Two days and nights in Buzzards Bay

After a few years of treating Buzzards Bay as a road to Woods Hole and points beyond, I've finally toured the Bay itself.  Trevor and I launched in New Bedford Harbor early in the evening of June 26 with light winds and a beautiful sky.  We rode an ebb tide and fair wind down the Acushnet River and hooked east around West Island in the failing light; as fog closed in we sought a place in the shelter of the island with the help of gps.  We anchored inshore of Whale Rock about 9pm, ate a quick dinner of stew, chowder and cookies, and settled in for a quiet night.

The gps track goes counter-clockwise around the Bay.  It is a rough track: not fine-grained enough to show shorter tacks.  The red line I added is 5 nautical miles.

A panoramic view of our anchorage in a little bight on the east side of West Island.

The morning was beautiful, though the midges were biting.  We had coffee, scones, and granola as the terns around us dove for their own breakfast.  I rowed us ashore to walk a beautiful and unpeopled salt marsh, where a nesting mother flew at me, angrily calling bdip! bdip! bdip!  We were underway again by 10:30, sailing southeast 5nm across the Bay for Quissett Harbor, where we'd stayed overnight several years ago.

The terns are a blur here, or too small to show up easily.  They dive obliquely with a great splash, then struggle to get airborne once more, then repeat.

Beatrice Ann on the beach. 

The salt marsh.

Momma bird on her lookout rock, just right of center.

Whale Rock, which we saw in the fog last night.

 From Penzance beside Woods Hole, we sailed sedately north along the Bay's eastern shore, passing Quissett, and Great Sippewisset Marsh and its wind turbines, and putting our nose into Wild and Megansett Harbors.  All the while I relaxed at the tiller with the chart book in my lap and my cruising guide in my hands, reading about each place, while Trevor took his nose out of his book long enough to take the air on the foredeck.

Penzance

Stone Point dike and the entrance channel to the Cape Cod Canal.

Soon after 4pm we passed the "traffic light" for the Cape Cod Canal on Wings Neck--and it WAS a traffic light, apparently appropriated from some street intersection somewhere.  Soon we were passing the end of Stony Point dike, which marks the entrance channel to the canal.  It suddenly occurred to me that we could make Sippican Harbor  that evening --a destination I'd been looking at since last season--if we were quick.  After an afternoon of broad reaching and running, we turned hard on the wind, and cleared Butler Point by sailing over the shoal inside lonely Bird Island, opening Sippican Harbor at 5:30pm. 

Bird Island looks too exposed and frail to exist.

Marion's harbor is long and lovely and chock-a-block with moorings.  The harbormaster's office, (scoped out by land long ago) is a small room raised above a veranda near the top of the harbor--but was hard to spot amid the clutter.  We dropped the hook a mile away in a marginally protected spot off Ram Island (after an abortive attempt to close to some sort of shellfish farm around the corner).  With so much daylight left, I sprawled out in the cockpit with a book, while Trevor polished off his in the cabin.  We ate our stew and bread and turned in relatively early.

Ram Island

Next morning, I recovered from a sleepless night (back pain) well enough for a cheerful paddle to the town dock, where we abandoned the inflatable for a walking tour of downtown Marion.  We spent a long time in The Stall, where I perused the nautical section, Trevor added to his Fablehaven books, and we utterly failed to find a book on the famous and mysterious Mary Celeste incident.  On a bench in front of the Historical Society (alas, closed) we ate a lunch of sandwiches from the General Store, then followed it up with ice cream from the shop around the corner.

Lunch stop.

Trevor eats ice cream in the shade.

Back aboard in the early afternoon, I got the anchor aboard and stowed while Trevor sailed us out.  Without actually planning it, he ended up sailing the whole way home, working us to windward of points and shoals, taking us up the river, and sailing through the hurricane barrier back into New Bedford harbor.  I mostly lounged about the cabin, looked at the chart to plot strategy, and napped a bit.  Trevor was quite pleased with himself.  Fog came and went as the day wore on, and even the hurricane barrier was invisible from more than a hundred feet away--giving us quite a start when it loomed suddenly up.  We landed before 8pm and tucked-in to a late supper at home shortly after 9pm.

Trevor practices with the inflatable as I begin to rig for sail.

Trevor has the helm for six hours straight.

Trevor, the chart shows the daymark at the eastern end of a rocky shoal--let's keep it to starboard.



