Annual Camping Trip in Boston Harbor Islands

I was determined to get the boat upgrades done, and so worked on the wiring 'til the wee hours on Tuesday, spending some of the time scrunched in the cockpit installing wiring for the motor.  As a result, my left shoulder hurt and I got even less sleep than you'd expect, and I didn't begin packing the boat to go until the day of departure.  Every big trip I vow to be packed so as to leave early and well-rested, and every trip I do something like this.  And the lights don't even work!

Beatrice Ann, ready to launch.

We got off from Hingham in the middle of the afternoon, wove our way out the channel (because we could), and, with a fair but light wind, went ashore on Grape Island at 7:30pm.  (We'd have been ashore earlier, but I spent time reeling out anchor rode in an effort to get ashore dry-shod--a maneuver made more difficult with wind and current at an angle to each other.)  Leaving Stephen to keep the boat afloat on a falling tide, I went and found a ranger and got a cart to haul our gear.  At 7:45 I found Stephen with the boat hard aground.  To be fair, the bottom at that point was nearly level, so Stephen would have been hard-pressed to keep her afloat.  Stephen chose site 5--the same as two years ago--and we raced to get all the gear to camp and the tents pitched while we could still see.  We ate our soup in darkness and went to our separate tents for the evening.

Leaving Hingham Yacht Club astern.

We rose about 8am and breakfasted on oatmeal and croissants, coffee and juice.  A leisurely wander found  the boat still (or, rather, again) hard aground, so I relocated the anchor and shortened the rode before we set out by water taxi for Georges Island and its 19th century Fort Warren.

Water taxi leaving Grape.  Our boat is the speck grounded behind the bar in the center distance.

This time I remembered to bring headlamps so we could explore the fort's darker corners to our hearts' content.  Since this was our third year visiting as part of a Harbor Islands camping trip, we didn't feel compelled to see everything, but time in the visitor's center did  remind Stephen of the two Civil War bounty jumpers imprisoned and executed there--shot by a firing squad while standing beside their coffins--which sparked a conversation about capital punishment.  Stephen is generally against it, but had to admit that President Lincoln, also against it, needed to make an example of them.  Stephen is twelve, and feels these issues pretty deeply.

Lovells Island, seen from inside a watchtower in Fort Warren.

Finished with Georges after a modest lunch (that snack bar REALLY needs competition!--we decided to take a different water taxi to Lovells Island.  I was interested to see how its camp sites were arranged and how easy it would be to anchor safely in the event we decided to visit in the future.  This taxi dropped us there before 2pm, and we spent the next hour and a half circumnavigating the island.  We explored ruins and wondered about the tumble of granite blocks that lined the outer beach.  We also got ourselves in a bit of a fix trying to get around a cement foundation that had fallen from the bluff above to block our progress.  In making our way carefully around these enormous chucks of concrete, we found ourselves between tangles of reinforcing iron projecting from the concrete and deeper water than we felt comfortable wading.  Negotiating it without injury, we faced another obstacle: the next water taxi back to George would be too late to catch a ride on the original taxi back to Grape.  When I realized this in studying the schedule, a helpful ranger called the taxi company and got an agreement for the last taxi to drop us at Grape on the way back to their night-time dock in Hingham.  (On that final trip, we discovered we were not alone: three other couples came to Grape with us.)

Captain and crew of water taxi that graciously took us home.

Stephen likes to ride up front.

Back on Grape about 4pm, I was able to get out to the boat--now well afloat on high tide--and fire up the electric motor for a move to a nearer and more convenient anchorage.  Dropping the hook in about 8 feet of water, I calculated that the boat would still have a foot or two of water under her at low, but still be in reach of shore.

Low-grade slate that got my attention on Grape.  (I shouldn't have told Stephen to smile.)

I spent the late afternoon exploring the slaty rock that stands vertically on the western shore, and collect common periwinkle shells for future school use.  We ate a dinner of soup and bread while it was still daylight, then retreated into tents once fully dark.

Stephen loves to read in bed--same as at home.

Morning.  Breakfast is cooking.

Stephen slept late  waking to another leisurely breakfast.  We both explored a bit more, and then began breaking camp about 9:30am for 11am check-out.  The campsite was clean by shortly after 11, and the loading of the boat was fairly smooth owing to better organization than on earlier trips.

