Sitting out the Storm

Early yesterday afternoon, we arrived at Manhasset Bay on the west end of Long Island Sound after about 24 hours of sailing and motoring, seeking shelter from the upcoming storm, which is now upon us.  This protected bay is a froth of foam, the boat is rocking, and the continuous wind is about 20 knots with gusts up to 35.  The sky, the water--everything is gray, gray, gray.  Strangely, although the wind is a necessary natural element for our sailing lifestyle, I do not like it when it is 20 knots or above.  Some might find it exhilarating, but it evokes a deep sense of anxiety in me, even at anchor.  I certainly wouldn't want to encounter this kind of weather, or worse, while doing a passage.  (Which is just one reason I don't like passages.)

I'd like to take this opportunity to comment on the nomenclature in the Beaufort scale, an empirical measure of wind speed based on conditions.  The term "breeze," with accompanying adjectives, is used for a range of wind speeds from 4 knots to 27 knots.  I find this ridiculous.  For me, "breeze" connotes a wind that is refreshing and benign.  By the time the wind is howling at 27 knots, it does not seem like a nice, friendly atmospheric phenomenon.  A light breeze is 4-6 knots and a gentle breeze is 7-10 knots.  I take no exception to this. "Moderate" seems a bit tame as a modifier for 11-16 knot winds, and "breeze" is not a term I would personally use when the wind is blowing 17-21 knots (a fresh breeze on the Beaufort scale) or 22-27 knots (a strong breeze on the scale). The next level is "near gale."  There just should be some other term between "breeze" and varying levels of "gale."  And you are not really in a storm until the sustained winds hit 48 knots, according to the Beaufort scale.  I don't think so.  But, I digress.

We are harbor hopping as quickly as we can for warmer climes.  On Wednesday, we left Onset Bay at the head of Buzzards Bay with winds from the WNW at 10 knots.  As soon as we got out of the protected little bay, it picked up to 15.  Within a couple of hours, we had two reefs in as we beat into the wind.  An hour and a half later, we put the third reef in as the wind rose to 25 knots with gusts to 29. The 2-4 foot waves had only about one second intervals, and waves were crashing over the bow.  At some point, Peter revealed to me that he knew before departure that there was a small craft warning issued for that day!  I was only on deck when necessary, because the temperature was in the 40's, and the wind made it seem much worse.  We kept the companionway closed to conserve the scant but welcome heat from the little space heater, which we can only use when the engine or the generator is running (because we are operating on only two out of six batteries).  At 4 p.m., we reached our destination, Newport, Rhode Island, where there was some protection from the wind, although it was still up to 15 knots on the dock.

At least the sun was partially out, and the frosts along the coast have precipitated the change of color in the deciduous trees, so the yellow, deep red and orange leaves contrasted sharply with the cloudless crystal blue sky.  The nip in the air still required four layers, a hat, scarf and mittens, but I was cheered up to be on steady ground and exploring a historically significant place.  I strolled along Thames Street to Queen Anne Square.  This area was among the first settled in the city in the early 1600's, and the park now incorporates an art installation by Maya Lin which uses and expands upon the foundations of the first houses.  Called The Meeting Room, it is intended to provide places for conversation and community.

Queen Anne Square

Trinity Church sits inland behind Queen Anne Square.  Its white spire and golden weather vane speared the autumn sky.  Colorful pumpkins were scattered on the bright green grass of the square in front of the wall of the church, which encloses an old cemetery.  The pumpkin patch was a fund-raiser for the congregation.  They had also created a prayer labyrinth with small pumpkins, the grass worn down along the path.

Trinity Church

Pumpkin patch and church

Pumpkin Prayer Labyrinth

From the church, I walked to historic Washington Square, surrounded by public buildings and old houses.  Some of the 19th century houses in this part of town have wooden siding that is cut and painted (or rusticated) to look like ashlar stone blocks, giving them a solid, classical look.

The Colony House, the first government building in Newport

I was reading one of the signs in the square when I was approached by a woman asking if I was looking for anything in particular.  After I told her that I was just exploring the town and its history, she offered me tickets to an open house a block away of an 18th century home.  She had purchased tickets for friends who were unable to attend.  I told her I was waiting for my husband, and she told me to just come by after his arrival; she would give them my name at the door.

The Vernon House

What a delight!  This colonial era home was originally constructed as a two room house around 1700, and it was extensively enlarged in 1759.  The central hallway opens onto four relatively square rooms of near equal size both on the first and second floors, each floored with wide pine planks.  There is a partial third story with dormer windows in the hip roof.  It was open as a fund-raiser because the Newport Restoration Foundation operates with a plan to purchase and restore historic homes and then lease them to individuals and families to generate income.  The Vernon House had recently been vacated by a renter, so the foundation took the opportunity to show it to supporters.  What luck for us that I was spotted being interested in history in the square!

