BAR BETS AT BARNEY’S

Time and the accretion of myth have clouded many details, but Bob Horan, his brother Joe, and Bob “Red” Luby competed in the debut regatta. It was an, “I can sail my boat to Nantucket faster than you, and let’s make it interesting!” kind of challenge after a few drinks at Baxter’s Boathouse in Hyannis.    

Luby won the race on Memorial Day 1972.  

Luby would later say of that first race that “Nobody had anybody onboard who knew how to sail a boat, but it was a lot of laughs.” Indeed, at one point Luby was spelled at the helm and in the time it took him to visit the head, the neophyte crew had managed to turn the boat on an opposite heading, essentially sailing back toward Hyannis as fast as they could!

The first race ended with a jarring anti-climax.    

Nobody was waiting to hail the triumphant sailors, indeed the Nantucket Boat Basin was closed! The second year, by word of mouth, Figawi grew to 15 boats. Stan Moore won aboard a crazy-looking contraption called Moby Dick.  

Puritan of Cape Cod’s Howard Penn brought his redoubtable organizational abilities onboard and the newly organized Figawi Committee booked Cap’n Tobey’s Chowder House on Nantucket’s Straight Wharf to host the 1973 post-race party. By 1979, they added a lay-day on the island; a Sunday without racing meant they could relax, maybe throw a clambake.  

1979 also brought the first Figawi tent, a modest affair perched on the end of New Whale Street.

Today Figawi is not one event, as much as several overlapping carnivals.  

Certainly, it is a great regatta. There is a palpable sense of camaraderie among the crews, captains congratulate or commiserate, and to walk the docks with a just-won silver trophy in your hands is to be granted temporary celebrity status. But Figawi is also an all-the-trimmings lobster clambake. It is a dance party—boisterous live music fills the big party tent while revelers take their life in their hands on the drink-slick dance floor. It is a joke telling session as the tent temporally becomes a stand up comedy revue. It is a high school regatta, it is a fundraiser, and it is mainly a chance to get together, sail fast, and see friends, as the event heralds the unofficial start of the summer season. 

It wasn’t always smooth sailing.  

1980 is remembered by many as the “Hurricane Figawi.” When one boat pitch-poled (flipped forward end-over-end) and later sank, it was Camelot to the rescue!  Bob Labdon plucked the four-man crew from the cold water in a remarkable display of seamanship. It was so rough—10- foot seas and the wind gusting over 40-knots—that the 48’ Camelot’s bow was rising so high as to expose the front half of her keel; when they’d plunge into a trough, crewmember Brooks Smith would pluck them from the icy sea. Figawi committee member Charlie McLaughlin was on the scene and later described, “But for their skill, there would have been four deaths.  It was the finest act of seamanship I have witnessed in 65 years on the water.  

The 2011 Figawi was so rough—with the wind “blowing like stink”—that nine of 13 divisions were ominously listed with “no finishers due to weather.”

Today, Figawi is made up of hundreds of boats, thousands of racers, and thousands more “racer chasers” who come by motorboat, ferry and airplane to join the scene. You know something has gone next-level when football party boy, Rob Gronkowski shows up, as he did in 2016.  

CAPTAIN.The captain, or skipper, “drives” the boat.  Whether using a tiller or a steering wheel, he controls the helm—it’s his show. He gets the glory, he takes the blame.   

OWNER.Many owners bring in a “hired gun” skipper to give them an edge. The owner has one important job, he writes the checks!  He also controls the all-important wristbands (required to enter the party tent) and the limited supply of red Mt. Gay hats emblazoned with the Figawi Race logo and year; extremely valuable bargaining chips during the weekend, and later instantly recognizable from Chatham to Beacon Hill to Wall Street. The skipper may get the glory, but the owner keeps the trophy.  

TACTICIAN/NAVIGATOR. Also known as egg head, the professor, spreadsheet Pete. This guy will have dials, anemometers, gauges and stopwatches swinging from his neck. If he’s wearing a watch, it’s digital. He can do algorithms in his head, but is also prone to locking his keys in the car with the lights on.  

GRINDERS. Or goons, or gorillas. These are the guys wrestling the handles on the big drum winches that keep the sheets (lines that control sails) in place and adjust them on the fly. Grinders can be identified by their huge shoulders and powerful thirst.  

