Fifth Day: O, The Wind and the Rain

Friday, 9 August 2013, was a rainy day in New England.  In some places standing records were broken for a single day of rain for that date.  It rained hard from fairly early in the morning until fairly late in the afternoon or early in the evening.

Portsmouth NH was no exception to this.  Our little anchorage in the area we had come to call Goat Island Sound (for lack of any other name, and that being the name we liked best) was perfect for the conditions.  Most of Portsmouth Harbor is exposed to the south, and the wind was blowing heavily from the south that day, bringing with it a very rolly and lumpy sea.  Our anchorage, however, was shielded from the prevailing sea by three islands and a great deal of salt marsh.  All we had to deal with was moisture from the downpour.

Unfortunately we still had to deal with both the tide and the calendar, and that meant we could not stay where we were.  We needed to be back in Salem by approximately noon on Sunday. To get out of our anchorage (and off the bottom) we needed to leave in a window between two hours after and two hours before low-tide.  To get back out through the drawbridge into Little Harbor, we needed a rising tide, which brought the window down from ten hours to about four. To make the majority of our passage home on Saturday would require an early departure from Portsmouth; the timing of the tide forbade making such a start from our sweet spot between Pest Island and Long Rock.  So we would have to brave the weather on Friday, at least a little.

Making any real progress towards home, in a drenching rain, against both wind and sea, with two pre-teen boys aboard, was clearly out of the question.  Three options thus presented themselves. One was to get through the drawbridge and pick up a mooring in Little Harbor.  Another was to venture up into Pepperell Cove, and thence into the better shelter of Chauncey Creek.  The third was to proceed up towards the heart of Portsmouth Harbor and then up into the Seavey Island Back Channel, between the Navy Base and the Kittery shore.

The minute we got through the drawbridge, we knew option one was out of the question.  We had passed a pleasant hour or so there two days earlier while waiting for the bridge to open, but the wind that day had been out of the Northwest.  The Cruising Guide hints between the lines that Little Harbor is not comfortable shelter in an easterly, but we are here to tell you: in any moderately serious conditions where the wind and sea are blowing from anywhere between NNE and due south, don't even think about Little Harbor unless you are absolutely desperate for safety and have a quantity of dramamine on board.  Maybe the huge Wentworth marina is stable enough to spend the night comfortably (you could at any rate go the Wentworth bar and get too drunk to care); the mooring field certainly is not.

We figured that if Little Harbor, behind two breakwaters, was so thoroughly unappealing, Chauncey Creek was unlikely to to be much better, especially at High Tide.  There is nothing particularly "shoal draft" about the Seavey Island back channel, but there is a good reason why the Guide calls it "the best protection in Portsmouth" and adds that "In any kind of bad weather it is much to be preferred."

Rounding the nun off Jaffrey point, we made a course for the can at Fort Constitution, allowing plenty of searoom for the rocky shore and the rising tide. From there, it was an easy leap to the marked channel leading into the Back Channel. Don't be distracted by the yellow cans "J" and "K" that mark a dreadfully rolly looking yacht anchorage that must be reserved for the navy.  It is shown as a "Restricted Area."  They can have it.

We went up the back channel almost all the way to the first bridge, which connects Kittery proper to the Navy base on the island.  The view of Seavey Island (once several smaller islands, now joined together by infill) is pretty industrial from any angle (although the abandoned Naval prison has a kind of grandeur to it), but the Kittery shore is easy on the eyes (the infamous outlets are nowhere in sight, although a ride up Spruce Creek in a dinghy can get you there easily enough).  We found that the deeper in we went, the calmer the water and the more available moorings we found.

It was at this point, as my uncle and I were struggling mightily with a badly tangled mooring whose pennant, already served with nylon webbing, also featured a considerable quantity of foam pipe insulation, electrical tape, and some sort of small stuff attaching it to an orange pick-up buoy, that we faced a near mutiny from the younger members of the crew.

It is the prerogative, even the duty, of any skipper to be intransigent about hard decisions in key areas. Any sensible cruising captain observes two paramount rules regarding the cabin, which are that it must be kept both dry and well-ventilated.  Usually these two goals are complementary, but in a really hard rain they can be at odds.  My Uncle Campbell chose to put ventilation first, knowing that we would probably be cabin bound for the balance of the day; my son Campbell took exception to this because his bunk got wet, and (like any twelve-year-old) he is no respecter of persons.  He let his feelings be known.  While we were struggling with a cussed mooring, his loudly voiced opinion did not meet with much respect.

