Silently and thankfully we
sailed toward Gloucester. Our original
expectation of events upon arrival in Gloucester, almost three weeks prior, was
now a non-affair. David Evans was long gone back to Lunenburg; we were in
recovery mode from the fiasco of the Kittery episode behind us; and we could
almost visualize the ingress of the Cape Cod Canal. We had dreampt of this for years. Cape Cod Canal entry is a milestone, one
waypoint on our chart, the first of a series of many for us and it was fast
approaching. It was not far off. Our
excitement and anticipation grew with each wave that passed our vessel.
I wrote that we silently
sailed to Gloucester. There are often
periods of silence between the captain and me as we glide over the waters. It is at these times when I marvel at the
beauty and majesty around me. We are often miles offshore surrounded only by
the oncoming swell, the horizon, masses of atmospheric particles of some sort
and usually, the star at the centre of our solar system around which we all
orbit. It can be overwhelming by
times. I have encountered this feeling
before usually because of some un-describable natural manifestation. It is at
these times when I find some semblance of an answer to some of the questions I
have had for many years. It is at these
times when I find the water will speak to me. It is at these times, although we
may encounter danger’s grasp at any moment, I have found myself most at peace.
The color of the water changes.
It is alive. Each change brings about a different faction and a reaction.
However, the response is always the same – it heaves, again, its tribute to me;
almost stating, ‘Learn this-- I have shown you this before.’ The waves will ripple and reflect the light
with hues that I eventually recognize I have seen. They will dance and scurry sharply like
butterflies, swells will reach out like long arms of carpet rolls, some oval,
some stretched to the utmost so much so that they are almost flattened and as smooth
as ribbon, they will build holes and tunnels in the sea resembling huge sand
quarries, some are topped with spires
of froth that declare their strength, and some so monstrous, dark and cold and
vicious demanding constant attention, each depicting some type of activity on
the water. I have quietly watched the
sea for hours as we sail along. I have
heard its gurgles, its laughter as it tickles and splashes against our
sailboat‘s hull, and I have heard her scream as she throws her power at us. Coupled
with the wind and weather, the water asks nothing of me, it only gives. There
is no harness for this beauty; there is no control of the sea, one who travels
it can only respect its command, yield to its supremacy, and wisely come to
know all that is possible to live and thrive within its sovereignty. Left to the sea, it will attempt to teach one
so.
I wrote that we sailed
thankfully toward Gloucester. We were
thankful we came away from Kittery still able to continue our journey. We were thankful for the quick and easy eventless
run into and onto a free mooring ball in Gloucester. We were thankful for the
excellent navigational aids we so appreciate seeing and reaching. We have begun to relate to them similarly as
one looks forward to the visit of a good friend. They are a lifeline, an
accomplishment and a reference that we are successful, approaching our heading
correctly. There are countless tools we
use as navigation tools. Primarily of
course, are our charts, both electronic and paper. Charts are very detailed.
They enable us to map our route forward following a path we set out for
ourselves. We research, set our
waypoints and then use the tools provided on the sea to assist us with every
passage. Waypoints are the points of
reference we plot into our electronic system before we set out for any
destination. Our electronics have a
built in GPS that picks up our location from satellites just as any new cell
phone does. In our case, the global positioning system (gps) inserts a tiny sailboat into our electronic charts that travels along with us
as we sail forward. Our 12 inch monitor screen, mounted at our helm (or steering
wheel) on our vessel, is our visual aid that is used to follow the course we
set in advance for our sail. When we reach a waypoint on our chart likewise
does the little sailboat on our electronics.
It is all very comforting to know when it is all functioning well but
there is much to understand about the technology and the plotting of the
route. We have taken numerous courses
designed to teach us how to do this but we are still very much amateurs. There
is always something new to learn. There are international aids to navigation on
the water that one must also learn to use for the identification for many
circumstances one might encounter. Far too many to list here, however, those that
we look to closely as friends are the buoys and markers identifying channels, what hazards may be lurking, like shoals or
rocks, lights that direct, even spires
on churches can help one identify their location. Generally, all the aids are listed on the
charts and programmed into our electronic charts. If they are used as a
waypoint and are met, it is as though we can check off another block on our “to
do” list and head for the next one. And
we are thankful for these tools.
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| Chartplotter |
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| Depth Sounder |
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| Cruising Guides for research |
One such aid is at Hatcher
Rock, off Cape Ann. It is a nasty rugged
piece of land, a dangerous island surrounded by craggy shoreline, that seems to
protrude forever, or so it seemed as we passed by it. We certainly gave it its due, a wide
berth. However, in fairness, this island
houses two twin lighthouses, one on either end.
Both were built in 1771 of granite and it was not until 1861 that they
were illumined. These huge structures
remain standing and functional, almost 250 years later, proudly warning
mariners of this danger zone.
Once past them we slipped by
Brace Cove into Massachusetts Bay, continued south beyond Ten Pound Island
(aptly named for the price originally paid to local Indians for its purchase)
where we entered into Gloucester’s main harbour leading past Rocky Neck. Near the harbour entrance on the western
shore is Norman’s Woe Rock, a ghastly reef made famous in the captivating poem,
”Wreck of the Hesperus” by Henry W. Longfellow.
We dropped our sail there and motored up the channel into the Inner Harbour,
catching a vacant mooring ball just before the sun dropped out of sight opposite
Eastern Point Light.
Gloucester is renowned for its
three centuries of fishing and boating activity. The town was also used as the
backdrop for some passages in Rudyard Kipling’s book, “Captain Courageous” and the
book turned movie, “The Perfect Storm” tells the ill-fated story of the loss of
a local fishing vessel, the Andrea Gail, and all of her crew. This history attracted us to this harbour; we
were compelled to sail in; and we hiked the downtown core the following day,
immersed in its surrounding culture.
With our thirst of curiosity quenched, we returned to Bridlewilde,
plotted our next course, and readied our boat for the next short sail to
Winthrop, as the sun sank over the horizon again.
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