…..Winthrop and what about the Winds of Change….

Winthrop is minutes away from Boston.  Actually, it is right on the flight path of Logan International Airport.  It is a small town of 20,000 people; has only two roads in, supports a fabulous small harbour and boasts that it is one of the safest places to live in America with almost no crime.  These and the 400 years of history that frame this community were all the reasons we chose to moor here as opposed to going into a big city Boston marina to tie up.  It was a difficult long day even though it was a short 21 nm run from Gloucester.  Although the sun shone warm and beautiful, for the entire sail the wind pushed against our bow as did the sea, allowing us a slow sail of 3.5 knots, until we entered into Presidents Roads in toward Boston.  Our navigational aid into this harbour was the sewage treatment plant that resembles a long row of giant eggs on Deer Island.  We were mindful and alert crossing the basin into Winthrop, we kept a very careful watch to remain in the channel.  This narrow channel is bordered by ledges and shallows, flats and rocks that we had no intention of coming into contact with.  We navigated between the shoals at Point Shirley and Snake Island and came to rest on a mooring ball in Winthrop Head, safely tucked in behind the marshes and grasslands around Logan Airport.

Winthrop

Winthrop from our mooring ball

Cruising in a sailboat is a lifestyle. People cruise for many reasons. It may be because one is hungry for the sense of adventure, it may be that the destination is the goal, it may be for the love of sailing a vessel, or for the love of being on the water, it may be the challenge or it may be a combination of many things.  But one thing all cruisers have in common is that they are doing it and inevitably, cruisers will catch up with each other, somewhere or other along their courses.   So it would be for us in Boston.

A month earlier in Liverpool, NS we met up with two other Canadian sailboats travelling south. Jimmy and Jacquie were headed somewhere warm and Joe and Rose, on their vessel, Winds of Change,  were travelling with them.  They were en route to Digby were Jimmy was going to visit with his mom for a couple of weeks and Joe and Rose were going to have some work done on their boat there.  Naturally, we were all like-minded and kept in touch with each other to pass on information, check on conditions, and touch base as to how each of us were progressing.  Jimmy and Jacquie had hustled on to New York where they were meeting up with Ellie and Allan; other cruising friends who had just arrived there from their trip south down the Hudson River.  Rose and Joe had taken on a crew member, Jeff, in Digby to help them sail their boat across the Bay of Fundy and southward toward their destination, the island of Antigua.  Winds of Change, including her three crew members, was berthed in the city marina in Boston, just a bus ride away.

The captain and I spent a day scouting out the community of Winthrop.  We saw the beautiful vintage Victorian homes in Cottage Park, we hung out at the town pier and we checked out the shops along the main street.  We watched the Canada Geese land and take refuge in the marsh grasses and we watched the bigger birds take off and land at Logan.   We went to the library, we had ice cream cones and we found a bus schedule and bus stops.  We made plans to visit Winds of Change the following day.

 

Big Birds arriving into Logan International Airport. Boston

The sky was overcast when we set out on the bus to Boston.  Nothing serious but by the time we made our bus connection to head to the harbour, a little rain had started to drizzle.  The bus trip there was to take about 40 minutes including the transfer we would need to make.  By the time we were winding down the busy streets of Boston toward the harbour, the rain intensified and we were glad we had asked the bus driver,  who agreed, to drop us as close to the city marina stop as possible.  We did have foul weather gear on but we knew we would have a bit of a walk before we reached the boat we were about to visit.   When the 40 minute ride stretched into 50 we finally asked the driver how much longer it would be before our stop.  Of course, we did not expect that he had forgotten about us. After he apologized, he let us out of the bus giving us directions how to get back to where we should have been let off.  Needless to say, by the time we arrived at Winds of Change, due to the extra-long walk we had undertaken, we were quite wet and the captain was less than pleased with this plan.  He had been doubtful that we would find our way through the metropolis of Boston in the first place, emphatically pointing out that we now navigate on the sea not on land, and this journey might just cause us some discontent.  But I was confident that we could soldier on and all would be fine. Even though the rain poured, our visit with Joe and Rose was enjoyable. We dried out, we met Jeff, and we laughed and drank and exchanged stories of each of our journeys thus far. 