Dots, Connected

I've now connected the last remaining unconnected dots in Narragansett Bay, I think.  As I built my first boat, ambition grew in me to to sail, over time, as much coastline as possible.  Over the succeeding seven seasons I've covered all of Narragansett Bay from ramps in Oakland Beach, Fall River, Narragansett, Bristol, Tiverton, Newport and Little Compton.  I have sailed around Prudence and Patience Islands, around Conanicut Island (Jamestown) and Aquidneck Island (the original "Rhode Island").  I've been up the Providence River as far as the hurricane barrier and then a few miles up the Seekonk River as well.  I've been up the Taunton River (or drifted down it) pretty much as far as it is navigable.  I've been up and down both East and West Passages and been all over the Sakonnet "River."  I've spent time sailing Point Judith Pond.  Finally, I've used the Bay as jumping-off point to sail to Block Island (from Narragansett) and New Bedford (from Sakonnet Harbor, Little Compton).  Taken together, my tracks have interlaced into such a webwork that--tracing with a finger--you could go from anywhere in the Bay directly to anywhere else without picking up your finger from the chart. 

-except one small but nagging gap: Although I have sailed up and down the Sakonnet "River" many times, I had never been to Sakonnet Harbor (my launch pad for excursions to New Bedford and Newport) from anywhere else.  These are the dots now connected: a rainy day's sailing from Fogland, Tiverton to Sakonnet Harbor, Little Compton, six nautical miles away.

Of course, you could argue that one trip up and down would "cover" Narragansett Bay, but for me the shoreline includes every navigable cove and river--which for a 20-foot sailboat that draws less than a foot of water, covers a lot of ground.  Even more if you're careful with tides. 

Moreover, it is the shoreline that makes sailing a shoal-draft boat worthwhile: there is an endless variety to be found along open shores, little coves, and peaceful rivers that is not to be found in open water, and is only hinted at in views from the deck of a deep water boat.

I made the day trip that connected these last dots on a rainy May 17th with rare northerly winds, delighting in the idea that Surprise would get a workout in the conditions I built her for: those that involve keeping me comfortably enclosed.  The forecast was for showers, and in preparation I had made a little cover for the one remaining hole in the boat's slot cover: the 3 1/2-inch square hole for the mast.  Although Surprise will keep her crew dry once aboard and underway, I expected rain on the road down, and wondered how I could load and rig in rain, not to mention get underway and anchor in the rain.

It turned out to be dry all the way to Fogland, dry while I heaved the boat off with the tide just a few inches too low for the trailer, and dry while I rigged.  Beginning after noon, I had a glorious fast sail (5+ knots almost the whole way, with excursions into the 6s and once touching 7) south to Sakonnet Harbor.  In fact, so fixated was I on the imposing Sakonnet Light that I missed the little harbor entrance and had to back-track a quarter-mile from the toothy shoal the light marked. All this in dry weather.  Darn!

It took me a good long while to get the boat comfortably anchored since I wanted to be able to step ashore dryshod in rubber boots but didn't want the boat pounded on the shingle by the waves.  (Sakonnet Harbor is well-protected from any wind except the rare northerly that sped me south that day.)  But I finally went ashore with my thermos of coffee and a nice (if somewhat squashy) sandwich from Provender, a lovely dessert-and-sandwich place in Tiverton.

I had no sooner sat down on the rocks with a beautiful view of the Light, when the sky opened up.  I stuffed the last of my sodden sandwich into my mouth as water streamed off the waxed paper in my lap, then high-tailed it for the beach and my dry cabin.  Back aboard, I was grateful for the foresight that led me to button-up tight before going ashore.  As I sat and ate my dessert and finished my coffee, I reflected that a dry boat isn't nearly as comfortable when you're clothes are damp.  I considered the need to remove the covers that were keeping the rain out in order that I might make sail and get the anchor up, and wondered how much wetter I (more importantly the boat) would get in the process.  But the rain stopped long enough for me to get underway and well out of the harbor, only coming down with a satisfying patter on the roof and dimpling of the sea when we were well underway about 4pm.

The trip back north was much slower than the one down since it was "uphill" in rising wind and seas.  I kept full sail up and the boat made best speed heeled so her chine (rather than the flat bottom) was presented to the waves.  Even so, the pram bow makes it difficult to keep way on in a tack, and I had several times to wear around (jibe) to come about.  One of those times I laid the boat right down in the water--starboard windows submerged.  This isn't nearly traumatic as you might suppose, and I've had to get used to it.  I anticipated this particular problem, what with the wind and waves and lack of my usual crew for ballast, and when the windows went under (accompanied by the sound of all my gear shifting and crashing), I released the sheet and scooted as close to the bottom as I could.  After a long 5 or 10 seconds we were back upright and quickly under way on the new tack.  Surprise's pram shape dislikes chop--especially tacking through it--but moved briskly in the smooth water sheltered by various spits.  Surprise hit the ramp at about 7:30pm, the rain holding off once more while I got the boat packed up on the trailer, ending a modestly successful excursion.

