At the Edge of the Sea

Cuttyhunk inner harbor from Lookout Hill

Rhode Island ranks worst among the fifty states for business in a recent CNBC poll. Perhaps the result of over eighty years of one party rule along with a touch of organized crime and more than a whiff of corruption. But in spite of the awful business climate, other surveys rank her relatively high in quality of life.

This disparity explains why residents hang in there and tourists continue to visit. Rhode Island is indeed the Ocean State, and that contributes to way-above-average livability. Her towns and cities, reaches and beaches, have a lot to offer.

Take Bristol, for instance, which we visited recently on an organized cruise of private craft exploring New England waters, which is our summer wont.

Founded in 1680, the town was originally part of the Plymouth colony, hence Massachusetts, until it was transferred by the  British crown to Rhode Island in 1747. Although over 12 miles north of the sea, Bristol was a deep water port and contributed mightily to the commerce of the colonies.

We docked at the Herreshoff Museum, staying several days, and explored the history and bounty of this historic town. The Herreshoffs were a family of remarkable marine designers and engineers, responsible for a series of huge, graceful racing yachts which defended, undefeated, the America’s Cup with five yachts between 1893 and 1920.

These boats, built for capitalists and bankers, may have seemed extravagant and wasteful at the time. But they employed many hundreds of Herreshoff craftsmen and supported their families and the town in which they lived. And brought some great measure of pride to many Americans thrilled to see the Americas Cup won year after year.

Later, the Herreshoffs retooled and built patrol torpedo boats and minesweepers for the U.S. Navy during World War II.  Their nautical engineering abilities were nearly endless, including all the above, sweet daysailers for children, and the hulls of flying boats. The museum is well worth a visit.

After enjoying the tree-lined streets, restaurants, and water views of historic Bristol for several days, we slipped into the top of the Sakonnet River and made our way, amongst angry, swirling tidal currents, into the broader, calmer waters below, headed for Sakonnet Point.

Technically in Little Compton, Sakonnet Point rests on the southeastern point of Rhode Island, where one may look north, reassuringly to land, or south to the open expanse of the North Atlantic. The small harbor there contains a mix of pleasure and working craft. Working boats bring back the bounty of the sea, their success witnessed by rows of seagulls in close ranks on the peaks of nearby buildings. And while the pretty sailing and motor craft of the leisure class adorn the docks, we are awakened by the deep throb of a heavy diesel engine, a working boat headed to sea at three a.m., her crew ready to labor as we drift back to sleep.

That morning, rain threatens, but we batten hatches and don foulies as we head out into the swells, turn east, destination Cuttyhunk, across nearly 20 miles of lumpy, windy, rainy seas.

Cuttyhunk is at the tail of the Elizabeth Islands, separating Buzzard’s Bay from Vineyard Sound. Part of the Massachusetts town of Gosnold, Cuttyhunk was originally occupied in 1602 for the purpose of harvesting sassafras. Today, she is a tourist mecca for boaters desiring a quiet sojourn. No bars. No liquor stores. No fancy restaurants.

One comes to Cuttyhunk to contemplate the views of the distant mainland and Martha’s Vineyard from Lookout Hill. To run on scimitar beaches and swim in friendly surf. To enjoy the fruits of the sea, delivered to moored craft by the “Raw Bar Boat.” To lie in the cockpit of their vessel and see the nighttime grandeur of the Milky Way, undimmed by city lights. The solitude, the beauty that is Cuttyhunk, reverently worshiped by the visiting boats who fill the inner harbor and overflow into the outer.

Grudgingly, the next day, we slip the mooring lines and turn west, sailing on a strong reach as the southerlies build. By midday, we are off the coast of Rhode island again. Past Newport, we turn up into the west passage of Narragansett Bay. Around the Beavertail light, we take shelter in Dutch Harbor. From here, we can hike the island of Jamestown or take the ferry to Newport. No shortage of bars or liquor stores here. And we are only a half day sail from our start, all protected, up the bay to our original departure point. A week well and truly spent.