Boston in background from Bridlewilde

All the while, however, the captain`s mind festered. He was agitated by the wind that was ramping up, the rain squalor that had not waned, the dropping temperature in mid-November Boston, the 10 foot tides of the Winthrop harbour, the overspent time visiting, the approaching darkness, the return bus trip and mainly that we must return to Bridlewilde on her mooring ball, in these horribly wet conditions in the dark in a dinghy that he was going to have to row.  The Kittery dinghy incident at night remained still very, very fresh in his mind!

We said our goodbyes, promising to keep in touch, and made our way through the downtown Boston streets to the bus stop, boarded and descended the bus in Winthrop, soaked again.  As the captain had predicted, the conditions for travel across the mooring field to our boat were not the best.  We were drenched, and cold, the tide was rising as was the wind, it was still pouring and it was dark.  We climbed over a fishing vessel, recovered the dinghy now quite wet with water, and climbed aboard.   Once the dinghy stabilized on the waves, the captain struggled against the tide to row us out toward our sailboat. I always carry a light in one of our packsacks. (For which I was thankful as well as having putting on our lifejackets)  We were within twenty feet of the ladder up to the deck of our sailboat when disaster struck us again, for the second time in less than a week.

I heard the crack.  The captain was back on to me as I was positioned in the nose of the dinghy. I head the desperation in his voice.  I heard him call over the wind that we were in trouble. I heard the water splash at us, I heard the wind howl and I heard the rain, sharp against the rubber of the dinghy`s inflated pontoons.  One of the dinghy oars had broken in half; the arm of it slipping out of the oarlock and had drifted overboard off into the waters.  Without the rowing pressure against both oars to keep us moving toward our sailboat, the tide was now pulling us and our dinghy out away from the boat.  By the time we were able to recover from the panic of this situation, we were about 500 feet beyond Bridlewilde.  The captain quickly sank off the dinghy seat onto its floor, where he could be steadied leaning against me. He grasped the remaining paddle piece of the broken oar in both hands leaving me to manage the remaining good oar.  Between the two of us, encouraging each other all the while that we were capable, able, and strong enough to maneuver ourselves back, we clawed and pulled against the surge, forcing  our way through the tide until we slammed hard against Bridlewilde`s bow in the dark. We both grabbed at her gunwale, held on with both hands as we inched the dinghy along her hull, around behind the Monitor at the stern of the boat until we could feel some relief from the tidal pressure and wind on our arms, sheltered somewhat on the lee side of the boat.  Then within seconds the captain had pulled the dinghy alongside the ladder into Bridlewilde.  He tied the lines of the dinghy tightly; it was secured to the sailboat; we were free to climb up the ladder and board her again.  Boarding is not an easy task at the best of times from a dinghy.  One must climb over the pontoon, from the level of the water, pull oneself onto the steps of the ladder, climb up it and step carefully onto a narrow deck.  Fortunately, Bridlewilde`s deck at the ladder is a width of 14 inches.  That was certainly helpful but with the wind and waves rocking the dinghy and the sailboat, when one is exhausted from rowing against a 10 foot tide, boarding can be a difficult feat.  But as you can imagine our bodies were overflowing with adrenaline.  Before we knew it we were both clambering into the cockpit, through the companionway, down into the cabin.  Drenched, exhausted, alive and safely home in our vessel again.

There was no charting this night, there was no discussion about the following day, there was no planning.  We stripped off our wet clothes for cuddly pajamas, the captain fired up our propane heaters and by the time we pulled back the covers to fall into bed, Bridlewilde was a toasty warm haven on a nasty rainy night.  Tomorrow would be left for another day!