But (as I was already well aware) if anyone knows how to dry out Bufflehead's moist interiors, it is my uncle, who has logged 45 seasons on the boat. Three paraffin lamps were shortly lit down below, and The Brick was placed on the alcohol stove.  My grandfather, Bufflehead's original owner, always wanted to have some sort of coal or woodstove on the boat, but could never quite figure where to put it.  In the interim (which continues to the present day) he would place a terra cotta brick on the alcohol stove, which would then function as both radiator and dehumidifier.  By the time bed time rolled around, everyone's bunk was as dry as could be wished. 

Third day (part one): Exploring Star Island

The Isles of Shoals are a beautiful place.  Really, this is a severe understatement.  Before bed last night we were treated to this sunset, soon accompanied by the evening star.

By the time the boys were asleep, the Milky Way was plainly visible and an ocean of stars one can never see in a town like Salem, unless there is a serious power outage on an unusually clear night. There were shooting stars, presumably part of the annual Leonid Brezhnev meteor showers.   

When I was last in Isles of Shoals, more than twenty years ago, the impression I received was that it was off-limits to univited visitors. We explored White Island and Lunging by inflatable raft but did not set foot on shore. It remains true that most of the islands are private property, and that the prospect of people on cruising boats traipsing around on them is about as welcome to the owners as the idea of tourists in the back yard would be to you and me.  

But times have changed. Star Island, in particular, is now a hive of activity, and well worth a trip ashore. Tour boats from Rye and Portsmouth (Star, Lunging and White Islands are in New Hampshire, technically in Rye; while Appledore, Cedar, Malaga, Smuttynose, and Duck Islands are in Maine) dock several times a day. Anyone who is interested can book a "personal retreat" in Star Island's magnificent Oceanic Hotel.  As unexpected visitors, we were welcomed at a float attached to the main pier by a friendly lifeguard who helped us to tie up our dinghy.  At the top of the gangway is a map of the island, and a donations bin (the donations bin suggests a donation $10 per person; I am embarrassed to say that  had left my wallet on Bufflehead and thus gave nothing).  Despite my own failure in this regard, I do strongly recommend a donation; if for no other reason, than that if you use the Oceanic Hotel's toilets (which I strongly recommend) you should at least help pay for their upkeep.  If you do use the Oceanic toilets (they are in the basement, accessible from the right hand side of the lobby via stairs), you might notice that there are also showers adjoining.  I did not ask about using these, but I did notice that even the Oceanic's paying guests are only supposed to shower every other day.  Do not presume.

Also in the lobby is a remarkable little bookstore (selling mostly titles relating to the islands or to spiritual matters—the isaland is run by the Unitarian Universalist association), a fun gift/craft shop, and a snack bar.  The lobby itself, as well as the grand front deck of the hotel is a throwback to another era of vacationing, and is sight to behold in itself.  There can be few such sights left anywhere in New England.

Just to left of the hotel is a little graveyard, honoring members of the Caswell family, most whom died before 1880 or so.  Here can be found some of the best examples I have seen of Victorian marble headstones, still legible after all these years.

Beyond that, on a low rise, is a gazebo called "the summer house," with a fine view (pictured above) of the White Island Lighthouse and its causeway.

If you continue around behind the hotel, there is a sort of industrial looking zone where we assume a lot of the maintenance work of the island and its buildings takes place. There are also some sheds where boat building, mainly of dorys, is being done. Travelling up the hill behind the hotel, you come to a little village of stone structures.  One of these is a chapel, where candlelit services are held nightly.  Another is a small museum dedicated to Island history, and its principal bard and gardener, Celia Thaxter,

It is not clear exactly how old these buildings are.  In style they match the chapel, which was built in 1800, or so.

The plaque is deliberately vague about why the islanders burned the the previous building to the ground.

Beyond the little square of stone buildings, out towards the Atlantic shore of the island, are a series of monuments. The famous is a monument to Captain John Smith, who stopped here and spoke highly of the islands, attempting to the name them after himself.  The name did not stick.  There are numerous cairns of uncertain provenance, which are not dedicated to Smith.  The most visible monument, below, is also not dedicated to Smith.  

This monument, which is not visible from any distance, is:

Many of the sponsored activities on Star island revolve around the arts.  The Art Barn is located between two cistern-pools.

