Talk Radio

Greetings, friends, from the pilothouse of Let’s Dance, en route from points north to our home waters in South Carolina.  For the past few weeks there has been an unusually vigorous amount of chatter coming in over our radios.  Naturally, as in all areas of life, accurate and timely communication is essential.  Here on Let’s Dance, in the pilothouse alone, there are no fewer than five devices devoted to this purpose.  Let’s take a tour.

First there is the “Sat phone” or satellite phone, which we dutifully turn on every morning as part of the preflight checklist.  There is a fifteen digit number that you can purportedly dial and reach us anywhere in the world.  How about that?  We don’t know what it would cost to make that call, but it is reassuring to family that we can always be reached.  Additionally, we have a fairly antiquated “SSB” or single sideband radio.  The special benefit to this system is that, if you are smart enough to understand its vagaries, you can communicate with others of like knowledge from several hundred to several thousand miles away.

Of more benefit to us are the trio of VHF radios in the pilothouse.  Chapman’s Piloting and Seamanship, courtesy of son Paul,  describes the VHF short range communication system as “by domestic and international treaty, the prescribed vehicle for local communications, both ship-to-ship and ship-to-shore.”  That’s a lot of verbiage for talk radio!

Mariners such as our insignificant selves, the Coast Guard, fishing and charter vessel owners, captains of tugs and tankers, commanders of warships and subs, all use VHF Channel 16 to hail each other.  Channel 16 is to be used only to get the attention of another ship, no chatting is allowed and you will be reprimanded if you dawdle.  Once hailed, another channel is chosen for the actual “talking”.  Other channels have specific functions as well, but for now, let’s stay with 16.  There are three levels of notification. Securite for announcements of general interest, Pan Pan( pronounced pawn pawn please!) for non life threatening situations, and Mayday. You guessed it! For example:

    Radio voice:  “Securite, securite, securite!  Hello all stations, hello all stations, hello all stations.  This is warship five-seven underway from  point A to point B.  Standing by on channels thirteen and sixteen for any and all concerned traffic.  Over.”

Concerned traffic???  Of course we are concerned!  What is he thinking?  And where is point A?  Point B?

Or there’s this:

    Coast Guard:   “Pan pan, pan pan, pan pan!   Hello all stations, (etc., etc.)  This is the United States Coast Guard, Sector Chesapeake Bay, (etc., etc.) We have received a report of a disabled vessel on the rocks at ABC point, taking on water with two adults on board!  All mariners are requested to keep a sharp lookout, assist if possible and report all sightings to the Coast Guard.  Break.”

    Captain Bill:  “This is the motor vessel ‘Let’s Dance‘.  We are in the vicinity of the disabled boat and will arrive at their location in approximately 20 minutes!”

We step on it and, with a slightly altered course, soon come upon the rock-ridden boat.  Luckily, a swifter good Samaritan arrived ahead of us and the soaked couple were safe aboard his boat.  Sadly, not such a happy finale for their little skiff.

Other notable transmissions received this summer included notices of a debris field from a sunken sailboat in Boston Bay; the salvage effort by a professional team of a 120 foot yacht that had run aground near Woods Hole; the cursing frustration of fishermen whose lines were fouled by irresponsible boaters; latitude and longitude of errant trees and lumber in the upper Chesapeake Bay set afloat upstream by runoff from “Lee” and other dramas, both natural and man made.

So, to the trio of VHF’s in the pilothouse -- one attached to the boat, two freestanding to take with us to other parts of the boat or in the Love Me Tender.  She, of course, has her own built-in VHF radio, but we often take an extra -- just in case.  Also, when piloting from the fly bridge, a VHF radio is just the thing to keep Captain Bill in touch with the outside world.


For intra-boat communication we boast a pair of  wireless two-way radios.  Definitely one of our better acquisitions!  Thanks for the heads up, Captain Bernie!  The headsets assure marital harmony as well as ease of communication when anchoring, docking, mooring, etc.  We have encountered many couples in the past year (picture her on the bow, him in the pilothouse as they approach an anchorage) who appear to have developed a system of hand signals to indicate whether to go to port or starboard, forward or back.  An equal number of couples appear to just yell loudly at each other.  With our headsets we can do it all!