BALLAST. Also known as rail meat, rail monkeys. These least experienced of crew members all sit on one side to help balance the boat, then crab scramble to the other side when the boat tacks (changes direction into the wind). The motion of a sailboat through the water is the sum of the forces acting upon it. When those big sails are full of wind, despite the heavy keel down below, the boat leans over (heels). Rail meat collectively act as a counterweight to this heeling force. Totally exposed on the windward rail with their legs dangling over the water, they take the worst beating of all the crew; cold waves, cold spray, and aching back muscles—they earn those wristbands the hard way.  

THE VIEW FROM THE RAIL

I chanced into the 1994 Figawi on a second-hand invite. 

I was rail meat on my neighbor’s O’Day 29. The owner (quite literally, a rocket scientist) to maximize the efficiency of the propellor (less drag though the water) wrote a computer program the night before the race!  

We avoided collisions with other boats (narrowly), missed slamming into a metal harbor buoy (by an even more narrow margin), and sailed across the finish line in fourth place, earning the owner an engraved silver platter.  

Over the years I crewed on a J-35 and a Nonesuch 30.  I have occasionally cheated and accepted an invite on a motorboat—what some sailors derisively refer to as “stinkpots.”  

By 2014 I had been promoted to de-facto tactician amongst a crew who didn’t know jib sheets from Egyptian sheets. We started in dead last—13th in our class of, well, of 13 boats—but after an astute tactical change we began to run down the field from behind, overtaking one boat after the another (a thrill that can only be experienced, not described) and earning our skipper second place and a shiny silver cup.  

HARDWARE

It is a timelessly enchanting notion—to pack a bag and set sail for unseen shores. Unlike many regattas, which simply circle buoys on a created course, Figawi is actually a race to someplace. 

Sailing is all about the hardware; trophies are enduring monuments. Indeed, the oldest trophy in sport is the America’s Cup.  

Figawi’s free-spirited festivities draw boats not only from the Cape & Islands, but attract the best from Newport/Marion/Marblehead ports also.    

Bob Solomon comes all the way from Indiana to skipper Perfect Summer. A veteran of 28 Figawis, from 2014 through 2018, Solomon would invite wounded veterans aboard, not as mascots, but actually to help in the crew. When Solomon departs Hyannis harbor and sails up the jetties with a massive—I mean drive-in movie screen massive—US flag flying from the aft stay, he has set the tone for the whole weekend. 

Figawi has always attracted big talent. Bill Koch sailed Matador to first place in A Class in 1986 and 1987 (five years later he went on to win the America’s Cup). The late Senator Edward M. Kennedy won F Class aboard his beloved schooner Mya in 1989.  

MEMORIAL(S) DAY

A garrulous walrus of a man, Jeffery Foster is credited with hosting the very first joke telling session in 1977. Foster had run hard aground in Nantucket harbor and started telling jokes to pass the time until the rising tide freed his keel. Today, the Band of Angels—a troupe of merry pranksters who perform classic bits—host the event on Sunday in the tent, where the jokes are 50 shades of inappropriate and which they bill as, “A champagne brunch, you bring the brunch.” We lost Foster in 1997. Today the winner of the team race is awarded the Jeffrey Carter Foster trophy in his memory.  

Warren Thatcher “Barney” Baxter, Jr., passed in 2000. He was a genial host and enjoyed having the unofficial post party every year at his waterfront bar at the end of Pleasant Street.  To this day, the original Figawi trophy hangs on the wall in the Boathouse Club of Baxter’s Boathouse.  

Ed O’Neill was an accountant by trade, a photographer by inclination and a bon vivant by nature. Figawi’s official photographer enjoyed rock star status on the docks and in the tent until his passing in 2013. 

Both Horan brothers and “Red” Luby are gone from us now, as are senator Kennedy and Pam Duggan.

In 2012 Figawi lost its true exemplar, Howard Penn. Affectionately known as the Silver Fox, “Howie Figawi” was a tireless promotor of the event since 1973. He could always be seen a little behind the scenes, a bemused smile on his face. The Howard K. Penn Spirit Award Trophy is awarded annually in his name.   

But Figawi sails on, largely due to the organizing skills and social graces of many people who volunteer their time to make this a memorable event for all—Chris Standish, Tony Prizzi, John Osmond, Milton Salazar, Leo Fein, Tom Duggan, Donna Nightingale, Joe Hoffman, Chris Kelsey, Bob Haag, Russ Wilkins, Andrew Nugnes, David Crawford and Shelley Crawford Hill.  