Circling back around the island towards the wharf, one begins to walk by Gosport Harbor again.  There is a short stretch of industrial looking stuff again—construction debris and old screen doors—before one comes to a building housing a small marine laboratory and exhibition space.  Here one can see baby lobsters and touch starfish, and examine bones.  Right next to this building is a playground, which is useful for expending any excess energy your children may have retained even after walking around the island.

We are told that Smuttynose also has a nice walking trail.  We didn't get to check it out on this visit.  At certain times of year, especially early in the summer, it is worth noting that human owners and seabirds may have different ideas about whether a given island is open to visitors.

Meal Planning

As with any human endeavour, how to eat while cruising is always a key issue, and requires more planning than living on land.  In some ways it is a great deal like planning for camping, and (as with camping) a lot of what you plan depends on what you go in for.  Some people who camp like to stay in an orderly campground and eat in nearby restaurants.  At the other extreme, people who are long distance hikers tend to eat foods that are ready made, won't spoil, and can be prepared quickly and easily on a single burner. Plenty of cruisers can be found who subscribe to waterbourne variations on both these strategies.  Shoal draft cruisers tend not to fit either of them.

Why?  Well, part of the point of shoal draft cruising is getting to anchorages that other boats cannot reach.  These are not especially likely to be convenient to restaurants or even to grocery stores.  But by the same token, shoal draft cruisers are not generally very well adapted to sailing long distances offshore—and if that's what you are into, the appeal of getting deep inside some quiet salt marsh probably isn't very great.  So chances are you are going to plan on cooking aboard, with something less than a fully equipped kitchen.

Bufflehead's galley has a pump sink, a two burner alcohol stove, and an icebox, which is only kept cold with real blocks of ice.  If you are up for the challenge, cooking on the boat is very satisfying.  Things to bear in mind when planning a menu (of which the one below is an example) are pretty simple.

•Use perishables early in the trip.  Many fresh fruits and vegetables respond poorly to the humid salty air of a cabin, and to the strong possibility of getting knocked around in the cabin or submerged in the icebox.  Cryovaced meats do better than standard plastic wrapped fare.

•Freeze what you can before you leave.  Not only will this help it last longer, but helps the whole icebox work more efficiently.

•Try to plan meals that will only need as many pots as you have burners.

•For later in the trip, canned goods are awesome.

•Try not to put anything in the icebox that isn't packaged in such a way that it can be fully immersed in water.  Big Ziplocks can be handy for things like cheese that might otherwise get waterlogged. 

•Be flexible in your planning.  You never know what weather might do to your plans (or your appetite!).  This is especiallty true of lunches, which are more likely to be prepared while you are underway.  The notes I made below were simply a basis for my shopping.  Expect things to switch around.  

 

More Thoughts? Share them in the comments.

To Boldly Go Where No Cruising Boat Has Gone Before, Much.

A long time ago, when this writer was in his late teens and his co-conspirator was in his early thirties, we were anchored in Gosport Harbor, in the midst of delivering Bufflehead, our family's Morgan 30, back to Marblehead, MA.  We went way way up inside the harbor, almost to the breakwater between Cedar Island and Smuttynose, taking a mooring or dropping a hook (I don't remember which) in what looks on the chart like a six foot spot.  Most cruising sailboats have a draft of five feet or more, and most skippers are (quite rightly) cautious about testing the limits of that.  Any water that is colored blue on a detailed chart is typically viewed as not navigable.  So there we were, in a sweet little spot that looked like it should be off limits to a boat our size.  People on other boats were looking at us enviously, questioningly, as if to say "could we go there?"  We thought of posting a sign on our transom: "If you can read this, you're aground."

And in fact, over the course of more than 45 years of cruising on Bufflehead, this is a scenario that has played out over and over. We go to a harbor, or saltwater creek, or cove, and then go to the part where no one else is, where everyone else assumes they can't go.  The bible of New England cruising is Duncan and Ware's Cruising Guide to the New England Coast.  Now in its Twelfth Edition, it's has gone from it's original two authors, to five.  It doesn't contain any overt assumptions about draft, but it seems to assume a bare minimum of four feet.  The preface also admits that the authors don't share everything they know.  Some secret getaways are just too valuable.

But we flatter ourselves to think we are interesting guys and that, when it comes to cruising, we are pretty good at it, in ways that maybe Duncan and Ware were not interested in.  So we have embarked on this project to get some of our practices, traditions and itineraries written down, so that other people can profit by them, or at least get a chuckle.