Even though it’s still morning, I’m sweating my butt off. It alreadty feels like the hottest day of the year. I cover the windshield and open all the windows and hatches to let the most delicious breeze run rampant through the boat. The XO and I are barefoot and dressed in our boat togs: clothes probably too skimpy or too thin to be seen in by the general public. It’s not as bad as it sounds; I’m wearing short pajama bottoms and a well-worn cotton tee. Bathing suits are totally acceptable on a boat as well. Reluctantly we change into our go-ashores including those infernal shoes and socks. After tossing the bikes into Ol’ Salty we head off to check out The Coggeshall Farm Museum, a real working farm that is run just like they did in the 1790’s.

Hot farm women. Literally.

A typical period kitchen. The fireplace is always going. Wicked hot in there!

Root cellar.

We have a nice conversation with a man making shingles using an interesting bench-like device. I was fascinated by the fact he was walking around barefoot over all the wood splinters. He had feet like Barney Rubble. For some reason he refuses to let me take any pictures. Unfortunately, it’s the most interesting thing going on. In fact, it’s so darn hot, it’s the only thing going on. Even the animals are hiding in the barn, sprawled out on the cool floor. I want to join them! We roam around for about an hour or so before heading off for a cool shower at the marina, and a hot lunch at Leo’s: a famous Italian restaurant downtown. Hopefully it has air conditioning.

I did an emergency repair of the XO’s only pair of glasses.

Leo’s restaurant is practically empty. Excellent. We timed our arrival perfectly for that slow period between lunch and dinner. Yes, the place is air-conditioned.

Leo’s. We have the whole place to ourselves.

I love this place! I could subsist on the garlic bread alone. The lasagna is to die for, the chicken parm melts in your mouth, and the portions are so large the doggie bag will be another meal. I highly recommend Leo’s in downtown Bristol.

To die for.

What a wonderful way to cap off our stay in Bristol Rhode Island. We’re comin’ back for sure. Cheers!

On the water, it’s always so calm in the morning. Usually as calm as it’s going to be for the rest of the day. We are tucked away in the northernmost corner of beautiful Bristol Harbor, away from the hustle and bustle of the town and working waterfront. Off in the distance, the growl of an outboard motor starting breaks the silence temporarily until the small wooden john-boat it’s connected to finds its way to open water. The happy skipper, one hand on tiller and the other on a white paper coffee cup, directs his rig around a channel marker and out of sight.
Large schools of tiny fish undulate and ripple the surface next to our boat. “Breakfast is served,” I say to Mr. Osprey, who is circling ominously. Graceful. Majestic. Powerful. Deadly. He is death from above. Wings pull in close, talons at the ready, his body turns into a guided missile screaming full speed toward the water. There is such a crash that I wonder why this handsome creature isn’t killed instantly. But there he is, mighty wings pulling him skyward. Dripping. Shuddering. Successful. There is no escape for the unfortunate silver fish that is carried off into the trees. The cormorants are awake too. Oily black feathers cling to their streamlined body. With ugly yellow beaks and big webbed feet, they are not an attractive bird. So clumsy and ungainly above the surface–they’re terrible flyers–but underwater, they have amazing skills. Death from below. Those poor little fish haven’t got a chance.After breakfast we dinghy over to the marina to check out the showers and have a bike ride before the summer sun turns angry. When I was younger, like three years ago, I would stay out all day long, broiling away, no sunscreen, no hat. Forget about it now. I love the sun. It feels so good, but it’s sooo bad.

Off for a shower and a bike ride.

Nice old launch.

Chain drive steering.

Project boat?

We couldn’t have picked a better day for a bike ride through Colt State Park, one of the places recommended by our friendly Dockmaster. This 460 acre park was once owned by industrialist Samuel P. Colt who kept his prize-winning cows here. The dude loved his cattle so much he polished their horns and kept them in a huge heated barn. Each cow had its own personal caretaker. He died in 1921, and his will stipulated that the land would be open to the public forever.

A ride in the park.

Colt State Park.

