“The fog will clear. I’m sure of it,” I said, glancing toward the western sky and the expanding brilliant blue.
“The seas should be less than one foot. We got radar and AIS, so we’re going anyway.”
It’s early morning in Wareham Massachusetts. For the last time in the 2016 boating season, the XO drops the mooring pennants into the chilly waters of Swifts Neck. I slowly back the old Trojan away, then turn her bow toward Wareham Harbor. We need to pump out the holding tank at Zecco’s Marina, and empty our fresh water tanks as well, lest pipes will freeze and burst over the long, cold, winter. It’s that time of year again when we make our annual pilgrimage to New Bedford Harbor, and put Ginger Lee into hibernation at the Moby Dick Marina in Fairhaven Massachusetts.

The Hurricane Barrier.

The trip usually takes between 3 and 4 hours. Today we are lucky. Flat seas and a gentle pushing current brought us to the New Bedford Hurricane Barrier in three hours and fifteen minutes. But the trip is far from over. The marina is at the farthest end of this huge harbor and there is a swing bridge to wait for. I contact the bridge operator on channel 13.
“New Bedford Bridge. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee approaching from the Hurricane Barrier. What time will you open Sir? Over.”
“Ginger Lee. We will open at quarter past the hour. Pass through the western channel behind fishing vessel Justice”
“Solid copy Bridge. Ginger Lee out.”

The swing bridge.

At exactly quarter past, a siren sounds, gates come down across the road, and the old bridge slowly swings open. The bridge operators voice crackles over the radio.
“The New Bedford Bridge is now open to marine traffic.”
F/V Justice moves through and I follow. There are no other boats in line. When clear I key the mic and announce it.
“Ginger Lee clear. Thank you Sir. Have a nice day. Over and out.”
“You too Ginger Lee. Bridge out.”

Barge and tug.

We Traverse the dredged channel, take a right around Riverside Cemetary, and slowly approach the Moby Dick Marina face dock. It’s shallow here, probably mid tide. The XO has a concerned look on her face as our props kick up goo and mud. I pull it a tad to starboard and the mud stops swirling. Always an adventure docking here after mid tide. The XO has a line cleated to the bow and run along the port side gunwale, and a stern line coiled and ready. She is standing on the swim platform. When I bring the boat near, she simple steps off onto the dock with the stern line in hand, cleats it, then walks up the dock to the bow, grabs the line from the gunwale, and cleats that as well. Easy peasy.
“We’re in,” she says over my headset.
“Alright hon. Shutting down.” I answer and turn off the diesels for their six month rest. They’ve earned it.

On the face dock. Note how shallow it is.

That’s it. That’s all she wrote for the 2016 boating season. Thank you Neptune, for not claiming our boat, and for keeping us safe another year.

Good night Ginger Lee.

For early October, the weather couldn’t be better. Brilliant sunshine abounds. Not the heavy, hazy, humidity laden stuff we have in August, I’m talkin’ about the crystal clear, bone dry weather that only appears in Autumn. As an extra added bonus, it’s warm enough for shorts, so we bring ol’ Ginger Lee out to our neighboring harbor for possibly the last cruise of the 2016 season. I would be very surprised if we see another cruise-worthy weekend this year.

Mattapoisett has one of those harbors that sail-boaters just adore. One end is completely open to Buzzards bay, meaning the conditions are just right so that having a motor is optional. Sailors can take off and return to their mooring completely under sail. That’s the main reason why this place is littered with masts.

The sailing mecca of Mattapoisett

There is no breakwater, so it’s always a bit choppy, but not overly so. Ya just gotta deal with it. We rent a mooring from Mattapoisett Boat Yard, and after settling in, we dinghy to the Town Wharf for dinner.

Checking in with the Harbormaster.

When in Mattapoisett, we always dine at “The Inn”, one of our favorite restaurants. It used to be a wicked fancy, reservation only, dress up kind of place, but new owners turned into a lovely, casual, pub.

The Inn.

Mattapoisett is one of the best South Coast destinations for both power and sail boaters alike. I love it here.

It’s never easy to say good-bye to Martha’s Vineyard, but my wifes 2016 birthday vacation is nearing an end. We have time for one more stop, and it’s a good one.

