It’s two days before summer, and the weather is darn near perfect. We’re talkin’ seventy-five degrees, clear blue cloudless skies, and a gentle southeast breeze. It’s as if the weather gods are tossing us a bone to make up for the last three crappy weeks.
“Sorry about the past month guys. Please accept my apologies and have this beautiful weekend to enjoy on your boat. Your friend, W.G.”

Stuff for the weekend loaded into my big trike. That thing is like a pick-up truck.

Swifts Neck looking east. We lock our bikes to a fence and dinghy out to Ginger Lee.

Mean Ol’ Mister Humidity hasn’t shown his face around here yet. Oh I’m sure he’s on his way, and we’ll deal with him when he gets here, but for now, the XO and I are psyched to fire up Ginger Lee and cruise her to one of our favorite ports-of-call: Onset. The jewel of Wareham, Massachusetts.

On our way to Onset.

When we enter the Hog Island Channel, we’re surprised (and pleased) to see the Canal Patrol boat Parsons stopping boats for excessive speed and wake. The speed limit here is ten MPH and is a no wake zone, but nobody ever obeys this rule except boats like ours that can’t go fast enough to leave a big wake. In all fairness, the speed limit is not posted anywhere. When traversing this area, always assume you will be waked mercilessly and plan accordingly.

Patrol boat Parsons. Protecting all of us from big bad wakes.

Even in our slow boat, it’s only an hour cruise. At the entrance to Onset Bay, strong currents try their best to dash us against the unfriendly rocks, but we foil this evil plan and carefully follow the nav-aids to the back side of Wickets Island and pick up a town mooring.

Moored in Onset Bay.

The friendly Harbormaster stops by to collect her fee.

Everybody is out enjoying the nice weather.

Marine Unit One.

Even the Coasties are out.

We dinghy to shore in search of food. There are plenty of choices, but today it’s a toss-up between Mark Anthony’s and Quahog Republic. We settle on the latter because the XO has a hankerin’ for seafood and a mai tai.

Heading to shore.

Mostly hard dinghies here. It’s unusual.

We share wicked good parmesan fries. I have the “poor man’s surf and turf” which is a hot dog and a stuffie.

A statue of an Indian maiden watches over beautiful Onset Bay.

All is well in beautiful Onset. Off in the distance, the sun is slowly sinking toward the rugged tree-line, painting a sparkling yellow trail to our transom. There is still a surprising amount of activity: beachgoers are reluctant to pack up their belongings; boaters are still out and about; paddle-boarders and kayakers are out there too. Not one of us wants to let this awesome day slip into night, as if there will never be another so perfect. But, of course, there will be many, many more. It is just the dawn of summer, when Onset, and all the wonderful waterways of Wareham, come alive.

It is a beautiful day here in New London, Connecticut. The temperature is just about right: mid 70’s with absolutely no humidity. I’m feeling pretty good and having the time of my life watching everybody around me work their boating jobs. How does the saying go? “I love work. I could sit and watch it all day!”
Captain Skerry and his pilot, Captain Phil, sit in Patricia Ann’s wheel house. They are discussing what to do about the current happenings, which is nothing. There is absolutely nothing happening. The Coast Guard is supposed to show up with a bomb-sniffing dog and check out the tugboat, apparently normal procedure for any boat working so close to the nation’s gazillion dollar top-secret toy: a new Virginia class nuclear powered submarine. The Coasties are wicked late.

Waiting for the bomb dog.

Finally, Captain Phil calls the front gate.
“Any sign of the Coast Guard?” he asks. Shaking his head, he hangs up the phone.
“Maybe we should call them,” Captain Skerry offers.
“Got a number?”
“Ah, no.” Captain Skerry says. He leans forward, grabs the radio mic and keys it.
“Coast Guard, this is Patricia Ann at the Thames Shipyard, over.” Phil makes a joke about the Coasties sometimes not being so vigilant about answering their radio calls. I can confirm that. I remember more than a few instances where radio calls were not answered. Two of them were emergencies. The Coast Guard performs a valuable service to all boaters, but I guess they can’t always be available. This time though, they respond.
“Patricia Ann, shift and answer two-two alpha, over.”
Captain Skerry changes the channel and asks for the land-line number; Captain Phil pecks the numbers on his cell as soon as they crackle over the radio speaker.
“We’re one of the tugs supposed to move that submarine today. We were told you’re coming at 1100 hours for an inspection,” Phil listens for a bit, then rolls his eyes.
“So you are not coming. Right? Okay, I’ll call them. Do you have the number?” he asks, scratches it down, then hangs up.
“Apparently The Coast Guard doesn’t do that sort of thing. Ever.” Phil announces.
“But the Navy said…,” Captain Skerry started.
“Lemme call ’em,” Captain Phil interrupts, dials the number (yes, the Navy has a phone number) and explains the situation. He listens for a while, smiles, covers the phone, leans over, and says. “The Navy says they don’t do inspections. It’s up to the Coast Guard!”
It’s kinda funny–two big time government agencies tangling it up a bit–but Captain Phil hangs in there. Armed with only a cell phone, he bravely battles through the conundrum calmly and diplomatically.
“Okay. The Navy is coming,” he says, holstering his phone like a smoking six-shooter. “By boat,” he adds.

The Navy pilothouse skiff arrives.