But still, while glad to be home with all its familiarity and hustle and bustle, we do miss the limitless views of the sea. And that broad-stroke, bold, bright, beautiful Milky Way. Those are views your camera cannot properly capture.

Venture forth.

A proper New England vacation

Gay Head, Martha's Vineyard, as seen from Cuttyhunk

People come from all over to visit New England in the summer time. Happy vacationers crowd the roads of Cape Cod and streets of Newport, their license plates proclaim the wonders of their home state: Sweet Home Alabama (AL), Land of Enchantment (NM), Sportsman’s Paradise (LA), Beautiful Ohio (OH). And yet, they are here.

We are wonderfully fortunate to inhabit such a desirable region, with brilliant leaves to peep in autumn, mountain slopes to ski in winter, and local maple syrup to savor in the spring. But summer on the seacoast is the main event. So when our yacht club offered the chance to participate in a cruise to the Elizabeth Islands and Martha’s Vineyard, we jumped at the chance. The plan was agreed having these overnight stays: Jamestown (Conanicut), Cuttyhunk, Oak Bluffs (Martha’s Vineyard), then returning via Cuttyhunk and Dutch Harbor, weather permitting.

Warned that, depending on weather and wind and waves, we might have to spend multiple nights at anchor without access to civilization, we plan and shop and stock the boat for any eventuality: ice cubes for the cooler, blocks for the reefer; canned tuna, mayonnaise, onion, and wheat bread for sandwiches; yogurt, fresh apples, bananas, cereal and milk for breakfast. Coffee. Bottled water. Two boxes of spaghetti, several jars of tomato sauce, and grated Parmesan cheese. Peanut butter. A bottle of wine or three. We are ready.

We pass the first very hot night at the club’s marina to facilitate an early departure. Nearly a hundred degrees, we retire to the air conditioned dining room for a light dinner. Later, when the sun has set, a very slight breeze feels cool. With a few trepidations, we review charts, then sleep and dream of calm seas.

Day 1 dawns cloudy, a bit cooler, but a chance of thunderstorms threatens. A parade of seven sailboats straggles from the marina and forms up a line headed south down the Providence River. Calm winds, motor sailing is the order of the day. A few hours later, the sky darkens and the heavens open up. A heavy downpour, accompanied by brilliant lightning flashes and thunderous booms, masks the other boats from our view. But being a typical summer storm, it is brief, and soon after we spy our mates and the Newport Bridge as we continue south. Gathering up, we stream into Conanicut and take our moorings. The water is cool and clear and deep here. Several of us swim from the stern of our boats, then call for the launch and go in for supplies or jerry cans of fuel. Later, as a group, we go ashore for dinner in Jamestown as the day dims. Clam chowder and seafood stew, this is New England.

Day 2, very early, we drop the mooring lines at 7am and motor south past the Dumplings on the right, then Castle Hill on the left. A long way to go, out to sea, we turn the corner at Brenton Reef and head for Cuttyhunk, a direct shot 20 miles to the east. Again, calm seas, no wind, we motor along, 6-ton sailboats being the slowest of motorboats. But later, a slight breeze from the south allows us to extend our jibs and pick up an extra knot. Finally, we are sailing. Arriving at Cuttyhunk late in the afternoon, we cruise the inner harbor but find all the moorings occupied. Back to the outer harbor, like magic we find the last seven available moorings. Late, tired, we decide to stay aboard, cook a little dinner on the propane stove, drink a glass of wine in the cockpit, and watch the sun set far to the west. As full dark settles in, a gaudy display of the Milky Way is amazingly entertaining. Then deep sleep and early to rise.

