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CAPE COD CANAL
We left Cutty Hunk on a nice sunny calm day. The conditions were good for traveling north on Buzzard’s Bay. We headed out Cutty Hunk’s channel and I tried to see if I could see remnants of an old track that is supposed to still be there. Years ago, before the Cutty Hunk Channel was dredged, when violent storms were forecast, they used it to haul boats over into the lagoon where we were anchored. They would ride out bad storms in the protection of the now dredged harbor. Back then, the working and fishing boats, anchored in the outside harbor. I couldn’t see any tracks though. Guess we should’ve taken our dinghy and explored the area to see if we could’ve found them during our stay. We were joined today by a few other boats, heading the same direction, north. We again passed the Elizabeth Islands that we cruised by when sailing with Tom and Cindy on Azor. What a short cut the Cape Cod Canal is for everyone now a days. It must have changed things greatly for these waters. This protected route to Cap Cod Bay greatly changed the flow of traffic which normally would have had to go by way of the islands and the outer coast of Cape Cod. Maybe it’s a good thing as it allowed the beautiful historic towns like Nantucket, Edgartown, Oak Bluffs and well just the islands, to stay the way they are architecturally. The Canal was built in 1914, literally, the same time the Panama Canal was built. Before the canal there used to be two rivers, one from the south and one from the north and their waters flowed in opposite directions. The beginning of each river, literally, were within a mile of each other. The Indians use the waterways and then would portage their water craft the short mile between the two and that was how they traveled from one bay to the other. In more contemporary times, the advantages became quite obvious to dredge a connection between the two. For more than 200 years, they bickered over how and who would do it. Finally in 1909, and privately funded, the dredging began. It took five years to complete. At first it was really too narrow and posed many difficulties. Then the Federal government stepped in and took it over in 1928 and doubled its width. Today this canal saves mariners, heading north or south, 135 miles of traveling in potentially treacherous winter waters and moving shoals around the tip of Providence Town or “P” Town. Still in Buzzard’s Bay, we
passed the tower light of Cleveland East Ledge and entered the
Cleveland Channel.
Before you know it, we were almost through the canal. It took us less than 2 hours. We didn’t have any large merchant traffic to contend with. It was pretty quiet and uneventful except for an empty tourist ferry boat, that what looked like a delivery captain must have been “delivering” north. He was in a hurry and passed us leaving a huge wake. Immediately after recovering from his big wake, he turned right in front of us into the opening to Sandwich Marina where we were headed. You’d think he could’ve waited the last 1/8th of a mile instead of passing. Sandwich Marina was our destination for the day too. We followed him in slowly. The marina is small and the entrance crowded and busy with boats going in and out. The current was running a good clip in the canal at the time and as we headed in you had to give it some power so the current wouldn’t pull you in another direction. Once inside, we saw the ferry boat at the fuel dock taking on fuel. The dock master gave us a slip assignment just on the other side of the fuel dock. We pulled in past the ferry boat and settled in behind another cruising boat.
ATE LOBSTER IN SANDWICH Sandwich Marina is filled mostly with small recreational day boats. There were a few large fishing boats across from us and some were pretty rusty looking like the characters on them. We could’ve gone all the way to Boston today but didn’t want to make a long day of it. The town of Sandwich was about ¼ mile walk from the marina but we just wanted to catch up on things on the boat, so pretty much spent the rest of the day on the boat. We found a lobster restaurant nearby. It was kind of a fast food lobster take out joint and that was just fine for us. We ordered a couple and all the fixings and ate outside on picnic tables with Ziggy. The Cape Cod Coast Guard
Station is next to the marina. They have a few boats in the marina. It was
entertaining watching them coming and going in shifts and it was fun to hear
their intercom calling them to dinner at the mess hall.
SANDWICH MARINA We were awakened 5:45 AM the next morning to some loud chatter on the fuel dock. It was thick fog out, “pea soup”, as they said. Some were already out with coffee mugs in hand and getting ready to go out fishing. It was thick white out and we couldn’t see much beyond the marina and of course a silhouette of what I thought was the monster nuclear power plant. It was shrouded in ghostly wisps of fog. It was an eerie sight. Then at 6:30 AM, sharp, the Revelry went off at the Coast Guard Station. We took our time getting up as there was no great rush in this thick soup. We couldn’t even see the canal now. So we ate breakfast and took Zig out for a walk. The fog seemed to be getting
ready to lift after a couple hours so we began to discuss how we would take the
boat out of the crowded marina and past the busy fuel dock. The entrance from
the canal is also a busy intersection with little boats going in and out,
rushing, to counter act the current out in the canal. The fuel dock right near
the entrance and next to where we were docked, just adds to the confusion as
people are jockeying around for the next position for a fill up. (I wish we
owned the concession on that place.) This morning however, people were just
beginning to stir with their morning coffee in hand and it was a good quiet time
to go.
Today, again, Larry wanted me to practice taking Knotty Dog out. This was going to be a challenge. Just as we got everything up and running, ready to go, and were taking our lines off the dock, the captain of the boat ahead of us, suddenly decides to come talk to us. I was not capable of talking to anyone at that point, as I’m always nervous running the boat, and can’t have any distractions. I’m sure Larry didn’t want the distraction either because he was probably worrying about me knocking into something. So not sure how we left the poor guy on the dock. We probably weren’t too friendly, but my attention was on getting out of there safely. Why is it that so many people suddenly decided to have a conversation right when you are leaving? You can be at the dock with them for a day or even days and not a word, but the minute you start up those engines and begin taking the lines off, they want to know were you are from and where you are going. I don’t understand it but it’s pretty common. All went well as I took her off the dock and then turned her around in the open area by the fishing boats. Once turned I headed her towards the marina entrance to the canal. Larry said I should give the horn one long honk, to announce we were coming out into the channel as it’s pretty hectic around here. I did and almost jumped out of my skin. That horn was so loud it scared me do death. I felt like we sounded like a ferry boat. Loud as it may have been, a small boat remained sitting right in the center of the entrance to the canal, just sitting there doing nothing. He was right in the way of everyone coming or going out. I couldn’t believe it. It was a dangerous spot to be sitting. I had to keep the momentum of the boat going because of the current in the channel and couldn’t just coast through and still have enough momentum to keep the current from grabbing us. I called Larry to the pilot house as I was feeling some panic and he gave them a big long LOUD honk on the horn again which did the trick as they quickly moved out of the way. I can’t remember ever having to use our horn like that in all our travels. We entered the Cape Cod Canal again and headed out into Cape Cod Bay. The waters were rough coming out the canal into the bay. It must have been the force of the current hitting the stationary waters of the bay. It was a little scary for me as Larry was in the back putting the lines and fenders away. There was no wind opposing the current in the channel, so I can’t explain it. We followed several boats of all sizes heading out into the Cape Cod Bay. I was surprised to see that the fog wasn’t lifting at all out here but was even thicker. I activated both radars, one at 3 nautical miles, and the second at ¾ nautical miles. Larry came up to the pilot house and took over. Usually about this time I settle in with the lap top computer but today I was anxious about the fog and settled into the other pilot chair to help with the radar watch.
