at 6 AM with heavy clouds and light north winds. The lobster pot density made things a bit dodgy, especially with the sun, what little there was of it, shining directly in our faces.
We hoisted the main right away, but it soon started raining with little wind. We motored along past Monhegan and L, having made and served breakfast, went back to bed.
Wind picked up even though pretty constant showers continued and we were able to sail downwind. I wasn't able to avoid poling out the genoa to windward (port) but with a slight NE direction to the wind we were charging down the rhumbline of 210 magnetic to Pollack Rip under full main, genoa, with the Monitor steering. I was uno happy camper.
The swells slowly increased and so did the downwind roll. L felt a bit queasy down below but didn't feel much like coming up to sit in the rain. So, being the person I am (whatever) I huddled in the corner (dodger not blocking the rain coming from astern) for the afternoon as the wind picked up to 17 to 20 and we hurtled downwind.
By evening I was really chilled and changed into long underwear under my foulies, heavy socks, fleece hat and mitts (much better). L was not feeling well, as the swell had built over the day and the motion was more jerky. She did serve both lunch and supper to me, for which I was very grateful.
The wind had been forecasted to back to the N and then all the way W, which would have been fine, eventually allowing the pole to come down and us to jibe to a broad reach on starboard tack.
I had also thought about taking the pole down by sunset, as per my usual policy at sea, especially if L was going to take a watch. But since the wind, if anything, was showing a tendency to veer, and it looked like I'd be soloing it, I left it up. The breeze had dropped to 15, so it wasn't hauling us along quite so fast.
I don't remember much of the evening except that it was very cloudy and often raining. I was warm enough in my clothes and thought about the usual subjects - spending more time with the people I love, etc. L went off for the night although she later reported that she didn't sleep very well.
The sea became more disorganized and, as the wind veered to the NE and then ENE, we headed west across the swells. I felt pretty queasy and really tired by midnight after 18 hours of wet huddling. However, it was obvious that we were going to have to stow the pole and jibe the genoa if we were going to sail to Nantucket rather than to Boston, so I carefully put the pole away. This was a slow, deliberate process, in my foulies and heavy clothing in the rain, holding the flashlight in my teeth on the rolling foredeck, feeling pretty fatigued and nauseated. Fortunately the system of guys holding the pole and the snatchblock in the jaws of the pole holding the genoa sheet allowed me to roller furl the sail first, leaving the pole totally supported and able to be dealt with on its own.
When I finished, I came back into the cockpit and just lay down breathing heavily, pretty totally spent after hauling out the genoa on starboard and adjusting the main and Monitor to course.
The wind decreased further to about 10 knots and veered to the SE, not paying any attention to the forecast. The clouds started to break apart and the moon showed through. Once in a while a ship appeared in the Boston lanes, but nothing close.
I had been feeling too punky to face making myself any snacks or even to eat chocolate, although I had forced myself to grab two cans of soda over the evening. I really wanted tea but didn't feel quite up to dealing with the stove. Finally I decided to try to make ramen, since I knew I needed food and that if I could get it down it would make me feel better. This I did and it did.
The rustling and staggering around below was quite apparent to L. The unenthusiastic quality of my "OK" when she asked me how I was evidently left a microscopic shadow of doubt in her mind as to the accuracy of that characterization. With the pole down and Puffling on a broad reach instead of a dead run, the motion was less, and L bundled up and came into the cockpit about 2:45 as I was slurping down the boiling hot ramen. When she said she would stay up and I could go rest I accepted gratefully and without hesitation, so you can see how wasted I had been feeling.
From 3 to 3:30 I lay in my bunk awake, enjoying the great pleasure of stretching out and being away from the wind. As ever, the supine position diminished the seasickness and the food in my stomach helped too. I then slept till 4 and awoke feeling fine.
Back in the cockpit I got us back on our course, but, in fact, the wind was dying by then and after being really irritated by the sails slatting around in the residual 3 to 4 foot swells, I stowed the genoa and started the engine. All in all it had been a wonderful downwind ride, for which I was grateful.
So L went back to bed for a great sleep, as she later reported, and I enjoyed a tremendous sunrise and secured the main on the rolling deck, which then got significantly more rolly, if quite a bit quieter with no sail up. I was afraid that L would get tossed out of her bunk but I guess the steady roll was better than the downwind slither.
The sky brightened and the lights of the planes leaving Logan faded. By the time L emerged the Cape's east, ocean-facing shore was passing by to starboard. It seemed like our adventure was over and we'd just glide into Nantucket.
Of course, I realized that with our unusually rapid downwind progress to south, our arrival at Pollack Rip Channel would put us against the current but I figured what the heck, we could do 6 knots through the water against 2 adverse. We could, but I should have studied the chart a bit more closely.
Pollack Rip is shaped like a huge funnel, with the narrow end to the northeast, into which we were coming. On either side of this funnel opening, there are shallow rocky shoals. Although there was little wind, the residual three foot seas were crashing into those rocks as we approached.
At the buoy marking the entrance to this four mile long conduit, I peered through the binoculars, trying to find the channel markers. The two I could see looked strange. I thought maybe the floating cans and bells had been replaced by daymarks on stands or towers, as their intersection with the water’s surface was hard to make out with the boat pitching in a pretty lively fashion in the seas at the channel mouth.
I thought about not doing it – maybe heaving to and waiting outside for the tide to change - but figured what the heck, we can handle it. L was so unaware of how dicey it was that she had asked, as we approached, if it would be OK if she went below to tidy up. I had said no I thought I might need some assistance finding the channel markers, and now I realized what an understatement that was. In fact, the reason that the lower portion of the marks looked so strange was that the water roaring out of the channel was at 53 degrees so that there was a layer of haze about 3 to 5 feet thick at the surface, intermittently obscuring the markers totally.
I had L turn on the radar and she got the small binoculars out and sat on the rail looking for the marks. Fortunately with the radar screen visible from the helm I could see the echoes of the bells clearly and just tried to steer towards them, with L confirming the heading when she could. The first part was the most exciting, with the boat slewing around pretty actively in the breakers foaming astern as the 3 foot swells coming in were countered by the 2 knot river of cold sea water streaming out of the narrow end of the funnel. I watched a bit tensely as the depth gauge dropped from 33 to 25 to 18 to 16 to 11 and then, as it showed 8.5 feet, I throttled down thinking that if somehow we were going to strike, at least we’d be better off if our speed was reduced. As we did slow, however, the breakers threatened noisily to catch us from astern. But in a few seconds, the depth gauge started ramping up and I pushed the Yanmar back up to outrun them.
Things got progressively easier after the first mile or
so and the rest of the trip under power was uneventful, if amazingly slow
due to adverse current which continued all the way past Great Point. But
by 3:30 that afternoon we were on our mooring in Nantucket Harbor, the
sail cover was on, the sun awning up, and I was stretched out in the cockpit
shade enjoying a cold Maine Shipyard Ale, with another little passage recorded
in Puffling's log.
