful.

Beatrice Ann rides peacefully at anchor beyond breakers.

Faithful steed that got us in to shore.

Harbor entrance proper is visible beyond shore--we didn't attempt it.

At the very least, I hoped to tuck in outside the Harbor proper but close enough to shore to have a reasonably safe and quiet night.  But Google Earth also showed me that, if I tucked in right at the mouth of the Harbor and we could get ashore, downtown Chatham was less than a mile's walk away.  I hoped our chosen spot would be outside the bounds of the wildlife sanctuary.  Luck was with us, and we managed to get within a few hundred feet of shore safely outside the breakers.  We also managed to run through those breakers and on to the beach without upsetting in the inflatable kayak.  And the beach was public, though prominent signs at regular intervals along the beach forbade swimming, wading, etc. due to dangerous currents and waves.  The signs did not forbid kayaking, and anyway were turned away from us at our approach from the sea. 

Good thing the signs don't mention kayaking!

Panorama of the beach, from three shots.

Panorama of beach near downtown.

A moderate walk brought us to Main Street, along which Google Earth places just about every desirable place of business in Chatham.  We planned to scope out ice cream parlors, looking particularly for the cheapest scoop and AC.  After a price comparison, we discovered that the least expensive (I don't say most cheap) also was the only one with AC, and came complete with testimonials to the tastiness of its homemade flavors.  I enjoyed a very nice rum raisin ice cream, while Trevor had coconut almond.  Not wanting to dehydrate, we also split a Coke.  Afterwards, we went a few doors down to the new and used bookstore, emerging an hour later with a new Percy Jackson book for Trevor, and a biography of Joshua Slocum for me.  Only as we walked back toward the beach did it occur to me to wonder how we would get the books back through the surf unscathed, when I wasn't even sure how WE were to manage it. 

Chatham Light.

Useful info, if a little too late for us.

Trevor skipping rocks while the Old Man takes pictures.

Each wave leaves the largest sand particles behind where its force is spent, carrying the smaller back down the beach as the water recedes.

Fortunately the surf had diminished, and  the books, riding inside their plastic bag atop a rolled up sweatshirt (to keep them out of the bilge) under the aft deck, made it safely aboard.  For once on this trip we both went to bed at a reasonable hour, lentil soup and toast under our belts, with a big day ahead.

Trevor can't wait to dig in to his new book.