Walking into Hyannis Yacht Club on the Friday before the race; the adrenaline-soaked semi-controlled chaos at the starting line; scores of popping spinnakers splashing colors that fill the horizon; finally sighting through binoculars the bouncing, wavering, bobbing buoy that marks the finish line; easing around Brant Point Light on the island, seeing that familiar field of masts in the Boat Basin, looking up at those Nantucket church steeples—knowing that you’ll soon be folded into a moveable feast for a weekend of genial, plaid-clad wanderings.  

And every year, the last song on Sunday night in the tent is “God Bless America” as Figawi gives thanks to the Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice for this country.  And let me tell you, from tough-guy crew members to wives and girlfriends to the saltiest wharf rat, there isn’t a dry eye in the house. 

Rob Conery has sailed in over 20 Figawis without sinking any boats (but he did fall off one once). He splits time between his native Cape Cod and the mountains of Maine, where he runs a fishing camp called Black Jack Fly.

Learn more about Figawi, and check out the 2021 schedule at figawi.com!

Figawi is also a Cape Cod LIFE Best Of Winner! Check it out here!

The post A Race for the Ages appeared first on Cape Cod LIFE.

The Man, The Chef, The Legend

Tony Pasquale brings a groovy flavor all his own
to Terra Luna and the Outer Cape community

Terra Luna only seems like a restaurant. It’s really a Truro crossroad where pleasure seekers meet. Step inside, and the difference becomes clear.  

Look at the walls: rustic wood paneling and album cover art—it’s like a hip chateau in après-ski Chamonix. Look at the drink selection: festive—one section is dedicated to “Bubbles and Pinks.” Look at the menu: offering, in their words, “Rustic Neo-Pagan Cuisine.” For owner/chef Tony Pasquale, it’s all about one word, enjoyment.  

FIRST COURSE

Pasquale’s culinary journey on the Cape began in 1988 at North Truro eatery Goody Hallet’s. It’s now a bank branch, but he describes Goody Hallet’s as being “a crazy place [with] college students in the kitchen, trying not to blow the place up while using the pressure fryer for broasted chicken.”

Being one of those college students, Pasquale graduated from Western Culinary Institute in Portland, Oregon. He then went on to intern at a Seattle restaurant. “This was during the height of grunge music,” says Pasquale. “I used to see Mudhoney at a crummy little bar under a bridge.” After moving back to the Cape in 1997, he returned to the Cape and started at Terre Luna where he rose through the ranks from cook to sous chef to ultimately kitchen manager.  

In 2011 he bought Terra Luna from Raïna Stefani, and created a charming 69-seat bistro presenting creative Mediterranean dishes. “As a chef, I like the freedom to create a vision for the food,” Pasquale says. “As an owner, I have the rest of the place to also fulfill that vision—from staffing to décor to music.”  

He praises the abundance and sheer variety of catch that Cape fishermen bring him—from lobster, clams and oysters to bonito and striped bass—providing an endless source of inspiration for his innovative dishes. “I really dig the trash fish,” says Pasquale about underutilized fish like mackerel, sardines, skate, dogfish and whelk, which he uses in a variety of ways for his Provincetown/Portuguese and Azorean dishes. Terra Luna menu favorites include Sicilian littlenecks over spaghetti, Setubal-style grilled sardines, Eastham mussels with vermouth garlic butter as well as their pork chops, “a big seller,” and vegan options. With fresh meat and fish arriving daily, sourced from the best offerings at the Wellfleet and Truro farmers markets, in Pasquale’s skilled hands, it all adds up to an inspired creation.  

RADIO DAZE

Being the Renaissance man he is, Pasquale’s alter ego, Tony Scungilli, is the radio host of the Squid Jigger’s Blend on Wednesday mornings on WOMR in Provincetown. Described as “full tilt outermost mooncusser primitive chunka chunka featuring the sweetly fecund sounds of low tide surf guitar noir,” it is popular among the locals. Mornings are full of energy as he cheerfully mixes tracks from local bands with anything from Eddie Cochran and Frank Zappa to the 5.6.7.8’s.   

His vote for best Cape Cod band goes to the Incredible Casuals, a now defunct group that rocked the stages of local haunts back in the ’80s and ’90s. “I was an incredible casualty for a long time,” jokes Pasquale of their legendary run of shows, including the raucous Sunday afternoon happy hours at the Wellfleet Beachcomber.   