It’s getting towards noon, not a great time to be out in full sunlight for my lovely fair-skinned bride, a descendant from the land of the pink people. My ancient epidermis is crisping a bit as well. It’s time to head back to the boat. I’ve got a new bottle of Gosling’s Black Seal, and a rack of Bud on ice.

Chillin’

“What day is it?”
“Uh. Tuesday. I think,” my wife, the XO, answers somewhat tentatively.
“I don’t even know the date. How cool is that?”
“Is it important?”
“Heck no. I already had my birthday!”
It’s so true. It absolutely does not matter in the slightest. There is no place we need to be. We’re just enjoying the beautiful summer weather on our boat. So comfortable with cruising Narragansett Bay, we pick our next destination moments before leaving. In fact, I’m actually making phone calls en route. We know we’re heading to Bristol R.I., but not exactly where in Bristol, and since there are a few choices, I’m checking my cruising guide for marinas that have moorings and pump-out service because our holding tank is so full we can’t use the head.
“But Captain Rick, why didn’t you take care of that at your last port of call?” you ask.
“Because they wanted a whopping sixty bucks! Ridiculous! Extortion! Piracy! I won’t pay it!” I answer. And I didn’t. So now we’re peeing in the sink.
The first marina I call, Bristol Marine, informs me that there’s a self-service pump-out station at the town municipal dock on the east side of the harbor, just past the ferry landing. I thank the nice lady for the info, and reserve a mooring.

The ferry landing.

At the pump-out station, this gent helped us dock.

After pumping out, I hail Bristol Marine on channel 69 and get an immediate response from the Dockmaster who is apparently standing on his dock watching us approach. But instead of saying: “Head north toward the shore and pick up number 12 on the outer edge”, the conversation went something like this:
“Ok Ginger Lee, drop your speed to dead slow and pass in front of our dock. over.”
Really? I usually go full speed when I pass a crowded dock full of boats.
“Okay. I’m passing the dock. Over”
“Do you see that sail boat with a blue hull and black canvas, named Andiamo? Over.”
Duh! It’s like two feet in front of me!
“Yes. I see it. Over.” 
“Very good. Pass it slowly on your starboard side and be carefull not to hit the Boston Whaler next to it. Over.”
Are you sure I can’t hit that Boston Whaler? I love running into boats.
“Copy that. Which mooring number? Over.”
“Okay. Once you pass Andiamo, turn slightly to port, or left, and pass the white trawler named Riddley, on its right side, and proceed carefully toward the sailboat with the red sail cover. Do you see it? Over.”
Hello! I’m running out of water! Next stop: the beach.
“Yes I see it. Is that my mooring right next to it? Over.”
“Ok Ginger Lee. Now I want you to carefully loop around the sailboat with the red sail cover, and head back toward the dock. Over.”
Just tell me the damn number!
“Yes yes. Looping. Heading back. Which number please? Over.”
“Do you see the mooring in front of you, marked twelve. You will need someone up front with a boat-hook to catch the line that’s floating off it and attach it to a cleat. Over.”
Are you sure we need a boat-hook? I thought the pennant would jump out of the water and cleat itself!
“Good copy. Number 12. Got it. Ginger Lee over and out.”

“I thought the pennant would jump out of the water and cleat itself.”

Is it better to assume every boater in an idiot? I suppose you can’t come right out ask someone if they actually know what they’re doing. “Hey buddy. D’ya know how to handle that thing?” And many times when you visit a new harbor, you sometimes need a lot of detailed direction to get where you’re going, so I get it. It’s better to be cautious. But for me, just tell me where the mooring is and I’ll handle the rest. Everything looks a lot different from the helm, and I know how this boat behaves.

The Dockmaster approaches.

We finally meet the dockmaster. Not only is he a really nice guy with a lot of experience, he knows the area well. “Normally, Bristol Harbor is very windy,” he offers, as if apologizing for his micromanaging demeanor. As far as I’m concerned, no apology is necessary. You are who you are, make peace with it.
Before he leaves he graciously turns us on to some excellent places to check out. I can’t wait to explore them!

