I said that I would start posting again when I was enjoying cruising. Well, there are few worries in life that could dampen the feeling of coming into a place like Cuttyhunk in quarter mile visibility during the last couple days of its winter sleep.
There is something about outermost places, those last outposts of community and civilization that is unfailingly evocative. It’s especially true when seeking refuge. I left Newport intending to anchor in Phinny’s Harbor at the southern end but picked up a special weather statement off Sakonnet which made it sound like most of Massachusetts would be seeking federal disaster aid today. I was already on a direct course for the end of the Elizabeth Islands. Sometimes doing nothing is the very best thing you can do so I just left the autopilot button alone and headed for the southernmost shelter I could reach.
We have the pond virtually to ourselves. I don’t think there is another occupied boat afloat and only one vessel on the town moorings which is locked up tight. I went ashore this morning and the town is still in its winter hibernation but you can feel the tingle of anticipation of the first daily ferry tomorrow, the beginning of the season with Memorial Day, and MONEY!
I went into town this morning forgetting my camera but got this reasonable cell phone picture from the top of the island looking out towards Africa.
A cairn someone built on the beach:
This afternoon, I landed on the other side of the pond:
The old Coast Guard station and now the ferry dock:
I’d like to know the story behind the remains of this marine railway across from the CG station. There are no signs of other structures on what is empty beach.
They say there is no “I” in “Team”. Sometimes there is no “I” in “RIB” either.
Actually, there is an “i” in “TEAM”. It’s hidden in the A hole.
Paul, my friend from Canada will arrive either tomorrow or the next day depending on what plans he makes tonight. Either way, we’ll be sitting out tomorrow’s heavy rain and possibly Sunday as well before heading on towards Maine via the scenic route.
Oh yes, don’t look at a map regarding outermost places. This is creative writing after all.
There is something about outermost places, those last outposts of community and civilization that is unfailingly evocative. It’s especially true when seeking refuge. I left Newport intending to anchor in Phinny’s Harbor at the southern end but picked up a special weather statement off Sakonnet which made it sound like most of Massachusetts would be seeking federal disaster aid today. I was already on a direct course for the end of the Elizabeth Islands. Sometimes doing nothing is the very best thing you can do so I just left the autopilot button alone and headed for the southernmost shelter I could reach.
We have the pond virtually to ourselves. I don’t think there is another occupied boat afloat and only one vessel on the town moorings which is locked up tight. I went ashore this morning and the town is still in its winter hibernation but you can feel the tingle of anticipation of the first daily ferry tomorrow, the beginning of the season with Memorial Day, and MONEY!
I went into town this morning forgetting my camera but got this reasonable cell phone picture from the top of the island looking out towards Africa.
A cairn someone built on the beach:
This afternoon, I landed on the other side of the pond:
The old Coast Guard station and now the ferry dock:
I’d like to know the story behind the remains of this marine railway across from the CG station. There are no signs of other structures on what is empty beach.
They say there is no “I” in “Team”. Sometimes there is no “I” in “RIB” either.
Actually, there is an “i” in “TEAM”. It’s hidden in the A hole.
Paul, my friend from Canada will arrive either tomorrow or the next day depending on what plans he makes tonight. Either way, we’ll be sitting out tomorrow’s heavy rain and possibly Sunday as well before heading on towards Maine via the scenic route.
Oh yes, don’t look at a map regarding outermost places. This is creative writing after all.