And then there is our friend “Spot”.  We are able to send out a “spot” whenever we like, from anywhere in the world and it sends a short message and a Google map of our location to up to ten of our closest friends.  It’s pretty cool, and cute besides.  Reminds me of a rather bright orange puppy!

Last, but perhaps most importantly, we have satellite TV, satellite weather stations, cell phones and a laptop.  Oh, and lots of  music!

The Admiral doing engine check

I'm hoping that if the boating thing doesn't work out that I can get a gig with a NASCAR pit crew.


Let’s Dance…..Carol and Bill

New York, New York

After having all the fun that we could have on City Island, the Bronx, we pulled away from the marina and began the trip south through New York Harbor.  We were underway at 0830 -- finally a sunny day with a fine forecast, 72 degrees and calm seas.

Twenty-six minutes later we arrived a the Throg’s Neck Bridge…the beginning of the chute down the east side of Manhattan.

At 0916 we sped under the Bronx Whitestone Bridge and by 0928 we were at the end of runway 22 Alpha at LaGuardia.  Planes lift to the skies with alarming frequency.

Riker’s Island came into view to port at 0940 but we were zipping by at a jaw dropping 9.5 knots, so there was no time to gawk at the inmates.  Finally, the door to  Hell Gate is straight ahead and we are nudged onward through this most treacherous part of the journey.  Hell Gate is the name given to the confluence of the East River and Long Island Sound -- in which the currents ebb and flow in exactly the opposite directions. The tides and currents through the “Gate” run swift and strong and timing is everything for anything smaller than a battleship.  Naturally, Captain Bill had strategized and carefully plotted our passage through this particular channel and we were A OK, if a little dazzled, by our 10.3 knot pace.

New York City looks different from water level.  Take a look from the point of view of Let’s Dance.

We pass to the east of Governors Island and the glorious Statue of Liberty just two days before the tenth anniversary of 9/11.  Manhattan and America changed forever.

 

Many bridges, barges, ferries and tugs later, Let’s Dance, the Love Me Tender and her crew slip under the Verrazano Narrows  Bridge into the Lower Bay and then south into the waters of New Jersey.

The weather is fine, the seas are cooperative and Let’s Dance is on the way home.

Let's Dance.....Carol & Bill

Swan Song

Recently, on our southbound journey through Long Island Sound, we passed by the entrance to Greenwich Cove and were flooded with memories from our years there. In the late 1980’s, Bill took a job on Wall Street for the second time in his career, and we moved from Houston to Connecticut.  I scoured the area, searching for the perfect domestic nest (we were, after all, fairly newly wed) and found a delightful bungalow in the small town of Old Greenwich.  The cottage was located on a cul de sac that faced the water and, in addition to having tons of windows facing the sound, it had a charming, if slightly dilapidated, dock.  It was perfect!

We moved in in September and figured out within weeks that the perfection came with a major flaw….it was not fully winterized.  With no fireplace, an aging, oil guzzling  furnace and poor insulation, we learned to dress warmly. The view became a frigid landscape as ice soon covered the dock and frost dusted the marsh as the tides rose and fell daily.  It was a long winter.

Finally it was spring and a reprieve from the ice chest.  As the weather warmed, we ventured out more and more and soon it was time to put our sagging pier to use.  We cleaned off the tiny boat that had spent the winter upside down on the dock, bought a two (yes, two!) horsepower motor, life jackets and oars…our maritime careers now ready to begin.  We explored the shoreline of Greenwich and its environs, ogling the mansions that lined the shore and the sailing and motor yachts that graced the docks.  Envy was our middle name.

Our forays into the sound took on greater significance when fishing was added to the mix.  Captain Bill (at this point, admittedly only the captain of a eight foot, fiberglass skiff) acquired tackle, lures and local knowledge.  Bluefish and stripers were seriously pursued and often caught creating good  news/bad news situations.  The good news, of course, is that you’ve caught a fish.  The bad news, unfortunately, is that he’s a strong swimmer.  We discovered that a healthy striped bass, weighing, say 15 pounds, could, without much effort, pull our little boat behind it wherever it chose to swim!  This was amusing at first, but could become problematic if we were in an area with moorings, other boats, or docks.  Ultimately, the only thing to do was fight to bring them onboard or let them go.  Most lived to swim another day.

