Ptown Harbor And Cape Cod Bay Viewed From The Boat Slip in Ptown |
ANOTHER PROVINCETOWN STORY
(c) Frank DeFrancesco 2012
(A fictionalized account based on actual events. The names have been changed, or have they? etc….)
We
had arrived at Coastal Acres, the only campground within walking distance of
Provincetown around mid-morning on the day after Labor Day. We spent an hour or more
setting up camp and making it homey and comfortable for the two weeks we’d be
there. My partner, Leon and I always vacationed in September because, as we
told our friends, September at the Cape was the best time of the summer. Not only were there fewer tourists, but
children were back at school and the weather, barring a hurricane, was usually
spectacular.
We
had met many nice people at the campground over the years; many were seasonals
or September regulars, and a few were friends we got together with off-season
as well. Sebby DeVito was one of
the seasonals who had a large RV, a truck, a boat, a motorcycle and other toys
he could not afford. Sebby would
never admit it, but his boyfriend Kyle contributed more than his share of the
expenses, even though he did not always share in the fun.
Whenever
we were in Ptown, Sebby would get Leon to help him with some maintenance chore
or other, like getting his boat out of the bay when a storm was approaching; or
helping dump his holding tank; or cleaning the carpet in his camper; or driving
his drag personna through town in a convertible to the tune of Where The
Boys Are.
During
this particular September, the long-term weather report looked good and Sebby’s
boat was still in the water. Now
you must know that in all the years we knew Sebby, we had been invited to go
boating with him three times at most.
So when he came over to ask if we wanted to go for ride, we jumped at
the chance. It’s not often we get
out on a boat of any kind and even though Sebby’s was a fishing boat and didn’t
have very comfortable seating – well, a boat ride, is a boat ride. So we said, “Sure.”
We
walked and fed the dog and left him in the camper with instructions to the
neighbor to tie him out for a while if he got to squealing and whining. “We should be back in a few hours, so
he shouldn’t be a problem,” we assured them. It was just after two o’clock when Sebby, Kyle, Lee and I
headed out to the marina. It was
an absolutely gorgeous day as September days often are on the Cape.
“I
was thinking of going down to Wellfleet harbor to check out some of the other
guys’ boats. It’s about an hour
from here.” Sebby said. We all got
into Sebby’s dinghy and rowed out to the “Darling B.” which was moored well
beyond the low tide water. After
tying off the dinghy and getting our gear aboard, we finally got underway
around three in the afternoon.
Kyle
and Lee discussed the latest episodes of Doctor Who, I enjoyed the sun, the ocean view and the motion of
the boat while Sebby navigated the waters. Someone chimed in with a rendition
of the theme song from Gilligan’s Island and all but Sebby joined in. Sebby was not amused.
We
took a leisurely cruise past Wellfleet then circled back toward the harbor. We
arrived at Wellfleet Harbor in a little over an hour and a half. After tying up the boat, we disembarked
and walked around the harbor for a while.
Sebby pointed out all the most luxurious yachts in the marina and made
it sound like any one of them would be his when he decided it was time to trade
up.
I
haven’t mentioned that Sebby was a charmer. He could charm the skin off a snake and then sell it back at
profit. He had gotten more than one
entire summer off from work after an injury by consulting with his personal
physician who he affectionately referred to as “Doctor Summeroff”. Somehow the broken toe or the back injury didn’t
stop him from enjoying the boat or cruising for tricks.
Sebby
would brag about pretending to be an RV repair business and get special deals
on camper parts or warrantees. He
had Kyle convinced that he needed this or that, and would get Kyle to put it on his
charge card with an empty promise to make the payments. He always fell back on the concept that partners shared
everything, but not necessarily equally.
More like, ‘what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine, and what’s
ours is mine too.” So trading up
might not be entirely out of the question if he could get Kyle charmed up to
it. Kyle was in debt up to his
ears.
We
were all getting a bit hungry so we decided to stop for some fish and chips at
the eatery on the dock. We enjoyed
our meal on the dock while we watched the sun over the water turn the sky
crimson and gold. “Red sky at
night, sailors’ delight,” said Sebby.
