Michals-Brown Adventures: Massachusetts Bay, Day One

I've sailed all over Narragansett Bay, RI and the south coast of Massachusetts, Buzzards Bay and the islands of Block Island, Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. Two years ago I sailed with my middle son four days around the outside of Cape Cod from New Bedford to Provincetown. (The Cape Cod Canal is not an option for a boat without a decent motor.) Years ago I crossed Cape Cod Bay with my two younger sons from Plymouth to Provincetown and back. In an annual tradition, my youngest son and I sail out of Hingham into Boston Harbor and camp a few days on one of the Boston Harbor Islands.

I seldom day-sail, but prefer to be out long enough to get somewhere. Trips generally last two or three days, but sometimes run four or five. Though I sometimes sail to familiar places, I always make time for exploration.

Having decided years ago that my explorations should have some sort of system, and that a sensible system would be to cover territory in a connected way, the east coast of the state was calling to me. I would start in Plymouth, connecting to earlier voyages, and sail "down east," first to Scituate then loop in and out of Boston Harbor, on to Marblehead and finally end in Gloucester. Each of these places has a lot of history, and each would make a good place to go ashore. I originally thought to go all the way to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, but to do that in the four or five days contemplated would be more endurance event than fun, and might tempt me to sail in marginal conditions to stay on schedule. Distance would be maximized by going one way, rather than returning to my starting point: the summer winds would be abaft the beam nearly all the way, and I wouldn't have the long slog to-weather that the return would need.

I post-poned the trip from last week due to high winds. (Seeing big inland trees sway was even more convincing than NOAA forecast). The delay actually brought the tides more favorable, gave more time for relaxed preparation, and got the July Fourth holiday out of the way. We made use of another weather delay last Monday to check the routes to Plymouth and Gloucester ramps. (This turned out to be a Very Good Thing, as the Plymouth ramp was hidden from all but locals, and Google Maps didn't know about the special entrance to the Gloucester ramp, which my wife would have to navigate with trailer and solo.)

We got off on Tuesday morning, pushing off at about 11am and leaving Plymouth Harbor early in the ebb for Scituate--a relatively easy day's sail away. The only events of note were a visit from the Harbor Master, who was looking for boaters wanting safety inspections (we passed with flying colors), followed in short order by a put-down by his assistant, who complained of my not being in control of my boat, since I was drifting backwards in the mooring field (hove-to, mind you) as I fixed an unforeseen problem with the main sheet. (Can an ego get whiplash?) I didn't point out that I planned to sail through his mooring field anyway.

That same harbor master's assistant informed me that there was an SCA (small craft advisory) for today also ("don't go to far!"); I considered anchoring and reefing the sails, but decided against it: I would need windward ability to get into Scituate Harbor, and my sails reef rather sloppily. Reducing sail by moving masts and sailing under mizzen alone would be better, but moving masts is best done on the trailer, or at least anchored in flat water. As it turned out, seas were quite calm and winds never got dangerously strong, though it did take some care with boat handling to keep her on her feet at times.

We came into Scituate Harbor shortly after 2pm, toured the harbor looking for a likely spot to anchor out of the way (I like the informal, semi-illegal approach to getting ashore) and chose a spot free of both boats and houses to anchor. We dropped anchor in just a few feet of water--wading depth--fully intending to ground and dry out on the falling tide--again, insuring we would not be infringing anyone's boating real estate. We had sailed twenty nautical miles that day, in pretty brisk winds.

While I got the boat ship-shape and brought the kayak ashore (to make sure we could always get back aboard without swimming), Stephen explored, looking for a road. He didn't find one. Together we went farther afield, rounding the shore into the inner harbor, crossing a salt marsh, wading deep tidal muck, and finally getting onto asphalt next to a marina. We enjoyed the views and houses, walked downtown, wandered about for awhile, and had some ice cream. The Front Street Bookstore was closed, but got my attention with its display of local books. A look across the harbor showed our boat farther from shore than seemed reasonable, and we quickened our pace back.

Going back we decided to try a short cut: we would find the part of the road that came closest to our boat, then strike out across some part of the landscape that would keep us out of people's backyards as much as possible. The place decided upon did, in fact, begin in someone's back yard, but we made ourselves as inconspicuous as possible, strode quickly across a field, then through goldenrods, tall reeds, and finally a patch of trees (much farther than we'd imagined), until we could see our boat nearby--across a tall, healthy stand of poison ivy. A rash on my wrist just healing put the exclamation point on it. I turned to Stephen: "we have to go back," I said, "all the way back." We did, and then decided to bite the bullet and try to beg access to the beach from nearest homeowner. That nearest house, which we'd imagined a mansion, turned out to be part of the Stellwagen Bank Marine Sanctuary headquarters, and was practically deserted. A short walk brought us to the boat.

Getting back to the boat required the kayak--which I'd fortunately brought ashore. I lifted the anchor, paddled the big boat in to the beach, and we anchored again very close to shore, and right behind a big rock that we could use as a reference point to make sure we weren't dragging this time.

We had an early dinner of fruit--not very hungry. Then we turned in with our books and reading lights, me trying to work out whether we could spare enough time to go ashore again in the morning: we'd spotted things worth investigating. I did the math, and decided we could spare a couple of hours in the early morning.

Aground the next morning, we ate our breakfast and headed into town, just ahead of the tide that would lift the boat and make possible our departure. We walked the Harbor Walk, looked at boats, inquired of the Harbor Master how much they charged for ice--before discovering my wallet was still on the boat; we wished (okay, I wished) the Front Street Bookstore would open an hour early ( I LOVE bookstores!; and wandered back to our beach, unaccountably a little uneasy for our boat.

Approaching the beach, we watched our boat being towed away by a skiff. I ran, waved, yelled, waded toward her, to discover the skiff said "harbormaster," and its crew gave me to understand our boat had been reported aground, and presumed blown off a mooring. I related the facts in my best bullhorn voice. They pointed out that there was no anchoring allowed in the harbor (barbarians, they), but admitted that the anchor laid along should have told them the boat had not come from a mooring. They gave the boat a nice shove, and I recovered it and anchored once more.

We listened to yet another forecast of SCA, and decided to move the masts at anchor. Then we weighed and left the harbor under mizzen alone at about 10am, bound for Boston Harbor and points north.