It’s wicked hard to leave Marblehead, especially on such a bright sunny morning. But off we go to another new port: Gloucester. With a fishing vessel as our guide out of the harbor, I take one last opportunity to soak in the beauty.

Good-bye Marblehead.

Today’s trip is not far, less than 20 nautical miles along the scenic coasts of Salem and Manchester, Massachusetts.

Marblehead to Gloucester.

Cape Ann castle.

Upon entering Gloucester Harbor, the sights, sounds, and smells of a major fisherman’s port assault us. It’s so very different from the idyllic harbor we just left. There isn’t a pleasure craft in sight. Every vessel docked, moored, or cruising seems to be built for one purpose only. Catching seafood and the support of boats catching seafood is all that matters here, and has been for centuries. No fancy houses or mansions line the shore. There’s no room for them, no use for them. This is a pure working harbor. As pure as any. More so than New Bedford. But that is where Gloucester’s beauty lies. There is nothing quite like it. We are both awestruck. And the gulls, so many gulls, their chatter a constant reminder of where we are. We rented a mooring from Browns Yacht Yard, and even though they told us the mooring number, we cant seem to find it, so I guess the first stop is their fuel dock for directions.

Might as well fuel up while we’re here.

The staff is friendly. The whole place just oozes New England charm.

I love places like this.

Just a stones throw away from the fuel dock, we find our mooring tucked between the North and South Channels. And it’s in a no-wake zone! That’s key in this busy harbor. I don’t know how we missed it the first time.

Ginger Lee making friends with the working boats.

The harbors of Marblehead and Gloucester couldn’t be more different, but they both have tremendous appeal. We have lots of exploring to do and plenty of time to do it. So for now, we will hang out here on Ginger Lee, cook up a light dinner, uncork a bottle of Cabernet, and let the darkness slowly wash over us. Tomorrow’s another day. I can’t wait!

Gloucester sunset.

Sunrise in Marblehead Harbor. The dawn of yet another beautiful day. I’m thinking about our lawn back home in Wareham, and how crispy it must be. The hanging plants and window boxes too. The lack of rain must be hard on them. Meanwhile, back on the boat, I’m lovin’ the sunshine.

With a boat-hook, I chase a gull off the fly-bridge roof, but he soon returns with a friend and they both settle onto the warm, black, Sunbrella fabric. I can’t have that. I don’t dislike the gulls, it’s their poop I hate. So it’s time to put up the Gull-Sweeps, so-called because they spin in the breeze and literally sweep the gulls away. We have three of them to protect the 10 square-foot area.

Ginger Lee with Gull-Sweeps installed.

Apparently, I’m not the only one awake at this early hour. Two working fishermen dinghy up to their boat and start messing about with their gear. I can see they’re busy, so I suppress the urge to ask them where they’re headed, and simply toss them a friendly wave and leave it at that. In return, they wish me good morning and go about their business.

Working fishermen.

After breakfast, The XO and I plan to go ashore for a walk and some much-needed provisions. I prepare a shopping list. We’re out of everything.

The shopping list.

The waterfront area is beautiful and quaint. With its brick sidewalks and narrow winding streets, it reminds me of the Beacon Hill section of Boston.We find the supermarket at the bottom of a hill, and as luck would have it, it’s pretty close to the dinghy dock, so I’ll be able to stock up on beer as well.

Crosby’s Market dead ahead.

After washing our clothes and taking showers in the cleanest facility I’ve ever seen, we return to the boat and kick back on the aft-deck to enjoy the warm afternoon.

Relaxing on the aft-deck.

A huge ship enters the harbor.
“Where the heck is that thing going?” I ask aloud. “It’s way too big for this harbor.”
I turn on the AIS and read the stats. “Renaissance” is a 116 foot fiberglass pleasure craft with a 23 foot beam, 6.1 foot draft, and flagged for The United States. Currently underway at 1.2 MPH at a distance of half a mile.
According to Active Captain (the on-line cruising guide) the largest boat previously accommodated in this harbor is only 80 feet. This is gonna be interesting.