Pasquale also says he enjoys “any incarnation of a band with Steve ‘Woo Woo’ Wood,” who once was called the world’s loudest guitar player. Wood’s band the Greenheads are just one of the many eclectic and under-the-radar acts that occasionally play Terra Luna. He calls the all-girl band The Ticks “amazingly good fun” and says the Sacred Mounds “are not to be missed, ever. Incredible songwriting and musicianship—they are the closest to the restaurant’s neo-pagan true fine groove.”  

His show is beloved among the rabid following of the Outer Cape beach community—more than one person called it the soundtrack to their life—and there’s even a coffee named after him: Beanstock Coffee Roasters of Wellfleet began offering a special Squid Jigger’s Blend about five years ago. Local rocker Sarah Swain says, “Tony’s radio show is a Wednesday morning institution in our house.”  

Singer/songwriter Chandler Travis admits that the early morning radio show preempts the usual start of his day, but he approves of Pasquale’s subversive attempt to weave his brand of musical expression into the shared airwaves of diverse audiences. Travis still laughs at the time he was forced to get up at the unnatural hour (for a working musician) of 7 a.m. to appear on Pasquale’s show, and how he and his band the Catbirds “cursed him out thoroughly,” as chronicled in “Outermost Radio: The Film.”

SING FOR YOUR SUPPER

Pasquale’s culinary and musical talents alchemize at Terra Luna, adding to an atmosphere of uncommon grace. There is always music playing in the background, from a song list he personally curates, and occasionally a live band—Terra Luna hosted shows by the Spampinato Brothers and the Greenheads in the summer of 2018. Visiting musicians are sometimes encouraged to “sing for their supper.” Case in point: One summer evening, The Ticks, strolling among the tables and filling the air with acoustic music, were mightily rewarded with a chef’s choice, tour-de-force, multi-course feast.  

Chandler Travis cites the “sing for your supper” nights as his personal favorite, with high marks for the blackberry polenta desert, while praising the “home-y and intimate feel of the place.” All of this—the food, the atmosphere, the generosity of spirit—make for a special series of neural stimuli that contribute to a palpable sense of place—that ephemeral and rewarding “be here now” feeling.  

In a demanding, competitive field with a high burnout rate, Pasquale’s enthusiasm is undiminished—his calm control an attribute as valuable as any recipe. His years behind the line have offered a participant’s view of changes in the industry. When he started out, he says, “There was no such thing as a celebrity chef; there wasn’t even the Food Network yet.” Pasquale never met the late Anthony Bourdain (who also paid his dues in kitchens around Provincetown), but he says he admired the man for his “big influence on what the [chef] lifestyle could be like.”  

Now it’s Pasquale’s lifestyle, his recipes, his abilities and his vision that are on brilliant display at Terra Luna. Regulars speak of the warmth and unique “Truro-ness” of his restaurant. One says she feels lucky to be there every time she visits; another says the food is so good she secretly doesn’t want tell anyone.

Orleans writer Susan Blood—an admittedly non-adventurous eater—says of Terra Luna: “We ask Tony for recommendations. Sometimes his recommendations scare me and I revert to my usual Straw & Hay (a dish of grilled chicken, Kalamata olives, roasted garlic and basil over baby spinach and spaghetti), but if you buckle up and go for it you’ll be rewarded with something like the Portuguese Sardines, which look like they should be in a painting by a Dutch master.”  

Sarah Swain best describes Pasquale: “In a world where counter culture is curated and marketed back to us in whispery folk music and coconut oil, Tony Pasquale is truly authentic and refreshing. He’s a real life, unapologetic rock ‘n’ roll DJ/poet/food genius/man.” 

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Nighttime photography including moonlit images, light painting and shots of the Milky Way Galaxy by Timothy Little, owner of Cape Night Photography

“The Galactic Sister” – Little had to run a lot to illuminate one of the Three Sisters Lighthouses, by hand, in this sub-30 seconds exposure. Any longer, he says, and the stars would have looked more like streaks due to the Earth’s rotation.

To learn about the history of the Three Sisters—which have been moved inland and are out of commission—visit our online exclusive article here

Timothy Little estimates that he’s the only photographer on Cape Cod that works exclusively at night. Traveling—sometimes as far as West Virginia, but usually just to various beaches on the Cape—in his trusty Toyota FJ Cruiser, Little utilizes long exposures to capture the subtlety of light—even when there may not be much of it visible to the naked eye.