Pondering how to get a 100 pound dog over the rail.

It takes four people to lift the dog over Patricia Ann’s tall rail. The handler leads the dog once around the lower deck and that was it. They put the dog back into the skiff and head over to the tug John Paul.

“Boomer” the Navy bomb sniffing dog.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. Captain Skerry backs his tug out and we’re off to move a sub. It’s wicked exciting.

Following the ferry.

We not going very far, just across the Thames River to the docks at Electric Boat.
Talk about shock and awe, I sucked in a huge breath when I saw this magnificent vessel.

The E.B. docks.  They plan to move the sub sideways away from the dock to the other side of the red buoy in the foreground, then forward into the channel.

Security is high. This is one of four gunboats.

Captain Skerry maneuvers Patricia Ann’s bow to the dock adjacent to the sub. We’re gonna drop off Captain Phil, who will pilot the sub down the Thames.

Dropping off Captain Phil.

Once Captain Phil is on board the sub, the fun begins. Captain Skerry is directed to position Patricia Ann perpendicular to the sub just under the sail. He will pull the sub away from the dock.

Patricia Anne in position.

Tug John P. Wronowski ties up parallel to the sub near the stern to push it forward or backwards as needed.

John P. Wronowski tied to the stern.

Once they clear the dock and the buoy, they push the sub to the middle of the channel. Tug John Paul gets tied to the port side of the sub, near the front. The Wronowski repositions itself to the port side as well, but near the stern. They untie Patricia Ann and we follow them up the river to the sub base in Groton, CT.

Ready for the push up river.

Heading up the Thames.

Going under the bridge. Wow, that’s close.

Pushing the sub into port.

As promised, it is quite a show. I mean c’mon, escorting a 300 foot submarine up the Thames! Not many civilians get to witness this sort of thing. For me, it’s an incredible once in a lifetime experience that borders on the surreal, but for Captain Skerry, it’s just another day.

Relaxing with a couple of beers at the end of the day.

A guy won’t get too many opportunities to accompany a tugboat captain as he moves a Virginia class nuclear submarine.
“Ya oughta come along Rick. Should be quite a show,”  Captain Skerry said in a Facebook message. I couldn’t get my fat little fingers to the keyboard fast enough to reply “Hell ya!”
I first met John Skerry in the spring of 2010. He had a Trojan F-32 for sale, so the XO and I (and our dog Ginger Lee) headed off to the town of North Kingstown in Rhode Island to check it out. The boat had been refitted with Lehman 120 diesels, an intriguing and unusual set-up. Trawler motors in an old sport fisher? I think I was more intrigued by the fact that his name, Skerry, is also a name for a sailing dinghy. Long story short, we bought the boat, named it Ginger Lee, and lost contact with John until the summer of 2015 when he found us moored in Wickford Harbor. We’ve been friends ever since.
I had arranged to meet John at 8:00 AM at a Park and Ride in Rhode Island. About an hour and a half drive.
It’s 6:30 on a coolish, slightly foggy morning. The sky shows streaky glimpses of blue as I leave my driveway in Wareham. “It’s gonna burn off,” I say to myself, and I am right. By the time I reach my destination, it’s a full-blown sunny day. I hop into John’s F-150 and we drive to New London, Connecticut. On the salty shores of the historic Thames River, I’m transported into a world that few people ever get to experience up close, the world of working mariners. Captain Skerry’s world.

Captain Skerry takes in the view from his tug Patricia Ann.

The Thames Shipyard is a hundred acres of working waterfront that includes not only tugboats and dry-docks, but both car and passenger ferries. It’s the beginning of Memorial Day weekend and the parking lot is filling up with ferry passengers and cars. John cuts a long line of idling cars and gets waved through.
“Is it crazy yet?” he asks the young attendant.
“Gettin’ there,” is the expected answer.
First, we tour the relatively new fast ferry. Impressive for sure.

Fast Ferry.

Fast ferry bridge.

Engine room control panel.

But not nearly as impressive as the deluxe tour of (in my opinion) the star of the fleet the Cape Henlopen. This massive car ferry was built in the Forties and was actually on the beaches of Normandy delivering tanks during WWII. The fact that it’s still in daily operation today is a testament to the talented employees of this ship yard. Everything is maintained, repaired, and refurbished on site.

Captain Skerry’s workplace.

The Cape Henlopen car deck.

In the middle of the car deck, John opens a door marked DO NOT ENTER and I eagerly follow him down a long, steep, metal stairway into the bowels of this historic ship. It is wicked loud. I mean heart-stopping loud. I was in a rock band for forty years, so I know loud. The heat radiating from a massive diesel engine is alarming, and it’s not even running. John shouts in my ear and I can barely hear him. Apparently all the noise is coming from a pair of room-size 250 kilowatt generators. That’s a huge amount of power. To put it in perspective, I have a 3 kilowatt emergency generator that runs my whole house, heating system and everything.

Big engine

Big Generator.

Water system detail.

We follow a prop shaft to the aft of the boat. John points out an interesting feature: this huge ship can be steered manually. If the hydraulics fail, a person could crank a gizmo and steer.

Shaft

The shaft brake. It’s like a disc brake on a car but much bigger.

Rudder mechanism. Note the direction pointer at the top so it can be manually steered. This thing is as big as a truck.