Hadley Harbor is nestled between three Massachusetts islands that few Bay-Staters have ever heard of, and even fewer have ever been to: Naushon, Uncateena, and Nonamesset. The names of these islands are so seldom heard of that my computers spellcheck refuses to acknowledge that I have in fact spelled them correctly. It’s like they don’t exist. But I assure you, not only do they exist, but they are among the most beautiful, unspoiled, untouched pieces of real estate anywhere in the entire Commonwealth. Nobody is allowed on these islands unless you are a guest of the very protective owners: the Forbes. They are truly unsung heroes for protecting these incredible natural wonders for so many years. I bow to their wisdom and pray that forever may it be so.

Hadley

Our trip home via Hadley Harbor.

All the moorings are first-come-first-serve, and free of charge, compliments of the Forbes family. Usually, Hadley is so popular, you’d be hard pressed to find an unoccupied one, but because it’s so late in the season, we have our choice of several.

Plenty of room.

In this secluded paradise, the chilly wind is blocked on all sides, leaving the toasty warm Sun to stream in unabated. It’s funny how the word “chilly” is subjective. In September, after a hot Summer, our “chilly” 68 degrees causes us to break out the sweatshirts, but if we hit the same temperature in March, we put on tee shirts and shorts, open up all our windows, and fire up the barbecue.

A warm perch

Horses roam free on Naushon Island.

The Naushon to Woods Hole private ferry. Apparently, even the horses get to go off-island.

Morning brings us overcast skies. Heavy rain is predicted for the next few days. Hadley Harbor is one place I would love to be stuck in, but we gotta get home, and after checking the weather map on the XO’s smart phone, we see a small window of opportunity, so we reluctantly free Ginger Lee from the mooring and make the move toward home. The grey threatening sky grows darker as we leave the Woods Hole Cut and direct our boat across Buzzards Bay. Surprisingly, the waves remain quite small.

Bird Island.

Two miles from home, we pass Bird Island. Extra large raindrops splatter on our windshield, then increase in intensity until our wipers can barely keep up with the deluge. But it’s not scary at all. We are safe and warm and driving from the salon. It’s sort of like driving from your living room. The couch, TV, and refrigerator are close by. It is really pouring outside and the visibility has dropped significantly, but we are in our back yard, with familiar landmarks and nav-aids. We’ve cruised through here so many times I almost think Ginger Lee could drive herself to our mooring.

Is this our last cruise of 2016? I hope not, but here on the South Coast of Massachusetts, one never knows.

The XO picks up our home mooring in a deluge.

It’s morning in Edgartown Harbor. Rags of clouds float lazily against a backdrop of milky blue. And it’s warm too. The chill of the other day has left the area. There are no working boats here, and so the water is as yet undisturbed. It seems that even the boaters who have somewhere to go, stay for a while longer, in order to enjoy this lovely harbor scene. It feels so good to be alive.

A still morning.

Right after breakfast we excitedly head ashore to Chappaquiddick Island. I check with the Harbormaster and confirm that it’s okay to leave our dinghy on the sandy beach near the ferry landing.

Salty on the sand. The little dock nearby is for loading and unloading only. Ten minute tie up.

The ferry landing.

Chappaquiddick, or Chappy, as the natives call it, is very different from the big island. It’s like going through a time portal and stepping out into an era before big development. I’m willing to bet that the residents fight hard to keep it that way.

Stark beauty.

Paved road!

After less than a mile, the smooth paved road we ride on gives way to loose dirt and gravel. Difficult to bike on. We have to find the hardest part, usually the very edge nearest the grass.

Dirt road. The residents seem to enjoy speeding down these roads creating great clouds of dusty grit.

We ride all the way to the Wasque Reservation, and gladly pay a fee for the privilege of visiting this magnificent conservation area.

Pronounced “way-skwee”.

On the beach, four-wheel-drive vehicles drive up to their favorite spots to fish, swim, or sunbathe. We leave our bikes and shoes behind to spend an enjoyable couple of hours taking in the sunshine, meeting friendly people, and walking hand in hand in the soft sand. Just two lovers strolling barefoot and without a care in the world. God! It’s so beautiful. The water is pleasingly warm and as blue as melted popsicles; the air soft and amiable; a remote paradise off a remote paradise. Is this really still Massachusetts?

Wasque Beach dunes.

Fishing for False Tuna.

On the ride back, we can’t resist checking out the only store on Chappie. Apparently it’s also a junkyard for cars, bikes, tractors, boats, etc.

The store.