One day, Bill decided that the thing to do was to use live eels as bait.  Where he got this idea I do not know, but a pair of eels were bought, brought home in a cooler and the games began.  Just so you know, a live eel being used as bait is a very unhappy critter who is not easily coerced onto a hook.  They have tiny, razor like teeth and are as slippery as…. you guessed it.  Bill finally wrangled the two guys onto hooks with steel leaders and stuffed them back into the cooler for the short trip out into the sound.  I would not get into the little boat until the eels were properly controlled and there was no danger of their escape into the open cockpit. I honestly don’t remember if the eels produced a better result than any other sort of bait, but we still laugh about being in the cramped skiff with such vile and slimy creatures.

And so, memories of Old Greenwich savored, we continued our journey down Long Island Sound towards New York.  Leftover rain and winds from “Lee” and the potential threat from” Katia” made entering a marina a prudent idea.  Our first three choices for dockage were in Greenwich, Mamaroneck and Larchmont.  They were all full.  So, we opted for the North Minneford “Yacht” Club on City Island, NY from a guide full of possibilities and prepared to hunker down and wait out the storms.  We would have the luxury of unlimited fresh water, shore power to give our generator a rest and an easy walk to a market for provisions.  Perfect!

We dock and settle in. The next morning we don our rain gear to check out the town and discover that we have landed in the Bronx!  Who knew?  City Island is a small, narrow bit of rock just north of the Throg’s Neck Bridge, Hell Gate and the entry to the East River.  We are well positioned for the next leg of the trip.  The weather, however, has not cooperated and one of our lines has snapped from the strain of the wind during the early morning hours.  Tom, from a neighboring sailboat, comes to help and brings two extra lines to make us more secure.  Let’s Dance is now bound to the wave-washed dock by no less than 8 lines!  We are snug and secure for another soggy day.

Two more days on City Island and we are practically natives.  Only our accents betray us as southerners.  Tomorrow we head out, but for tonight we are feted by the locals --

Let’s Dance……Carol and Bill

Same Song, Second Verse

Almost one year ago to the day, Captain Bill, Let’s Dance, the Love Me Tender and I motored into Smith Cove off the coast of Castine, Maine to wait out the expected ravages of hurricane Earl.  The weather gods were with us that time, and this year proved to be no different.

Smith Cove is an acknowledged “hurricane hole” so it is no wonder that boats of all shapes and sizes come here when foul weather is expected.  Bill and I arrived a little late to the party, since I had just returned from North Carolina, and there were conservatively 50 boats anchored or moored when we got here on Saturday afternoon.  The inner cove was full, but we were able to secure an aisle seat in the outer harbor, just out of the swing range of a bevy of major sailboats. (Let’s Dance is the green boat far right.)

All afternoon the radio chatter increased as crews checked in with each other to discuss scope, drag, weather and, there being a fair number of Kiwis in the area, sundowners as well.   From our vantage point on the periphery of the action, we watched the drama unfold.   Rows of sailboats, ranging in length from 40 to over 150 feet have dropped anchors -- some have two or three anchors out, some have buoys on their anchor lines to mark the direction of their chains.  The winds increase and the radio chatter increases with it.  Now, a few of the sailboats admit that their anchors seem to be dragging and are having difficulty maintaining a good hold.  More chatter, more wind.  The games begin!

The major players in this little drama turn out to be named “Huckleberry”, “Nirvana”, “Zephiro” and “Cracker Bay.”  Apparently Huckleberry (the massive, blue hulled sailboat above, weighing in at 130 feet with a 13 foot draft and 23 foot beam) with her professional, uniformed crew of six, arrived early and settled herself and her three anchors across the center of the field of play.  She has effectively created the skeleton of the underwater (and therefore invisible) web of anchor chains.  Nirvana is the smallest of the lot, with a length of only about 50 feet.  She has only one anchor and as she attempts to strengthen her position she catches one of Huckleberry’s lines.  They consult, confer, decide to wait a few minutes to see what shakes out.  Now Zephiro breaks loose and she becomes tangled in Huckleberry’s lines as well.  The captain of Huckleberry is remarkably calm as all sorts of posturing takes place.  Darkness is coming on fast. The wind is picking up. The intertwined boats agree to remain joined, although Nirvana believes that she is hooked on a rock rather than a Huckleberry.  The radio is practically sparking as conversations fly back and forth in the twilight.