Manual steering actuators. You wrap a chain to connect those two orange things and crank that arm in the foreground. It looks like it’s been used before.

We climb out of the engine room and head up to see the wheel house. After the sauna-like engine room, the cool ocean air whacks me like a Gatorade shower.
Captain Skerry has been haunting this shipyard for so long it’s hard for him to move anywhere without stopping to say hi to someone. “This is my friend Rick. He’s the guy who bought my boat,” is my introduction, repeated many times. And everybody knows exactly what he’s talking about. Our old F-32 is apparently well-known around here.

The Wheelhouse.

1940’s com phone. Still in use.

We eventually make our way over to the tugboat side of the yard. Things couldn’t be more different. There’s no hustle and bustle; no public to deal with. The docks are strewn with all manner of stuff: welding equipment, 55 gallon drums, cables, lines, and spares. And then there are the awesome tugboats themselves. Who the heck doesn’t like tugboats?

Working docks. Tug John Paul.

We hop aboard Captain Skerry’s 105 foot tug Patricia Ann.

Rubber all around.

Fortified bow.

Stern bitt (the big black thing they tie lines to and that looks like tt) They plan to replace it with a power winch. (next photo)

Old Navy power winch.

Old school wheel house.

I love this engine room. I could live here.

2400 ponies.

Fully stocked galley.

Bunks. I COULD live here!

After touring the tugboat Patricia Ann, all I can say is: I want one.

Captain Skerry and tugboat Patricia Ann

Normally, by this time of year, our boat Ginger Lee would have been floating for a month now. But the weather hasn’t been kind to us boaters. It is May 20th and I can’t think of any day so far that was nice enough to go boating. There were a couple of days in March, and maybe one in the beginning of April. Cold, raw, and windy has been our month of May. That is, until today. It’s an awesome morning: sunny and plenty warm enough to make any mariner happy. My wife and I are smiling because today is the day we launch.
A couple of days ago we cut away Ginger Lee’s warm plastic cocoon that has been protecting her for seven months. It was a chilly day that required a heavy hoodie.

Cutting away the shrink-wrap.

Thank goodness the weather has turned. The boys at the Moby Dick Marina fire up the tractor and run it over to our boat. We’re gonna be the first one in this morning.

The first and most important pre-launch activity: inserting the drain plug.

Positioning under the boat.

Removing the wood blocks and jack stands.

Backing fifteen tons of boat down the ramp.

Splashdown.

Oh goodie! Both engines start right up. While they warm I check the bilge for leaks before they retract the trailer. There’s a packing gland that needs adjustment. No problem: I get my tool and handle it in five minutes. The XO unties the lines and hops aboard. The shakedown cruise begins.

Cruising at last.

I hail the New Bedford bridge on channel 13 and ask what time they will be opening. “In nine minutes” is the response. I guess the radio works. The new depth sounder is working as well. The old one, however, is not waking up. That’s okay, we only need one.

This working barge in New Bedford Harbor has trees growing on it.

The New Bedford Bridge swings open.

Nothing has blown up and we’re still floating. So far so good.

The Mayflower II docked for repairs.

The hurricane barrier.

After passing the New Bedford Hurricane Barrier, I give my wife the helm for the three-hour tour to Wareham. She is the long haul driver. Meanwhile, I get busy checking stuff out and quickly discover the little red bilge pump light is not working. The pumps work, the light doesn’t. A minor problem but I make a note to replace the bulb.

The XO.

Suddenly the new depth sounder starts going bonkers. It reads over three hundred feet of depth. It should read about thirty feet. I shut it off for a few seconds and turn it on again. The image on the screen freezes. I push all the buttons to no avail. It wont even shut off, so I unplug the power cord.

Bonkers depth sounder.

I can’t get the new sounder working so I open the console access panel to see what’s up with the old sounder. I wiggled the power wire it loudly comes to life. BEEP!

The correct depth.

So far, the only thing that’s not working is the brand new instrument. I call the help line number listed in the manual and the nice people at Hummingbird talk me through a few diagnostics and a reset procedure. The unit comes to life and is working perfectly. I thank the nice man and hang up. Two seconds later the new instrument goes bonkers again. Oh well, it’s obviously something I can’t fix now and we have the old unit which is just fine.
Bird Island Light, our gateway home, presents itself dead ahead. A massive swarm of birds rises from its rocky shoreline as if they were welcoming us back. It’s been so long  since we cruised these friendly waters. The New England boating season is way too short.
Home safe. No one died! And mostly everything worked.
Avid kayaker Joe Mullins paddles over to greet us, children play loudly on the beach, and happy boaters are coming and going. What a great day!

Captain Joe Mullin.

Swifts Neck Beach and Hamilton Beach.

We dingy to shore and walk across a the salt marsh to our house. I’m a happy guy. It’s finally tee-shirt weather. Let the 2016 boating season begin! 

This is the new couch for the salon. The old one was so bad we had to cover it with a sheet. As a sleeper sofa, it was small, uncomfortable, and weighed more than a car. Good riddance. We pitched it off the boat onto the hard ground and it landed with a satisfying crunch. Now comes the tough part: installing the new couch.
How do you lift a seven-foot couch up over a railing that’s ten feet off the ground? Very carefully. The XO got the bright idea of using the old couch to stand on. She heaved it upward while I stood on the deck and pulled it over the railing.

It fits perfectly.