For some images, he shoots exposures as brief as 30 seconds—the most common to capture the Milky Way, since the stars remain in sharp focus over that amount of time. For others, he keeps the shutter open for as long as 20 minutes, and when shooting with traditional film cameras he has made exposures as long as three hours. He shoots with a Canon 6D digital single-lens reflex (DSLR) camera with a variety of lenses of different focal lengths, and uses flashlights and strobe lights to “color” his long exposure images.

A resident of Falmouth, Little is the owner of Cape Night Photography, where he brings groups of photography enthusiasts out after the sun goes down to shoot the stars and other celestial bodies. The groups often visit Sandy Neck Beach, the Cape Cod Canal and other spots on the Cape, but Little also has workshops scheduled this summer to visit Mount Greylock in Western Mass. The Milky Way is the most popular subject on the tours. Beyond that, lighthouses, harbors and beaches are at the top of the list. The trips average about five hours, and the group typically visits three locations per outing.

A banker by day, Little has been shooting photographs at night for 16 years and decided in 2013 to begin taking clients out at night. “Cape Cod is a mecca for travelers,” he says. “I’ve had people [sign up] from Maine, even Germany.” Attendees are generally “amazed” at what they can see during the shoots, Little says, not to mention the images they can produce on their cameras. “I love seeing how excited they get,” he adds.

Participants must bring their own equipment, but Little brings backup gear in the event of mishaps. He also distributes technical notes at the end of a session so those on the tour can focus on the work at hand during the shoot. “I want them to have a good experience,” he says, “and not have their nose in a notebook the whole time.” Little also leads private tours for individuals, or groups of two, since some attendees respond better with more attention, or prefer not to be slowed down by a larger group.

Workshop attendees also receive an autographed copy of Little’s book Cape Cod Nights: A Photographic Exploration of Cape Cod and the Islands After Dark, as well as an 8” x 10” enlargement of one of the locations the group photographed on their trip.

Timothy Little explores the region from a different perspective—after dark.
His book Cape Cod Nights is available in the Cape Cod Life General Store at shop.stg-capecodlifecom-staging.kinsta.cloud

The post Photo Portfolio: Night photography by Timothy Little appeared first on Cape Cod LIFE.

Photograph by David Wood

There is another world, a bigger world. It’s a world both alien and familiar, and it starts at the beach. It’s the world of diving, and while this world is often associated with crystal blue tropical waters, there are many great places to dive right here on Cape Cod and the Islands, from offshore and near-shore wrecks to freshwater ponds.

Sport diving is a relatively new, late 20th-century recreational pursuit, but its roots stretch to antiquity. By 1300 AD, Persian divers were already making rudimentary diving goggles out of the polished outer layer of tortoise shells.

What we now call scuba diving is a variation on the original Aqua-Lung, a piece of technology pioneered in 1943 by two Frenchmen, engineer Emile Gagnan and diver Jacques Cousteau. In fact, the word scuba began as an acronym for “self-contained underwater breathing apparatus.”

With this in mind, meet three Cape and Islands divers who regularly enjoy stunning views of the region . . . from beneath the waves.

Photograph by Dan Cutrona

Of Splashdowns and Frogmen

Bill Jeter of Hyannis was a Navy frogman, before they even had SEALS. Jeter (pronounced JeTT-er, not Jeet-er) always carries two of everything, for backup and for safety. It’s his Navy training.

“I carry two computers, two knives, at least two lights,” says Jeter, a calm, soft-spoken man who at age 73 still makes at least 200 dives a year. “Two regulators, a backup system, a bailout bottle.” Little computers he wears on each hand monitor time, temperature, depth, and heart rate; diving is all about preparation.

Jeter joined the Navy when he was 18, and the training still informs his decisions. Another reason he’s extra careful: In the past five years he has lost two friends to diving accidents.

Frogman training in Virginia in  1959 was intense. Jeter describes six- and even 10-mile surface swims, navigating miles underwater in the dark, and running through an obstacle course with real bombs going off. At a time when the space race dominated the national consciousness, Jeter was one of the trained frogmen who would assist the Gemini astronauts after Pacific Ocean splashdowns.