The behemoth is slowly advancing toward us. Boaters stop and stare, jaws drop, everyone is oohing and ahhing. A crew of four Harbormasters are scrambling about the utility dock in front of their office.
“Jeez! I think they’re gonna put it on the Harbormasters dock,” I say. Sure enough, Renaissance pulls up, and is tied to the little dock.

M/V Renaissance docked near us. The Riva dinghy tied on the side costs more than our house.

This is pretty exciting. Binoculars are glued to our eyeballs. On the top deck, there is what looks like a family sitting around a table. Two young ladies, identically dressed in navy blue shirts and khaki shorts, are fussing about with silver trays of food.
“Dinner is served,” I say in my English butler’s accent.
“It’s a gold-digging husband and his over-the-hill Hollywood actress wife,” I continue.
“And their sullen teenager,” the XO says, describing the girl in the dark hoodie who is staring at her phone.
“His daughter from another failed marriage. Look. There’s a baby. Obviously the teens illegitimate child.” I offer.
“From a wealthy rapper.”
“From Justin Bieber,” I surmise.
“And the elderly man?”
“The patriarch of the family. He killed his wife for her money. Made it look like an accident.”
“Anti-freeze?”
“Pushed her down the stairs. It’s quicker.”
In no time at all we have the whole family story worked out. We made it all up of course. But it could be true!

The XO googles the boat’s name, and discovers that anybody can rent Renaissance for a mere 85 thousand dollars a week. Quite the bargain right? Nope. Here’s the kicker. It doesn’t include food or fuel! Well the heck with that. I’m cancelling my reservation! All kidding aside, I’m happy right where I am, hanging out with my cool wife, and enjoying life in our own little boat.

It’s another nice summer morning in Hull Bay. Large fair weather clouds lazily drift across the sky, and flat seas are predicted for the next leg of our journey. How long can our good fortune continue? I have no idea, but to help keep it going, the XO and I knock on wood as we back Ginger Lee out of the slip, and say good-bye to the Sunset Bay Marina.

Todays course will take us through the Boston Harbor Islands. Specifically, we will leave Georges Island to port, head through “The Narrows” between Lovell and Gallops Islands, find the Boston North Channel, and ride that heading all the way to our destination: Marblehead, Massachusetts. Boston’s beautiful skyline beckons me. I love that port. I can’t believe we’re passing it by.
Ginger Lee, “Hey guys. Where ya goin’? Boston is the other way!”
Captain Rick, “Sorry ol’ girl. I want to go there too. But we decided to visit only new ports this trip. We talked about this. Remember?”

Passing Boston.

Ginger Lee reluctantly accepts her fate and passes through the edge of the Precautionary Area, where the large ships play.

Because we’re so close to a major city, the marine-band radio is alive with interesting chatter, and our AIS is picking up dozens of targets to check out. Technology helps pass the time. Here’s a tip: if you’re on a boat and the trip is kinda boring, it’s a good thing because it usually means smooth sailing.

A large freighter anchored in the Precautionary Area. From the radio, we gather that it’s waiting for a pilot to guide it into the city, and the pilot-boat is very late.

Finally, after a couple of hours, Tinkers Island comes into view. Yay! We are very close. The XO, who has been driving for most of the trip, gives me the helm, studies the chart, and switches into navigator mode. With her guidance, I steer our boat around Marblehead Neck, and into the harbor itself.

Tinkers Island.

There are many marinas lining Marblehead Harbor, not one has an available mooring. Fortunately, the Harbormaster has three, and for only 30 bucks a night, it’s a super bargain for this area.

The unusual light that guards the harbor.

No wonder we can’t find the entrance channel.

As soon as we enter the harbor, we both have the same reaction: WOW! The place sparkles with a heavenly glow. It’s so very near perfection, like a painting that comes alive, or a movie set when the director says “action.” But most of all, it’s one of those harbors that just feels good.
Our mooring is excellent! It’s near the showers, laundry, and dinghy dock. I also like that it’s adjacent to the main fairway and fuel dock where lots of stuff is happening. We have our binoculars at the ready!

Fuel and repair facility, dinghy dock, restaurant.

