April School vacation is my traditional start to the sailing season. Since finishing my first boat nine years ago, I don't think I've missed a trip in that week. But this April vacation came with impediments: of course, Easter weekend was out; I was long committed to taking my son and his cousin to a Boy Scout event on the Thursday, and doing a little volunteer work at an Audubon sanctuary on the Saturday; the scheduling of a job interview Wednesday morning seemed to close the window on any extended sailing trip. Besides, I was finishing a sailing rig for a two-man kayak, and thought I should be satisfied with that.
Then I broke out: cancelled the Audubon thing, and decided that, weather permitting, I would leave Fall River Friday for Prudence Island, returning Sunday. Prudence is an island of moderate size--considering the islands of Narragansett Bay--and it has good walking, trails, and a village or two with a modest year-round population. Prudence is nearly in our backyard, sailing-wise; I had neglected a nice destination and not been ashore there since April '06. But I traditionally keep expectations modest in the cold of April, making this island all the more appropriate.
Surprise sailed from the Taunton River at top right to Potter's Cove at middle left.
The middle of the week was a whirlwind of activity getting Surprise--my cold-and-wet-weather-boat--ready for sea. On a lark, I hurriedly stuck my kayak sail on her tail as a mizzen. Then patched the ugliest of the raw wood with epoxy, patched her leaky roof, haphazardly patched the worst of her mainsail, and saw to her gear.
The weather looked increasing tricky: the boat is all cabin with no cockpit, so comfortable in the rain, but she is a challenge to sail in much over 10kt of wind. Foul winds 10-15mph with gusts to 20 were on offer for Sunday, and then also on Saturday.
Fall River to Prudence Island is not a challenging trip under normal circumstances: out the mouth of the Taunton River, down Mount Hope Bay and under the Mt. Hope bridge, swinging south around Hog Island (last year's April destination), and across the East Passage to drop anchor in Potter's Cove, Prudence Island. Total distance about nine nautical miles.
I put the boat in the water late Friday afternoon and hung it off an anchor as I returned the tow-car (my wife's), then delayed departure still further by a bone-headed move that overturned my kayak tender as I was getting in. This meant wet, clothes, wet walking shoes, sloshing rubber boots, and threat of incipient hypothermia if I took too long getting the kayak bailed out, getting aboard Surprise, and shifting into my one change of dry clothes. In the end, I settled into my sleeping bag in the deepening dark, hot stew and toast in hand, hot tea at my elbow, and the weather radio chattering at me--all within a stone's throw of the launch ramp.
I awoke about 4am Saturday to stillness--little breeze, no waves. Feeling rested, I decided to get underway as quickly as possible. I had the idea I could sneak to Prudence in the early hours and miss the high winds threatened for later in the day.
I raised the anchor about 5am and headed out the river mouth with a slight breeze on a close reach and with an ebb current beneath us. The wind died almost completely just out of the mouth, turned frustratingly fluky for the next half-hour or so, and then filled in lightly from behind. I drank coffee and munched my cinnamon rolls and watched the light come by slow degrees in the thick overcast.
As I neared the Mt. Hope bridge at the other end of the bay, it began to rain. I closed up the cabin and enjoyed the sensation--rare in sailboats--of tooling along in the rain in perfect comfort.
The cove is hard to spot from a distance, so I indulged in turning on the gps long enough to check my latitude against the chart. We sailed neatly into the cove--on the same tack practically all the way--dropping anchor shortly before 9am.
I had to open the cabin all the way to furl the mainsail, but by moving briskly managed to keep the cabin from getting very wet. With the rain still steady but the promise of a drier afternoon, I chose to take a nap.
Shortly after noon I was awake, and ashore in my still-damp shoes at 1pm, I began walking, my rumpled hat on my head and a good lunch and foul weather gear in a plastic shopping bag. I expect there are no homeless people on Prudence Island, but I looked the part.
The island is overwhelmingly protected land, I learned by perusing a dockside display belonging to the Narragansett Bay National Estuarine Research Reserve (NBNERR). The NBNERR appears to be what took over when the RI "Bay Island Park System" contemplated in my youth, but existing mainly on paper, was unable to fulfill its promise. When I was about to graduate from URI with my BS in botany, I longed to be one of the two (yes, 2) rangers for the park, but nothing came of it.
Other than a detour on the Pine Hill and Seaside trails, I bent my course for downtown on the more populous east side of the island. I spent my camera batteries chiefly on two themes: first, what plants were springing here, second, how have residents designed their houses--modest and palatial, old and new--to suit their island location.
After walking the length of Narragansett--the main drag and an actual (formerly) paved road--and stopping for coffee and a cookie at the Prudence Island Variety (and Post Office), I found myself at the intersection with Broadway. Broadway is one of the few roads that crosses the island, and has the distinction of hosting Prudence Island School. It was already late afternoon, but I wanted to visit the school and figured I could get back to the boat at twilight without difficulty.