He had a way with words.
Kyle mumbled something like “We need to get going before the tide goes
out any further. This is
Wellfleet, you know.”
Sebby
shushed him off with, “Yeah, yeah, we got plenty of time. I just want to take a look at that
forty-footer at the end of the dock.”
We strolled down the dock.
Kyle was getting more upset and gave Sebby another warning. “Yeah,” Sebby said, making it look like
his idea, “I guess we should be going.”
We
boarded Sebby’s fishing boat, he started up the engine and we headed out of the
harbor. Sebby, in all his swagger
and charm played the captain well. It was twilight and I had difficulty finding
the channel buoys bobbing in the bay.
They were way out there, but I have a little night-blindness and don’t
see well in twilight or in the dark, so I trusted in the sharper eyesight of
others.
Kyle
reminded Sebby that Wellfleet Harbor and the bay was a virtual maze of shoals
and sandbars and other obstructions, “Sebby, make sure we are in the channel.
You know that the bottom can change from year to year and there are rocks and
there’s even a sunken ship hull out here.”
“You
think I’m stupid? I’ve been
boating out here for years before I met you. I know what I’m doing.” Sebby tried to make it a point that HE was the captain of
his ship. We were heading out
toward the sunset at a pretty good clip while Lee, Kyle and Sebby were
straining their eyes to spot the next marker buoy for the channel. They all agreed that the channel buoys
seemed awfully far apart.
We
spotted a little skiff coming in and Sebby and Kyle flagged him down so he
approached us about thirty feet off of our port side. “Are we on course for the channel?” Sebby shouted out.
“No.
You need to head out about forty degrees to port and go until you see the
marker number three. Then you can
turn back to your right and out into the bay.”
“Thanks,”
we all shouted back in unison.
Sebby veered off to the left in the direction the guy on the skiff
pointed. But before anyone had even spotted the number three marker, Sebby
turned the boat sharply toward the right in the direction of Provincetown
harbor and gunned the engine. Lee
said, “Sebby, I think you turned too soon. We should be going that way.” Lee pointed off to the left.
“I
know what I’m doing. I’m following
the channel,” Sebby replied in a tone that meant he was not about to discuss
his decision to turn off the original course. Lee and I knew from previous experience not to argue the
point. We sat back and tried to
enjoy the ride. We were moving
quickly and the boat was thumping against the waves. There were wisps of clouds on the horizon reflecting the
last purple and rose light of evening but the rest of the sky was dark. A few stars were already visible.
Like
most fishing boats, the Darling B. was equipped with a depth finder which was
busily reporting the distance to the bottom of the bay. “12.5”, “13.0”, “11.5”, “8.5”, “9.0”,
“6.5”. We were about three miles out of the marina. Lee was studying the changing numbers. Finally he spoke up: “Sebby, the depth
finder is saying “5.0” and “5.5” and “4.5” and “3.0” and what does “minus dot
minus” mean?”
“Holy
shit!” Sebby exclaimed in his official Captain voice. He cut the engine just as the boat abruptly halted as it
burrowed itself into a sandbar, a section of the infamous Billingsgate Shoal
more than three miles off shore.
The boat hesitated briefly then listed to the right. Sebby looked defeated.
Sebby
and Kyle immediately went into George and Martha mode. “Didn’t I say the tide was going
out? And you should know that’s a
big deal at Wellfleet, especially at sundown. But you’re the big know-it-all Captain who doesn’t know
shit. You turned way too soon. Now
you’ve got us all stuck out here in the friggin’ dark”, Kyle attacked Sebby
with every accusation he could think of.
“I
went the way that guy said. He was
the one who was wrong. I shouldn’t
have listened to him. I was on the
right course to begin with,” Sebby tried lamely to defend his position. “So now it’s my fault. You think you know how to
navigate? You don’t know anything
about navigation. I’ve taken the
course. I’m certified.”
“A
whole lot of good that does us.