Safely moored at the very northern end of Bristol Harbor, RI.

It’s a lovely morning in Jamestown. Warm and tropical. How I wish I could awake to this beauty every day of my life. I know why that guy built a house on a rock here. They must have thought him such a fool. Such a waste of money. But I envy him.

House on a rock.

Given our proximity to the wide open East Passage of Narragansett Bay, I’m surprised at how calm the water is.
There are a lot of birds here, especially Gulls. I mean them no harm, but for obvious reasons, I can’t allow them to sit on Ginger Lees warm, comfortable, black Sunbrella roof. I set my coffee cup down on the gunwale and climb up to the flybridge to install our three Gullsweeps, the spinning devices that humanely keep all birds away. They work good but aren’t perfect; they need wind to spin, and there’s not much of that right now. I keep the broom handy to shoo off any offenders.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sun rises confidently. His bright countenance smiles down on a fishing boat as it slinks by. It feels like a good day.

Early morning fishing boat.

Bacon and eggs (sunny side up with the bacon fat spooned over the top) is the breakfast of choice this trip. Toast is a luxury. An electric toaster, like any appliance with a heating coil, far exceeds the amperage available on our boat while moored. I’ve tried those devices called camp toasters but can’t get them to work right, burns the bread every time. Buttered rice cakes are a reasonable substitute.
After breakfast we get ready for our trip across the bay to Rose Island. This basically means donning our “go-ashores”, or clothes suitable to be seen in by the general public.
Rose Island sits next to the Pell bridge. It features a working lighthouse that is open to the public, and has rooms for rent, kind of like a bed and breakfast. They welcome you to pull your dingy up onto the beach, and leave the dock open for the ferry from Jamestown.

Our dinghy “Salty” on the beach at Rose Island.

The Rose Island Lighthouse.

Old fashioned kitchen.

The bedrooms for the paying guests are off-limits, but we tour every part of that house that we can. From the honor-system souvenir closet, I buy a great tee-shirt and a refrigerator magnet, and leave the required money in a lock-box.
Eventually we make it to the cupola that houses the Fresnel lens–the heart of the light system.

Fresnel lens.

We duck through a small iron door to the outside and surprise a very frightened gull. In the narrow walkway, the poor thing is unable to spread his wings enough to fly off. He’s trapped. I devise a plan to free him, or her.

Frightened gull.

I open the door fully so that Mr. Gull is between it and me, then I place a  cinderblock that I found next to the railing. The bird was able to hop onto the block and over the railing. I watch him soar gracefully down the steep slope until he disappears from view.

Mr. Gull soars off toward the Pell bridge.

Two boats pull up to the dock and a dozen tourists spill out. Up until now we had the place pretty much to ourselves. It’s time to go! We hop into our dinghy and zoom off to check out Newport Harbor: the mega-yacht playground.

Tourist boats.

Mega-yachts at Newport R.I.

More mega-yachts.

There’s a massive yacht anchored in the bay. I hail it on the radio, and to my surprise, I get an immediate answer from an amiable captain with a Australian accent.
“Hello Captain. This is motor vessel Ginger Lee off your starboard beam. Switch to one-eight please. Over.”
“Copy that Ginger Lee. Switching to eighteen.”
“Captain, I wonder if you could settle a bet. I say you have a crew of six, my wife says ten or more. Over.”
“You lost Cap. We have a crew of twelve!”

Crew of twelve.

Jamestown has a big, wide open feel. Big boats, big bridge, big view. So different from Dutch Harbor on the opposite shore less than a mile away. But variety is one of the things I love about boating. It occurs to me that boating means different things to different people. To many, it means advising the captain of your destination, choosing which towels the maid should lay out in the guest staterooms, which silverware you would like in the main salon. aperitifs on the sundeck or in the hot-tub? It’s just not my style, but it is boating, so I feel a kinship. I’ve heard it said that there is no such thing as a bad day on the water. I’m inclined to agree, but then again, I’m an incurable optimist. It is indeed a very good day.