As the sun fades, we fill our glasses with the last of our red wine, and grill chicken and summer squash, the last of our provisions. We will have to buy more, of course, but tomorrow’s another day. I can’t wait!

Marblehead sunset.

It’s early morning at Sunset Bay Marina in Hull, Massachusetts. Sunrise is imminent and it’s very quiet. It’s like I have the whole place to myself. Thin, streaky clouds paint the sky with splashes of gun-metal gray. On land, countless birds, obviously also excited to be awake and alive on a such a nice morning, loudly make their presence known in the large oaks lining the shore. And it’s warm too. There will be no escaping the heat today.

With a bowl of Raisin Bran in hand, I stare at the now empty “party boat” across the fairway. Last night, in that boat, the locals were tying-one-on. No loud music, thankfully, but there was plenty of talking and laughing that increased in volume until about 10:30 when I think they ran out of booze. I briefly consider turning Ginger Lee around in her slip so that the aft deck–where we usually sit–would face away from the noise. Ah well. Maybe tonight will be different. Right now, I’m getting my walking shoes on. I plan to walk the four blocks to the other side of Hull Peninsula and check out Nantasket Beach, a name that conjures up all kinds of wonderful memories from my youth.

Nantasket Beach looking north.

Nantasket Beach is wicked wide. It must be a couple of hundred yards to the ocean. And it’s long too. One continuous sweep of sand that covers at least three and a half miles. I walk south toward what used to be one of New England’s, and arguably, the nation’s premier destinations, mostly because of a cool amusement park that closed in the mid eighties. Years ago, I used to spend the day at the beach, then hit Paragon Park for the usual stuff that amusement parks offer: rides, greasy food, and girl watching. Now, only the carousel remains. I’m getting a sad feeling because it’s not at all what I remember.

“Jeez Rick. Get over it. Things change, life goes on. It’s a gorgeous day and you’re on vacation.”

Having talked myself out of the sadness, I happily head toward the water’s edge where walking is easier on the wet, hard-packed sand. It feels good to stretch my legs. So good in fact, that I increase my pace, lengthen my stride, and push off hard with every step until my body starts to complain. The sun is just beginning to bring the heat, and I have no water and no defense against its onslaught. So I think it’s wise to head back.

Nantasket.

The only thing left from Paragon Park is the carousel.

On the way back to the boat, I find a wallet on the street. It contains no cash and no drivers license, but there are credit cards, debit cards, and most importantly, some kind of veterans ID with a picture and a name. I google the name, and up pops a video of a parade through the streets of Hull featuring a young dude wearing a fancy, full dress Marine uniform. I’m talkin’ sword, tassels, scrambled eggs and everything. It was obviously the same dude on the ID I found. Apparently the guy is a war hero and the son of a prominent politician in Hull. I call the town hall, inform them of my find, and leave my phone number. The morning slips by and nobody is calling me back, but the XO and I want to bike to a museum. I figure I’ll leave the wallet at the marina office, that way, if he calls, I can just tell him where to pick it up.

We stop at the office and explain the situation to the nice lady behind the desk. I hand her the wallet and she looks at the ID. “Oh. It’s Johnny,” she says and dials his number from memory! So the story has a happy ending. The young veteran will soon be reunited with his wallet, and the nice lady gives us free ice.

The museum at Point Allerton.

We ride to Point Allerton to visit the oldest remaining Coast Guard life saving station. This place is absolutely fascinating. I’m impressed by the historic artifacts and the story of Captain Joshua James. He and his crew were credited with saving over 600 lives! These brave men lived and worked right here in Hull.

Captain Joshua James and members of the United States Life Saving Service.

Life saving boats on wheels.

They had all their equipment on wheels, so if there was a ship wreck, they could quickly haul it to the beach. I love the breaches buoy rig. Basically, with a small cannon, they would fire off a cannonball with a line attached to it over to the ship in peril. The sailors on board would tie off to a high point and they could zip-line to shore.

Breaches buoy cart.