By George, I Think I've Got It!

Fussing and fiddling had finally gotten me my OWN design:

• 13 1/2 feet long,
• with 13-inch-high sides for adequate freeboard heavily loaded,
• 26 inches wide at the bottom of the center frame (for a modicum of stability)
• 33 inches wide at  the top of center frame (for modest rocker and not too wide to paddle easily),
• double-ended to be paddle either way and so as not to drag much with ends immersed,
• with exterior chine logs to fasten bottom to,
• inwales to stiffen the sides without adding width,
• canoe-style seats (in addition to the center frame) to help the hull hold its shape

(Exterior chine logs are not only easier to make, but might also help the boat keep from sliding sideways in a breeze.)  Two people can paddle it comfortably.  If someone goes solo, reverse the boat so you're on the forward seat facing aft (the usual "stern" being the new "bow") for better one-person balance.  (Not an idea original to me, by the way.)

I started measuring the sides on ply this morning and came to an abrupt halt: this boat is so close to being a two sheeter!  If I continued, once I cut the 13" sides from the long edges, the resulting <22" wide center is a few inches too narrow to cut the bottom from--the more so because exterior chine logs add 1 1/2 inches to the width of the bottom.  At the same time I sat Stephen on the deck and measured up his side: even one-foot-high sides would make it difficult for him to paddle.  (Granted he wouldn't usually be sitting flat on the bottom, but either on canoe-style seats or cushions.)

The plywood layout plan implied by my original design.  Look at all the wasted wood!

So: reduce the sides to 12 inches.  Still too little left for the bottom--even if I narrowed the center frame to 24", since the ply thickness and chine width must be taken into account. 

Ah--but cutting out the sides leaves three feet or more untouched at one end of one sheet: can I work out a way to get enough of the widest part of the bottom to fit in that few feet?  Lots of drawing, and figuring, and measuring of models later, I have a plan:  keep the bottom of the center frame at 26", making total width of bottom 28" at the middle (assuming 1/4" thick ply and 3/4" wide chine logs).  Take advantage of the stems' rake of 45 degrees (1' in from ends).  Work out how the big end of one ply sheet and the small end of other piece are combined: 4 1/2' total from edges to bottom of stem cuts.  Divide this half, making center of bottom be 15" in from edge of bigger remains piece.  Now turn to the balsa model and figure out how many inches the bottom would narrow in the 27" from middle of bottom to where the bottom would be constricted by cutting the sides.  Leave a teensy bit of slack for the saw kerf and a wandering cut.

Drawing: the overall rectangle is two sheets of plywood laid end-to-end. The sides are cut from the top and bottom edges of the ply, and the two parts of the bottom are cut from the middle beginning at the outside edges.  the leftover bit in the middle of the two ply sheets could form modest decks at the ends, with advantage advantage taken of the wedge-shaped cutouts for aesthetic affect.  The top shows the finished boat in profile and end-on.

DONE--26" full width of bottom would narrow to about 22" at 2' from the middle.  That's a little short of constriction (at 27") and still leaves a bit for errors or a more gradually-narrowing bottom!  The remaining pieces of ply would amount to 3', which (after removing 4" in the middle for a bottom butt strap) could become fore and aft decks of 12" and about 20" on centerline, but much longer on the sides because of the taper of the bottom at the ends.  Little coamings following this inside curve could make this boat look rather pretty!  There should be enough left for side butt straps, and maybe seats!  One final structural test: lining up the joints and framing, the sides are butted together over 1' forward of the center frame, and the bottom is butted together about 2-3 inches forward of the center frame, so no joints align to make a weakness that extends through the entire hull.

Boat Design for Dummies

(No, not the book, if there is one.)

I have been invited by a kind pastor to run a summer program for upper elementary kids at her church.  Since I have pretty much free rein, I have decided to make it "the Boat Science Experience": we will investigate floating and sinking, buoyancy, stability and the like, building and testing paper models along the way, and finishing with the building of a real paddling boat (maybe even more than one).  To this end, I have been investigating designs for boats that would hold two kids or one kid and one adult, be a good enough performer not to be frustrating, and be simple and cheap to build.  A Michael Storer (Aussie) design called the Quick Canoe 150 seemed to fit the bill, and I bought a set of plans.  The plans--all metric--require a good deal of meticulous measuring and drawing of curves, which might be good practice for using metric units and doing careful work.  Or not, with kids this age.