PEA SOUP We had no wind to speak of and the seas were like glass. The weather was warming quickly creating a thick FOG on the cold water. We couldn’t see much off the nose of the boat so all eyes were on the radar screens. First thing was to identify on the screen any close buoys, then boats and what direction they were going. Once we got all those objects sorted out, we just kept an eye on it. If I took my eyes off the screen for a few moments to do something else, I’d have to start all over again identifying the marks, which is quite a timely process, when you have so many objects on the screen. So I just kept my eyes glued to the screen and that gets very tiring after any length of time. We put a Marpa target on one big guy immediately. He was going the same direction and speed as we were most of the day. At one point a target came directly towards us at a close range. We turned to our starboard hoping they would do the same, which they did. We put the fog horn on and sat back. We could see targets go by the big boat ahead and sometimes we would hear him on the radio giving his location for all out there that might be nearby. I think many were just small boats out fishing for the day and had no radar. We both commented on how much chatter there was on the radio. It was non stop chit chatting all day, mostly by the recreational fishermen I think. Sometimes it was annoying listening to all that frivolous chatter because of the strains of cruising in the fog. We were trying to pay attention to things and listen for other boaters giving positions and it was distracting and at times very annoying. Several times we would see a row of little marks on the screen all moving together in a line. They were little boats. They would go by very close but in this fog it was too thick to see them. It was like baby ducks following mother duck as they would go by in single file. I guess the leader had radar and the rest followed. For several hours it was like this. We would never actually visually see a boat except its image on the radar. The only thing we saw visually was a left over wake of a boat that has gone by. It was strange and ghostly. LOBSTER POTS On our close range radar screen, we turned on what we call the “wake watch” and would see all sorts of funny strange looking wakes. We couldn’t figure it out. They’d go right by us and sometimes right through us! The fog was so thick we just could not visually identify anything out there. We couldn’t figure out what it was. At one point we thought maybe it was a school of dolphin or some kind of fish breaking the surface. It wasn’t until we had a momentary break in the fog that we could see what it was. It was lobster pots! The lobster pots were every where! They were marked with thin sticks sticking up out of the lobster floats. These sticks were about two feet tall out of the water and we were actually picking them up on the radar! Or maybe that was the point of the stick. We don’t know. Can’t say it helped us avoid them because they were literally EVERYWHERE. We tried to find a row in the field of pots with maybe an open path that we could follow. We did the best we could to miss them but it was next to impossible. There were just too many too closely situated. It’s amazing there are any lobsters left. After about 3 hours, the fog finally burned off and all of a sudden all those tedious hours of watching dots and wake patterns were over. Now those mysterious dots are now clearly visible out our window and it reassured the value of the radar screens as they clearly reaffirmed what we thought was there on the screen. The radar showed everything out there down to the minutest detail of a lobster pot. Give me fog any day to rough seas. I have total confidence in the radar screen. If those darn yakkity boaters would just get off the radio for a moments silence. I’ve never heard so much yakking on the radio!!
MAY DAY, MAY DAY, OVAH! Speaking of talking on the radio, during our days travel, we heard three different distress “May Day” calls. As we were approaching Minot Light Point we heard a distinct “May Day, May Day, Ovah”, but nothing else. He would just calmly end his hail with “Ovah” , there was no description of the problem or location or type of boat, nothing. He just kept repeating. The Coast Guard was not answering, or could not hear them because the range on his radio may not have been strong enough. Larry hailed the vessel. He couldn’t get much info from the guy only a rough description of his location. Larry relayed the info to the USCG. Obviously their radio range was not strong enough as the Coast Guard said they could not hear him. Just when we were relaying the info back and forth from the CG to the boater, another boater, interrupted our transmission and talked right over us. He interrupted our communication between the boater in distress and the Coast Guard by directly contacting the distress boat. He told them he would come to their rescue. We just stopped communication at that point and listened. He began to converse with the boat in distress and apparently the distressed boat had a small fire in their electronics system which was now out but they were dead in the water, floating, but drifting. They said they were putting an anchor down to keep from going ashore. The rescuing boat said he was on his way, would pick them up and take them to nearby Scituate. The USCG could hear this guy and hailed him. They told him they had a USCG vessel on the way, that will assist and they are to stay in the area but NOT to assist. It kind of took the wind out of the would-be-rescue-boat as he sounded disappointed and reluctant to just sit and wait. The distressed boat turned out to be a small 12 foot fishing skiff with a man and a woman aboard. While we listened to this we heard another “May Day” over the radio in another place, giving their position. Wow, what’s with this place? The USCG responded to that and we just kept on going towards Boston as we were almost out of range. What a day with the fog and the radio. We also, got a kick out of the names of some of the boats. They sounded so funny over the radio. Names like, “Lickety Split”, “Oakie Doakie” and pairs of boats with names to match like, “Not to Worry” and “Not to Bother”, and “Sun Chaser” and “Star Chaser”. Well, here we are ON OUR WAY TO BEAN TOWN the home of bean and cod as they say, though no Cod is to be found, I guess we’ll settle on beans. We can see the hazy skyline Boston in the distance.
