Quissett
Quissett is magical. Protected from Buzzard’s Bay by a jetty and a natural, rocky neck, it is in the town of Falmouth, MA. There are no slips available, but there is a vast number of transient moorings. When I called to make a reservation for a Saturday night in high season, I was told just to come on in and pick up any blue-and-white mooring marked QBY (Quisett Boat yard) that was not in use. 'No problem'. And there was no problem. We arrived in the late afternoon. We found dozens of large, new sailing yachts on moorings,and many empty moorings. So we settled in for a glorious evening.We started with wine and snacks, between a new -looking sailing yacht of over forty feet from Hingham, and several new-looking sailing yachts from wherever, as we could not see their hailing ports. The wind and current pointed our stern toward the Bay. Sitting in the cockpit with our wine, feet up, leaning against the bulkhead, we faced west. We witnessed one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen; purple and red, covering the whole sky. A number of hikers made it out to the high rock at the point of the neck, and took up their stations to watch nature’s show. We fired up the grill (which hangs on our stern pulpit), and the smoke from our cooking joined the smoke from similar activities on all the other boats in transit. A small inflatable left a boat further out, and took the ubiquitous Golden Retriever in for what we assumed to be an evening walk. An antique wooden motor launch left the Boat Yard, and started to make its stops at each occupied mooring, collecting the modest twenty-dollar fee. It was an inboard diesel, outboard rudder-with-tiller craft. It made a slow and quiet diesel poketapoketa, as he shifted it in and out of gear with his foot. Later the Golden Retriever was himself retrieved to his floating home for the night. Later still, a rather raucous dinghy full of people returned from a night at a restaurant, we presume. Even later, several large sailboats ghosted into the now pitch-black harbor, searchlights seeking out, and eventually finding moorings for the night.We turned on the anchor light on the masthead, and watched as one by one, the lights went out in each sailboat cabin, until all was quiet. Since it was now a late hour (perhaps 10:30 PM), it was time for us to turn in as well.Quisett that night was one of the earth’s most tranquil places. In he morning, many slept in while others joined us in making coffee, breakfast, and preparations to continue our various voyages. It was a memorable stopover.