We are on our way to Jamestown, Rhode Island. The weather is quite warm and humid, not unusual for mid summer, tee-shirt and shorts weather, bare feet goes without saying, as well as a large glass of carbonated water with extra ice. I’m thankful for the hazy, quasi-foggy conditions; full sunlight would be way too uncomfortable.
Our heading is northeast toward the northern tip of Connanicut Island, then south down its eastern coast and under the expansive Claiborn Pell Bridge. Ginger Lee lopes along at a leisurely five knots, barely ruffling burgee or ensign. It’s a relatively short jaunt so there is no need to go any faster.

The Claiborn Pell Bridge.

We’ll avoid the hustle and bustle of the Jamestown Yacht Club, and instead, rent a nice quiet mooring at Clark Boatyard, located about a half mile south.

The bustling Jamestown Yacht Club.

Nice and quiet mooring.

I tried to get a mooring in Newport, the expensive playground-for-the-rich harbor in Rhode Island, but nobody answers their phone or even bothers to call me back. Just as well; the view is incredible here at Clark Boatyard, just across the bay.

View aft. Foreground is a hydrofoil windsurfer whipping by at about 50 MPH.

Starboard view. Jamestown Harbor.

Portside view of a house on a rock.

A sailing class.

We idle the rest of the day away, loitering on the aft deck enjoying cold drinks and unhealthy snacks, watching all manner of ships lumber slowly through the bay. I offer my hypothesis of where they are going, their cargo, and where they have been. The XO adds her version, and soon we have a whole imaginary story down pat, complete with main characters, subplots, and locations, ready for publication.

Southbound freighter.

Large unknown objects being towed north.

The hot July sun nears the horizon, and the lighthouse comes to life on Rose Island. Tomorrow we will visit that lighthouse, and maybe tour Newport Harbor, if the mood strikes us.

Rose Island Lighthouse.

You don’t have to fill every day with activities. Sometimes ya just gotta get lazy, and in a setting like this, it almost becomes spiritual. Floating here, not connected to land, I have everything I need, and someone to share it with. I feel like the luckiest man in the universe.

Every season there is one destination that really stands out. I think we’re at that place; I’m really liking me some Wickford.
Reader: “Jeepers, Rick! You say that about every place you cruise to.”
Captain Rick: “I know, I know. But I really mean it this time. Honest.”
Reader: “The season’s not over yet, and by the way, you use way too many superlatives. Show some restraint man!”
Captain Rick: “But jeez! Free WIFI!  This place is all that and a bag of chips!”

Despite my love of Wickford, free WIFI, and chips, I’ve made up my mind to leave in the morning. The pull of the open water and the excitement of a new destination is that great. The XO must feel it too: “Where to next?” she asks as if she can read my mind. Am I that transparent? I guess I’ve always wore my heart on my sleeve. “Jamestown,” I answer, conserving my words, sort of like a test, to see how it settles. It sits well; I’m definitely looking forward to it! Now that it’s all settled, we can concentrate on the present and enjoy one more day in paradise.
It’s time to toss the bikes into the dinghy and head out to explore some land based stuff. The cruising guide says you can tie up at the Town Dock, so that’s where we’re heading..

Low bridge.

Duck!

The XO plots a bike route.

We found the Wilson Park Bikeway and spent a couple of hours stretching our legs.

Beautiful views along the bike path.

Downtown scene.

We also found the Tavern By the Sea restaurant.

A hearty lunch.

After a hearty lunch we hit a souvenir shop for the required refrigerator magnet.

The souvenir shop.

Wickford Village is pleasingly quaint, everything is pretty much contained within a four block area near the waterfront. Lots of brick and granite like a miniscule Beacon Hill.
We load our doggie bags and packages onto the bikes and glide off to the Town Dock; it’s time to get ready for our boat guests: Andrea Peitsch, her date, and her two kids, Billy and Wendy.
Actually, there’s not that much to do to get ready, just clean up the boat a bit, and get some ice.

Stopping for ice at the Wickford Boatyard.

Andrea and her date. We forgot his name.

