Tom arrives at our boat before 8 am and delivers breakfast – a selection of bagels and pastries - we depart shortly after eating the more disgusting looking ones – iced cinnamon swirls – yummy!
It’s a lovely day with a bright blue sky and wind that’s sort of in the right direction albeit not very strong. The engines are working, the generator is working and the lobster pots are spread out far enough for you to dodge them easily. However, they are still there in sufficient numbers to stop you being able to do anything but look out for them.
We plan to go to York, about 30 miles down the coast, but decide as we draw close that we would prefer to go a little further and get that bit nearer to Boston so with my new found skill, developed from sitting for hours at the chart table during our foggy days, I plot the course down to Newburyport.
As we pass Rye Harbor on the mainland, there are a group of islands, the Isles of Shoals, the biggest ones being Appledore, Smuttynose and Star. The coincidence is that I am currently reading ‘The Weight of Water’ by Anita Shreve which is set on these very islands. Her description of them does not make me want to visit!
As the day wears on, the wind turns from the south west to the north west and although not particularly strong, is cold enough, along with the developing cloud cover, to make us put on extra clothing.
As we leave Maine and sail past the small amount of New Hampshire that actually has a coastline, a plague of small black flies descend on the boat. They are sluggish and easy to kill but there are loads of them. Still, I prefer them to mosquitoes.
It’s past 5 pm before we get to the mouth of the Merrimack River, our entrance to Newburyport and the state of Massachusetts. As we approach Mike can see a fast current flowing out into the sea from half a mile away but we have no choice but to get in it as to turn too early would lead us into shallow water. Unbelievably there are sports fishing boats sitting right in the middle of it, bouncing to my eye, uncontrollably. One even looks like he’s on the rocks but as the people on board are still fishing I presume they’re ok. Mental.
Once in the current, we find that it is flowing 2 knots against us and we slow right down. Even the fast fishing boats slow down and pass us at a more acceptable speed than normal. We follow the channel in for nearly three miles. At times it’s pretty hairy. There’s a breakwater one side, shallow water on both sides, and vessels all coming and going within a very narrow stretch of water. It’s like the M25 but with no lane control! We wind our way through, me sitting at the chart table shouting the relevant course changes out to Mike, and Mike at the helm doing his best to stick to them. Actually I prefer the chart table – it’s quite unnerving to watch the rip tides and water swirly gigs all around us.
As usual, there are lovely houses lining the beaches on the Atlantic coast and the banks of the river, and being the weekend, there are a lot of people walking, fishing, playing and relaxing on the sand.
Mike has phoned ahead and found us a mooring. The problem is trying to find it. The river is chockablock with every type of sea going vessel but just before we get to the main bridge we spot the ones we want. I eye the line on the mooring buoy warily – it doesn’t look that thick to me but Mike pronounces it OK so I go for it.
Now I have never tried to hook a line in a fast flowing current but it’s not easy. As soon as the boat hook touches the water it is dragged back with the force of it but I manage to get hold of it eventually. Just as well – we are on a mooring very close to the boardwalk and there is an audience watching, waiting and probably hoping for a bit of entertainment. I provide none – just an expert lesson on being a boat hooker! We watch the water flow around the mooring ball – it’s all over the place. Mike explains that there is a saltwater current coming in and a fresh water current flowing out over the top of it. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it and I disappear inside to make a cup of tea.
There’s no way I’m getting off the boat and into the dinghy in that maelstrom so we stay aboard for dinner. By the time we go to bed, it’s high tide, the water is dead calm and all the boats are now facing toward the mouth of the river.
Weird water!
Position: 42 deg 49 min N, 70 deg 51 min W
Distance so far: 1887 miles
Jean, what a haunting book, and how strange, I read that on my very first BVI visit, it was on the shelf at a house we rented!! the weight of water. very sad indeed.
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