A WHIFF OF BOSTON
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Many Bostonians use these outlying islands, including Deer Island, for day excursions, to hike, picnic, and to escape the rigors of the city. It’s hard to imagine this area as a peaceful and pleasant place to be as there is the constant roar from the nearby Logan airport and sounds from flying commercial aircraft flying overhead. The boat traffic on the islands is incredibly busy as the islands are inundated with the many day excursion and fishing boats, coming and going. It’s like a busy highway. All this chaos is intermixed with commercial harbor activity as huge freighters and tugs are coming and going in the main channel. Large tourist boats, the size of mini cruise ships, race down the channel with little regard to the wakes they create. This along with a gazillion day boaters speeding and waking their way up and down and across the channel was more than you could imagine. There are so many distractions that require your attention, and it just increases as you get nearer the harbor, so it’s truly hard to take the time to appreciate the impact of the beautiful city. We could see Boston’s skyline, but at a distance, it’s not as dramatic as some others we’ve seen. It doesn’t tower in the sky because they say the original old town buildings were laid out between cow paths. Because of this the blocks and streets are so narrow it doesn’t give enough foot print to really support the high skyscrapers as many other prominent cities. So the skyline is diminutive compared to other cities of its size. Once in close though, the city is quite spectacular and modern. Boston has really created a beautiful architectural statement at the harbor front. Coming into the main shipping
channel we passed the picturesque Boston Light house and headed in through
The Narrows to the main channel curiously named President Road.
Little fast boats were waking by with no consideration for other boaters. We
were tired of listening to the non stop chatter that you hear on the radios
here. It’s a constant struggle trying to listen and sort out what’s really
important or not on the radio. This is by far the most radio chatter we have
ever heard in all the areas we have traveled. We begin to concentrate on
getting into the main shipping channel coming into the harbor. We’re watching
the many buoys and rocks and we’ve got a large, well HUGE, freighter coming out
and ferries coming and going, and sailboats and racing power boats everywhere.
It’s a mess of stuff going on. How we ever learned to sail in this harbor is
beyond me. Larry and I spent a whole summer learning to sail in the Boston
Harbor about 10 years ago in this traffic jam. That’s when we officially
started boating. We entered the main shipping channel but noticed that the HUGE freighter heading out of the harbor, has the green markers on its right, and a big ferry ahead of us, going into the harbor, has the red buoys on its left. What happened to Red Right Returning? We check the chart and notice that the center of the channel has a dotted line dividing the two sides within the channel markers. It’s labeled “the fairway”. The waters are plenty deep on either side of the markers so there is no danger but it’s certainly more confusing than other harbors we’ve been in. We keep the red markers closely to our port following suit and checking the depths to make sure we have plenty of depth, not knowing what the protocol is here. Soon as the channel made a turn towards the inner harbor, the ferry ahead of us, cut into the channel now putting “red right returning” in the normal place and we notice the freighter has suddenly made a swift diagonal heading into the channel towards us putting its green markers on her right side. We are just far enough in the channel to have enough room to clear him, but it certainly is different here. As we approach the inner harbor we see the beautiful arched entrance to the city at Boston Harbor Hotel. It is a great site and we no longer see the raised road ramps that used to meander through the city. The Big Dig has finally managed to eliminate those ugly ramps and put all those pour souls under the city officially. It has made for a truly spectacular sight. We are not heading
towards the popular and centrally located marinas by Rowe’s Wharf as they were
completely booked. The only thing available was a mooring there. In this
harbor, we didn’t think a rolly mooring would have been a pleasant stay. As we
are quickly finding out, boating in New England requires implicit planning and
reservations, lots of reservations, and lots of money, as everything is
booked weeks in advance and everything is expensive! We managed to find an
opening at The Shipyard Quarters located in the old and now defunct naval
shipyard on the Charlestown side. It doesn’t sound very romantic to me but it’s
near Old Ironsides and that should be interesting in itself and near several
good restaurants. A boater that we met in Sandwich said you can easily get to
Boston downtown by taking the water taxis across the harbor for “just a buck”.
It sounded like it would work for us and maybe will be a little quieter.
SHIPYARD QUARTERS and a GROUCHY REPORT The harbor is a pretty busy place as we knew from our days of taking sailing lessons here. It was a bit hectic traveling in the midst of all these wakes made by power boats of all sizes, sailboats in full sail, tacking back and forth, and the airport noise and traffic. We focused our attention on the opposite side of the harbor to find The Shipyard Quarters. Right away we spotted the tall masts of Ironsides and headed northward towards Mystic River. We’ve got the fenders and lines ready and had them set for the Shipyard Quarters’ floating docks. How wonderful, no darn fixed docks to deal with today, hooray! We hailed Shipyard Quarters Marina on the radio and no one answers. We repeat several times and finally get a call back. They give us instructions on where to dock. We could see they were going to put us on the outer dock exposed to the harbor wakes. After experiencing those ridiculous wakes in NYC, we were in no mood for any of that here, especially for a week of it. I guess we’re getting crotchety. We hailed them back and asked if that was the only location available as we didn’t want to fight the wakes at the dock. We asked if they didn’t have a spot that was more protected? After much delay and I supposed discussion amongst themselves about an another available spot for us, they directed us around the corner, more in the back. It was more exposed to Mystic River. They said the wakes and rolling would be much less there. What choice did we have and it was better than taking them on the beam? The dock space where we were tied to was lined with old orange fender balls, permanently tied to the dock, probably by the boat that normally uses the space. The boat that normally stays here had a tall strange homemade wooden stair platform nailed to the old wooden dock that they used to board their boat. Can’t imagine what kind of boat it must be to have that high of a platform to get on and off their boat. We got docked and Larry plugged into the power and the power was weak. We were only getting about 195 volts which were not going be enough to run all our stuff in this heat and humidity. We were in the city now, no ocean breezes, and the heat just hit the city like a cannon ball. We were looking forward to using Boston and this slip as a base for a week. We wanted to be able to run everything without problems. We needed the A/C so Ziggy would be safe from the heat when we left him on the boat and we also wanted to be able to do laundry on the boat, and other maintenance and it would be nice to be comfortable. It seemed like summer had arrived, literally as we docked, in that very moment, as suddenly, it was hideously hot and humid and NO breeze. It was unbearable really. Larry was grumbling saying we weren’t going to be able to run the A/C. Our boat does not get a lot of air flow in the lower berths and when it’s hot you really need the A/C or some breeze to be comfortable. Larry headed up to the dock office to find out what the problem was but “the dock master was not in today” (which was an answer that we became familiar with the entire week that we were there) and the young inexperienced staff didn’t know how to help with the situation. Larry came back to the boat and somehow managed the power loads so we could get one A/C unit going. So the whole week, as we moved to different rooms in the boat, we would turn one off and another on depending on where we were. When we ran the washing machine, we would have to compensate by turning off the A/C, etc. It was not the most pleasant place we’ve ever been. At no time did we feel comfortable leaving Ziggy alone in the boat because if the power went out, he’d be baked to a crisp. Boston is not, in this heat, the best place to visit with a dog that you have to drag around on the hot streets. He can’t go in most places and it’s just too hot for him. So if that gives you an idea of the week we had, you’ll understand why when I describe the rest of the time spent in Boston, this becomes a very grouchy report.