We have drinks and snacks on the aftdeck. The children provide the entertainment. With endless energy, they jump and dive off the gunwales, swim and splash about until dusk.

The Peitschlings at play.

It’s been a while since I’ve watched children playing. Their laughter and goofiness is contagious enough to prompt the boaters moored next to us to jump off their boat and loudly splash about as well.
It’s a good last night in wonderful Wickford. We’ll be back. I just know it.

I love waking up on the boat. It feels special, like having waterfront property only better. I’m surrounded by water!
It’s a warm, slightly humid morning in Wickford, Rhode Island. The sun has been up for a good ten minutes now. I feel its radiant rays on my bare arms as I sit at the salon table. As usual, I’m awake before my wife. I like that; it’s a quiet time to sip coffee and be with my own thoughts. Today is my birthday, so naturally, my thoughts are of my life as a whole. Don’t worry dear reader, I won’t bore you with any of it, except to say that I consider it a good one. Sure, there were peaks and valleys, but none too high, and none too low. I’m not rich. I’m not poor. Just thankful for what I have, happy to be alive, and respectful of my position in the universe.

Birthday presents and a wonderfully ridiculous light-up card that sang the tune “Happy Birthday” using only the word BEER, and then belched at the end.

It’s late morning and I’m messing about the boat. There’s a guy in a small Boston Whaler slowly circling Ginger Lee.

Mystery man.

He seems to be taking an interest in our vessel. After his third loop he drifts closer.
“What the heck is this dude doin’?”  Finally, he gets within speaking distance.
“Hey. How are those diesels treating ya,” he says with a friendly smile.
“Wait a sec, how does he know I have diesels?” I say to myself. Old Trojans like Ginger Lee are all gas-powered. Very few people know about the conversion to Lehman 120’s. Just a few close friends, two guys at the marina where I put her up for the winter, and of course, the previous owner who actually installed them.
Oh duhhhh. I look at the tidy old skiff, the deadpan clean-shaven face, and the can of Coors on the seat. Of course!
“How’re ya doin’ Mister Skerry?” I say, trying to sound like I knew who he was all along. “What’re you doing in Wickford?”

Captain John Skerry. The man who installed diesels in our boat.

“I live here,” he says. I was just taking a little ride and spotted this old Trojan. When I got closer I realized it used to mine.”

April 10, 2010. Allens Harbor, North Kingstown, RI. Captain Skerry preps “Sea Horse” minutes before selling it to us.

She looks great! Mind if I take few pictures? My kids will love it. We had some good times on this boat.”
As John circles the boat snapping pictures, I think about what a huge undertaking it must have been to do what he did: remove two Chrysler 318 gas engines, and replace them with two Lehman 120 diesels. These engines aren’t small or cheap; each one is the size of a large desk and a new one will run ya ’bout ten grand. Granted, since he’s a real working captain, and hangs around docks, boats and mariners all day long, he found a deal on the Lehmans, but the incredible amount of work needed to overhaul them, fit them in, hook them up to the transmissions, running gear and controls, just boggles my mind. This guy did what no one has ever done before. Ginger Lee is unique, the only twin Lehman powered Trojan in existence. He didn’t pay someone to do it; he did all the work himself.

Lehman 120 diesel engine.

“Hop in, I’ll show ya around,” he says.
Since I’m not driving, I grab a cold one, put it in a coozie, and proceed to climb into Johns old skiff.
“Hey what’re ya doin’? he said loudly, noticing my drink.
“Oh. Sorry,” I apologize and step back, thinking I’ve overstepped my bounds by bringing alcohol onto his boat.
“This is two beer ride!” he says.
“Ah. Okay then. Sorry man.” I pull another Bud out of the cooler and off we go.

Two beer ride.

It’s nice to be driven around. Our knowledgable “tour guide” showed us the whole beautiful area. We end up at his new boat: an awesome 12 meter Trojan with twin Caterpillar diesels.

Trojan 12 meter.

Old school bridge, bucking the newest trend to have all the instruments electronically displayed on one flat panel monitor.