Now Cracker Bay enters the fray.  She is a motor yacht and, while in no immediate danger from one of the wayward sailboats, she feels that Tivoli, a latecomer to the party, is too close to her.  Who should move?  More chatter.  Bill sets the radio on “scan” so we can hear all the conversations on various channels and we watch and listen in amusement as the drama continues to unfold.  Cracker Bay decides to pull up her chains to move further from Tivoli and grudgingly begins the process.  She has out 300 feet of chain from each of her two anchors, so this is no quick and easy task.  Artemis and Lady Sandals remain quiet while others chime in with comments and suggestions.  Azucar and White Wings agree with Wild Horses to stay on the sidelines and out of harm‘s way.  Zephiro  repositions herself and is told that she’s now 15 feet closer to Huckleberry that she was before her move.

 The weather is still uncertain, and even though Irene veered inland after making landfall in New York, it’s clear that we are still in for an eventful night.  Winds on our anemometer have ranged from 10 to 42 knots all afternoon and are pretty steady in the 25 to 30 knot range.  Let’s Dance is a trooper, and she hardly rocks as the waves in the harbor grow to over three feet.  It’s choppy, but comfortable and after dinner and a movie, I head off to my cozy berth to be lulled to sleep by Irene.  No sleep for Bill…the captain always stays up with his ship in foul weather.  It could be a long night!  Bill creates an anchor alarm circle with a 160 yard diameter on our navigation software.  If Let’s Dance wanders beyond this range an alarm will sound and we will rush into action!  Luckily, we only swing in a wide arc and no alarm sounds.  Likewise, through “AIS” he is able to keep an eye on the cast of characters sharing our cove.  A significant move by any of the other boats would be noticed immediately by the alert Captain Bill.

Rain comes and goes throughout the night, but it’s never heavy. Winds come and go as well, but the real story is the neighbors.  Close to midnight, Nirvana admits the need for a second anchor, but doesn’t have one.  And all her chain is out -- she has nothing more to give!  Huckleberry sends two crewmen over by dinghy to help and another boat lends a spare anchor.  A third has extra chain to lend.  No one wants to be the recipient of a late night bump and run, so all are vigilant and ready to assist the needy.  The radio chatter finally recedes about one in the morning and it seems that everyone is tired of talking and ready for some quiet time.  I get up about three to check on the captain and find him on the settee in the pilothouse with only one eye open.  All is calm for the remainder of the night.

Dawn comes early down east, and with it a deceptively gorgeous day after.  The skies are a brilliant blue and the waters in the cove have gentled significantly.  Only a few of the flotilla have left our safe haven and all of the players from Saturday’s drama are still at anchor.  The radio starts to buzz again as crew members awaken.  There is talk about moving out to spend some time in Belfast to our north or to move onto a mooring closer to town now that the storm is history.  No one is moving quickly, however, and there is still the tangled sub-sea web to be unraveled.  Nirvana’s crew had a longer night than most and it shows in their radio transmissions.  They are ragged.   Huckleberry’s captain has it all in hand, however, and by early afternoon the knot of anchor chain has been unwound and Nirvana is free.  She returns the borrowed anchor and other gear and moves away from the crowd to nurse her pride in private.

Bill and I spend the day watching the action and eavesdropping on the radio banter.  We are much more confident this summer and, having learned that it can take several days for the ocean to quiet after a storm, decide to lounge in Smith Cove for another night.  We are entertained by some of Skippy’s bewhiskered seal friends…curious little fellas who stick just their slick, smooth snouts above the water to check out the neighborhood.  Very cute, but camera shy.  No seals were captured on film.  The Love Me Tender is secured on the upper deck, so there is no way to explore the area, but we busy ourselves reading and making a blueberry pie.  If blueberries are indeed brain food, we should be geniuses by the end of the summer!

Finally, two full days after Irene’s departure we are ready to leave the security of Smith Cove.  Headsets on for communication, we prepare to raise our anchor.  Bill on the bow pulpit, me in the pilothouse, we begin the familiar process.  Forty-five minutes later we have finally brought up all 230 feet of chain that we deposited on the muddy bottom of the cove.  Bill re-marks the chain with color-coded ties at each 50 foot interval and hoses it down with salt water as it comes up…a very messy business for him.