We pick a cool but sunny day to perform our next trick: the dreaded painting of the bottom. Unless you remove your boat from the water after every use, this is a chore that all boaters must do. For us, it’s every two years. This year we’re trying a new water-based multi-season ablative from Petit.

The new water-based anti-fouling paint.

The XO masks off the waterline while I scrape and wire-brush a few parts of the hull that didn’t come clean from last falls powerwashing.

Masking the waterline.

Scraping.

I love this new paint! It rolls on wicked easy like interior house paint. We get the whole job done in an hour, and clean up with water. The stuff we used to use was so sticky and gummy it took forever to apply it, and smelled so toxic we needed masks.

The XO cuts a stunning figure in her Tyvek bunny-suit.

This new paint rolls on beautifully.

Finished. Nice tape line.

Normally, this time of year, we would have completely removed the winter shrink wrapping, but we’re leaving it on so we can coat the deck and gunwales with Kiwigrip. It’s a thick, non skid coating that we hope will improve the look and feel of our aging gel-coat.  We did all the online research (and by “we” I mean the XO) and this stuff comes highly recommended.
It’s early, and being a weekday, I’m the only soul in the whole marina. It’s time to prep the decks for the Kiwigrip. “This shouldn’t take too long,” I say to myself as I crawl up through the forward hatch. With the shrink-wrap still on, the strong April sun is turning the enclosed space into a sauna. “Jeez it’s hot in here,” I say out loud as I pull off my sweatshirt. Escaping the morning chill feels good on my bones for about five minutes, then It’s time to do something about it. I snap open my pocket knife and cut two vee shaped vents into the white shrink-wrap.
I mix up a small batch of Marine-Tex and fill all the small holes and cracks, then mask off all the areas I don’t want coated, and scrub everything with a Scotch-Brite pad and Zep cleaner/degreaser. That last sentence describes six-and-a-half hours of knuckle scraping work crawling on my knees. I drag my aching body home and plunk myself on the couch with two Aleve and a cold beer. I’m not gonna move for the rest of the day. Except maybe to get another beer. 

The next day the XO and I are back at Moby Dick Marina to apply the Kiwigrip. The manufacturer says you need two people: a “slather-er” (the actual term used in the instructions) or someone to goop the product on with a trowel, and another person to immediately give it texture with a roller tool before it dries. I will call that person the “texture-er”.

The slather-er applying Kiwigrip with a serrated trowel.

The texture-er using the special tool.

Kiwigrip has the consistency of canned vanilla cake frosting. It’s real easy to work with. We do a small 2 foot section, remove the masking tape, and move on down the line until it’s all covered. It probably took a couple of hours. The end result is lookin’ good. I’ll let ya know how it holds up to the marine environment. But since it was developed in New Zealand for racing sailboats, I remain optimistic.

A finished section of the starboard gunwale.

There is no cold like the cold inside your boat in winter. I don’t know if it’s psychological or not, but I swear it’s 40 degrees colder in here than it is outside. My breath is great plumes of white steam. With shaking icicle fingers, I quickly fire up the alcohol heater, and within ten minutes I’m able to take off my heavy coat. Five minutes after that, I strip off my hoodie. It’s time to get busy. The new 49 gallon holding tank has arrived from California.

New 49 gallon tank.

From the extensive Ronco Plastics online catalogue, I picked this tank out because it’s made to fit in the front vee section of a boat. For no extra charge, Ronco installed the inlet and outlet fittings to my specifications.
Let the fun begin! First I remove the vee-berth cushions, wood covers and supports, and expose the old barrel-shaped tank. Captain Skerry (the previous owner of Ginger Lee) tells me this tank was installed by the guy he bought the boat from. He also called him a hacker. The markings on the tank say it used to be a machine oil barrel. Obviously, the guy got it for free and converted it to a holding tank. Probably to save money. All I can say is that it worked well enough, it was just too darn small.

The old holding tank.

I cut the PVC tubing with a jig saw and quickly stuff rags into the openings. No sense in stinking up the place. Even though we pumped this thing out last fall, there is still some residual material. I yanked that sucker right outta there and tossed it outside. Now comes the big moment: seeing how well I measured the space for the new tank.

Trail fit.

It’s perfect fit. Yay me! It would cost over a hundred bucks to ship that tank back to California.
Okay, back to work. I fabricate a support bed out of thick plywood, settle the new tank onto it, and plumb everything in with 1-1/2 septic tubing I bought from West Marine. The tubing was so stiff from the cold that I had to use a heat gun to make it pliable. Two ratcheting straps, the vee-berth support spar, and the sides of the boat hold everything firmly in place. Finally, I install a holding tank vent filter, it’s function is obvious.

Finished. The inlet tubing loops above the waterline. The outlet drains from the bottom, and the tubing runs underneath for complete emptying.

It’s time to tackle the malfunctioning starboard fuel gauge. I’ll start with the part inside the fuel tank called the sending unit. Lucky me. It’s located on the end of the tank nearest the access hatch. After energizing the ignition, I remove the wire connected to the center of the old sender and touch it to the ground wire. The gauge moves from overfull to “empty”. This tells me three things: the wiring is good, the gauge works, and the sending unit is bad.

The top of the sending unit. It’s the round plate with a wire attached to it.