"Buzzing" the dock at Grape as we depart.

We had discussed possible activities for our last day, and decided to sail.  Stephen thought he might like to visit Nantasket Beach, while I wanted to sail into Boston proper.  We decided to try both, and set out for northward with a fair but light wind.  Stephen sailed us off the anchor, but was happy to return to his favorite spot on the foredeck once I was back in the cockpit.

Unexpected encounter with a (diesel) side-wheeler under Long Island Bridge.

We sailed gently under the Long Island bridge and into Dorchester Bay, then past Spectacle Island to starboard and seeing the beloved Corita gas tank far away to port.  Once past Spectacle, we were in Boston Harbor proper, sailing past the entrance to the inner harbor, flanked by Castle Island and Logan International Airport, among shipping great and small.  We had taken a long time to get this far; it was long after noon and a long sail home, and going into the inner harbor would have meant tacking out amid shipping large and small--clearly not an option.  So I decided to close the loop by going outside Long Island (President Roads), down the Nubble Channel, and back into Hingham Bay via Hull Gut.  It would give us more bang for the buck, and was only a little longer, I decided, than doubling back.

After a look and photos, we began working upwind in President Roads in light air, dodging first an incoming integrated tug-and-barge, then the general cargo vessel Arctic Blizzard, and later a cruise ship.  The Arctic Blizzard, lightly-loaded and showing much bottom paint and half her bow bulb, made her stately way past us.  Soon after, a smaller motor vessel with "PILOT" emblazoned on the side zoomed to her starboard side, looped around, and then came back.  I wondered whether she was picking up a pilot who had gotten the big ship out of the inner harbor, or was dropping off one who would get her out of Boston entirely.  The big ship remained stationary, and passing her we discovered she was riding from her starboard anchor.   A metal stair wend down her side about halfway to the water, and a rope ladder went the rest of the way: seeming to me a scary climb.  She remained in that position for as long as we could see her.

Fireboat.

Stephen and his sharp eyes spotted the fireboats first: looking like they were ready for a parade someone had forgotten to hold, they came out of the inner harbor with all water guns spraying.  A few minutes later they passed us--water thankfully turned off.  What could the fuss have been all about? 

Norwegian Dawn.

Later, as we approached the end of Deer Island and its spacy-looking sewage treatment plant, a police boat suddenly drew up and told us a cruise ship was coming and we should stay to the Deer Island side of the channel.  After my "ok" sign it jetted away to warn the next boater.  Meanwhile I turned to look.   It's hard to believe I could miss a big cruise ship speeding toward us, but so it was.  Only a few minutes later the Norwegian Dawn steamed past in a blaze of bright colors and incongruous artwork.  Perhaps the fireboats had been a send-off for her.

Passing Fort Warren.

After much light, fluky and sometimes non-existent wind and a foul current, we finally worked past Long Island as the wind shifted again and strengthened a bit.  From then on, my main worry was getting into Hingham before full dark, since the lights didn't work.  We sailed slowly south past Gallops Island and our old friend Georges, and approached Hull Gut just after 6pm.  Hull Gut has some of the strongest tidal current in the area, but I figured to beat the ebb since the moon was first quarter and high tide had only been an hour or so ago.  But entering the Gut I watched our speed drop from 3kt to 2 to 1.5 and finally to 1.2kt.   After a tense few minutes more it was clear we'd made it.

Now we had only to cross Hingham Bay to get to our ramp.  But as we approached the entrance to the harbor the sun set at last and the wind--now mostly foul--began to die away for good and all.   The tide was getting low enough for it to be risky to ignore the channel.  It was time to start the motor. 

We powered along cheerfully for awhile, sails still drawing most of the time, convincing me we were drawing little current.  We followed the coarse laid into the gps for an earlier trip when I thought we might come across Cape Cod Bay into Hingham late at night.  To my dismay, the battery began to give out, our speed dropping visibly until we made barely a knot.  i got out the paddle, but resisted the idea of switching to our other battery, which was under my bunk buried under a small mountain of camping gear.  My gps route wasn't entirely successful either, leading us aground once briefly, then taking us among moored sailboats some distance from the channel, but between gps and my floodlight, we found our way.  Finally, though, at 9:30 we touched the ramp, and the adventure was over.