We depart Smith Cove for parts south at about 1100 hours on glassy water with clear skies and 62 degrees.  Time to take this song and dance show back to South Carolina and the warmer waters there.  We were grateful that this year’s hurricane event was, for us at least, a non-event.  Our second summer in Maine, our second hurricane, singing the same tune, this year with a new verse added.

Let’s Dance……Carol & Bill

Ports of Call

Like most boaters, we choose our anchorages, at least in part, by the quality of the reviews in Waterway Guides and other sources.  Areas are rated according to their ease of entry, holding, protection from winds and amenities (or lack thereof) for crew.  And,  because this year we decided to try some new spots, we chose an anchorage between Dix and High Islands about 15 miles off the Maine coast from Camden.  We were not disappointed.  When we arrived in late afternoon sunshine, there were about seven sailboats and 2 power boats already in place.  They have Waterway Guides, too, I guess.  As always, we opted for a back row seat and dropped our hook behind the crowd in about 24 feet of water.

In the 1800‘s, Dix Island was home to a major quarry which produced many of the huge granite stones that became centerpieces of some of Washington’s most impressive buildings.

At one time there were reported to be over 2,000 workers living on the tiny island, but today only a few isolated souls call it home.  The current residents own the island and their numbers are not likely to increase exponentially as they eschew electricity and pump their own water by hand.  Hmmmm….not much chance that we would be interested in a second home here.  However, they don’t mind visiting boaters going ashore as long as you “follow the path” and don’t mess with them.  So we did.  Follow the path, that is.

Bill directed the Love Me Tender to the small, rough sand and boulder beach where the trail began.  The locals had thoughtfully mowed a swath of grass, and lined it with homemade “path” signs so visitors would not go astray.  The island was very scenic, covered with pines, yarrow, rose bushes, apple trees and wild berries -- both black and raspberries.  Yum!  The path wove all the way around the island, and my only moment of hesitation was when a small (but fierce) snake slithered across the grassy walkway.  He got my attention!  “Okay, Bill, why don’t you walk in front now, please.”

The walk was very pleasant and it felt good to be on land for a short while.  When we pulled up the anchor to leave the next morning, we were the last boat left in the area.  A lone seal peeked above the waterline up ahead to wish us bon voyage, and we smiled back.  Bill thought it might have been Skippy (a small friend he named last summer) recognizing us… but I don’t think so.  Something not quite right about the whiskers.  Anyway,  we motored north to another popular anchorage off the eastern end of Vinalhaven Island -- Seal Bay.  The guides give this area top marks in every field.  And it is no wonder:  the place is gorgeous!  The entry into the bay is fairly tight and you really have to heed the charts as rock outcroppings lie in wait for the unobservant.  We successfully navigated our way in and found the perfect spot for the night.  By now, we are pretty spoiled by all the starlit skies and calm waters.

We spent my birthday exploring Seal Bay with the plan of leaving the next day for Camden.  Just when you think the world is your oyster…the fog shuts you down.  Drippy skies, zero visibility, fog everywhere, the decision is easily made.  How about another day in Seal Bay?  Brilliant idea!  We read and write and study charts and manuals and cook and clean and otherwise entertain ourselves for another 24 hours.  Not a bad way to spend a day.

We’re now in Camden, Maine and it’s a great town for friends -- both old and new.  Yesterday we noticed a fellow Nordhavn in the harbor and scooted over in the Love Me Tender to introduce ourselves.   The owners turned out to be a nice couple from Florida and we invited them over for a drink. Then today, lunch at a charming, old fashioned diner in Thomaston with Haig Point friend Debbie Hull.  Dinner tonight with Blane and Anne Bowen whom we met last winter on Man O War cay in the Bahamas……all fun treats for us and new people to tell our stories to as well.

Tomorrow I leave for a week in Highlands, NC to help my mom move into the “mountain home” and the Captain will be left to his own devices in Camden Harbor.  He assures me that his list of boat projects is long and that he will not be lonely, but really, after being within shouting distance of each other for all these months, however will he manage?

Let’s Dance…..Carol & Bill
 

Just Another Day

While a great number of days aboard Let’s Dance meld seamlessly one into another, some days stand alone in our memories -- for good or for not so good.  August 8th was one of those good summer days. 