Unfurnished and unadorned, the bare rooms were not inspiring except for one very special front parlor.  As the foundation was working on the house, hiding behind wooden wall panelling fasionable in the 18th century they found fascinating paintings on the original plaster walls.  With black backgrounds and Oriental themes, they are stunning not so much for their artistic merit but just for their existence.  This room was part of the original construction, and it is documented that the house was owned at that time by a local artist, William Gibbs, who is not known for Eastern style artwork.  So it is a great mystery!

Chinese style painting on plaster in the Vernon House

The Vernon House is also significant because, during the American Revolutionary War, it was the headquarters of Comte de Rochambeau, the commander of the French forces stationed in Newport from 1780 to 1783, before they marched south to play a decisive role at Yorktown and in the defeat of the British army.

After admiring the house and partaking of the free wine and hors d'oeuvre, Peter and I walked east to the Cliff Walk, where we strolled as the full moon's light reflected off the water.  On the way back to the boat, we stopped at the supermarket and the liquor store (Rhode Island is another state that does not allow alcohol to be sold in grocery stores.) and replenished our provisions.  We bought so much that we had to get a Lyft back to the Newport Yachting Center and Mantra.  After we had stowed all the new supplies, we walked a short distance along the waterfront to the Black Pearl, where we enjoyed a good dinner in a cozy, warm atmosphere.

We were waiting for relatively more favorable winds and timing the current through the Race of Long Island Sound, so we stayed in Newport for the morning.  I went to the small museum of the Newport Historical Society, which had some interesting artifacts, but I didn't stay long.  It was a crisp, cool morning with great light for photographs, so I chose to wander among the streets and alleys admiring the architecture.  Hundreds of buildings are on the National Register of Historic Places, like most of these.

Newport Artillery Company, founded in 1741

A.K. Sherman House

Shops and homes on Spring Street 

Typical tall double brick chimneys on a Newport house

Anna Pell House

Houses near Trinity Church

Pumpkin colored house on the historic registry

Tobin House (1825)

We cast off at 1 p.m.  It was 45 degrees but felt freezing with the wind, which quickly increased from 13 to 22 knots after we left Newport Harbor, with gusts up to 30.  We beat into wind with three reefs for a few hours as the chop transformed to white-capped one-to-two foot waves.  Once again, Peter spent most of the time on deck.  By 4 p.m., we had to give up on sailing and use the engine.

Peter sailing on Long Island Sound

It was stressful, and around midnight Peter decided we would anchor behind the breakwater at Duck Island Roads for a rest.  Well, it was not restful!  Hopefully, even though I could feel the pitching of the boat after we anchored, I unlayered, put on my nightgown and slipped under the covers.  Immediately, I questioned the anchoring decision.  The wind was down to 6 knots, but we were sitting in the current.  The boat wasn't just rolling.  First, we pitched to port about 10 to 15 degrees, hovered there momentarily and then righted, passing through an even keel and plunging 10 to 15 degrees to starboard before heaving the other way.  This unsettlingly movement repeated itself every couple of seconds.  Added to this was the noise, noise, noise, noise.  The standing rigging clattered and a cranking squeak emanated from the gooseneck and traveled down the mast into our cabin.  As the hull shifted in the current seemingly incessantly, it would occasionally pause, at peace, and, with relief and hope, Peter and I would hold our breaths.  But then the plunging and pitching began again.  It didn't take long for us to decide that the anchorage was untenable.  Pathetically (according to Peter), I put all my layers of clothing back on and we went on deck to haul anchor and set off again.

The fortunate thing was that the wind had abated and was shifting to the south.  This meant that we couldn't sail, but the ride was more calm.  Despite the cold, I was even able to be on watch for a few hours in the night.  I find night watch more bearable when I can see the lights on shore and other boats.  Out at sea, it seems so desolate.

We anchored in Manhasset Bay in the late morning yesterday, fairly exhausted.  Expecting today's gale, we secured things on deck better than usual, took down the American courtesy flag and Ocean Cruising Club burgee (because they make a terrible racket as they slap against the shrouds), and cleaned up the dishes from the meals of the previous 24 hours.  (Yes, I did actually cook in those conditions.)  Then we collapsed into bed in the early afternoon.

We have gone to the next level (down, technologically speaking) in heating.  The little electrical space heater does an adequate job when we have the engine or the generator on, but the interior of the boat cools pretty quickly.  So, we have resorted to a hot water bottle that the previous owners left on the boat.  I do not believe I have ever used a hot water bottle before, so I was uncertain about how effective it would be.  I boiled a kettle of water and funneled it in, wrapping the flexible bottle in a kitchen towel and jumped into bed with it.  I was truly amazed at how well it worked.  I got warm quickly and was even able to take off my beanie and socks!  And it stayed warm for hours and hours!

This trip is a strange combination of luxury and decadence (in terms of the boat and having the freedom and resources to travel as we please) and the back-to-basics, primitive efforts to keep warm and use the elements to our benefit to move.

The boat rocks and the wind continues to howl at around 22-27 knots, just a strong breeze.  It sounds ominous and unsettling to me.  And I'm cold and hungry, so it's time to make a warm lunch.