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF IRONSIDES There was another marina that said they could squeeze us in. It was located on the opposite side of old Ironsides. We walked down and took a look. They said they had the power we needed but Larry seemed doubtful. He said the shipyard where these two marinas are, is old and he’s not convinced the electrical has been updated any better. He said we may be faced with the same problem here. The marina did seem very cramped and the boats were squeezed in and in this heat and no wind, that didn’t appeal to me. The real turn off for me was the nearby location of a huge A/C the size of a small building and the noise it made running night and day was deafening. On the other side of the marina was the Charleston Bridge and it was like listening to a loud highway with constant noise and the smell of car and truck exhaust. We decided we were better off where we were, even with the power problem. We had a view of the harbor and the chance of catching a breeze if one came up. So we decided to stick it out and make the best of it. So, this was going to be a challenge to see Boston, in 90+ degree weather with a small dog in hand. Not going to be good. NO PUMP OUT The first day at Shipyard Quarters, Larry stopped in the marina office and asked to schedule a pump out. Each day they were supposed to show up, but no one showed. Each day, Larry would leave a note for the phantom pump guys and a tip in an envelope for them, but no show. Each day he would stop at the office and ask again and each day they said they would be by “for surah” today. Then one day, they said they only do it on “scheduled days” of the week. So we stuck around for the “scheduled day” and still no show. Larry went back to the office to see about it. (In case you are wondering, it wasn’t that the tank was full and we were having a problem, but we were heading north soon and would rather have it pumped not knowing what facilities were available ahead). Larry was getting pretty perturbed about this and finally, I think it was our last day at Shipyard Quarters, they came by to pump it out and didn’t have the right nozzle. So we never got it pumped out. Now I wonder what someone would have done if they had a full tank and couldn’t wait. I guess we all know. LPG Since we were tucked around the corner of the marina, we didn’t get the great view of the Boston city skyline but we had a good view of the Mystic River which isn’t a pretty sight as it’s pretty industrial. We watched as the freighters came in and out of the River. We were told by several people on the docks that the LPG (Liquid Propane Gas) freighter will go by sometime during the week and when it does, we’re told it’s huge and will be surrounded by police and coast guard units and not to get concerned or worried. We didn’t know what they meant. So, it was explained to us that there’s a big fuss about that ship coming and out of Boston as it would be an easy target for terrorists. If it blew, it would take out all of Boston! So people are naturally concerned and worried. Hmmmmm, that’s nice to know that that’s where we are docked for a week. One night, late, we think we saw it go by. We were awakened by activity going on out on the harbor. We came up to the pilot house and could see all sorts of flashing lights all over the harbor. There were several police and coast guard boats monitoring and checking every thing out in the harbor. I guess they were making sure the harbor was clear of traffic and unusual activity. They were shining flood lights everywhere, checking everything out on the docks that might be suspicious I guess. Soon we saw this huge black mass appear from out of nowhere and it slowly and cautiously moved through the harbor in the darkness. It was some sort of a monster freighter, being suspiciously escorted out of the harbor with an entourage of boats with flashing lights. If it wasn’t the LPG it was something equally ominous and dangerous. It was a scary thing no matter what it was. THE RUSTY OLD LOBSTAH MAN
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Every morning at the crack of
dawn, we’d see, what I called the rusty “lobstah” man. I called him that
because he and his boat were so old, rusty and dirty looking. He would come
around everyday, going to the same traps, slowly and methodically pulling them
up and plucking those rusty old lobsters out of his traps and throwing them into
the hold.
I’d like to know where he sells his catch, because I don’t want to eat any unless I’m looking for a swift death. How is he allowed to do this here in these waters? Aren’t there regulations on where lobsters can be caught and sold for safe eating? Makes you wonder. As I watch him pull the lobster in, I’m thinking of the sports fishing boat next to us. The captain changed his oil the other day and once done he put the buckets filled with the old oil on the dock. Larry asked him about it and he said he found out there wasn’t a place to dump it around here and didn’t know what to do with it. They sat there all day and we were wondering how he was going to be able to get rid of the oil. The next morning they were gone and the water was covered with a thin marbleized film. We have our suspicions as to where it went but can’t be sure. I imagined that too on top of today’s lobsters. Yuk. NOT A QUIET PLACE Each morning we are awakened to the sound of concrete breakers and bull dozers. They are gradually taking the old Shipyard and instead of tearing it down are transforming it into a happening place with chic city apartments and waterfront condos, offices and notable restaurants. It’s strange as just steps away from us are scary housing projects that don’t look safe to drive through and a few blocks from them is Bunker Hill with multi million dollar renovated historic housing and chic restaurants and coffee houses, all within walking distance of the boat. Just remember when walking, to take the right direction or you might die from a drive by shooting. They are busy everywhere building, remodeling, and making noise. Actually the whole city is loud with this kind of noise. I think they must be rebuilding the whole city from the sounds of it. Between the concrete breakers, trucks, cars, and daily cannons going off on the Old Ironsides, it’s the noisiest place we’ve ever been. Some nights a particular dinner boat playing loud rap music goes by. The music is so loud that the booming of the base just vibrates across the water and almost shakes the boat. Everyone is dancing, yelling, screaming and almost hanging off the side. They all seem to be having a hell of a time and most are just crazy drunk. They must be serving up some pretty strong cocktails on that boat. It’s a funny thing to see, and hear, as it spends the evening just cruising back and forth across the harbor. It starts out quiet and then gets louder and louder and more wild as the evening goes on. NO ROLL ON THE RIVER Every once in awhile we’ll get a small roll or wake left over from a boat or freighter going by but the boats in the river are pretty considerate to us at the docks and we never had any wakes to complain about. This location was a pretty good spot considering all the traffic in this harbor and river. One day when we left for a couple hours to do errands, I came back before Larry as he was parking the car. I noticed right away things seemed different about the boat. It was like the lines had slipped and the boat had moved a little cockeyed to the dock. I put my bags down and tightened and straightened the lines. I also adjusted the fenders. I thought we must not have not been tied them properly as they had completely slipped. I didn’t think too much about it just thought it very odd and that we had been sloppy with tying up the boat. I also noticed dirty foot prints on the swim step but assumed it must have been from the UPS guy who had left a box for us on the back cockpit. Later that day, one of the permanent boaters at the marina knocked on the boat. Larry went out to see what he wanted. He said he needed to talk to Larry about our boat. He wanted Larry to step out on the dock to talk to him, which I thought was odd, so I eavesdropped a bit. He said he had come by our boat earlier today, while we were gone, and said all our fenders had worked their way up on the dock, do to the swells. He told