The morning broke clear and still after a rough and stormy predecessor.  We had anchored off Portsmouth, NH, just on the edge of the Maine border and probably swayed between the two states overnight as the currents and tides shifted us from side to side.  We set off with blue skies overhead and flat water below.  Underway, about 10 minutes later, we could see fog enveloping the base of the lighthouse at the harbor’s entrance.  In front of us, a long barge carrying a  tall crane was being pulled along the channel by a tug, and soon we could see only the crane’s top. You guessed it -- our first full day in Maine and we are in a heavy fog.

For several hours we chugged along in the gray light, mindful of lobster buoys, fishing boats and any other unfortunates crossing our path.  Estimated visibility was about ¼ mile or less and we were lucky that few other boats were about.  One sailboat nipped behind us with a short horn toot to alert us to her presence, then faded back into the mist.  Captain Bill has pretty much perfected spotting “targets” or “bogeys” as they appear on the radar screens in the pilothouse.  One radar monitor is set to 2 nautical miles and the other to 3.  Rings indicate 500 yard distances, radiating out from us at the center of the screen, so it’s possible to track other boats without looking out the windows.  I’m almost certain that Bill can tell the hull color of approaching traffic he’s so good at this.

The fog lifted and descended intermittently throughout the rest of the day, but our attention was diverted by other events.  About 10 am, just off the starboard bow, a chubby seal surfaced for a quick look, then dove out of sight.  I wish he’d stayed around a bit longer, but he seemed to have more important things on his agenda than entertaining us.  By noon, the seas had flattened to a broad sheet of silver and we skimmed along at over 7 knots -- pretty fast for Let’s Dance!  Bill and I were in the pilothouse when we both noticed a quick flash, like a tiny lightning strike, in the water straight ahead of us.  A second later, we saw another flash and this time recognized it as a fish flying out of the water as if pursued by demons.  In fact it was being chased, but by a whale!  Wow!  Our first whale sighting aboard LD.  Six miles off the coast of southeast Maine in about 100 feet of water -- this guy was big -- 12 to 15 feet long and incredibly sleek and purposeful.  We pity the flying fish, as he surely became lunch, or at least a tasty snack, for the big fella.

After our lunch of BBQ chicken, salad and grapes, we settled in for a quiet afternoon.  I took the helm (yes, Bill does sometimes let me drive!) and the Captain went to the salon for a break.  We were temporarily fog free, but the skies were still leaden -- just the sort of light that makes the sea and sky blend together with no discernible horizon.  A flock of lithe skimmers -- agile black and white little birds -- caught my attention.  They work as a group, circle a patch of glassy smooth ocean, dart down and then back up, presumably with special treats in their tiny tummies.

Late afternoon brought another fun sight to behold.  We passed by two guys in a 25 foot fishing boat who had just landed what appeared to be a giant tuna.  We could only see the head of the fish as it hung out the back of their boat and it was huge.  The guys were high-fiving each other and shouting for us to look -- the catch had clearly made their day and there were bound to be fish stories told this night.

So, a busy day for us -- fog and rain and sunny blue skies; calm and wind-roughened seas; whale and seal sightings; skimmer adventures and fish stories -- just another day in the life of Let’s Dance.  We anchored in the lee of Cliff Island, in Casco Bay, and ended the day’s journey with a quiet cocktail on the fly bridge.  Time for reflection and laughter.

And then, this morning, more excitement and we haven’t even raised the anchor!  A real-deal Maine lobsterman and his mate circle around us to pull up and re-bait their traps.  We have inadvertently anchored ourselves in the center of their lines and buoys and have a front row seat for the show.  Usually thought to be taciturn, this fisherman is downright chatty -- wanting to know where we’re from, how we like our Nordie, where we are headed next -- he is our new best friend.

On a last circle around Let’s Dance, he pulled up next to us and I thought he might offer us a lobster. (That was my hope, anyway!)  Instead, he offered us a mooring in the inner harbor in case we wanted to go ashore to explore the tiny island that he calls home.  We declined, as we are motoring a bit further north today, but it was fun to experience this small bit of Americana called Cliff Island.

Let’s Dance……Carol and Bill

Rhode Island

Greetings from the shaded salon of Let’s Dance, as we prepare to spend another night just offshore from the quiet village of Vineyard Haven, MA.  We’re anchored here for a few days before moving on to a Nantucket reunion with Dallas friends from years past.