True to form, he got an incredible deal on it as a fixer-upper, and did all the work himself. The guy’s like a force of nature. Thank you Captain Skerry for making our Ginger Lee so special.

The Osprey were at least an hour into their morning hunt when we backed Ginger Lee out of the slip. It’s not the crack of dawn, but pretty darn early. Judging by the lack of recreational fishermen, I’m guessing it’s a weekday. Only two guys in their skiff disturb the glass of the Upper Pond. Hiding behind a thin veneer of milky white clouds, the summer sun is well free of the horizon. “It may burn through,” I say hopefully aloud, squinting at the bright, opaque sky.
The marine forecast calls for three footers in the Rhode Island Sound; not so bad; we won’t be in it very long. The plan is to loop around Point Judith and head north up Narragansett Bay via the West Passage. It sounds simple enough, but the waves will be at an uncomfortable angle for about thirty minutes until we make that northerly turn, then they will push us smartly along at a good ten MPH.

The treacherous Whale Rock guards the West Passage.

I’ve never been to Wickford Harbor. I don’t know what to expect. It’s very exciting. My favorite cruising guide, Active Captain, says the town has four or five “first-come-first-serve” moorings just inside the breakwater. We hope to grab one, but just in case they’re all taken, we need a plan B. I call the Wickford Shipyard to arrange dockage.
“No need to make a reservation, I got plenty of room. Just pull up to the fuel dock and we’ll take care of ya,” the friendly dockmaster explained.

Under the Jamestown bridge.

After about an hour and a half, we cruise through the Wickford Harbor Breakwater and apprehensively look to our left for an empty mooring.
“There’s one right over there,” the XO points.
“Saweet! Looks like the only one left!”  Yee ha! We’re here!

Town mooring.

View forward.

View aft.

Right after breakfast we get a visit from the Harbormaster. Nice guy, friendly, talkative, and knowledgable about all the attractions. He explained the moorings used to be free, but the locals kept using them like their own personal property; there would never be any for visitors as they were intended. Charging money stopped the misuse.
“Never mind the three-day maximum. Stay as long as you like.” he says with happy smile.
“You gotta love a job you can do in your bare feet,” the XO quips.

“I love my job!”

There’s so much to see and do here. I can’t wait to get out in the dinghy and explore this new territory.

On this picture perfect July morning, we are heading east along Block Island Sound. The wind is minimal and so are the waves. Love it!
We leave New York and Connecticut behind and set a straight line course from the Watch Hill Pass to the Point Judith Harbor of Refuge, familiar territory for Ginger Lee and her crew. Right now, the biggest problem is the low morning sun directly in front of us. It is so brilliant we are squinting even with our sunglasses on.
The Coast Guard, stationed in Point Judith, is running some kind of exercise and the radio is alive with their entertaining chatter. We gather that two rigid inflatable gunboats will escort the Block Island Ferry out of the Harbor and a mile beyond. Sure enough, as we approach the familiar man-made seawall, two orange and black R.I.Bs, with large-caliber machine guns mounted forward, surround the massive ferry through the West Inlet and a mile out to sea before peeling off and zooming homeward. Flak-jacketed Coasties hang onto grab-rails and dark automatic weapons. We give them plenty of clearance; the intimidation factor is wicked high.
We transit the scenic Point Judith Pond, go through The Narrows to the Upper Pond, and tie up to the Ram Point Marina fuel dock. We were just going to pump out our holding tank and get our slip assignment, but the diesel price was so low we filled up the port-side tank as well.

Slipped at the Ram Point Marina. The windshield cover helps keep the cabin cool.

I like this marina a lot. Everyone is friendly and helpful, the showers are nice, the laundry room is clean (and has cable TV), they even have a well stocked marine store. Unfortunately not well stocked enough to provide us with a new depth sounder. Not a problem. I hop on my bike and ride off to the West Marine store, about two miles away. Hopefully, I can make it there and back before the rain.

Rumbling sky.