Then I started asking around on-line for advice on building boats with kids and got a lot of good responses--some of it related to the ins and outs of doing this kind of class (keep it SIMPLE), some of it related to the choice of designs.  I was impressed by the simplicity of the designs suggested: some are made of two perfectly straight-cut sides attached to a trapezoidal center frame and bend around to form the ends of the canoe/kayak.  Though the wood is straight, the boat develops lovely curves because the sides are held at an slight angle (called "flare").  This makes the boat wider at the top than at the bottom (as most boats are) so that the ends curve gently upward both at bottom and sheer (top edge).  (The fore-and-aft curve of the bottom is called "rocker.")  The ends of the sides are cut at an angle to accommodate this flare and giving the boat more or less pointy ends as the designer wishes.  The greater the flare, the more the ends would curve upward--that is, the more the rocker and curve of the sheer.  Gunwales, sometimes inwales, and one internal frame and maybe seats give the hull enough stiffness to hold its shape.  The bottom could be experimented with to establish a shape and measurements for pre-cutting, or simply cut to fit the sides.  The designers of these "straight cuts" boats--all amateurs--could alter beam and length independently or scale the whole hull up or down as desired without altering the drawings that much.

This was a revelation.  Here were nice-looking hulls very simply drawn and built.  You could play with such designs easily with pencil, ruler, cardboard and scissors.

Top ("plan") view: from the right, the first two boats are  the published designs Wacky Lassie and Lazy Weekend Canoe, the others are my modifications.  Actual lengths are about 13 feet for most.

Except for Wacky Lassie, all the designs have a similar amount of "flare" (angle of sides from the vertical)--

--which gives them a similar "rocker" and sheer line (curve of bottom and gunwale)

Now-- I have always been of the opinion that boat design was for pros and really experienced amateurs.  I would never trust my money and time to a design of my own--I would want to be sure the thing would GO once I had spent all that money for materials and put in the months of labor.  But for a simple boat like this, I'm beginning to change my mind.  You see, the designs I've looked at aren't quite what I want: good capacity but not too much length, wide enough at the chine (bottom edge) not to be too tiddly but narrow enough at the sheer for a child to use a double paddle, and light enough for a couple of pre-teens to handle and car-top.  Hmmm...

What kinds of trips?

While my grad course work and other aspects of life keep me ashore, my mind turns to wondering how I would characterize my trips.

At least half of my trips are adventures: either going to new places, sailing in difficult conditions, pushing the envelope a bit in a new boat, or trying to achieve something I haven't done before.  The rest are a mixture: returning to favorite places like Fogland in the Sakonnet River, or Martha's Vineyard or Cuttyhunk; trips with the boys in mind, like the trip up the Cole River with Trevor a few years ago or the camping trip among the Boston Harbor islands with Stephen last year.  A few have been event-related, like the trip in Boston Harbor two years ago to watch the Tall Ships come into port.  Then there are the few that are more about relaxation than about going places--the shortest of these (sailing distance-wise) was my two days anchored in Newport Harbor, there only to sight-see.

My adventure trips are often related to covering ground.  I decided when I was first dreaming about the new boat-to-be that I would sail all the coast of this area.  After 5 seasons of sailing, I've met that goal for nearly all of Narragansett Bay and its islands, nearly the entire lengths of the Providence River and Taunton River (in various drifting and paddling boats as well as sailing), the "Southeast Corner" and sailed parts of the south coast of Massachusetts, Boston Harbor, and Cape Cod Bay.

My most memorable of this sort so far were the very first overnight with the two boys around Prudence Island in '05; from Narragansett to Block Island with the boys (while hurricane Beryl was heading up the coast) and a solo trip from Oakland Beach all the way out around the end of Jamestown and back in '06; the spring trip with Aron and Stephen from Fall River past Fogland in the Sakkonet River, a trip across Cape Cod Bay from Plymouth to Provincetown (our longest so far at 4 nights), an overnight in Lake Pepin with Bea and the two boys on a trailering trip to the midwest, all in '07; '08 trips from Warwick to Fall River, a trip around Aquidneck from Sakkonet Harbor with Stephen, from New Bedford to Martha's Vineyard with Trevor, and a solo from New Bedford to Westport, where Bea and the boys met me for dinner; our '09 trip out of Hingham for the first time to see Tall Ships, our adventure from New Bedford to Nantucket and the near-loss of the Beatrice Ann when she dragged anchor; our '10 trip in Surprise up the Providence & Seekonk Rivers, my solo to from New Bedford to Hyannis, with Stephen from Hingham to Georges Island and camping on Grape I., and now my solos in the Taunton River in December in Surprise, and this year's March float trip in Bebe.