The tiny store is not well stocked, but seems to have one or two of each item that you would find in a typical convenience store. We buy a couple of bottles of water. The friendly young man behind the counter gives us a brief history of the store and introduces us to his little sister who refuses to be photographed. I honor the request.

Chappy store cashier.

There is plenty more to see and explore on Chappaquiddick, maybe on another trip, but for now, we’ve run out of time and energy. Well, I have anyway. Time to drag my tired butt back to Ginger Lee and pop open a cold one. My younger and more energetic wife is now two city blocks ahead of me and still pedaling strong. I let the distance increase until she is out of sight behind the next rise, so that I may further enjoy my time here, and sear the beauty that is Chappie forever in my memory.

We just picked up a mooring in Edgartown Harbor. There are plenty available, but we choose this particular one because of its beautiful view of the shoreline, and its excellent boat watching potential.

Boat watching.

The weather is really nice, as you can see, but the air temperature is probably in the mid to low sixties, and with a substantial wind blowing, it feels darn chilly. All the passing boaters are wearing jackets and sweatshirts. We’re going to need our heater tonight for sure. Tomorrow, however, is supposed to be much warmer, almost eighty degrees, so we plan to hit the town and see what’s shakin’. Meanwhile, the XO and I fritter away the afternoon, enjoying a bottle of cabernet and each others company.

The XO bundled up on the fore-deck.

MV sunset.

After breakfast, we load our bikes into Salty and find the dinghy dock. My bike has a flat tire, but as luck would have it, there’s a bike shop nearby, and they have the tube I need. I buy a couple and make the repair right on the sidewalk. Took all of ten minutes.

Bike shop.

The streets are crowded with people and cars. It’s hard to believe it’s a weekday. It seems the warm temperatures has brought everyone outdoors. It’s literally Summer’s last gasp. Tomorrow is the first day of Autumn.

Busy Edgartown scene.

In our travels, we happen upon a museum, and I’ll be darned, it’s actually open.

It’s open!

Martha’s Vineyard Museum is closed one day a week, and the last time we were here several years ago, was on that very day, so we missed out. Not so today! Being the museum loving geeks that we are, we’re wicked happy to find it open.

Cool piano.

I accidentally caught the XO’s image in the mirror.

Most, if not all of the shops in Edgartown are expensive. I suppose that’s what happens in a place where literally everything is shipped in. Food and fuel prices are astronomical. Booze prices too. I go into a wine shop and nearly choke on the cost of a bottle of wine. The cheapest one I can find is 30 bucks! Even the knick-knack huts are pricey.

Pricey knick-knack hut.

Despite the steep prices, I think it would be pretty cool to live on Martha’s Vineyard. I just get a good feeling when I’m here. It’s like every day is special.

Tomorrow, we plan to visit a unique part of Martha’s Vineyard. A place I’ve never been to: Chappaquiddick. I’m psyched!

Edgartown inner harbor.

It’s mid September, the time of year when a South Coast Boater never knows exactly when the last cruise of the season will occur. Maybe this is it? I don’t know. It all depends on the weather. A couple of weeks ago, I had hoped to meet up with my friend Captain Skerry and his 12 meter Trojan Knee Deep somewhere in the vicinity of Martha’s Vineyard, but hurricane Hermine ruined that. Too bad man, John Skerry rarely comes out this way. All boaters are slaves to the weather.

We do what we always do this time of year: enjoy the boat until it gets too cold, or a storm forces us to remove it from the water. When the XO took time off work to celebrate her birthday, we decided to take a boat trip to a place we haven’t been to in a dog’s age: Edgartown. As a matter of fact, the last time we were there, it was in a different boat. A 28 foot express cruiser with a 5.7 liter gas engine and an Alpha One outdrive. She was a good boat but ridiculously expensive to operate. I surely don’t miss that “slow speed wander” that’s inherent in inboard-outboard boats.

The Cleveland Ledge East Light. On the way to Quissett Harbor.

On this gorgeous fall-like day, we headed out as soon as the tide allowed us to drag our dinghy off Swifts Neck Beach, which was about noon. Kinda late for a non-stop run to Martha’s Vineyard, so I figure Quissett Harbor is a good first stop. I love Quissett, its scenic beauty is unmatched, and it has an open mooring policy. Simply pick up any empty mooring that’s marked QH. If you’re staying overnight, a nice man will come by and collect his 35 dollar fee; no phone call; no VHF; easy-peasy.