I spend a couple of hours hooking up the new depth sounder. There’s a gizmo called a transducer that attaches to the bottom of the boat, and reports to the gauge part at the helm via a long wire.
“How does one attach a transducer to the boat bottom while still floating?” you ask.
An excellent question! I don’t think you can without diving gear. So I have to McGuyver something. I cut the handle off a brush and screw the transducer onto it, then lash the whole thing to the swim platform supports with hose clamps. Unfortunately the darn thing isn’t working, so I call the manufacturers help line.
“The transducer should make a clicking sound,” the technician says.
“No click,” I say.
“Then it’s defective. Send it to us and we’ll be happy to repair or replace it.”
“Well, that’s not going to help me; I’m in the middle of a cruise.”
“I’m sorry but that’s pretty much all we can do for you,” he apologizes.
He’s right; there’s not much that can be done. I thank him for his time, he wished me luck, and that’s it.
Thankfully the nice people at West Marine agree to exchange the defective unit for another, even after I told them I had to cut wires to de-install it.

Bad transducer.

We are renting this slip for $2.50 per foot, or eighty bucks per night, including water and electric. Really cheap for New England, still, I prefer the privacy of a mooring but there are no moorings available in the crowded Upper Pond.

The beautiful and crowded Upper Pond.

We take a short bicycle ride into charming Wakefield Village to visit a friend who owns an art supply store. Then on to the Mews Tavern for a Burgers and fries lunch.

South County Art Supply.

Shop owner Andrea Peitsch and her son, Billy.

Waiting for the waitress at the Mews Tavern.

Fast service!

I can’t get enough of this delightful area. It has a quality that awakens pleasure. Yeah, I could live here forever, right in this very slip.

The weather has been so nice this whole summer. I think it rained only once. A great summer!
“Ah. Excuse me Rick, but I beg to differ,” my lawn says in his typical whining tone.
“What’re you complaining about? I watered you just last week,” I say, not really sure if that was true.
“Uh-uh Rick. You most certainly did not. Just look at me! I’m all brown and patchy. I think you spend way too much time on that infernal boat.”
“Well. He’s got me there,” I say to myself. “If it makes you feel any better you’re not the only dried up lawn. Even the Lawn Nazi down the street has given up,” I say with very little remorse. The fact of the matter is, I would rather have nice sunny boating days than a nice lawn. After a record-setting winter, we all deserve it.

I live in Wareham, Massachusetts, arguably the best place to keep a boat. The Wareham River reaches out to Buzzards Bay and invites you to visit so many beautiful places within and beyond. But Warehamian boaters need not travel any further than their own town. Yes, we are fortunate in that respect. There are many nice anchoring spots nearby.

Anchoring off Long Beach.

Sailing in the Wareham River.

Joe Mullins in his colorful kayak.

If you feel like a longer cruise, as we often do, you can head west down The Hog Island Channel to Onset Bay, the Jewel of Wareham.

A couple enjoying Onset Bay.

We love to stay overnight in Onset. The town has four moorings for rent at a bargain twenty bucks a night. We took one, called the Harbormaster (who thanked me for checking in), and settled in for a gorgeous weekend. About twenty minutes later there was a knock on our hull. It was the Harbormaster asking if we would mind moving to another shallower mooring so they could accommodate a deep draft sailboat. We of course agreed. Later that day, the couple from that sailboat dinghied over and gave us a bottle of wine for our trouble!

The Harbormaster nicely asking us to move.

Sailing couple Kate and Charlie.

Gift wine.

I was blown away! Damn good wine too! Later we went ashore for a walk and ice cream.

Frozen pudding with jimmies.

Stonebridge Marina viewed from Onset Beach.

I’m happy here in Wareham. Sitting on Ginger Lee’s aft deck on a warm sunny day, watching all the boaters, kayakers, paddleboaders, and beachgoers, I feel like I’m leading a charmed life.
While walking the beach one day, I came upon an older guy sitting on a dock.
“G’mornin'”, I said. “A real beauty.”
“Yup”, he answered. “Another day in paradise.”

Overlooking Onset Bay.