Larry that we didn’t have them hanging in the correct position. He said he put them back in the water and hung them “the right way” and also readjusted our stern line as “it wasn’t tied properly for the swells in this habah”. He said we “had them tied too tight!” Now I’m thinking those dirty foot prints on the swim step must be from this guy. (We’ve been here almost a whole week and have not had any problems with the fenders or the wakes.) He said we need to drop the fenders in the water and let them hang at a 45 degree angle so they don’t work their way up with the swells. Larry politely thanked him and came back inside. We left our fenders where we had them and left the stern line where it was. We didn’t know what to think of this guy and kind of shrugged our shoulders about it. If the fenders did flop up, which we highly doubt, we’re grateful he put them back in between the dock and the boat, but adjusting our lines and telling us in the manner that he did what we should do with our boat was very unusual and well just plain strange. We’ve never had a problem before and none since. Compared to our stay in NYC with the most impossible rolly conditions, not once did we have a problem there the way we had her tied, so why, here, would we have a problem? We would never think of saying that to another boater or take it upon ourselves to readjust another person's lines unless it was a real necessity. I just didn’t feel comfortable after that. The next morning, I was up early, about 5:15 AM and another guy was walking past us with morning newspaper in hand. I’m not sure where his boat was or if he was a permanent docker. He stopped beside our boat and was examining something on our boat. We’re all used to people looking at boats but this was different. He was touching the boat and leaning over looking at something. Then he went back to the stern and was examining something there. He didn’t see me inside, I guess, as the windows are tinted and he probably figured no one was up yet. He then grabbed the teak railing and stepped onto the swim deck! If I hadn’t been in my PJ’s I would have opened the door to see what he was doing but instead thought I’d get Larry up to see what the heck he was doing. He was leaning over looking at something and walking back and forth on the swim deck to get a better look. He lightly kicked something on the back of the boat like a guy kicking a car tire to see if it was worthy. That was the last straw, I was just about to go outside, PJ’s or not, but he as quickly just got off the boat and left. I went out to see what he was looking at and what he was kicking. I couldn’t see anything. I thought maybe something was lodged under the boat but could see nothing. I had Larry check too when he got up but he couldn’t see anything either. It’s been a little weird here. By and large though we’ve met some really nice friendly people here at the dock who have gone so far as to offer to loan us their car to do shopping. They have gone out of their way, without our asking, to tell us where things are, like cafes, coffee shops, stores, the water taxi, etc. So I can’t speak for the other two but we have enjoyed talking with them. SMELLS Everyday the air is foul with the smell of oil and railroad ties but then we started to smell something rotten. We’ve had no breeze to speak of and the heat has been unbearable which, I think, the combination makes the smells more intense. We think the oil smell is left over from the Shipyard and probably from the industrial areas nearby but there was something rotten now and we couldn’t quite put our finger on it. There was slimy stuff in the water, a mixture of oil and probably somebody pumping over and we thought maybe it was that, but no, it was more than that. The rotten smell really got strong near the ramp to the marina office. Finally we figured out what the heck it was probably because the flies were coming around now and hovering over the culprit. A sports fishing boat had left part of a fish carcass out in the open on his cockpit deck if you can imagine. It wasn’t a whole fish, but part of it looked like the sword of a sword fish. It was rotting and the smell was terrible. We couldn’t imagine anyone leaving something like that on their boat. The flies were hovering and landing on it and it was disgusting. You had to walk by it several times a day as it was the only way to get on and off the dock. Everyone had to walk by it. Each day it got stronger and the range of the smell was wider. That thing was there for almost a week and no one did a thing about it. Why the marina didn’t do anything about it is beyond me. After several days, the owner of the boat finally got rid of it but it was awful. THE RUSTY DUCKS
Another morning, another duck family came by, or rather, again, what was left of its family. This family had a mother and father, but again, only one single duckling. Survival rate here among the ducklings must be 1 outta 10. I again managed to find something to feed to them too, something softer today, cereal. Again, the baby was starving but he was not nearly as careful and wise as the duckling the day before. He was so hungry that he didn’t try to protect himself by diving or swimming away even when Ziggy got wind of the situation and came running out on the swim step to see what was up. I don’t think this little one is going to last long. The father on the other hand was very timid and was completely skeptical of the whole situation. He refused to get close to the boat even though it meant he didn’t get anything to eat. It’s a tough life they all live here. I felt bad as they swam and poked their little peaks into the marbleized diesel laden water as they scarfed down that dry cereal. LOST IN BOST ‘N
“OH, I LOVE (HATE) THESE BALMY DAYS” “Oh, I love these balmy days” my friend Greg, a native New Englander, said to me. I’m thinking, “Where did spring go?” “Did they have spring here?” It went from cold and wet to hot and “balmy” as he says. I’d prefer to say “hot and miserable or hideous and impossible”. There’s nothing pleasant about this, it’s hot. The first day, I couldn’t deal with it. I just had to stay in the air conditioned boat. I couldn’t consume enough ice water to get cooled down. My face was bright red and as soon as I would drink a glass of water my pores were sweating it out just as quickly from the humidity. Yuk, I had forgotten about these East Coast summers. After a couple days I was acclimating slightly but it was still terrible. You lose all appetite, energy and desire to do anything except run from one air conditioned building or car to another. If you can’t get in one soon enough, you die. We had to take Zig everywhere because we couldn’t chance the AC going out on the boat with the bad power we had at the dock and couldn’t leave him in a car as he’d be dried jerky when we got back. Everywhere we went we ended up having to park too far from our destination and would have to walk in the heat on the hellish hot sidewalks. I took bottled water for Zig as dogs have it worse than we do in hot weather and watered him as often as I could. I felt sorry for his poor little paws on the hot pavement and would carry him across the asphalt. As we entered Crate and Barrel, Ziggy literally flopped on the cool floor, stomach to the ground, to cool off. I almost joined him. It was hard to persuade him to leave the cool confides of C&B. If a store didn’t let Ziggy come in, we didn’t shop there. Sometimes we didn’t even ask if he could come in, we just took him in because it was so darn hot. If they didn’t want us, they could just throw us out. At lunch time, we would search for a place where we could sit with Ziggy. That was the only requirement. The food quality and type was not part of the equation. One day we ended up eating Indian Food at mid day on Newbury Street. We were the only ones there as all the “beautiful people” were having ice teas and cool salads at the other eateries that wouldn’t allow Ziggy. It was hot where we were sitting, and we didn’t really feel like eating hot curries but we were under an umbrella and Ziggy could be there. Actually our food turned out to be the most delicious Indian food we’ve ever had, it was beautifully served and the price was fare considering the prices we’ve been paying for everything in New England since we’d arrived. It was serendipity. GOUGE CITY Speaking of prices, we have really been amazed at the cost of things in this area. We just can’t believe some of the prices the restaurants are charging for food here. We’re just kind of shocked at the exorbitant prices. It was less expensive in NYC for god’s sake. Nantucket was ridiculous and Martha’s Vineyard, pretty crazy, but their excuse was “they were on an island”, as they said. What’s the excuse here?