Serene Quissett scene.

It’s too late in the day to explore land based stuff, so we just kick back and enjoy the nice weather. It’s sunny, and a little on the cool side, so we leave the side curtains up, and put on long sleeve shirts.

Steak and zucchini for dinner.

Patiently waiting for the food to cook.

Quissett sunset.

After breakfast we set out for Edgartown Harbor. We timed our passage through the Woods Hole Cut well, and zoomed through with a favorable current. On the other side, in the Vineyard Sound, massive ferrys come and go all day long.

These big guys travel at 12 knots, twice our speed.

M/V Katama. It’s like a big floating flat-bed.

The course.

The sun is warm, the winds calm, the waves small, and the current is like Neptune himself is pushing us along. In just a few hours, we reach the familiar lighthouse that marks the entrance to the Edgartown inner harbor. We did the whole trip in our pajamas!

Boating in pajamas.

I hail the Harbormaster on channel 74. She instructs us to pick up any blue and white mooring, and to please call her back with the number of the one we choose.
In the entrance waterway, which is not very wide, two ferries constantly criss-cross between Edgartown and Chappaquiddick Island. They can come out at any time, they move pretty fast, and I hear they don’t stop for boats. So watch out! We just barely squeeze through.

Edgartown — Chappaquiddick  criss-crossing ferrys.

We gotta be home soon, that is, if we want to keep our jobs, and we certainly do, so it’s time to leave beautiful Cohasset and start our journey homeward. We need to break up the long trip, but between Cohasset and Swifts Neck there aren’t a lot of ports. Scituate is way too close, literally right around the corner. Green Harbor is way too expensive, but I’m tempted to pay the $4.50 a foot just because I’ve never been there. Onset has a nice anchorage and cheap moorings, but it’s a little too far. That leaves Plymouth, which is about halfway home. I can definitely dig Plymouth again. So we pack it up, drop the pennants, and for the first time in a while, head south.

Leaving Cohasset.

In every port we visit, I like announcing our departure via radio.
“Cohasset Harbormaster, Cohasset Harbormaster. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee vacating the mooring. Thank you for your hospitality, and thank you for having us in your wonderful harbor. Over.
“You’re welcome Ginger Lee. Be good, travel safe, and come back soon. Cohasset out.”
“We will do all of that. Thanks again. Ginger Lee out.”

We turn our attention to navigating the tricky area outside of the harbor. It’s strewn with rocks and shallows and all manner of obstructions. I’m sure the local mariners have no problem picking their way through all the Stellwagen Ledges (there’s too many to name), but we opt to avoid the drama and head straight out into Massachusetts Bay. Once clear of the Grampuses (big honkin’ rocks), we make a long southerly curve around everything and set a course to Plymouth Bay.

Going around everything.

The “I Love You” light off Minot’s Ledge. It flashes 1 then 4 then 3.

I hail our friends at the Plymouth Yacht Club and they hook us up with a mooring for the night. It’s nice to be back.

PYC Launch.

We are safely tied to a mooring in Plymouth Harbor. The afternoon melts away in the summer heat until sunset brings a lovely cooling breeze. I feel good about our summer cruise, the new places we visited, the new faces we encountered, and the adventures we’ve had. I knock on Ginger Lee’s mahogany paneling for luck, and say a silent prayer that she may continue to keep us safe and comfortable for many years to come.

Sunset.

At the break of day, we leave Plymouth behind and head home by way of the Cape Cod Canal.  In a slow boat like ours, it’s important to transit the canal so that the tide pushes us along, otherwise we’ll only make 3 MPH and use a lot of fuel. The XO has calculated the optimal time to enter the eastern end. Soon we are zipping along at 12 MPH.

Zipping under the Bourne Bridge.

Mass Maritime’s training ship Kennedy.

The nice weather is spoiling me. I am so fortunate to have this boat, and this wife who enjoys boating as much as me. I don’t ever want to stop this boating life that we have enjoyed this summer. But why can’t I have it all the time? Not just summers. I want to cruise non-stop, follow the warm weather from port to port. I convey these feelings to my wife, and without missing a beat, she answers: “You can have that Rick, just get somebody to send you money.”
Sheesh. There’s always a catch.

Home safe in Wareham.