I can see that the five screws that hold the sender to the tank are going to be a problem. They’re kinda rusty, and none of them are budging. They’ve most likely been in there since 1974, the date stamped on the tank. The condition of the screws doesn’t surprise me. On a boat, fastener removal is nine-tenths of the job. In fact, I’m more surprised when stuff comes apart easy. Great care must be taken to not strip out the slots or break the screw heads, lest I’ll be drilling and tapping the afternoon away.
I consider my options: It’s a fuel tank so I probably shouldn’t use my blow torch, that leaves penetrating oil. I soak the tops of the screws and wait a few minutes. With a good Snap-On screwdriver, and a lot of muscle, I’m finally able to get one screw to move ever so slightly. Here’s the plan: turn the screw out a bit, spray with oil, screw it back in, then back out a little more, spray, etc., etc., repeat for all five screws. Not one of those little buggers gives me a friggen break, but after an hour of hand numbing work, they all came out unbroken. I WIN!.

The old sending unit. It’s basically a float connected to a variable resistor.

The shiny new unit.

I install the new sending unit, hook up the wires, and turn on the ignition, but the fuel gauge still moves to over-full. Why? Because the new sending unit is not speaking the language of the old gauge. In these modern times, pretty much all sending units and gauges adhere to industry standards, but in the stone age (early 70’s) who knows what heathen voodoo gods made these things work. That’s exactly why I bought a new gauge. Hey, I’m not as dumb as I look. Of course, it would have been peachy keen if didn’t have to change out the gauge, but that’s not the case, so I’d better get started.

Heathen, voodoo talking, stone-age gauge.

Modern era gauge.

I pour four jerry-jugs of diesel into the starboard tank to check my work and everything is working properly. I think that’s enough fun for today. On my way home I’m gonna pick up a large ham and provolone sub from my favorite shop. And a bag of chips too. Why not? I deserve it!

Zipper access door. This is how I get into our shrink-wrapped boat.

 Aw jeez. It is the last ride of the season. We will take Ginger Lee from Wareham to Fairhaven and put her up for the winter at the Moby Dick Marina. It’s a sad occasion, but it must be done. The morning is chilly enough to require long pants and a warm hoodie, but at least it’s bright and sunny. I like that. It warms my soul on a day when Swifts Neck Beach seems so lonely and deserted that it hurts my feelings. What a difference from just a few short weeks ago when shrieking children splashed joyously in its warm salty waters; when clutches of barefoot beachgoers sat in colorful aluminum folding chairs, snacking, gabbing, and slathering fragrant ointment on sun drenched skin; when the hoots and hollers of waterskiers echoed across the mooring fields; and when happy boaters did their happy boating things. But it is October in New England, a month when nobody would be surprised if it snowed. It’s time to get ready for winter.

Swifts Neck Beach in October.

Our first stop is the pump-out station at Zecco Marina in Wareham Harbor. Ginger Lee’s holding tank must be emptied for the winter. Boaters: you gotta try these Marriage Saver headsets. They allow instant and wireless two-way communication between the XO and me no matter where we are on the boat. Docking and mooring are so much easier. Before that we used hand signals and shouted.

Approaching Zecco’s.

A Successful docking. Thanks in part to our Marriage Saver headsets.

On the way to Zecco’s, the starboard fuel gauge suddenly goes from empty to over-full, the forward bilge pumps quit, and the depth sounder dies. I guess it’s time to start my list for things I need to do before the 2016 boating season. Not to be confused with the list of stuff I want to do.

Starboard fuel gauge reading over-full. The tank is actually near empty.

With the exception of the gremlin infested equipment, the three-hour trip is uneventful. Wave heights are a nice 1-2 feet and we have the waterway to ourselves. On this gorgeous day, it’s like my wife and I are the only people in the world. As per usual on the open seas, the helm is hers, and as usual, she wears it well. Sometimes she’s quiet, sometimes she’s talkative. Either way I try to follow her lead. Piloting a boat in these perfect conditions can be a good time to be with you own thoughts and this seems to one of those times; words are superfluous so I’ll go with the flow. Just take it all in and enjoy the moments. I’m going to miss this. It’s a good last ride of the season.

Bug Light in New Bedford.

New Bedford Harbor scene.

Waiting for the swing bridge to open.

Whenever I pull into the Moby Dick Marina, it feels like I’m coming home. Maybe it’s because I used to live on my boat here, or because I’ve been coming here for 13 years. I dunno, it just feels good.

Docking at the Moby Dick Marina.

When the tide is right, John, Arion, and the boys get ready to pull Ginger Lee out. This is how they do it: first, they attach a huge boat lifting machine to a tractor and back it down a ramp into the water. The machine is like a trailer with powerful hydraulic arms.

Backing down the ramp.

Hydraulic trailer detail.

Next, they slide the machine under the boat, then operate the hydraulics so that the arms rise up to meet the hull.They slowly pull the whole thing up the ramp, then power-wash the bottom.

Power-washing the bottom. Note Ginger Lees “cruisers moustache”. Many miles cutting through the water has discolored front part of the hull. It’s considered a badge of honor by other cruisers.

After the bath, they back her into a spot and install big metal stands in strategic places under her hull, and big wooden blocks directly under her keel. The tops of the stands are like jacks so they can be screwed up to meet the hull.

Backing in.

Setting the stands.