The dock prices were exorbitant too compared to other places considering the poor power and service we received. We almost feel like they charge as much as they think they can possibly get away with. We’re really kind of tired of it and ready to move on. FRUSTRATION WITH: 1. THE BIG DIG I can honestly, but sadly say, I’m so ready to leave Boston. It’s a great city, there’s no doubt about it but it’s the noisiest place we’ve been yet, or at least equal to NYC. The construction is UNBELIEVABLE. Of course they have the BIG DIG which has had this city torn up the 6 years we lived here and it’s still as torn up, 10 years later. Our good friend, Greg, a true New Englander, says it will not be completed in “his life time”. I used to wonder at that statement but now understand it. As if the BIG DIG wasn’t enough, it seems like every building is getting renovated in the midst of it and they are not hindered by the difficulties or even the mere idea of building a brand new multi story building right in the midst of the BIG DIG. It’s got to be impossible but somehow these Bostonians are doing it. They are amazing industrious people. It’s just too much for me to deal with. THE SOUNDS AND BARRIERS OF
THE BIG DIG The sound of concrete sawing, bull dozers, bull dozing, pillar drivers, driving, is a constant part of the experience and after awhile it can be nerve wracking. I don’t think there is any peace and quiet in this whole city. It’s a mass of construction barriers and chain link fences barricading work sites and detour signs directing thousand of cars and trucks, and the idea, I think, is to just to keep them moving them (the cars), no matter where they channel them. It’s like a city of worker ants, marching everywhere and everything under construction. If you attempt to drive anywhere, it’s utter chaos as you are constantly rerouted to another end of the city or blocked from your destination because of construction. It’s ridiculous to study a map as many of the streets are one way and some just aren’t there anymore and just when you think you’re near your final destination, you hit three streets in a row, all one way streets, and always going the opposite direction that you needed. PARKING IN THE BIG DIG Parking? There’s no parking or you have to be a mathematician to figure out the possible parking options from their complicated multi optional parking signs. Each sign post has at least three signs mounted on it listing the different rules, times and likely violations if you decided not to abide and risk parking there. You have to be a speed reader as you can’t slow down for a second to read them to see if it’s even possible that you might qualify to park there, as there are mad crazy drivers behind you and they will honk at you until you have a nervous breakdown, and all the while they are shaking their fists at you or giving you the finger. Once you do find a qualified parking spot and manage to get in it, it’s never close to your destination, nor is there enough time allotted to get done what you want, and never do you have the right combination or enough change to fill the meter.
We thought Boston would be a good place to provision, get things done, and find parts that we needed but NO we were so wrong. One afternoon, we wanted to get a simple fluorescent tube for the medicine cabinet in the heads. Forget looking in the yellow pages because you cannot decipher what neighborhood the store is located in and when you call them for directions, no one knows how to tell you to get there with the BIG DIG. Map Quest can’t keep up with the construction changes and rerouting throughout the city so you are on your own. I decided to call one lighting house near the design center that I knew of to, at least, see if they had the bulb before trying to venture out to get there. We could in fact actually look across the harbor water and see where the store was located just a few miles away. If we could have only gone by dinghy it would have been a cinch. The store didn’t have the same manufacturer of the light bulb we had but they had “other brands that might fill the bill”, the sales clerk said. Unfortunately all the brands they had were different sizes down to the centimeter. We measured our fixture. The package it came in said it was 24”, but the fixture itself actually measured 23 ¾” from end of prong to end of prong. The woman on the phone said theirs measured 24” from prong to prong. As I was trying to make sure she didn’t round the 23 ¾” to 24”, I could tell she was getting frustrated with me. I really didn’t want to make the trip over there if she didn’t have what we needed. She finally said what I didn’t want to hear, “it’s easier if you just come in and bring your fixture”. I’m realizing now that if we had any chance of getting the replacement bulbs we’re going to HAVE to go there. It was like venturing out and not knowing if you were ever going to come back alive. I thought about her statement, “it’s easier to come in to the store”. Is she crazy? Doesn’t she realize it was like fighting your way through a war zone to get to her store. We kind of laughed at the idea but decided to venture out. We finally got there, just by trying our best to follow any road that was close to following the water front to the design center. We could see the neighborhood where the store was but getting there was a different matter. I’m convinced there was no way we could have found it without my having prior knowledge of where it was as they (who are they?) kept rerouting us with construction detours and barriers. That woman had no idea what was “easier”. All for a stupid light bulb. Larry is of the mentality that when something wears out, or when we run out of something, that’s when we go to the store and get a replacement, except for replacement parts on the boat. We have replacement parts for everything on the boat. I too to have lots of spares and replenishments, like food and toilet paper. But after this experience, I want spare and extra supplies for everything so we don’t have to go out again. It’s fine when you are home, and know where to get things are and have a car, but on a boat, every port is a different challenge. You have to figure out what stores are in the area, where they are, how to get there, how to carry the stuff back and by the time you get all that done, your wasted. This town was by far the most difficult for trying to get things done. Can I say it was the utter worst without offending my Bostonian friends? My hand goes out to my Bostonian friends who have to deal with this on a daily basis. The whole experience was comical if not tragic. A TRIP TO THE SUBURBS
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I guess we felt the need to drive out to the suburbs to see our old house, where we lived 10 years ago or at least we thought that was why we decided to drive out there. We hopped in the car and once we managed to get on the Mass Pike it was a cinch to get there compared to what we had been going through in the city of Boston. Once there we really didn’t know why we came, as we weren’t really too interested in seeing our old house and town. I think it was the need for us to go somewhere where we felt we knew where things were after our exasperating experiences with the Big Dig. We’d been lost and gouged so much in Boston, we just wanted to escape. So here we are in Wellesley and Framingham to see our old stomping grounds. It was one place we knew how to get to. When we got to Framingham Mall we realized how ridiculous and comical the whole trip was. It was just another the typical shopping mall that you find in every town across the country with all the signature stores; Target, Linens and Things, Stop and Shop, etc. There was nothing special here and that’s when we realized that the reason we wanted to come here so bad was because it was familiar. It was a place we could manage, where it was easy to find things as we knew where everything was. We had been on the boat for so many months in different unfamiliar ports. It had been such a long time since we had been in a place where we knew the area, how to find what we needed and where the good places to shop and eat were. We were tired of fighting Boston and this was some sort of a reprieve.