I don’t know if it’s the perfect weather we’re having or old age sentimentality, but this place is really growing on me. I mean big time! I could live here. Okay, okay. I know I’ve said that before about other places, probably more than once. Guilty as charged. But this time I really mean it. Really.
I’ve heard that Cohasset was stuffy and stuck-up, but for the first time this season, I get a visit from a friendly dude from a neighboring boat.

Fran Collins. A friendly dude from Cohasset.

The friendly dude’s boat. S/V Oceanus.

My wife is off on a kayaking adventure. She found a waterway to explore that’s too shallow even for our dinghy. I make a note to buy myself a kayak so that in the future I can join her, that is, if she wants me too; sometimes it’s nice to go off on your own. I respect that, but I wish I had the option. We used to have a tandem kayak, but it was so difficult to coordinate movements that we stopped using it. Eventually we sold it to a young couple who probably never heard them called divorce kayaks.

The XO at the helm of Kayan.

Cohasset Village is cute as a button. At Tedeschi’s market, people strike up conversations with me like I was a townie. And it’s contagious. I’m normally not all that talkative, yet I find myself blabbing away with total strangers like we were old buddies. It’s actually kinda freeing.

Cohasset Village scene.

Interesting storefront.

Walking by the water.

Waterfront mansion.

Salty old working boat.

Cohasset yacht club is exclusive and closed to transient boaters. I can’t even find a phone number on the Active Captain cruising guide. There is no shortage of waterfront mansions either. We are obviously in a wealthy town. But Cohasset has an unusual mix of old and new, rich and not so well off, fancy and plain, and it casts a charming light over everything, enhancing its natural beauty tenfold. There’s a tangible easy-going vibe, a glow, a warmth unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. It’s not just a place, it’s a state of mind. Cohassetness.

It’s early morning in Gloucester Massachusetts. We are following a couple of working boats as they head out the South Channel past Rocky Neck, Ten Pound Island, and Niles Pond. We joke about sounding the air-horn and throwing the lighthouse keepers kid a wave, like George Clooney in The Perfect Storm. To bad there’s nobody to wave to.
Even though the weather hasn’t quite sorted itself out yet, it’s sure looking like “wicked nice.” Todays seas are predicted to be one foot or less, which is awesome, and almost never happens. I was able to chart a straight line course right through Massachusetts Bay. For the next four hours we will be following one long heading from Gloucester’s Dog Bar Channel to our destination: Cohasset, Massachusetts.

Course

All day yesterday I tried to reach Cohasset Harbor Marina, the only option listed for that small harbor, but it was like nobody was home. The phone kept ringing and ringing. I was planning on calling them this morning while underway, but we’re so far from shore that I can’t get a reliable signal.

There is not another boat in sight, no birds, no buoys, no anything. Not even clouds. We toy with the idea of bringing games with us for entertainment on long straight voyages like this one. Pop-o-matic Trouble would certainly work. I think we could play Yahtzee if we rolled the dice into the box top. Maybe next time. The ride is so smooth I’m able to whip up a cheesy 4 egg omelet with mushrooms, onions, peppers, mozzarella, and pepperoni. It tastes like pizza.

We’re all alone in Massachusetts Bay.

Finally the lighthouse on Minots Ledge comes into view. We’re very close to Cohasset but still nobody answers the phone at the marina. I guess we’ll have to anchor in the outer harbor, which is not so bad, but I really wanted to stay in the well protected Cohasset Cove. There is one more thing we can try: the radio.
“Cohasset Harbormaster, Cohasset Harbormaster. Motor vessel Ginger Lee, over.”
“This is Cohasset. Go ahead Ginger Lee, over.”
“Good Morning. We were hoping you have a mooring for us overnight, over.”
“I probably do! What’s your length?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Head straight in. Call when you get to the breakwater. I’ll have someone meet you.”
“Solid copy Cohasset. Call you at the breakwater. Ginger Lee out.”
Yee haw! We’re in.

Cohasset approach.

It’s very shallow here at low tide. Our depth gauge is bouncing between 3 and 4 feet. There’s a gaggle of young student sailors heading right for us. I know they have the right-of-way, but I have zero room to maneuver in this narrow channel. So we come to a dead stop. They’ll just have to go around us.

Sailing school.

Cohasset mansion.

As promised, two young Harbormasters in a skiff meet us and show us to our mooring. They actually handed the XO the pennants. What service!

Following the young Harbormasters. Whenever we dock or moor, the XO and I are always in direct contact with each other with our two-way headsets.

