September 5-7 -- Block Island

Yes I had said we were not coming here this year (because we had scored Portuguese
Bread in Fall River). We should not have come here. Bad judgement on my part that needlessly put us, the kitties and the boat in danger. Block Island is out at sea where the winds are stronger. It is about ten mile south of the mainland and hence closer to the eye of Dorian. And it has less land around it to protect it from the wind than Newport or Stonington. But the Great Salt Pond, while large, is completely protected from the great ocean waves that hurl themselves at the island from the outside, except through a narrow cut. So the problem was wind, not waves. I had not been thinking of all this, however.
The passage involved a very broad reach out of Narragansett Bay with wind strong enough to move the boat nicely, until it got light and we were making only four knots even when off course a bit to heat up the wind angle. There were significant seas that prevented auto pilot from maintaining course in such light air. After an hour and a half, having tried various sails and courses I gave up, kept the main up for stability and we motored the rest of the way.

The friendly Harbor Master greeted us and told us to go away. Or at least take an orange mooring, stronger than the chartreuse ones we usually prize, he said. He scared us with the information that if we dragged and went onto the rocks, "there are no rescue or salvage services here".

But our arrival day was pleasant with light air and a thoroughly uncrowded scene, both  in the harbor and on land. He said that there had been 2000 boats last weekend; I think it was about 100 during our stay. This was both because it was after the end of the "season" and with a view of Dorian. We filled a one gallon water bottle, and bought more Portuguese bread, snacks and hats.

My view has been that Rhode Island's quintessential cuisine (with the exception of Portuguese: kale soup, linguica, cerise, bread, etc.) is the Rhode Island Stuffed Baked Quahog. It is made of chopped clam, bread and some spices and veggie bits, moistened with clam broth, stuffed back into the clam's rather large shell and baked. My Navy days were in Newport and Quahogs were everywhere. I realized on this RI cruise that we had not had any Quahogs and I had been looking for them. I'm not saying that they are a delicacy -- more like poor people's food, really -- but I had not seen them on any menu as we made our way around the state. Here on Block Island we continued the search, calling several of the restaurants that have remained open after Labor Day. Finally, at Ballard's, that mammoth eatery and drinkery, which was almost vacant, the manager said: "Yes, but we call them Stuffies now." So the hunt ended with success. Quahogs, like curtains across the stages of theaters, have gone out of style; I wonder why?
The air was almost still on the walk back from town to the Boat Basin where we had docked our dink. The sunset shows he docks, usually teeming with boats, now empty. The second view is looking west at white boats that look pink from the sunset.

In the morning the wind was up to fifteen knots, forecast to peak for several hours in the middle in the night with gusts of 45, coincident with the heaviest rain. When the Harbor Master collected the $25 per night post-season reduced mooring fee after the storm he said the top gust was 51.
 I got ILENE ready to brave the hurricane. We had already put out a pair of our black dock lines, padded to prevent chafe, from our port cleat, to the eye of the mooring ball and back, to match the length of the mooring ball's pennant, which we had caught to starboard.
Lene helped me lower the Rocna anchor from its position with its blade hanging down about a foot below the deck at the bow of the boat (where its blade could catch on and chafe through the mooring lines) and then raise it up over the bow pulpit rails and on deck where it was placed on a pad to prevent scratching and secured very well with lines so it couldn't slide or be blown off.

All sails were wrapped with spare lines as well as possible to prevent the wind from stripping them and shredding them. The connection piece from the rear of the dodger to the forward edge of the bimini was put in place so those canvas pieces could re enforce each other. The dink was hauled up on its davits and secured as tightly as possible to the stern of the boat with its plug out to let rain water out. All lines were coiled and the coils tied to the boat.

The boom was tied to both sides to prevent swinging and the wheel likewise. All the loose stuff which sits above deck (shoes) was taken below.
And then a day and night aboard with the wind howling outside.








These two got closer to each other than ever before, though she still hisses him occasionally.

The rain was periodic and when we got a leak from one dorade (because I had forgotten to turn them so their big air scooping ventilation mouths faced aft) I went up and this situation was quickly turned around.
Reading and writing and petting cats, cooking and eating and Lene watching tennis.
I had prepared to dress in full foulies including sea boots and sit out in the cockpit, start the engine and go ever so slowly in forward gear to ease the tension on the mooring lines. But in the event this was not needed.
The rain was less than expected and the lines held. Thrashed by the wind the boat veered from side to side, and each time, when it presented its side to the wind, it got heeled over to the other side with  tremendous pressure put on the mooring lines. But everything held and I even got in two one hour naps. I took some pictures to try to show you the fury, but still pictures can't capture it. Sorry.
At daylight I went out to look around. We always tie short lengths of light line to the many halyards and other lines to keep them closer to the shrouds and away from the mast so they do not slap loudly against the mast all night. One of them had slid upward, loosening, allowing the slapping -- harmless but annoying.
All northern hemisphere hurricanes turn in a counter clockwise rotation. Those, like Dorian, that come up off the Atlantic coast present winds from the east first. These are the winds at the top of the big circle, from let's say 2 o'clock to 10 o'clock. And when the hurricane is  adjacent the winds will be from the north, blowing south across the clock face from 10 o'clock toward seven o'clock. That is what we experienced.
By morning the gusts were maxing at only 35 and decreased throughout the day, to five knots at 2 pm. But we stayed -- aboard  and in the Pond -- the third day to let the big seas outside the Island lay down a bit. The Harbor Master informed us that one dinghy was damaged and that one sail had been shredded by the wind. Neither near us.
So an experience of fear and anxiety but one to remember and learn from.
On the morning of departure, all the wrappings had to be undone. The anti-chafing gear around our mooring lines where they passed through the eye of mooring ball was stuck. I pulled the ball to directly under the port bow and asked Lene to hold onto my legs so I did not fall over the side with the knife used to cut the rags away. The tying had been done from the dink and I did not want to lower and raise it just to remove the chafing gear.
Here is the former Coast Guard station and the south side of the inlet on our way out to sea.