July 30 - Vineyard Haven to Cuttyhunk

It's not a sunny day, but the clouds are not as thick as yesterday. There are patches of blue. It's also warmer, the kind of morning warm that lets you know that you're going to be hot later. Today the shorts may come back out!

This morning, the first ferry (7:20) acted as our alarm, as it blasted its horn in preparation for departure. Only one blast, a snooze alarm, we're up and at it only at 9. It is Sunday, after all. The wind is light, so we'll start out under power, hoping for a breeze later. We've decided to head west, and since we didn't have a satisfactory beach walk in Cuttyhunk (not to mention Nantucket), we're going to head off there for another stop. Perhaps the combination of the weather and the end of the weekend will make it a little less crowded, and a little more like the Cuttyhunk we love.

The motor is off the dingy, the engine has been started, and we're off.

Rounding West Chop, a crisis! The camera (which was about to take a picture, showing the current conditions) has complained of low power; it won't take a picture. All these terrific new gadgets eat AA cells like the Monster that Devoured Cleveland. We are, it turns out, out of AA cells, and are now stealing from one gadget to power another. I'd start talking about dependency on energy, batteries, and the virtues of older technologies, but this new stuff is just too neat. Still, it would be nice to have less dependency on these small energy cartridges.

I love Vineyard Sound, but not really for the sailing. We haven't had the best luck with breezes here, it's either too light or too heavy. Neither have we had the best luck with the current; it runs fast, often against you. Passing the Elizabeth Island chain is always a magical thing for me, though. It must be one of the longest stretches of remaining coastal wilderness in these parts (or as close as you can get). The names of the islands, Nanomesset, Naushon, Pasque, Nashawena and finally Cuttyhunk draw you into the history of the area. It is the appearance of the chain, however, that is the most amazing to me. It is like sailing into an optical illusion.

From a distance of even less than a mile, the islands appear to be a long strip of sandy beach, topped by grass and scrub brush. As you draw closer, even to a distance of a half mile, the illusion remains until a boat passes close to shore, or you see one of the few houses. Then, like one of those quick zoom shots you see, the reality reshapes itself. Scrub brush is actually stands of full grown trees and pebbles on the beaches are large boulders. Small dunes are formidable sand cliffs, and you instantly are transformed in your vision and relationship to the surroundings. I've sailed here for many years and still am surprised by the same thing. I can, in fact, close my eyes, open them again and be fooled all over again.

As Cuttyhunk comes into view, the illusion vanishes. The large number of houses visible, climbing up the hilly face of the island provides too clear a reference, and we are back in the real world.

The sky has been reasonably clear for our trip, although things look more gray now, and there are some infrequent sprinkles of light rain. As we enter the main harbor, the departing weekend warriors have left several open town moorings. We pick one up, right up front. Marion wants to watch the show.

A call from the cockpit, the show is on! A Pearson 30 has grounded at the corner of the pond. Cuttyhunk pond is very shallow. It has been dredged out into a square basin which is well marked. Most people either miss the markings, or don't understand either how shallow it gets, or how fast it gets shallow. We watch the (successful) efforts of the crew to free themselves, and smile at the error. The bottom is soft, so there is no harm done except to egos. Oh yes, I've been stuck here myself.

Lunch time. Marion has procured a fresh supply of olive loaf. It will then be into the dink for some exploration.

Enjoying some after lunch reading, Marion exclaims, "Oh!" Another boat has met the sidewall of Cuttyhunk Pond. I missed the event, but a black hulled yawl traveling at a good clip right for the shallow spot hit hard, stopping abruptly. I look up only in time to see the boat fail to extricate itself by going into reverse, despite the attempts by the skipper to ooch it back further with his body motions. The tide is rising, so he'll eventually be saved. After 15 minutes or so, with several visitations by other friendly boats, a small dingy (with a large motor) pulls in just the right direction and frees the boat. Marion says, "It must have been his first time in Cuttyhunk." A new sailing story is created.

Time for us to hit the road to adventure ourselves. On to the dingy for a bit of poking around!

Our trip to the town dock yields swordfish for dinner. Our trip to the outer harbor almost yields a row back. We run out of gas -- almost. With the dingy at high power, the tilt of the engine causes the gas flow to stop, but there are just a few drops of gas in the tank. Restarting the engine, we proceed at slow speed, and stay level, and we make it. Not, of course, that I wouldn't row, but an inflatable dingy, without a seat, is less than easy to row. In any case, we don't have to do it.

The forecast is still for nothing great weather wise, so we're certain to head for Newport. Although we've been there this year already, there isn't a better rainy day port in the northeast.

Now to business. Fresh clams on the way, fresh swordfish to prepare, a bottle of white wine, all we are missing is the Cuttyhunk sunset.