As we’ve been sitting in Boston, we’ve been watching the news of the terrorist bombings in the London subway and now there has been another. They’ve hiked up security everywhere here in the city worrying about retaliation in Boston and other US cities. We noticed some strange activity in the harbor near us. There were unmarked police cars with flashing lights at several different locations on the docks nearby and across the harbor. Police helicopters were circling with machine guns poised out the windows. Police speed boats were running up and down the harbor along with equally swift USCG boats. Some of the police boats were herding pleasure boaters into nooks in the harbor and making them stay there. Even a tug hauling a large broken down dock was pushed precariously close to our boat to hover and wait. Suddenly we realized it was all in preparation for the LPG to come in. It was HUGE, like a city block floating by us. One spark and the whole city could blow up. The locals have all told us about it, preparing us for the event which happens a couple times a week I guess. We’re not sure the other night what we saw go by but today it was even more amazing with the amount of security everywhere. I can see the concern as everyone stops their daily activity and watches in silence as the monster comes slowly in. I see the crew on board the ship, standing at the rails and wonder what it must be like to work on a ship that is so dangerous that your life could be blotted out in an instant by some careless mistake or some missile shot from the shoulder of a terrorist standing on a nearby bridge. We looked around the harbor at all the possible scenarios. The ship came to a stop near us and slowly turned. It then slowly and very carefully backed into the dock near the huge double decker bridge that crosses Mystic River heading to the north shore. I watched as trucks, cars and vans crossed the nearby bridge and couldn’t help thinking that anyone of those trucks or vans crossing that bridge, at just the right moment, could be a possible scenario of disaster for the ship. Just one bomb exploding in a truck in such near proximity could be dangerous. You just can’t protect everything in this world. LOVE HATE BOSTON The LPG was the last straw. I’m really ready to leave this place, not sure about Larry. All the construction, noise, traffic, heat, humidity, ….just get me outta here! Sorry Boston, we love you but not here by boat, in the middle of the hot summer, with a dog, the Big Dig, and iffy power to run the A/C. My friend Susie, a Californian like me, used to live here too. She was just here for a visit with her husband on a business trip and said she didn’t know what I was talking about. She said she loved it and said it was beautiful. I said, “well yeah, you were staying in the Four Seasons on Newbury Street (which is about the best place on earth to stay) and all you had to do was just walk out your hotel to Newbury Street with Boston’s best shopping, restaurants and museums , all within walking distance. Now that’s the way to visit Boston! We, on the he other hand were fighting for power to keep cool, trying unsuccessfully to get the holding tank pumped, dragging a hot dog around the streets of Boston, lost 90% of the time, with no place to park, and worried we’d blow up every time the LPG went by. “No wonder you were having a great time!”
Learn from our mistakes and don’t do as we did. READY TO LEAVE BEAN TOWN We’re getting into the habit of waking at 5:00. We try to lay there and go back to sleep but the sun is bright and air is warm and you just want to get up. Today, Saturday is a special day for me because I am going to take the boat from Boston to Manchester by the Sea, all on my own. No, Larry will be here, but I’m going to do everything, or so we’ll see. Larry says it will be a confidence builder for me. Now the outer docks are all empty. Everyone has left for the long weekend to get out of the city. The harbor is empty except for a single sailboat who looks like he’s leaving. We’ve had beastly hot, muggy, unbearable weather our stay here and now the day we leave there is some wind rippling across the bay and it actually feels human out not humid. We suddenly have 8 knots of wind. We’ll check the weather report but the weather is supposed to cool down slightly and be “wonderful”. Well, we’ll see what wonderful will be. Don’t know how these people do it, horrible winters, no spring, and beastly bloody hot summers, a quick fall, and it starts all over again. Got to go.
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As we passed “G1” we entered Hog Island Channel
and now traveling on a clearly marked red and green channel that is quickly
narrowing as we make our approach into the Canal. We pass “G23” and can see the
current is running a little. Because there is a five foot tidal difference
between Buzzards Bay and Cape Cod Bay, the current can be strong going through
the canal and can either slow you down considerably or give you a bit of a free
ride. The area surrounding the canal is heavily settled with summer cottages
and people on their beaches enjoying the good weather. We can see the Cape
Cod Canal Bridge up ahead and the Cape Cod Canal control tower. Just before
the bridge is the huge Enterprise, the large merchant training vessel.
During our stay, I got
an email from our friend Greg in Boston. He said he thought we might be docked
right next to the new nuclear plant in Sandwich. I said there was
a huge structure nearby that I could see out our window. He chuckled and said
he thought that must be it. That kind of ruined the rest of my stay thinking we
were sitting right next to a nuclear plant. I could see the steam coming out of
the stacks. It was a little un easy sleeping next to that. (Later when we got
home, I read that the plant was a fossil-fuel-fired Canal Generating Station, so
all that discomfort was for nothing.)