Here are some adventures I'd like to do some time in the future, in no particular order.

1. Sail from New Bedford, through the Cape Cod Canal, into Cape Cod Bay and tour the inside of the Cape. This won't be possible until I have a real motor: the Coast Guard does not suffer passage of boats that can't reliably maintain 6kt all the way.

2. More adventurous than the above: sail from New Bedford across Buzzards Bay through Woods Hole and along the south coast of Mass, around the outside of the Cape and then across Cape Cod Bay to Boston (maybe via Plymouth).  That would be about six days of sailing, most of those days long.

3. Explore Boston Harbor and the coast of Massachusetts Bay

4. Sail from lower Narragansett Bay westward along the Connecticut coast to Mystic: a visit to Old Mystic Seaport was one of the inspirations for my return to sailing.

5. Sail west from Narragansett Bay to Long Island, NY--possibly via Block Island.

6. A kayak camping trip along some of the Indian river trails of eastern Mass.

Earliest Ever Trip with Boys

Having already adventured alone between snow-covered river banks, it was time to plan an adventure for all three of us.  I wanted to take advantage of Surprise's peculiar capabilities as a fully-enclosed boat, and that meant working within her limitation as a boat suitable for more protected waters.  I chose a two-night trip in upper Narragansett Bay.  Life interfered, the trip was off, and the chosen day was all but over when I suddenly decided we could get awy with going out just overnight.  With all that had to be done, we didn't  push off from Oakland Beach ramp until almost 1am. 

Our planned anchorage off beautiful Goddard Park was only a couple of miles away, but winds were almost vanishingly light and on the nose.  To make matters worse, the leeboard wouldn't go all the way down--difficult to fix when your children have collapsed in a sleepy heap between you and the uphaul that might be jammed.  I finally woke the boys and dropped the hook in about 8 feet of water in the lee of the park.  Trevor did his usual good job of readying the beds while I fired up the stove to prepare hot water bottles that would warm our sleeping bags.  We finally closed up the boat and snuggled into our beds at about 4am. 

I got up only when I couldn't figure out how to keep the sun out of my eyes without suffocating in my sleeping bag.  It was after 9:30.  For once, Stephen wasn't up with the sun, casting about for something to eat or do and generally being an unwelcome distraction from sleep.  I got water heating for coffee and oatmeal, and the boys ate a lazy breakfast in bed.  While I lounged with my coffee cup, Trevor read his book The Birchbark House and Stephen pronounced himself pleased with his new bunk and our little adventure and then snuggled back into his sleeping bag.

We finally got the cabin squared away (by the expedient of stuffing all bedding into the forepeak) and got the boat rigged and anchor up some time after noon.  We sailed around Sally Rocks and beached the boat at the park at dead high tide.  I sent the boys off to explore while I returned to the boat to figure out how to keep her from grounding on the falling tide in our absence.  An anchor on the beach and another in a foot or two of water managed to keep her in shallow enough water that I could keep my feet dry in my rubber boots but still be assured that Surprise would still be afloat after a little walk.  Goddard Park is a beautiful place and worth a drive down.  It has lovely paths still trodden by horses--we saw several from the water afterwards.

We only stayed an hour or so at the park, since I was determined to try to get to the head of nearby Greenwich Cove--a place I'd never sailed to despite all my past sailing in that area.  It promised access to a good eatery we might patronize for lunch.  Back aboard and under sail once more, we headed around the point and into the teeth of a strengthing wind.  We fought our way nearly to the end of the cove, getting knocked down once along the way.  (When the starboard windows were all but submerged for a moment, Stephen decided he WANTED TO GO HOME--but he soon got over it, mostly.  Trevor and I, who had seen Surprise neatly recover from worse, were more relaxed.)  I disappointed Trevor, who had been looking forward to lunch in a restaurant, by deciding I did not want to anchor the boat here is such strong and fluky winds.  Instead we headed out of the cove and started for our ramp. 

We were in more open water by 3:15 and found that the wind had whipped up some real chop in the shallow waters.   We put the front door into place, but found that a little spray still made it over the top.  As I fought the tiller and the boat's tendency to round up, I began to wish I had reefed; it was too late for that now.  Fortunately the boat steadied and her motion eased when I turned downwind for our destination.  We hit the ramp soon after 4:30 and managed to get the boat onto the trailer and the car off the ramp before the tide dropped too far.  On the ride home, we finally had leisure to munch some of our snack food