High-tailing it back to Potter Cove and my waiting dinner and bed, I made fewer stops for pictures and arrived back at the dock soon after sunset. In my planning, though, I didn't allow for Adventure. Where I had left the kayak on the beach was now under water. I had badly miscalculated the tidal range--an expensive mistake in more ways than one.
With the gathering dark came ever more-limited options. Finding that the gentle breeze now blowing would have wafted a drifting kayak farther into the cove, I immediately set out around the shoreline. I found nothing to about halfway around, when marshy ground became too much of an obstacle. Now back at the dock in full darkness (I couldn't even see the big boat), I either had to sleep at the dock and wait for daylight, try my luck at finding a local who had a boat in the water, or -- borrow one of the three little rowboats lying beside the dock.
Of the two rowboats that appeared sound, I chose one, and was pleased to find it light in weight and with oars tucked under the thwart seat. I got the hang of the oars after a few minutes and started out with the idea of finding the kayak. I reasoned that it would be easier to tow the rowboat back with the kayak, than rig the big boat to sail and bring it back that way. But out in the dark half-way across the cove I changed my mind: I would only be able to see the kayak if I tripped over it, and the little cove was much bigger in the dark. If fact, I wasn't entirely sure how to find the big boat. I finally struck out in what I hoped was the right direction, and looked for the mast to be silhouetted against the cloudy sky--which needed a distance of less than a hundred yards. Complicating the search--in a rowboat, you cannot easily see where you are going.
After a brief search, though, I got back aboard, rigged the sail, and returned the rowboat to the dock. Then I dropped anchor in the middle of the cove, where I would be able to get under way no matter what wind the morning brought. It was after ten when I closed up the boat, and I hadn't the energy or interest enough to light the stove and make dinner. I settled down to sleep, planning my departure for well after sun-up, so I could see the yellow kayak if it were there.
Up about six I made coffee and surveyed the shoreline. No sign of the kayak. But just after seven I was off on a slow circumnavigation of the Potter's Cove shoreline in the slight breeze. Certain it was not there, I headed out of the cove, hugging the island shore in futility for a little while longer, and then headed for the Mt. Hope bridge visible across the East Passage.
I reflected on the wind the day before. That that brought me into the cove in the morning had been blowing from the north-north-west, and so out of the cove--but not from my landing place, especially with the dock in the way. I could not remember the wind direction when I went on shore, and once off the beach did not notice a breeze at all. I suppose that it could have shifted direction several times in the period after the kayak floated, getting it first away from the dock, and then out of the cove. I did briefly wonder if someone hat taken it, but there was so little traffic that only a tiny handful of people could have come upon it, and the nearby pile that included my expensive inflatable life vest was untouched.
The trip back to Fall River was uneventful, except that shifting and foul winds and a foul current prolonged my trip up Mount Hope Bay and into the river mouth. In tacking up the bay, I encountered the semi-mythical Spar Island: a very low-lying islet found on charts but seldom encountered deliberately. Here, though, is photographic proof of its existence.
The wind got lively enough at times to lay the boat pretty far over, but I have long since become confident in her comfort at high angles of heel. Surprise likes best to be heeled about ten or fifteen degrees on her narrow bottom, which would feel a little uncomfortable in the bigger, broader boat. Threatened showers didn't materialize until the end, and I closed only the front of the cabin against the chill wind. I was glad to have my long johns on. I finally hit the dock after 2pm.
Then I broke out: cancelled the Audubon thing, and decided that, weather permitting, I would leave Fall River Friday for Prudence Island, returning Sunday. Prudence is an island of moderate size--considering the islands of Narragansett Bay--and it has good walking, trails, and a village or two with a modest year-round population. Prudence is nearly in our backyard, sailing-wise; I had neglected a nice destination and not been ashore there since April '06. But I traditionally keep expectations modest in the cold of April, making this island all the more appropriate.
Surprise sailed from the Taunton River at top right to Potter's Cove at middle left. The middle of the week was a whirlwind of activity getting Surprise--my cold-and-wet-weather-boat--ready for sea. On a lark, I hurriedly stuck my kayak sail on her tail as a mizzen. Then patched the ugliest of the raw wood with epoxy, patched her leaky roof, haphazardly patched the worst of her mainsail, and saw to her gear.
The weather looked increasing tricky: the boat is all cabin with no cockpit, so comfortable in the rain, but she is a challenge to sail in much over 10kt of wind. Foul winds 10-15mph with gusts to 20 were on offer for Sunday, and then also on Saturday.
Fall River to Prudence Island is not a challenging trip under normal circumstances: out the mouth of the Taunton River, down Mount Hope Bay and under the Mt. Hope bridge, swinging south around Hog Island (last year's April destination), and across the East Passage to drop anchor in Potter's Cove, Prudence Island. Total distance about nine nautical miles.