When everything is just right they simply lower the hydraulic arms and pull the trailer out.
Now it’s time for me to go to work. I crawl under the boat with a device that looks like a plunger with a hose attachment. After positioning this gizmo onto the raw water intakes, I run five gallons of RV antifreeze through each engine. This keeps them happy for the cold winter. Then I get on the phone and hire a contractor to completely cover the boat in taut, white, shrink-wrapped plastic that will protect her from snow and whatever Old Man Winter decides to chuck her way.
That’s about it. Once I turn off the batteries and drain the water heater, there is nothing for me to do except wait for spring. But I wont be idlely wallowing in sadness, oh no dear reader. I’ve got plenty of things to do.There’s the new holding tank project (removing the ancient 20 gallon one and installing a big 49 gallon one) and the transom shower project ( hot and cold running water for rinsing off on the swim platform) and finally, coating the deck with white Kiwi-Grip to protect and beautify. These major projects as well as the other stuff, like the wonky fuel gauge, the busted bilge pump and the depth sounder problem, can be done inside the boat, with the heater on. So you see, I’ll still be having fun messing about this old boat during the winter, and most assuredly, writing about it.

Shrink-wrapped for the winter.

The sun clears the treetops in Hadley Harbor. Its lovely rays warms my face and makes me squint. Just like the cream in my coffee, it adds something pleasing to my morning. After a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, we prepare to get underway. Destination: Quissett Harbor.  Even at this early hour, boats are circling like buzzards waiting for someone to vacate a mooring. Fat chance on this gorgeous weekend morning, until I fire up Ginger Lee’s diesels. In this quiet harbor I might as well send up a flare. The closest buzzard, who is on his way out after finding zero empty moorings, comes to a dead stop and completely turns his big sailboat around. “Here ya go pal. Lucky you,” I say to myself as the XO drops the pennant.

Happy boaters picking up the last empty mooring.

We slowly make our way out, following the marked channel between Bull and Nonamesett islands. Still in awe of the beauty that surrounds us, I throttle down to dead slow, much to the chagrin of the big ferry behind me. There’s no room to pass and no place to pull over. He’s crowding me a bit, but I’m doing the posted speed limit. So waddayagonna do? Shoot me? That’s about what it would take to spoil my mood.
When we clear Hadley Rock and enter the Woods Hole cut, the impatient ferry captain immediately passes me on my starboard side. I half expected him to flip me the bird, but he peacefully continues on his way.
Within an hour we have rounded Penzance and approach the Quissett Harbor inlet marked by an easily recognizable promontory called The Knob.

The Knob.

No problem finding an empty mooring; we have our choice of dozens. I head for one to starboard. It’s right off the main fairway and in front of a beautiful mansion. The XO deftly scoops up the pennant with a boat hook, and we’re in like Flynn.
“Just pick up any mooring with a QH on it. ‘Round about dusk, a nice man will dingy by and knock on your hull to collect his 35 dollars.” So sayeth the cruising guide.

Quisett harbor mansion.

It seems to me that this place has the highest concentration of Herreshoff sailboats. Twelve-and-a-halfs are everywhere. I mean the real deal wooden ones made by Nat Herreshoff himself in Bristol Rhode Island, and considered one of the finest small boats of all time. I’ve seen them for sale for $25,000 to $35,000. In 1947 Cape Cod Shipbuilding (of my hometown Wareham Massachusetts) bought the rights, and most importantly, the name “Herreshoff 12-1/2.”  You can still buy a brand new one from them, but these days they’re made of fiberglass, a good thing for those who dislike the considerable maintenance that wooden boats require.

Herreshoff 12-1/2.

Quissett harbor is home to many Herreshoff “S” class boats as well. Only 95 of these gorgeous vessels were built from 1919 to 1941. It’s reported that 70 still sail. There are probably a dozen in this very harbor. I saw one for sale for a bargain $120,000. At that price it’s probably a fixer-upper.

Beautiful and rare Herreshoff “S”. Note its curved mast.

After wearing a groove in my deck chair in Hadley, I’m ready for some exercise, so we plan to ride our bikes into woods hole, just a few miles away. Cycling has added a whole other dimension to our cruising. I can’t imagine boating without it.

How did we ever live without these bikes?

On the way to the dinghy dock we pass an unusual vessel. It looks like a cross between a Chinese Junk and a trash barge, and I mean that in a nice way. I kinda like it.

The steering wheel faces the back of the boat!

We find the dinghy dock and squeeze our way in. My wife has utilized her new smart phone and finds The Shining Sea Bikeway,  a bike trial that mostly follows the coastline all the way into bustling Woods Hole.

The Shining Sea Bikeway.

Woods Hole ferry.

Stocking up on junk food.

Waiting for the drawbridge.

Boats leaving The Pond.

After an invigorating bike ride, we head back to Ginger Lee, where the XO whips up some healthy snacks to counteract the junk food.

Healthy stuff.

As advertised, ’round about dusk, a nice man comes by to collect his fee. I ask him about his interesting dinghy. Obviously one of a kind, it features an Atomic Four engine, foot controls for shifting and throttle, and a tiller for steering.

Nice man in a nice dinghy named Ticker.

Atomic Four engine.

Foot controlled throttle and shifter.

It’s always a pleasure to stay at Quissett. It’s gorgeous, inexpensive and there’s always room.

Quissett sunset.