I’ve been sailing boats since I was eight and I know this harbor. You’ve got to follow the channel way
out beyond the shoal, Kyle retorted.
“You do this all the time, Sebastian. You are so fucking stubborn and won’t listen to anyone. That’s why I didn’t say anything – I
wanted the responsibility for this to be all yours. Maybe you’ll learn that you don’t know it all.”
Kyle
was livid. Sebby was
obstinate. Lee and I were
quiet. We decided that getting
into the middle of this would get us nowhere. I noticed that there were iridescent sea creatures that
glowed eerily in the shallow waters off of Cape Cod. Something I never knew. The knowledge of these creatures would make this whole
fiasco worth living through, I was certain.
We
were in shorts and t-shirts. There
was a breeze and the day’s heat was quickly dissipating as it usually does on
September nights. Sebby attached
the removable plastic windshield around the cabin to keep us from shivering. We had cell phones and someone
suggested calling the Coast Guard.
“Like
that’ll do us any good.” I said.
“How would they get to us and even if they could, they wouldn’t be able
to get us out of here until the tide comes in anyhow.”
“You’re
right,” Kyle said. “We’ll just
have to wait it out.”
“Our
dog is in the camper. We’ve never
left him for this long. Can we
call someone at the campground to take him out to pee?” Lee asked.
“I’ll
give Dave a call. I’m sure he won’t mind,” Kyle said.
Sebby
just sulked and tried to look captain-like. The tide sloshed against the sides of the boat and slowly lifted the Darling B. It must have been three or four hours until the tide was high enough and the keel was free of the of the sandbar. Sebby started the engine and put the
boat in motion. He slowly eased us
into deeper waters and finally listened to some advice from Kyle and Lee about
the best course to get back into the channel. He did this to avoid a mutiny.
We
got into the open waters of the bay and headed toward Provincetown. Pilgrim Monument, the tallest structure
in Ptown was lit and visible.
Sebby headed toward it. But Kyle reminded our illustrious “certified” Captain that Long Point, the narrow stretch of the peninsula that juts out into the bay and was between us and the harbor. “Sebby, if we head straight toward the Monument we’ll be beached on Long Point before we see the harbor.”
Sebby, heeding Kyle's warning, successfully navigated around the point and into Provincetown harbor. We moored the boat, took the dinghy
back to the shore in front of the Boat Slip - the hotel and club noted for its
daily T-Dance. The place was quiet
at twelve-thirty AM as we made our way back to camp.
The
next morning I went into town and found a place mat at one of the souvenir
shops. It depicted a navigation
and ocean depth chart of Cape Cod Bay and Wellfleet Harbor. I couldn’t resist.
I
presented the gift to Sebby and suggested that he put it on the dining table
and study it each morning while sipping his coffee, so the his next “three hour
tour” doesn’t get stranded for twelve.
Sebby was not amused.
Walkway To The Moorings Near The Boat Slip Hotel Ptown |
5 comments:
One thing you never want to hear your captain say is "Holy Shit!".....
Sounds like you guys had a really good time.
If my real estate venture plays out the way I've forecast, It'll set me up with an annual income that will allow me to do all sorts of thing. Maybe buy a nice little villa in Southern Italy for a winter retreat, etc. But one of the things I want is the Volkswagen T5 California. I'll need a van and having one that doubles as a camper is great.
"Sebby was not amused." I think you're lucky you didn't get a fork in your neck.
I can relate to Sebby, for my life has been a series of one stupid act after another. This move is so me.
The other phrase to watch for, in lots of circumstances is "trust me."
Yes it was fun if you consider shivering with cold while stranded on a sandbar for four hours in the dark three miles offshore fun. The only entertainment was watching the friends argue like Richard Burton and Liz Taylor (George and Martha) in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"
I think Sebby went a little beyond a "stupid act" on this occasion. We were lucky the boat floated when the tide came in.
Experience is a great teacher, I hope Sebby learned his lesson.
The gift of the navigation chart is priceless. I would have done the same thing, probably with some choice words too.
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