I put the boat in the water late Friday afternoon and hung it off an anchor as I returned the tow-car (my wife's), then delayed departure still further by a bone-headed move that overturned my kayak tender as I was getting in. This meant wet, clothes, wet walking shoes, sloshing rubber boots, and threat of incipient hypothermia if I took too long getting the kayak bailed out, getting aboard Surprise, and shifting into my one change of dry clothes. In the end, I settled into my sleeping bag in the deepening dark, hot stew and toast in hand, hot tea at my elbow, and the weather radio chattering at me--all within a stone's throw of the launch ramp.
I awoke about 4am Saturday to stillness--little breeze, no waves. Feeling rested, I decided to get underway as quickly as possible. I had the idea I could sneak to Prudence in the early hours and miss the high winds threatened for later in the day.
I raised the anchor about 5am and headed out the river mouth with a slight breeze on a close reach and with an ebb current beneath us. The wind died almost completely just out of the mouth, turned frustratingly fluky for the next half-hour or so, and then filled in lightly from behind. I drank coffee and munched my cinnamon rolls and watched the light come by slow degrees in the thick overcast.
Near dawn: clouds in the middle look like a net.
Mount Hope Bridge ahead in the distance marks the end of Mount Hope Bay.
Behind us, the power plant and, just visible on the right, the Braga Bridge over the Taunton.
We passed under the Mt. Hope Bridge connecting Bristol to Portsmouth around 8am.
Light marks a shoal south of Hog Island that is hazardous to bigger ships--but not us.
Hog Island was the site of last year's April adventure, and adventures of my youth.
As I neared the Mt. Hope bridge at the other end of the bay, it began to rain. I closed up the cabin and enjoyed the sensation--rare in sailboats--of tooling along in the rain in perfect comfort.
The cove is hard to spot from a distance, so I indulged in turning on the gps long enough to check my latitude against the chart. We sailed neatly into the cove--on the same tack practically all the way--dropping anchor shortly before 9am.
I had to open the cabin all the way to furl the mainsail, but by moving briskly managed to keep the cabin from getting very wet. With the rain still steady but the promise of a drier afternoon, I chose to take a nap.
Shortly after noon I was awake, and ashore in my still-damp shoes at 1pm, I began walking, my rumpled hat on my head and a good lunch and foul weather gear in a plastic shopping bag. I expect there are no homeless people on Prudence Island, but I looked the part.
I found NBNERR sign at the dock fairly educational.
The island is overwhelmingly protected land, I learned by perusing a dockside display belonging to the Narragansett Bay National Estuarine Research Reserve (NBNERR). The NBNERR appears to be what took over when the RI "Bay Island Park System" contemplated in my youth, but existing mainly on paper, was unable to fulfill its promise. When I was about to graduate from URI with my BS in botany, I longed to be one of the two (yes, 2) rangers for the park, but nothing came of it.
Black cherry is leafing out, just like at home.
Pine Hill has no discernible pines, only a scattering of juniper. The top is bare of all
but tufts of beardgrass (Andropogon scoparius) and a lichen called reindeer moss.
Panoramic view of the western side of the island from the top of Pine Hill.
Grass (red-top?) dominates most of the open areas that are not already overrun--
--with bullbriar. Bullbriar is native, but it is clearly invasive here,
growing often in stands so dense that only established trees can coexist with it.
Bullbriar is only one problem; the island also struggles (as many places do)
with invasive Phragmites reed.
Salt marsh nearly cuts the island in two in two places; this one is called Jenny Pond.
Beach plants leafing out include seaside rose,
beach pea,
dusty miller,
some kind of sorrel (Oxalis),
and two plants I don't recognize. (Any help, here?)
I would have continued farther on the beach,
but the inlet to the marsh was too wide to get across dry-shod.
Other than a detour on the Pine Hill and Seaside trails, I bent my course for downtown on the more populous east side of the island. I spent my camera batteries chiefly on two themes: first, what plants were springing here, second, how have residents designed their houses--modest and palatial, old and new--to suit their island location.
The second marsh, called Nag Pond, had an osprey platform with a busy pair,
but they were skittish when I was near.
but they were skittish when I was near.
The egret below flew by while I was watching them.
Big marsh of Nag Pond--the second that cuts the island.
Skunk cabbage, I think. What similar broad-leaved herb grow so happily in standing water?
Houses range from the old and modest to the new and palatial.
At the north end of town is a homey, place with a great view.
I'd be very comfortable here! Even hanging out the wash would be a pleasure.
Many houses feature enormous decks--
--or gigantic porches.
Along much of the main road, houses are on the landward side, and people build steps down to the beach across from them. (I'm guessing Narragansett Rd. sees all-new asphalt maybe once in a decade.)