Hadley: a place so cool it only needs one name. Everybody knows it. Everybody has stayed there. Everyone that is, except me. Why, oh why, did I wait so long to stay in Hadley Harbor? Oh yeah: because it’s too beautiful. That’s right. It’s so beautiful that you can’t find room on a nice day. Lord knows I have tried. Even in mid September, we are extremely fortunate to find an open mooring and it is the very last one.
Guess what? All the moorings are free of charge! Compliments of the Forbes family, your gazillionaire friends who live here on Naushon Island. In fact, they own the whole place, all the Elizabeth Islands except Cuttyhunk and Penikese, and they invite us boaters to come and enjoy it, including the beaches. All they ask is that you please not wander through their backyard and don’t trash the place.

Horses in the backyard.

This is my adaptation of a sign on shore:
“Hello happy boaters. Enjoy Hadley harbor, but please don’t go ashore on the main island because it is our home. You wouldn’t want strangers walking through your back yard would you? No of course not. Instead, have this other island, Bull Island, to explore and enjoy. Bring a picnic lunch. Bring your dog! Thank you in advance for picking up after yourselves. Have a wonderful day, your good friends, the Forbes.”

En route to pet friendly Bull Island.

Nestled between, and protected by these three islands: Naushon, Uncateena, and Nonamesset, you’d be hard pressed to find a calmer harbor. The heat of the summer is no longer with us, yet we are comfortably warm here out of the wind and salty air. We could actually hear conversations from boaters way on the other side. My wife reminds me to keep my voice down. It is really that quiet here.
I help her take her kayak off the roof and watch as she glides effortlessly off. Three strokes and out of sight; it’s that calm. After more than an hour, she’s back with tales of her adventures as she traversed the width of Naushon. I’m so glad I’m here to witness her happiness, and of course, her life. After securing Kayanne back on the roof, she proclaims kayaking in Hadley is “very entertaining”.

The XO aboard her command “Kayanne”.

We interrupt this program with some exciting news: WE GOT A NEW MOTOR FOR SALTY! Yes indeedy doo. As mentioned in our last installment, when we got home from Padanaram, we purchased a brand spankin’ new four-stroke Mercury 9.9  with an electric starter. Our aging, well-travelled Honda, who served us honorably and faithfully for many years, has found a good home on the back our next-door neighbor’s boat. And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Beer baptism. Christening the new Merc.

We could hardly believe our eyes when we saw a ferry come through this small harbor. It’s not a car ferry so they must use a winch for the little pick-up truck on the deck.  According to the last Massachusetts census, 80 people live here. That’s a lot of Forbes.

I assume this ferry came from Woods Hole.

Veckatimeset, Pasque, Nashawena, Nonamesset, Uncatena, Naushon, Weepecket, Gosnold: these are names of real places in Massachusetts. Most Bay Staters have never heard these names, and thanks to the Forbes family, you probably never will.  I just think it’s so cool that one family has kept these islands pristine and unchanged. I imagine they could make quite a profit if they sold them. Like billions of dollars. But no, not only do they keep them safe from developers and wealthy sheiks, geeks, and freaks, they allow the boaters to enjoy pretty much all the accessible areas like Tarpaulin Cove, Kettle Cove, West Beach, The Weepeckets, The Unnamed Bight, and of course, right here, the shining star of the Elizabeth Islands: Hadley Harbor.

Darn it, our annual summer cruise is nearing an end, but we need one more port-of-call to break up our trip home from Bristol. I whip out the charts and find a place roughly midway: Padanaram. It sounds like a mouthful doesn’t it? We asked a few locals how it’s pronounced. They all said it fast like this: PDARM.
  We have been blessed with good weather this whole trip and this morning is no different: hazy blue sky and a warm gentle breeze. The XO and I are still in our pajamas as we guide Ginger Lee out of Bristol Harbor.  We hang a left under the Mount Hope Bridge and find the Tiverton Channel which loops us around the northern tip of Aquidneck Island into the Sakonnet River.
For the umteenth time, I threaten to buzz-cut my hair.
“It would certainly cure this,” I say and point to the unruly mess on my head
“Nice hair-do,” the XO laughs.
“It’s like a rat’s nest. It won’t behave unless I wash and dry it.”
“Better get to it then. The water should be hot by now.”
I’m a bit jealous; she gets out bed, shakes her head a few times, and her hair is good to go.
In Tiverton, the two-mile wide Sakonnet River gets squeezed into a quarter-mile opening that looks like it used to be a bridge. As you can well imagine the water is tumultuous. It’s either rushing at you (swirling washing machine eddies) or rushing with you (desperately trying to shove the aft end forward of the bow). This morning, the moorings and nav aids are leaning towards us as we pass the Standish Boat Yard.  I power up Ginger Lee’s engines to max thrust and we forge through into the idyllic part of the Sakonnet, where the mansions on Aquidneck feature perfectly manicured lawns that can be measured in square miles. We wonder why these people don’t have deep water docks with a big honkin’ boat tied to it. Because that’s what I would do.
It’s calm enough to cook breakfast. I whip up a couple of “Egg Bowls” as we call them. It’s basically eggs scrambled with whatever you got and served in a bowl to make it easier to drive the boat while eating. This morning it’s pepperoni, tomato, and mozzarella. Yay pizza-egg bowl!
Wave heights increase dramatically as we near the river’s mouth. The wide open expanse of Rhode Island Sound greets us roughly as it forces it way up the Sakonnet. This is expected and normal albeit uncomfortable. We have to turn left around Sakonnet Point and if we’re not careful, three to four-foot waves will broadside us and force us into the treacherous Schuyler Ledge, the site of many shipwrecks.