Last summer, on the maiden voyage of Let‘s Dance, we almost ignored little Rhode Island altogether, stopping only for minor repairs and maintenance near Newport.  We have righted that omission this summer by more thoughtfully exploring the rivers and bays of this tiny gem of a state.  Our first stop was at Watch Hill which sits almost on the border of Connecticut.  From the water, huge, stately, shingled homes dot the hillside, along with a stunningly yellow Victorian hotel.  One could imagine ladies with parasols and gents with canes strolling the verandahs on a summer evening.  A tranquil piece of real estate, indeed.

Opting to not enter the fairly shallow harbor, we decided to anchor in about 20 feet of water off the beach, on the ocean side of the peninsula.  It was a gorgeous night, flat water, starry skies and excellent company.  We watched the news, Jeopardy and an episode of Boston Legal before bedtime, as has become our custom.  Next thing we know, our world is being rocked…literally.  Let’s Dance is shaking and shimmying and  rolling side to side.   Looking out the stateroom porthole, the water appears calm…not totally flat, of course, but not crashing waves either.  We have become the victim of fetch!

Fetch, or fetch length, plays a role in determining the size of a wave based on the length of water over which it travels and the wind speed that propels it along.  For us, that meant that all the open water that was between us (snuggled up to the Rhode Island coastline) and the eastern tip of Long Island, was, under cover of darkness, making its way towards us, gaining strength along the way.  Long, long swells of ocean kept us from enjoying a good night’s rest.  There is not a single thing fetching about fetch.

We journeyed on the next morning up the western side of Narragansett Bay, ending a short day on the water in a wonderfully calm and protected harbor called Dutch Island Harbor.  The anchorage was on the west side of Conanicut Island, a short walk across the island  from Jamestown.  This village was named after the Duke of York, who later became King James, in 1678 (1678!)  After a few days here, we continued north and west, to the charming town of Wickford.  Another anchorage for us and several short trips in the Love Me Tender to explore the town.  We’d hoped to attend a shore side concert one night, but a late afternoon squall kept us on board, dry and safe. 

Just north of Wickford there is Quonset Point, origin possibly of the Quonset hut, and home to a fleet of military C-130 cargo planes.  Captain Bill reminisced about his days as a reluctant jumper -- “Stand up!  Hook up! Ready! Jump!”


Next stop:  East Greenwich, RI.  We don’t know anything for certain, but there is a definite ‘matrimonial’ air about this little town.  Per block there were more wedding dress boutiques, jewelry stores, beauty salons and bakeries than would seem to be the norm for a town this size.  That, and an abundance of barber shops, most with red, white and blue poles turning out front, had our curiosity aroused.  My old (long-time?) friend, Chris Born, came aboard here, bringing us a much appreciated array of cheeses, crackers, cornichons, chutney, champagne and chocolate.  That’s a lot of “c’s”.  Thanks, Chris!  After dinner in town, Chris returned to doctoring in Providence and Bill and I motored back to Let’s Dance.

Bristol caught our fancy next and we spent a delightful afternoon touring the town.  The 4th of July is really big here, and a permanent red, white and blue stripe is painted down the center of the main street.  A fascinating museum is dedicated to the Herreshoff family’s history of boat building.  From the 1850’s until 1945, this company was at the forefront of ship building - designing the first US Navy torpedo boat in 1876 and continuing on to the first catamaran and a series of racing yachts that led to America’s Cup wins through the 1930’s.  Quite a talented family of sailors and inventors. 

Our tour of Rhode Island concluded with a lazy glide down the Sakonnet River through pastoral farm lands dotted with hillside cottages, barns and the occasional large estate.  It is a beautiful area, surprisingly rural to be located so close to Newport.  Along the route we were hailed by “Summer Skis”, a Nordhavn 43 whose owner watched us from shore.  We chatted and were invited to make use of his mooring at Block Island on our return trip south.  Very thoughtful of him.

Since arriving at the Vineyard, Bill has changed from tourist mode to Captain mode once more.  He has donned wet suit and hookah to clean Let’s Dance’s hull, checked her propellers and zincs, tightened the davit seals and otherwise assured that she is ship shape and finely tuned for the next leg of the journey.  Fully rested, Captain and crew weigh anchor tomorrow for the 30 mile jaunt to Nantucket. 

Stay safe, friends, and enjoy the rest of the summer!

Let’s Dance…..Carol and Bill