I must admit, at first I was a not too impressed with this place. “What’s all the hullaballoo?” I said to myself.  But the more I got to know it, with its friendly people, rich maritime history, and beautiful waterfront, the more I came to love Hull, Massachusetts, and the Sunset Bay Marina. I would come back in a heartbeat.

So many ports, so little time. Sometimes it seems like we’ve been everywhere, but this morning we are cruising to a new place. Yay. As usual, I’m up with sun, excited about the impending trip to Hull Bay, but the XO is still lights out. I pull out the large frying pan and start cooking a rasher of bacon. Finally, I sense movement in the berth. Yeah, the aroma of bacon cooking gets me going too.

After breakfast we head out of Scituate Harbor, go north, and hang a left at the famous I Love You lighthouse. (So called because its flashing sequence is 1-4-3.)
The sun is strong and bright, the waves are small, and the wind negligible. We knock on wood at our good fortune. So far, the weather gods have smiled upon us.

The I Love You light.

We rarely rent a slip, but at the Sunset Bay Marina in Hull, Massachusetts, it’s our only option. When we get close, I hail them on channel 7, a nice lady answers and dispatches a gaggle of able-bodied children to guide us in. They have us tied up in no time, spring lines and everything. Very pro.

Ginger Lee is slipped.

It’s nice having a slip. For one thing, you can walk off your boat onto a dock. Also, we can have real electricity and not have to use battery power. Lastly, we can connect our boat to the town water system. That means taking a shower and washing the dishes with the water running, just like at home. Something we never do while anchored or on a mooring simply because Ginger Lee only holds 80 gallons of water.

But there is a downside to having a slip: the lack of privacy. People are always walking by, and other boats are very near. And they’re not always quiet. The boats, I mean. There is a tendency for boat owners to leave their air-conditioners on even when they’re not around. And then there’s the dreaded “Party Boat.” Every marina has a boat that the local slip owners gravitate to for some after hours drinking. I understand they’re just having fun, and I certainly have nothing against drinking, but sometimes it can get a little loud. We have the misfortune of being across the fairway from such a boat, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightly event. In their defense, they are not playing loud music, which surprises me, but they are whooping it up. Hopefully they’ll knock it off at a reasonable hour. Meanwhile, the XO and I retreat to the foredeck to watch an event this marina is well-known for.

The sun sets behind the Boston skyline.

Jeez! I hate to leave Plymouth. So beautiful. So much to do and see. And the Plymouth Yacht Club is a gracious host. Their fifty dollar mooring fee gets you launch service, showers, and access to their bar. Nevertheless, I’m itching to move on.
It’s a warm, sultry morning. I towel off the dew clinging to the deck chairs and plunk myself down on one to enjoy my coffee. The sun, although still low in the eastern sky, is already kicking ass and taking names. On shore, large trucks loudly scoop up full dumpsters and bang them back down. Commuters are walking and driving to their jobs. Shop owners unlock their doors and sweep the sidewalk. It’s obviously a weekday, which means there won’t be so much boating traffic. Only working boats and a few recreational fishermen will ply these waters. This is a good. Like driving your car, it’s always better when there’s less traffic.
Soon, my wife joins me with her own cup of java, and we enjoy a quiet moment together on the sun drenched aft-deck. For the time being, we are not among the working landlubbers, and I sense that she is as thankful for that as I am. Oh, we’ll be punching that clock soon enough, but for now, timepieces are as superfluous as polished shoes.
“Ready?” she asks, taking that last sip.
“Yeah. Lets light ’em up,” I answer, and make my way to the lower helm station. The diesels start right up and thrum happily. The XO, looking quite adorable in her fuzzy pajamas, un-cleats the mooring pennant and gives Ginger Lee her freedom. I back away slowly, being careful of neighboring boats and the lines in the water. When the XO signals that we are clear, I shove the shifters forward and make way towards the channel.
“PYC, PYC. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee vacating mooring number two. Thank you so much for the hospitality in your awesome harbor. We’ll be back for sure. Ginger Lee out.”
“Ah, you’re very welcome Ginger Lee. Safe journey, and come back soon. PYC out”

Bye-bye Plymouth.