First wave.

The first wave washes over the bow. We know the drill. Fold up our seats; it’s too rough to sit and they’ll just go flying about the cabin. Close all windows and hatches, stow everything, put the Philodendron in the sink, put towels under the leaky windshield, and save the booze! (Take the liquor bottles off the shelf and lay them on the bed.) Beer cans too. Last year, a full can of beer rolled into a loose screw, punctured, and sprayed its entire contents onto our bed.
The waves are knocking us about but I’m not worried; Ginger Lee has handled worse. Our plan is to keep heading southwest into the waves until we’re well clear of Schuyler Ledge, then, while between waves, quickly turn northeast towards Horseneck Beach.

At 8 MPH it seemed like it took forever to make that turn, but here we are, off the coast of Little Compton, Rhode Island, and making a run toward Gooseberry Neck, Massachusetts. The waves are now our friends, pushing us along rather smartly.
It won’t be long now, all we have to do is thread ourselves through the rocks called “Hen and Chickens”, go around Mishaum Point, and catch the marker system that will feed us into Apponagansett Bay (PDARM).

Padanaram approach.

We aren’t surprised to see a forest of masts as we approach; sailing has been a tradition here for centuries. It’s actually Apponanganset Bay. Odd that nobody ever calls it that. It’s always PDARM.
Anchorages are disappearing fast. More and more harbors are getting filled up with moorings and disallowing anchoring. Panadaram is one of them. Personally, I prefer the privacy and peace of mind a mooring provides, but they’re not free. Yes, my wife and I are fortunate in that we can afford it, but I just hate that boaters are losing the freedom to choose. On the way over here, while listening to chatter on the radio, we discovered that New Bedford Harbor is now closed off to all anchoring as well. There is no more anchoring allowed in that huge harbor! Imagine if cars were subjected to the same rules.
“Come visit our lovely town. Spend your money here. Shop in our stores. Eat in our restaurants. Enjoy our beautiful scenery. That’ll be fifty bucks a day.”
“Take a hike pal. I’ll just park on this side street for free.”
“You can’t. It’s not allowed. We’ll tow you away if you try it.”
You would be outraged and rightfully so. Probably take your business elsewhere.
Well that’s my mini-rant for today. Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
It’s time to raise someone on the radio and get a mooring. In Panadaram, they’re all controlled by The New Bedford Yacht Club. On channel 68, I get an immediate response from a friendly launch driver who directs us to a spot just inside the breakwater.

Inside the breakwater.

No sooner had the XO cleated the pennant than the launch driver called back.
“Ginger Lee, this is launch, over.”
“Go launch, Ginger Lee, over”
“It looks a bit lumpy over there. Would you like to move deeper into the harbor? Over.”
“Yes sir. Awesome, over.”
“Follow me. One just opened up. Launch out.”
“Solid copy launch. Thank you so much. Ginger Lee out.”
We follow the launch deep into the harbor to a much better mooring.

A better mooring

We’ve only visited Panadarm twice, but I can’t help but notice that for such a popular boating destination there’s not a heck of a lot going on. I recall our first visit when we found a cool little second-hand shop, picked out a few items only to find out they didn’t take credit cards and there was no ATM anywhere nearby. My cruising guide said there was a market, but it was closed and boarded up. Near the swing bridge, we found a tiny bakery/pub that had great food and cold beer. Other than that, a big ol’ nothin’. I guess that’s why it’s advertised as The place where life slows down.
This time we don’t need provisions or any shore based stuff; we plan to head home in the morning when the seas in Buzzards Bay will be a manageable 1-2 feet.

A nice, warm, afternoon.

We cook up the last of our food in a pot-luck lunch, then take Salty out for a ride.

The swing bridge.

Dinghy dock, yacht club.

Attractive wooden boat.

The old Honda outboard is acting up again. I always manage to get it running, but lately it’s becoming more finicky. We make a decision: when we get home we’ll replace it with something brand new. It’ll be costly, but sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and open your wallet.

Sunset in Padanaram.

Morning comes and we say goodbye to Panadaram. I really do not want to go home.
“Why can’t we just keep cruising forever?” I ask.
“We can! All we need to do is find someone to send us checks,” the XO cracks. She’s absolutely right. If anyone out there would like to support our cruising addiction, call me and I’ll tell you where to send the checks.

Good-bye Padanaram.

Summer vacation is ending. We have jobs to go back to, a house to take care of, and land based stuff to attend to. It’s not the end of the 2015 boating season by any means, (we’ll be on the water every weekend that we can) it is however, the end of this years extended cruise, one that took us through four states. Our summer cruise is like living a dream. We get to totally immerse ourselves in life on this boat and the things that this boat needs to stay afloat and alive. A dream where the rules are so much different from on land, where challenges are more exciting, downtime more relaxing, rewards more rewarding, memories more memorable. Hopefully, next summer, if good fortune smiles upon us, we’ll get to do it again.

Home: beautiful Swifts Neck, Wareham.