The home of the Owen family is an entire compound that appears to have been added to over time.
Bridges connect neighboring houses. The garage once had a driveway, but no longer.
I'm guessing that the variety of earth-moving and construction equipment
in the front yard are the key to the money that built this house.
Some residents enjoy their property more than others.
Those who don't can always buy a condo--complete with patio and dock.
Peculiarities of small island life include the PI Volunteer Fire Department,
the PI Variety (& Post Office), and the PI Homestead Improvement Association and Library
(not to be confused with the older PI Improvement Assoc.)
Of the new houses, this is the one I liked: there's something homey about it.
If I had money, I might build something very modest, like this.
After walking the length of Narragansett--the main drag and an actual (formerly) paved road--and stopping for coffee and a cookie at the Prudence Island Variety (and Post Office), I found myself at the intersection with Broadway. Broadway is one of the few roads that crosses the island, and has the distinction of hosting Prudence Island School. It was already late afternoon, but I wanted to visit the school and figured I could get back to the boat at twilight without difficulty.
Broadway is a dirt road that is mostly wooded...
with nice trails...
but also boasts a keeper of bees and blueberries...
And the island's century-old school...
until about six years ago part of the Portsmouth School District (closed when it was down to two students), but now I think some sort of home school.
I could enjoy the sunset, not knowing I would have no way back to the boat.
With the gathering dark came ever more-limited options. Finding that the gentle breeze now blowing would have wafted a drifting kayak farther into the cove, I immediately set out around the shoreline. I found nothing to about halfway around, when marshy ground became too much of an obstacle. Now back at the dock in full darkness (I couldn't even see the big boat), I either had to sleep at the dock and wait for daylight, try my luck at finding a local who had a boat in the water, or -- borrow one of the three little rowboats lying beside the dock.
Of the two rowboats that appeared sound, I chose one, and was pleased to find it light in weight and with oars tucked under the thwart seat. I got the hang of the oars after a few minutes and started out with the idea of finding the kayak. I reasoned that it would be easier to tow the rowboat back with the kayak, than rig the big boat to sail and bring it back that way. But out in the dark half-way across the cove I changed my mind: I would only be able to see the kayak if I tripped over it, and the little cove was much bigger in the dark. If fact, I wasn't entirely sure how to find the big boat. I finally struck out in what I hoped was the right direction, and looked for the mast to be silhouetted against the cloudy sky--which needed a distance of less than a hundred yards. Complicating the search--in a rowboat, you cannot easily see where you are going.
After a brief search, though, I got back aboard, rigged the sail, and returned the rowboat to the dock. Then I dropped anchor in the middle of the cove, where I would be able to get under way no matter what wind the morning brought. It was after ten when I closed up the boat, and I hadn't the energy or interest enough to light the stove and make dinner. I settled down to sleep, planning my departure for well after sun-up, so I could see the yellow kayak if it were there.
Up about six I made coffee and surveyed the shoreline. No sign of the kayak. But just after seven I was off on a slow circumnavigation of the Potter's Cove shoreline in the slight breeze. Certain it was not there, I headed out of the cove, hugging the island shore in futility for a little while longer, and then headed for the Mt. Hope bridge visible across the East Passage.
Panorama of the outer part of Potter's Cove early the morning of departure.
I reflected on the wind the day before. That that brought me into the cove in the morning had been blowing from the north-north-west, and so out of the cove--but not from my landing place, especially with the dock in the way. I could not remember the wind direction when I went on shore, and once off the beach did not notice a breeze at all. I suppose that it could have shifted direction several times in the period after the kayak floated, getting it first away from the dock, and then out of the cove. I did briefly wonder if someone hat taken it, but there was so little traffic that only a tiny handful of people could have come upon it, and the nearby pile that included my expensive inflatable life vest was untouched.
When winds are light and conditions comfortable, I like to sail sitting on the aft deck.
When it's cooler or windier I sit inside, making the boat more stable.
The front "door" in its place, and the foreward slot cover on, keeps wind and spray at bay.
Passing by the southeast corner of Hog Island--easier to distinguish in the video below.
The trip back to Fall River was uneventful, except that shifting and foul winds and a foul current prolonged my trip up Mount Hope Bay and into the river mouth. In tacking up the bay, I encountered the semi-mythical Spar Island: a very low-lying islet found on charts but seldom encountered deliberately. Here, though, is photographic proof of its existence.
Spar Island is just visible as a low sandbank in the middle distance.
The wind got lively enough at times to lay the boat pretty far over, but I have long since become confident in her comfort at high angles of heel. Surprise likes best to be heeled about ten or fifteen degrees on her narrow bottom, which would feel a little uncomfortable in the bigger, broader boat. Threatened showers didn't materialize until the end, and I closed only the front of the cabin against the chill wind. I was glad to have my long johns on. I finally hit the dock after 2pm.
