Published September, 2004
By John Hanzl
For Points East
Amy and I took delivery of the DoubleG up at DiMillo's Marina in Portland on July 1. It was to be our first night aboard and we couldn't wait. We rented a car one way from Boston and drove up in the morning. At 6 a.m. Saturday we set off in DoubleG for Boston.
This was only the second time we'd ever been out on any kind of Pilot (hardtop or express, 30 or 34). The first time was the previous weekend when we took DoubleG out with our broker, Peter Ouelette. It was also only the second time I'd ever run a single screw.
We'd been under way for roughly 45 minutes and were reveling in the excitement of our new boat when the heart of our navigation system, a Raymarine C80 multi-function unit, rebooted. Naturally I, as an engineer, said, "Oh xyz*&di=!" as it proceeded to continually reboot, effectively taking out our radar, chartplotter, GPS and depth. I checked the power connections and even tapped into another physical 12-volt circuit to no avail. Amy and I exchanged uneasy glances as I spun the boat around and pulled out my cell phone.
As I called Peter (our broker) at 6:45 a.m., the fate of our grand plans weighed heavily on both of us. This would mean missing the Fourth in Boston with a group of our friends on our new boat. It would also mean missing a narrow window of opportunity our schedules allowed for the trip. We had no car in Portland and who knew how long it would take to rectify the problem? I was fairly certain there was a flaw in the actual unit, rather than an install problem. What would that mean? As Peter answered the phone I'd already made up my mind.
"Hey Peter, guess what? The C80 has gone arse over kettle, but I think we'll be OK without it for now, though any info on the problem would be great."
I figured, what the hell? We've got a handheld GPS, paper charts, a handheld VHF (to be clear, there was nothing wrong with the fixed mount), and Amy and I had already done a paper course for our entire trip, plus the automatic pilot was still piloting. I was a little troubled about the depth sounder, but we were traveling in well-charted areas and I thought we'd be able to scrape by (no pun intended).
That's when Amy received a crash course in walking a course line over to the compass rose and extracting magnetic headings.
The weather during the run was absolutely perfect, the seas 1 foot or less, the wind nowhere to be found and the skies clear and blue.
So we ran the boat at 2,900 rpm or so for about 17 knots for several hours and got into the swing of things. Then, about an hour out of Boston (we made a beeline from Portland to Boston Harbor, going outside Cape Ann) I tried the C80 again and, lo and behold, it stayed on. And the best thing was that our little boat icon was sitting right on top of our plotted electronic route!
So we were in the process of making firsts — our first time on a single screw, our first real trip on our own, our first run with only paper charts, and now we were heading into Boston for the first time to make a first transit through locks. What better time for the C80 to flip out?
It happened just as we picked up the North Channel buoy in the harbor islands, but no worries. Amy was all over it. She had the binocs out and was flipping through the chart kit like it was a good novel. No mishaps and plenty to see. Boston is a very exciting place to approach from the water.
I work as a diver at the New England Aquarium and it was great to see the building take shape before us, with Old Ironsides towering off to the right.
Soon the harbor began narrowing and the new Leonard P. Zakim bridge loomed huge just before us.
Time for the locks.
We turned into a fairly derelict area that the plotter (now behaving itself) indicated led to the entrance to the locks, before there was no more data to display (nothing beyond this point on the paper charts as well) and we soon came to an apparent dead end, with a large electronic sign beaming the following message at us: For security reasons, the locks will be closed from July 2 to July 29.
We were reading it on July 3. After some seven hours of an interesting cruise we'd made it to the very doors of our destination only to find them locked (pun intended).
Amy and I again exchanged a series of very dismayed looks and Amy put to words my sentiment exactly: "Oh darn!" (The content has been heavily modified for general reading)
The words had not finished echoing off the various oily timbers surrounding us when a pair of lock doors swung open and a red light turned green. We were in! There was actually another boat already in the lock (also heading into the river) and a third boat followed us in (a huge Carver thing with a huge bald man running her from the flybridge). We came out directly underneath the Zakim bridge, traffic thundering overhead, and our little convoy of three followed the narrow channel toward a pair of massive steel cantilevered bridges for the commuter trains running in and out of North Station. They were already in the up position (when lowered even a canoe couldn't pass underneath them) and I wondered how much of our new boat would remain if they suddenly dropped. Sitting up on the bow, Amy was grinning from ear to ear.
Soon we came to another obstacle, the Craigie Drawbridge next to the Museum of Science. As the lead boat approached, with us second in line, a bell began clanging and the bridge lifted. But as the boat entered the stone channel under the bridge, prop wash boiled behind it and it came to a stop, then began backing out. We followed suit, not knowing why, but making space for him. The Carver wouldn't budge and I had to back down beside it.
We had to let a Duck Tour amphibious truck motor through the channel, the patrons quacking as they passed by. By then the bridge had to close to allow the traffic building up to cross, so the three of us had to tread water as we waited. Eventually the bell clanged again, the bridge lifted and I made way to allow the lead vessel to again take the lead and watched as the Carver cut us off.
Ah, finally, the Charles River! We were later to learn that the "locks closed" sign had a burnt-out element and July 2 was supposed to read July 26, for the Democratic Convention.
We motored past the growing fleet of raft-ups on the east side of the fireworks barge and proceeded to the west side, where we dropped the hook right at the edge of the "no-man's land" established by Boston Harbor Patrol and the Coast Guard and backed out scope so that we were just off the Mass Ave. Bridge.
It was wine and grilled shrimp that evening, with many toasts to each other, to DoubleG, and to our dog, who was one of the main reasons why we sold our 1986 Mainship 36DC and bought this boat. (Don't ask.) The dog was back in our loft with a house sitter, within walking distance of us but still a world away.
The fireworks were fantastic, and the next morning the river disappeared in a bank of fog and rain and one by one boats pulled anchor and drifted away as tugs came and hauled off the barges and pulled the security buoys. Amy and I went below and watched a DVD and took a nap. Around 7 p.m., when we poked our heads outside, we were shocked to discover that we were completely alone on the river. Not a single boat remained — not one.
Completely alone on the Charles River. Another first.
The weather cleared and we sat in the cockpit with a glass of wine as a scull glided past, the rower staring at us curiously. Then several little sailboats skittered away from the MIT boathouse and made inquisitive passes around us. We raised our glasses to them then made dinner.
I called Harbor Patrol and made sure we could stay the night and then we retired.
Early the next day we set out on Phase II, Boston to Narragansett Bay via the Cape Cod Canal. And we were right on schedule — at least for the first 15 minutes until we came to the Museum of Science, the Craige Drawbridge and rush hour.
There was a big sign next to the bridge stating that it would not open from 6:15 to 9:15 a.m. weekdays. So we pulled up to the sea wall and sat and sat and sat. Actually, it was pleasant and no big deal.
Boston to Cape Cod Canal was like a sheet of glass. The tide was against us in the canal and the current was ripping. One little boat got into trouble and needed Canal Patrol to give them a tow. Several Sea Rays flying past in the opposite direction, running with the current, got blasted by patrol officers, who dragged the hapless boat they were towing all over the place as they went after speeders.
In Buzzards Bay bad weather almost caught up with us, closing around on three sides, but never broke. The waves were now 3 to 4 feet and we were having a ball. Eight hours after we left the Charles we finally pulled into our slip in Pawtuxet, R.I.
We'd spent five consecutive days on the boat, the longest time we'd ever spent on any boat together, and we loved every minute of it.
John Hanzl and Amy Novick will be married Nov. 6 in Mexico. John only regrets that DoubleG won't be able to attend.