We leave the Bug Light to port, follow a working boat out into Cape Cod Bay, then head north past Duxbury Beach, Brant Rock, Humarock Beach, and the North River approach called New Inlet. (Ha! The so-called “New Inlet” was formed from a storm in 1898!) After a few hours the familiar lighthouse that guards Scituate Harbor greets us warmly. “Welcome back kids! Why’d you stay away so long? I miss you guys.”

Scituate Harbor Light.

Oh yeah. This place is one of our favorites, and it has everything a cruising boater needs: fuel, provisions, booze, and restaurants. All conveniently located near the water. But most of all, it’s just so darn pretty. It really gets ahold of you.

Rainbow over Scituate.

Three marinas have moorings available, and they all answer on channel 9. Perhaps they take turns with the transient renters, I dunno, and I guess I don’t care because they’re all very nice and attentive, and they all charge the same price: 45 bucks.

View from our mooring.

We’ve been here twice before, and each visit was chock full of wonderful memories. The last time, our port engine quit as we approached the entrance to the harbor. It was a windy day and the current was pushy. So naturally, the launch driver who was showing us to our mooring, took the scenic route around several wicked expensive boats probably owned by lawyers. Because of the wind and the flow of the water, Ginger Lee refused to turn left on just one engine. After a near miss with a six figure Hinckly, I hit the port engine starter, and to my surprise, it fired right up and stayed running. With the usual awesome twin-engine maneuverability, we caught the mooring with no lawsuits. A clogged fuel filter was the culprit. I always have plenty of spares on board so it was a quick fix. Click here to read about a previous trip to Scituate Harbor.

Scituate Harbor scene.

All boaters know that sometimes the weather and ocean conditions can boss you around. In order to take advantage of a good weather window, we make the decision to head out tomorrow morning to a place we’ve never been to: Hull Bay. I’m wicked psyched!

Scituate sunset.

It’s one of those Summer days ya read about. Hazy, hot, and humid. But with the memory of a long, cold winter still stuck in my craw, you won’t hear me complain. Well, not too much anyway. I just want to get into port so I can crack open a cold one. I can hear ’em rattling around in the cooler. It’s like they’re talking to me.
We leave the Gurnet lighthouse to starboard and look for the entrance channel to Plymouth Harbor. Our charts aren’t that old so we are surprised to find a nav aid positioned several hundred yards east of where it should be. The area is one big moveable shoal. It’s like entering Wellfleet Harbor. Charts are merely a suggestion.
With binoculars in hand, the XO is navigating us through an unusual intersection of nuns and cans (red and green channel markers). We hang a left at the Bug Light keeping Plymouth Beach to port, and find the Plymouth Harbor Channel.

The Bug Light.

I hail the Plymouth Yacht Club on channel 8 and they graciously arrange to meet us at the breakwater to show us to our mooring.

Old shallop moored in Plymouth Harbor.

And what a cool mooring it is! Right next to a historic old boat called a shallop, and within sight of the Mayflower II.

The Mayflower II.

There is a band playing on shore at what appears to be some kind of celebration. The music is not bad, fifty’s era rock. We open all the hatches and windows, grab some cold drinks, sit back, and absorb the beauty. It’s hot as a firecracker and boaters are out enjoying the day.

Plymouth Harbor scene.

The Plymouth Belle.

Dusk In Plymouth

Morning brings us another gorgeous day, and we’re both anxious for some shore leave. The XO finds a morning yoga class she wants to attend, and I need a good walk, so we bring Ol’ Salty to the PYC dinghy dock and go our separate ways. I find a wonderful park to explore.
After bacon and eggs on the boat, we shower at the yacht club and head off to explore downtown.

Downtown scene.

No trip to Plymouth would be complete without a visit to the famous–or infamous– Mars Records. Its gregarious proprietor, Tim Downey, regales us with tales of life in Plymouth, a town he is obviously proud of.

Tim Downey of Mars Records shows us how many records he has sold this morning.

I tried to buy this Beach Boys single for our juke box, but Tim refused to sell it to me. Instead, he offered to trade it for some Rock and Roll posters that I collected during my years as a rock musician.

The new addition to our juke box.