After the Navy, Jeter raised a family in Pennsylvania, where for 34 years he ran a clinic helping individuals struggling with drug and alcohol addictions. He has two sons and eight grandchildren. He moved to the Cape full time in 2009 with his wife, Sylvia, because, he says, “It was our favorite place to come on vacation.”

Jeter enjoys all manner of dives. While he does plenty of saltwater dives—he cites wrecks in Vineyard Sound and rocky areas off Nauset Beach in Orleans as favorites, as well as shore diving from Woods Hole—he’ll also mix it up. He enjoys freshwater dives at places like Hathaway’s Pond in Hyannis and Sheep’s Pond in Orleans, and even gets into caves and caverns at quarries when he visits Pennsylvania. Then there are the night dives, cave dives, and winter dives under the ice.

“I like to go places where not many people go. And then—go slow,” says Jeter, who enjoys observing the color and movement of the peaceful, easy scenes he drifts over.

Thousands of dives have done nothing to diminish his enthusiasm. “There is a mystique,” he says. “It’s different. Quite mysterious. If you have curiosity in you, you want to see things.”

Photograph by Charles Sternaimolo

Seeking clues from the past

Jerry Cronin, 58, of Marstons Mills, has been diving since he was in his 20s, first working on dive charters and at diving shops.

Initially, he enjoyed what he describes as “some of the best lobstering in the world.” But as he got more involved with the sport, his interest shifted to exploration, finding the unknown and rediscovering history. Cronin’s passion is to dive on wrecks—sunken ships—in search of artifacts from the past.

He has completed many dives in tropical locations, which he enjoys for “gin-clear warm water, colorful fish by the millions, and coral of every type.” It is different here on the Cape, where a short summer and colder water—at depths greater than 30 feet, the water temperature stays the same year round, about 42 degrees, he says—mean divers need expensive dry suits and face a shorter season.

“The Cape is pretty much a sandbar,” Cronin says, “which is why most of us explore shipwrecks. Fish hang out near wrecks, which are usually loaded with lobster, plus there’s always the chance of finding cool artifacts.”

He frequently sees massive piles of granite and coal, common cargo around the turn of the last century, when ships carried both passengers and goods. “This was granite mined from New Hampshire and Maine,” Cronin says while pointing out an artifact he found at the ocean floor. “They used it to build Philadelphia, New York, and Washington, D.C.”

Cronin says that he and his friends have discovered at least half a dozen wrecks, and explored many more. Part of the enjoyment is the ever-changing sea. Winter storms play havoc with underwater topography. A wreck buried for years—even centuries—can suddenly reappear, its bones poking through tons of sand shifted about in fierce winter gales.

Cronin is proud of his collection of sea-saved artifacts from his many dives, which he displays in his home. Among his favorites (and he admits the list is “endless”) are the huge brass letters from the wreck of the Port Hunter, which he noticed “after literally thousands of divers swam past them, but because of marine growth, they escaped detection.” He also displays the helm of a four-masted schooner, a treasure that took him two years of work over many dives to recover.

Photograph by David Wood

Freediving and spearfishing

Greg Bernard of Nantucket describes being “immediately immersed” the first time he tried diving. Pun intended. He was 19, and he has been diving for 23 years since.

His newest passion is freediving—staying underwater with a mask and fins for as long as a lungful of air can stretch. “It’s the closest thing to flying,” Bernard says. “I can fly for as long as I can hold my breath down there. Just me—nothing mechanical.”

Bernard extols the physiological and even psychological lift diving gives him. “You have to learn to lower your heart rate, to be completely mellow. You are super-packing your lungs with oxygen, forcing all that oxygen into your body. Afterwards there is a sense of euphoria.” He describes it as a natural high, feeling mellow and very tuned in to his surroundings, breathing more easily, seeing more clearly.

He heads out in his 15-foot Boston Whaler, a stable fishing and diving platform with gunwales low enough to allow easy boarding. While down below, he enjoys taking still photos and video, occasionally hurling himself right into pods of bubble-net-feeding whales to get point-of-view footage.

Bernard enjoys fishing with a speargun, where he can be more discriminating than a rod-and-reel angler, who pulls up whatever bites on his bait. While spearfishing for striped bass is illegal in Massachusetts, Bernard sees them, as well as many other species. “You see tautog, big black sea bass, ‘prehistoric’ scup,” he says. “The big ones have big eyes, too. So they can spot a hook and line.” The speargun allows Bernard to fish selectively, keeping the medium-sized “good eaters” and leaving the big fish, the successful breeders, in the water to drive the ecosystem.

