Wednesday, July 20, Day 11

  • Wind 8, 11, 14, 16, 19 km/h from West, SW
  • Wind gusts SW 23 nm/h
  • Temp 75-91; Dew point 68°; Precipitation 0%
  • Next high tide 1:50 and low at 7:15 am in Westport
  • Current position: 41.63907, -70.91296 (Pope’s Island Marina)
  • Change in latitude: 41.51382, -71.07610 (Westport)

We’re land side working on a plan to change the diesel filter and get her going… Finding it is another story.

The apparent wind mimics another perfect sailing day. Here inside the storm gate, I know better. Out there, a southwest wind of storm resides. Looking ahead, these gusts promise to persist. Maybe it’s nerves, but I am convinced that sometimes we simply need to wait. Hopefully, we’ll see 5-10 km/h not too long from now…

Tabasco all tidied up with her lines neatly drawn, sits and waits.. Waits for dawn. Most likely we’ll motor her to home port in another day. Maybe tomorrow if the winds die down and the sea settles. It would be great to find another back-up anchor though, just in case… 

A young woman sitting at her desk in the dock shack moves back her chair to get up. I nearly collapse. It’s only a flashback sound from wooded legs sliding across the floor. I’m calmer but my nerves are still slightly on edge. Still thinking what’s next, like a plank breaking loose and us going down into the sea. Peter said the planks are new. She’s been re-planked with white cedar. Some time in the 80s or so… I’m not ready. Nor is the sea. Wind gusts still blow 20 to 25 km/h. It’ll take a day to prep the engine anyway. Fortunately, Niemiec Marine sits here along the bay. If all goes well – Peter will have the engine cranking by noon!


The air and sea beckon me, but visions of vehement waves foaming across the sea keep moving around in my head. Unsteadily, our dingy bobs above and below the stern. Light, sea green waves lift then break. They constantly tease to bring her to us, across the ever lowering stern. Peter and I look back at it, look at each other, than look ahead. I wonder if we should just pull her in. The weight might bury us. I look at him and say, “Hey, it’s a gorgeous day. Would you like to go sailing?” He smiles, then says; “Yeah, but we might need another boat.”

Peter, rowing the dingy back to the mooring.
Found: one white dingy that slipped across the bay. She’s hanging out in blue water; checking out the harvest among bigger guys. She’s obviously tired too.

Retrieved by: Old man and the sea!

Day 12

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