On yet another beautiful morning, while my wife sleeps soundly, I decide to walk the mile long breakwater. I’ll have to trek two miles to get to it.

The breakwater.

The top of the breakwater is flat and obviously made for walking on. Along the way, I really expected to see horrible and vulgar graffiti. But no! On the top surfaces of many of the massive boulders, I found uplifting messages instead. What a pleasant surprise.
My faith in humanity restored, I start my long hike back to Ginger Lee and my sweet wife. “Is she awake yet?” I wonder. My question is answered when she picks up her phone on the second ring.
“Good morning Hon,” I sing.
“Hi. Where are you?”
“Look toward the breakwater,” I answer. From where I stand, Ginger Lee is just a speck in a sea of boats.”
“Oh! I see you!”
“Hey take my picture,” I say and start waving my arms, phone in hand.
“You’re pretty far away, I’ll try max zoom.”   

Every summer we treat ourselves to an extended boat trip, and this year is no different. We will cruise as usual, but thanks to the economy, cruising has gotten a lot easier. Allow me to explain: Way back in the stone age, when fossil fuel was cheaper than bottled water, there were many happy boaters blissfully feeding their big V-8 engines with many gallons of high-octane. Marinas everywhere were filled to capacity. I had to carefully plan and make reservations way ahead of time, I’m talkin’ months in advance. Then the cost of fuel spiked astronomically and we lost many boaters. So many, in fact, that it is no longer necessary to reserve dockage so far in advance. I still like to reserve whenever possible, but the day before is usually enough time. It’s kinda exciting to wing it.
The XO: “Where are we cruising this year?”
Rick: “North.”
So we packed up our stuff, loaded it onto our boat Ginger Lee, and headed out. In order for us to go north from Wareham, we must first go east through the Cape Cod Canal.

The dinghy is loaded to capacity.

The XO drops the pennants. Let the summer boat trip begin!

The railroad bridge at the west entrance to the Cape Cod Canal.

When traversing the canal in a slow boat like ours, it’s important to time our trip so that the water is pushing us along. Fighting the strong current can knock our speed down to 2 MPH and literally waste a boatload of diesel.

Fishermen on the banks of the canal.

The power station near the eastern end. I believe it uses coal.

Near the canals eastern end, there is a marina with a fuel dock. A fellow boater told us he took a slip there once, and the wave action was so bad, that his wife cried all night. Ever since then, the XO has dubbed it The Harbor of Tears. I really like that moniker. I may even write a song about it.

“The Harbor of Tears.”

We didn’t hit the current exactly right and only averaged about 5 MPH, which is not so bad. Hey, it’s a gorgeous July morning, and we’re on vacation.

Erosion on the coastline. Notice the houses precariously close to the cliff.

Along the way, we amuse ourselves with our new toy: AIS (Automatic Identification System.) This gizmo is sort of like radar only better. Radar will show other ships and aids to navigation as a ‘blip’ on a screen, AIS will show the blip, the name of the vessel, its registration numbers; its length, beam, and draft; its position, speed, and destination. It also transmits our information to everyone, just like airplanes do. We’re not invisible anymore, unless we want to be by simply turning it off. It all ties into the Coast Guard MMSI (Marine Mobile Service Identity) system.
“But Rick,”  you ask. “Why is this good?”
“Well, dear reader,” I answer suavely.  “Because, God forbid, if there was a serious problem on this vessel, all we need to do is push a single emergency button on our radio and the Coast Guard would instantly know who we are and where we are.”

The Gurnet.

After a few hours the lighthouse on Gurnet Point comes into view. This iconic nav aid guards Plymouth Bay, and I figure this is as far as I care to travel today. I call the Plymouth Yacht Club and arrange for an overnight mooring, but the first leg of our trip is not over yet. To get to Plymouth Harbor, we must wind our way through the notorious shifting shoals, and it very near low tide.

Our trip so far.

I love when the Fourth of July lands on a weekend. Here in Wareham, the whole Tri-Beach Area (Hamilton, Swifts Neck, and Swifts) literally explodes with activity. It is the best weekend to stay on our mooring. And the weather forecast is an A for awesome.

