Buzzards Bay

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Laundry day on Exit

August 24, 2018

     Buzzards Bay, not the most marketable name.

We arrived at Onset, MA on the 18th and planned to pass through the Cape Cod Canal at the next opportunity, which would give us access to Cape Cod.  We were just awaiting a more favorable schedule of currents, which would allow us to get through a rather tight chokepoint from our anchorage and into the channel that would take us to the canal.

Plenty of time to chill out and plenty of time to catch up with friends.

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Photo by Dena

 

     One evening’s shore excursion with James and Dena, which found us caught in a torrential downpour, led us to Marc Anthony’s Pizzeria.  Though the pizza itself was the ultimate highlight, the true entertainment came when someone named David failed to appear at the counter to pick up his pizza, despite his name being called out repeatedly.  Finally, after some time, with the entire restaurant chanting his name loudly in unison, a very embarrassed David sheepishly slinked up to the counter to claim his dinner.  Some people are just idiots.

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The guy responsible for getting David connected with his pizza

     Onset also showed us the generous hospitality we found in Cuttyhunk.  After a local fisherman passing by Exit stopped and had a brief conversation with us, we were amazed to see him return later with a gift of a dozen or so quahogs (a type of hard clam native to the eastern shores of North America) he had collected.  Though Kris (who is  vegetarian) opted out, James, Dena (also both vegetarians who still eat seafood), and I enjoyed deliciously fresh quahogs on the half-shell upon Exit’s transom later that evening.

     Less hospitable was the very large Osprey (magnificent birds of prey that can be seen all along the eastern coast) who decided the top of our mast offered the best vantage point in the area to occupy.  It resulted in our wind indicator once again lying on its’ side.   This is a phenomenon we seem to experience every few months.  At least in this case it was a really cool bird that was the culprit instead of a lowly seagull… or a buzzard.

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     Regardless, it meant that once again I had to go sixty two feet up in the air to the top of the mast and reset the position of the wind indicator.  On the plus side, every time I go up the mast it seems to become a less daunting and intimidating task.  I don’t think I’ll ever relish the duty, but it is encouraging to know it can be done with a low fear factor.  Still, I won’t be following Benjamin’s lead by utilizing free-climbing tactics to shimmy up without being attached to any lines.  Call me me chicken… call me old… I’m happy just to not be called a corpse.

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