Bernard worked in the Nantucket charter fleet, crewing on the Albacore with island legend Bob DeCosta and later lobstering commercially with Chuck Butler. Today he likes to dive along the jetties that protect Nantucket Harbor. He says a wreck off the end of the west jetty looks like an “anchor store” for all the lost ground tackle that has accumulated over the years.

He sees his share of lobsters when he freedives the jetties, but it’s when he heads offshore and dives on wrecks in 130 feet of water that he sees the real giants. “Literally 20-pound lobsters,” he says. They have a massive claw spread, he adds; “They look like elk ears when you hold them up.”

Of course sharks are never far from divers’ minds, and Bernard says one territorial but skittish sandbar shark patrols the jetties. “He’ll follow you around, kind of sneak up on you, but as soon as you spot him, he’ll back up and then vanish.”

Like Jeter, Bernard stresses safety in this inherently dangerous activity. “I cannot stress enough,” he says. “Take a class—it will save your life. There are a lot of obstacles down there—fishing line, anchor lines, handling your own equipment, controlling your breathing and heart rate. A lot can go wrong, and there’s very little margin for error.”

Even without the deep-water dives that necessitate decompression stops during ascent, diving can be a dangerous sport with “shallow water blackout” a threat even in less than 20 feet of water. Bernard does his freediving and spearfishing on Nantucket’s teeming jetties only on incoming tides, figuring that if anything should go wrong, he’ll at least be swept into the harbor and not out to sea.

“The right training and the right equipment are the keys to safe diving,” Bernard says. And keeping a cool head. After that, it’s all enjoyment: the incomparable thrill of being underwater and flying.

Diving 101

Divers and would-be divers can find instruction, rentals, and other resources right here on the Cape. Bob Peck of Adventure Diving Services of Cape Cod in Eastham has been teaching diving since 1974. To achieve full certification, divers must complete six sessions of classroom/academic training, followed by pool training, and culminating with an open water certification test. Peck says that while Adventure Diving offers all three components, many people choose to do the open water segment while vacationing someplace tropical.

Don Ferris, who has written several books on Cape Cod diving— including Exploring the Waters of Cape Cod: Shipwrecks & Dive Sites—provides dive instruction on Cape Cod and the South Shore. Another company, Aqua Center in Sandwich, focuses on instruction and dive travel.

Rob Conery of West Yarmouth is a regular contributor to Cape Cod LIFE and is celebrating the publishing of his new novel Winterland (2015).

The post Exploring the World Beneath the Waves appeared first on Cape Cod LIFE.

The Eastham Painters Guild heads outdoors to capture nature on the canvas

Photo by: Dan Cutrona

Of all the members of the Eastham Painters Guild, Robin Wessman might look the most like “a painter”—or at least a bohemian version thereof. He wears old jeans and a paint-flecked fleece; he even has some paint specks on his neck. A resident of Eastham, Wessman, 62, enjoys working with oil and the process involved in his craft. “Painting takes you to a different place,” he says. “[Once you get] bit by the bug, it stays with you.”

Photo by: Dan Cutrona

Since 1980, the Eastham Painters Guild has served as a gathering point for locals with the shared passion of painting. The guild consists of 15 permanent members, most of whom live in Eastham. An active group, the guild meets for en plein air sessions once or twice a week at Fort Hill, First Encounter Beach, and other scenic spots around Eastham as well as at locations in Orleans and Wellfleet.

On a warm Wednesday morning in June, Cape Cod LIFE dropped in on the guild’s painting session at Nauset Light. The dozen or so artists spread out around a grassy field that looked more August-burnt than June-green, easels sprouting like the dandelions they shared the field with. To capture the best light, the painters began their day early, before 8 a.m.

Willow Shire, 67, is the guild’s president. During the two-hours-plus session, she divides her time between the following activities: guiding, encouraging, painting, laughing, telling stories, introducing people, and smiling. Humble and self-effacing, she offers warm encouragement to her fellow painters.

A member of the guild since 2000, Shire says she began painting about 15 years ago when she came to the realization that life is finite. She felt she was not being mindful enough and maybe letting important things slip by. “There are only so many lilac seasons [still to come],” she says. Art, she adds, is a way to connect to, hold on to, or capture that slipping-away feeling. “I look at everything differently now—more intensely,” says Shire. “It’s about being aware, paying attention to the natural world.”