View forward from our mooring.

View aft.

After ten minutes we’re so taken by this gorgeous place that I call the Harbormaster and ask if it’s possible to stay longer than one night.
“Stay as long as you like,” was the answer. Cool.

Aw man! What a sweet morning in Gloucester. I can’t begin to describe how cool it is to be floating here. Well, actually I can.

We are all alone, the only cruiser in this small mooring field. There are other boats, but they’re unoccupied. The sun has just crested the eastern horizon. As you can see, the water is as still as can be expected in a major harbor, not yet disturbed by any passing fishing boats. Wait a sec. Here comes one.

F/V Miss Meredith

The Lobster boat passes slowly by. Its occupants smoke cigarettes, sip coffee, and talk loudly. They eye Ginger Lee warily, surprised to see such a vessel with obviously no fishing ability.

Gloucester morning.

It’s very warm, as it should be in July. Fairly humid too, again, just as it should be. The birds have been awake for hours. They chatter so constantly that I almost don’t hear them anymore. A faint fishy smell is ever-present, but not enough to bother me. I’m sure somewhere close by on shore, seafood is being processed for the masses, because that’s what they do here.

Processing Plant.

The XO is up and rustling around in the galley. After awhile, she climbs the companionway stairs with her big coffee mug and smart phone. We exchange our usual morning greetings and pecks.
“There’s a museum I want to visit,” she says, and sits next to me on the gunwale.
“I wanna see the Fisherman statue,” I gush.
My wife’s phone tells us everything we need to know. Like where the public docks are (so we can park the dinghy), and the route to our destinations.
“Bike or walk?” I ask.
“Walk. Definitely walk. Everything is so close.”

While drinking our coffee, we watch an unusual object float slowly toward us. It’s a bright yellow cylinder sticking straight up a foot out of the water.
“Broom handle,” I guess.
“I don’t think so. Why is it sticking up?”
“Because the broom part is still attached,” I venture.
“Can’t be. It would be floating sideways.”
“Maybe a mop. With the metal part weighing it down. The water’s too murky to see more than six inches under.”
“Only one way to find out,” the XO says as it floats closer.

Marine salvage treasure.

After breakfast we take the dinghy to shore. There are two public landings. One is right across the street from the market, a liquor store, and about a dozen restaurants, so that’s where we’re heading. The plan is to see the Fisherman’s Memorial, hit the museum, grab a bite at a restaurant, and provision up at the market.

Approaching the dinghy dock.

I love the boat. You know I do. But after a couple of days afloat, it feels so friggin’ good to walk on solid ground. You really do wobble for a bit.

Wobbly walk along the beach.

Gloucester Fisherman’s Memorial.

There are a fair amount of people out this morning. I’m sensing it’s a weekend. I pull my phone out to check on that, and spontaneously decide to call Joe, my next door neighbor. He’s a good man, and always agrees to watch our house while we’re away. We always leave our float plan with him. For those who don’t know, a float plan is a written way to let people know where you are going in your boat. Just in case something happens and you don’t return, the Coast Guard will have some idea of where to look for you. It does happen. A lot. In our case, because we don’t know exactly where we’re going, I can only leave general directions, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.

I dial Joe’s number, he answers immediately, and right off the bat I notice a weird echo. Suddenly, it’s one of those ridiculous and indescribable moments when we both realize we’re standing right next to each other! I mean, literally, one foot away from each other. We all have a good laugh and hang out for a while.

Our next-door neighbors Joe and Bernadette.

Today is one of those summer days that is so hot and humid, ya just know there’s gonna be thunderstorm. Sure enough, not long after we return to Ginger Lee, all happy and aglow from our busy shore leave, that familiar and ominous rumble begins. The sky abruptly changes from friendly blue to dangerous grey. Being engulfed by a storm while floating on your boat is not a happy feeling. All you can do is take the usual precautions and hope that you don’t get struck by a bolt of lightning.
It was all over in a matter of minutes. We survived and got a free boat wash to boot.

Clearing sky.

The post storm air is as cool and refreshing as an Autumn morning. I open all the windows and hatches to bathe in it before the hot July sun turns it to steam. This will be our last night here. Tomorrow morning at sunrise, we will start the diesels and head off with the fishing boats. I envy the people who live here. I wonder if they think of Gloucester Harbor in the same way as I do: friendly, historic, beautiful.