The Coast Guard officers were getting their patrol boats ready and the
fishermen across from us were messing about on their decks, doing what fishermen
do. 
Coming into to Boston’s outer
harbor today was not exactly what we had imagined. Perhaps it’s because our
first major sight, entering the harbor, was the giant sewage treatment plant on
Deer Island. It’s immense and dominates the landscape for miles around. It
really destroys the beauty of what the surrounding harbor islands could and
should be. It’s huge and ugly, with large white balls, and if the wind is
blowing in your direction, you may get an unpleasant whiff. The sight and
smell over power the beauty, enjoyment of the history of the nearby islands and
the impact of the city skyline in the distance.
At one point later in the week
the power surged to 204 and gave us more lee way but at these prices you’d
expect some real power. The staff tried to help but they unfortunately were
inexperienced and they had no help from the management that was absent. We
finally found out that this is a 208 system not a 240 volt system. Never
have understood why we have 2 different 50A systems. The boat is set up
for 240/120 volts and so the 208 really does not work. We have run into
this a several East coast marinas and are considering getting a step up
transformer to use when we get into this situation.
I kept asking Larry, “what kind of lobstah would he be picking up
here and where is he selling them because I sure don’t want to eat any of
those?” He’s picking up traps right near all the industrial areas and the
location of the old naval shipyard. Imagine what the bottom of this harbor must
be like. How could a lobster survive down there? His boat had a dirty yellow
mustache on the bow and the sides were a filthy rusty color. The squawking sea
gulls hovered over this rat trap of a boat and followed him in the stinking
airless, windless, heat of the harbor as he pulled his catch in. He comes and
goes in his poor imitation of a Chesapeake Bay style waterman’s boat. It’s low
and sneaky looking and when he runs it the motor is loud and rough, like it’s
missing a much needed muffler and sounds like an old man coughing up stuff. He
fits right in here with the shipyards, and oily smelly freighters but what
decent kind of lobster could he be catching? He didn’t have lobster pot
markers like other lobster men. We could only spot one and it was kind of off
to the side of an old broken down dock. When he pulled it up it was connected
to a long line of traps and he just kept moving along that line pulling them up,
opening the cages and grabbing his catch, throwing the poor things into the
storage bin. He’s got traps all over this area and we didn’t even know it. 
Speaking of ducks we met a few
resident ones. They were very timid and very ratty looking. It must be tough
surviving around this industrial shipyard. My heart went out to one lonely
mother with her soul surviving little duckster. She had no male mate only the
one little baby duck, the only sole survivor of her brood. She and her single
duckling timidly came by the boat one day. They shyly stretched their necks and
turned their heads to look at us, wondering if we may perhaps have some little
tidbit to give to them. Ducks, as we have found on the great boating adventure,
are great beggars, almost as good as dogs. These weren’t so bold as they
hesitatingly swam towards us but carefully kept a safe distance, but all the
while looking curiously at us. I got the message and rummaged around the galley
to see what I could muster up to throw them for a snack. No soft bread, just
some crispy crackers. I crumbled them up as fast as I could feeling very sorry
for this unlikely pair. I came out on the back deck and threw them several
handfuls. The baby was pecking at them as fast as he could like he hadn’t had a
square meal in a long time. I was wishing those hard pointed bits of crackers
would soften in the water worrying as they swallowed them down, dry, too fast.
The neighboring seagulls, seeing a free meal, swooped down to grab some too and
scared the poor duckling. He so quickly dove under the water and so deep into
the water that I almost thought he had a little cormorant in his background.
His quick scared reaction was so terrifying that he must have remembered
something bad, maybe how he lost his dad, brothers and sisters. He was
amazingly good at quickly diving deep to save himself. Maybe that’s how he
survived, wiser than his dad. 
One day our good friend Greg
drove me around Boston to go shopping for various things we needed. I tried to
make sense of all the turns and detours he made so when we got the rental car
the next day I’d know my way around. The whole city seemed under construction
and everywhere we went we had to take a detour to get there. By the end of the
day, it was impossible, I still had no sense of direction. The next day, Larry
got the rental car and we gave the town a try. Even though we used live on the
outskirts of Boston, 10 years ago, nothing looked familiar to us. The city had
completely changed. You couldn’t follow a map because the map wasn’t up to date
with all the construction changes. We couldn’t find anything. We were lost,
literally, the whole day. There is so much construction and so many signs
directing you here and there. We can honestly say, we weren’t in any traffic
jams, as they have designed the detours to keep you moving. So you just keep
moving and moving and circling areas. It’s like a merry go round and no place
to get off. The signs say “one way this way” and “do no enter”, and “detour
here”, “street closed”, etc. It was just impossible. When we would finally get
to a place that we were trying to get to it would then be impossible to park.
There would be no parking or it was too far away, or there were all sorts of
parking restrictions on time, and day. It was nuts. You had to be a determined
person to get to where you needed to go, and once there, to find a place to
park, with enough time, and close enough to where you needed to go, and then, be
lucky enough to find your way back to the boat. It’s either determination or a
high IQ but persistence is a requirement. 
We did have a wonderful meal at
Olives, and Figs, both within walking distance of the naval shipyard in
Charlestown, with no complaints about price, food or service. I know Boston
has some of the greatest restaurants in the US, because we sure enjoyed going to
them when we lived here, but we just thought things were way more expensive than
other cities. I guess it’s what the market will bear as they say. What’s going
on here?
FORGET THE PROVISIONING
TERRORISTS
Although I loved the naval
shipyard in some respects because it was mostly empty of the crowds. You could
walk around freely with some open space which is none existent in the city and I
loved seeing old Ironsides and being able to walk to Figs and Olives and Bunker
Hill. It was easy to walk over the bridge to little Italy if it wasn’t so
sweltering hot. The water taxi could’ve been fun if we hadn’t been held down
with the dog. We just chose a time to visit when it was too hot, and too hard
with a dog, and you don’t want to try and use this place to do errands and
shopping, as it’s too darn difficult. If we would have just been here for a
couple days, seen Ironsides and eaten at Olives and Figs and taken the water
taxi to little Italy and the city for some site seeing and eating, and left,
that would have been fine visit.