Day 3, again early, a quick breakfast, then we slip the lines and head for Quick’s Hole which separates Nashawena from Pasque Island and gives us ingress to Vineyard Sound. Luckily, the tides are with us and the crossing is uneventful. Tidal currents can be ruinous, but we are not so challenged. Again eastward, up Vineyard Sound, we tack into a northeast wind. The fleet of seven separate, but communicate on VHF radio and keep a very loose formation, somehow all finally arrive at Oak Bluffs within thirty minutes of each other in the mid afternoon. Luxury; a slip, with pilings, a sea wall, and 120V power. Heaven.

Oak Bluffs is very busy, optimized for tourism and hosting folks from around the world. We hear British and German and Midwestern American accents as we amble Circuit drive, looking for a dinner spot. Hot, midafternoon strolls are cooled by circling the Tabernacle in the Methodist campground. Civilization is nice, replenishing our ice and fuel and other ship’s stores - very satisfying. But somehow, the isolation of Cuttyhunk pulls at us.

After three days, including a bus trip to lovely Edgartown, watching the ballet of the twin Chappaquiddick ferries, and multiple fine meals, we are ready to return to sea.

Day 6, we drop our stern and bow and spring lines, emerge from Oak Bluffs harbor, and race a bit to beat the incoming fast ferry as it approaches the narrow channel. As the sun ascends and clouds clear, the wind picks up and we have a brisk north breeze to reach across Vineyard Sound. Finally, the sailboat comes to life and vibrates happily with the wind, curling a white bow wave as we cut through the swells. A fast crossing, we arrive at the south entrance to Quick’s Hole before noon. Again, fortuitously, the tides are with us and we glide uneventfully through to the north side, then turn west again to Cuttyhunk. Entering the inner harbor just after noon, we find enough moorings for our small flotilla.

After securing the boat and donning comfortable hiking shoes, we unship the outboard and mount it on the dinghy. A quick ten minutes later, we are ashore on Cuttyhunk and meet several others from our group. Always, the human tendency is to ascend, so we begin a slow climb. About 150 feet above sea level, the top of Lookout Hill was once a lookout station for WWII sailors spotting German submarines. Now, the pillboxes are nearly buried and prolific wildflowers decorate the heights. The view of the open sea to the south and west is magnificent, and Gay Head on Martha’s Vineyard is clearly visible. We meet another group of sailors up from Maryland – they have been attracted to Cuttyhunk for many years and often make the long voyage.

There is little on the island for tourists – one restaurant, one store, fewer than 100 residents. But one comes for the peace, the 1890s feel, the wildflowers, the wide open sky, and the expansive view of the sea.

Back to the boats, another supper aboard. We buzz back and forth in the dinghies, visiting our cohort, but finally settle in with the dark. Again, the Milky Way, ostentatious, as we sample a nice port and read a bit by camp lantern.

Day 7, up at dawn, a quick breakfast, then drop the mooring lines and gather up as we steam out of the harbor. A long day, we will be sailing about 26 miles to Dutch Harbor in Narragansett Bay. As the sun climbs, the wind gathers strength from the south and we manage 6 knots with engines quiet. There is nothing more freeing than the sense of a heavy boat creaking and groaning and slipping quickly through the sea, a fast as you can jog, all for free. Many hours later, we enter Dutch harbor on the west side of Jamestown and are led to our mooring. After a rest, we join our group and walk into town, finally aggregating a group of sailors for drinks and dinner and the swapping of lies. Nothing could be more satisfying.

Day 8, a little break, sleeping in a bit. Today we don’t leave until 9am, for we are in the familiar confines of Narragansett Bay and have only 20 miles or so to journey. A north wind, wouldn’t you know. But we have all day so tack industriously and gradually make our way up the bay. Finally, rounding Conimicut Point, the tacking becomes tiring and we decide to motor the last few miles. Up the Providence River, dodging a tug-driven barge or two, we reach our home port. With the sun settling in the west, a gentle, almost skillful docking, coming into the wind and backing the prop to kill our momentum, we glide to a stop.

This has been a proper New England vacation, one we are most likely to repeat.