Swifts Neck Beach is hoppin’.

Hamilton Beach is busy as well.

More Hamilton Beach.

Everyone is in full summertime mode.

Dog on a paddleboard.

Another dog on a paddleboard.

The XO goes for a sail.

There is a huge party on Long Beach.

A swimming kayaker.

A swimming powerboater.

A swimming sailboater with an overturned boat.

There ya go. Right side up again.

It’s hot. It’s humid. It’s sunny. The area is alive with happy people enjoying this beautiful Wareham waterfront. It’s more vibrant than I have ever seen it. This is our neighborhood. These are our neighbors. Everyone has the long weekend off from work, and we are all anticipating the illegal fireworks display that will surely come at the end of the day. The Tri-beach outlaws always put on a show that rivals the town’s professionally run exhibition that they usually have in Onset. The Parkwood, Broadmarsh, and Marks Cove outlaws will join in as well, making it a visual extravaganza. Here in Massachusetts, fireworks are against the law, but so was dumping the King’s tea into Boston Harbor. It’s that rebellious spirit that made this country great. After all, the Fourth of July is a celebration of our greatest rebellion.

Swifts Neck sunset.

Everybody loves Bassetts. What’s not to like? It’s the perfect anchorage, protected on all sides with beautiful beaches and scenery, and has excellent holding in firm sand.  It took us a long time to discover Bassetts, but once we did, it quickly became one of our favorites. Like Onset, we will weekend here a few times during the season. The cruise from Wareham is just about an hour, enough time for the engines to fill our water heater with gloriously hot water.

View north.

View south.

It’s a very popular place, especially on a nice day like today. The southern end is filled with the party people and children. There’s lots of fun and music, jumping, splashing, hootin’ and hollerin’. The locals with smaller boats will pull them right onto the beach. In my advanced age, I prefer the northern end of the anchorage, it’s more subdued, almost too quiet. You can hear conversations coming from other boats. I remind myself to keep my voice down.

Nice trawler from Quincy.

The XO will attempt to circumnavigate Bassetts Island.

Success!

I toss a couple of burgers on the grill, pop open a cold brew, and kick back on a comfortable deck chair. Jeez! I’m feeling pretty darn fortunate right now.

Zuccini and burgers.

After dinner swim.

Just in the nick of time, the ice cream boat approaches.

Many boaters come for the day, but only a few of us will stay overnight. You can always tell by the scope of the rode.
Dusk brings such breathtaking peace and stillness. The XO calls it “The Lemon Light”.

The Lemon Light.

I wake early to an awesome morning filled with rising sunshine and the plaintive call of a hunting Osprey. My wife still sleeps peacefully. I will not wake her if I can help it. I’m actually jealous of the fact that she can sleep until nine o’clock, something I have never in my whole life have been able to do, and I will often leave the boat to defend her right to do so. But my motives are somewhat ulterior: I do enjoy my own company at dawn, so I dinghy to the beach, where I am the only person in the world.As I walk along the deserted beach, I come across a Border Collie playing in the water. Jumping, splashing around,  swimming, and basically entertaining herself. It’s the cutest thing. I try to walk by unnoticed, but she spots me and yips playfully.I find an old tennis ball and throw it. She picks it out of the water, takes it to the top of a sandy rise, puts it down, and chases it as it rolls to the water. Happy to supply a new form of play, I move on and focus my attention on trying to beat my rock skipping record.

Trying to beat my twenty skip record. No luck.

Looking over a dune into Buzzards Bay.

The northern half of Bassetts Island is private property. There are a few houses. I’m not sure how many, because unlike the flashy mansions that line the shore on the mainland, they’re all well hidden by the trees, as if their owners don’t want to be flashy. I totally understand that.

Plenty of no trespassing signs on the northern half.

We hang around until we get hungry, but we’ve run out of food and the closest store is quite a few miles away. Nearby Kingman’s Yacht Center has an awesome restaurant, but on a nice weekend day like today, the waiting list is a mile long. With rumbling stomachs, we reluctantly pull up the anchor and head home. We will be back for certain. I hope this place never changes.