Photo by: Dan Cutrona

On the day of our visit most of the painters set up facing the lighthouse’s red and white tower, but not June Havens. While most of the group is scattered around the lighthouse at various angles and depths, Havens, a botanical artist, is off in her own corner of the Nauset Beach parking lot, painting pink beach plum flowers on green vines. The flowers she paints are beautiful—fully realized and loaded with rich detail. She attempts to capture their essence in her work.

Havens, 78, is a gardener turned painter. When her knees were no longer game for all the bending demanded by gardening, she picked up a paintbrush. She has always been artistic, though. Even before she started painting, she recalls filling any available scrap of paper in her house—from napkins to old newspapers—with sketches and drawings.

A member of the guild since 1994, Havens concedes she “did it backwards,” painting first and taking art classes later. Joining the guild and painting flowers were just natural extensions of what she had already been doing.

To Havens, plants and light are inspirations. She loves to take plants home and tear them apart to see how they are put together—to unlock the mysteries of their creation and inform her art. She is amazed at how tulips and snapdragons, for example, continue to turn to follow the light even after they have been cut and placed in a jar; the flowers are always trying to reach, to grow. Similarly, Havens says she is always trying to develop her painting skill. “I’m always learning, always learning,” she says. “It’s a wonderful way to spend your retirement.”

Photo by: Dan Cutrona

Another painter, Susan Sagona, was working on a watercolor during our visit. Participating as a guest of the guild, the 70-year-old enjoys painting and the feeling she gets working on her canvas. “It absorbs you completely,” Sagona says. “It comes from a different part of your consciousness.” She adds that painting outdoors, especially with fast-drying watercolors, which are less forgiving of mistakes than oil, has taught her a few things. Among them: “I have learned to work faster,” she says.

Mary Anne Tessier, 79, likes working on pet portraits the most, but on this day she dutifully worked to capture Nauset Light. One of the few guild members not from Eastham, Tessier lives in Yarmouthport and is the former owner of Derbyfield Kennel in Harwich. Tessier says she likes “to play with colors. And if it’s not right, you can paint right over it.” Failing even that, she jokes that if the piece is deemed “unredeemable,” she simply throws it out. “There’s the basket,” she says.

En plein air painting—from the French, literally “in the open air”—dates from the mid-19th century when new paint tubes, like our modern tubes of toothpaste, allowed painters, who previously had to custom-mix their paints in complex arrangements of powders, dies and emollients, greater flexibility to interact with their surroundings and get out of stuffy studios and into the wild.

A professional in the telecommunications industry, Robin Wessman graduated from Southeastern Massachusetts University (now known as U-Mass Dartmouth) with an art degree. Though he doesn’t work full-time as an artist, his schedule affords him plenty of time to paint. Nearly every morning, he wakes up at 5 a.m. to squeeze in a couple of painting hours before work, often returning to the easel again in the evening.

Photo by: Dan Cutrona

Wessman enjoys painting outdoors, working, as he puts it, “right from life.” He talks about becoming so absorbed in his work that he loses track of his immediate surroundings, like the time he was engrossed in a painting in Chatham and felt something at his pants leg. Tiny rabbits were crawling over his feet as he worked.

Photo by: Dan Cutrona

On the day of our visit, Wessman worked out a rough sketch of the lighthouse on his canvas. He planned to return to the studio later to work on the values: altering light and dark to create distance and atmosphere. Wessman, whose work hangs in galleries in Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island, paints seven days a week. “This is,” he says, “what I like to do.”

Members of the guild sell their work every Thursday and Friday in summer at the School House Museum, located across from the National Seashore’s Salt Pond Visitor Center on Route 6 in Eastham. The guild concludes its 2015 season with a show at Eastham Town Hall on Sunday, September 13 during Windmill Weekend.

For all of the hard work these painters put in—and all the artwork they produce—the guild members enjoy themselves and what they are doing. They are friends, they’re involved in each other’s lives and often gather for potluck dinners at The Shire—Willow Shire’s place, that is.

The leader of the guild, Shire, is ebullient, warm and kind. Though she was born in Maine and lived outside Boston for many years, she says she has always loved Cape Cod. She bought property on the Cape in the 1980s, and in 1993 she built a house just a few steps from a location beloved by her family: First Encounter Beach. She moved to Eastham full time in 2000.

Shire’s own work is oil-based. She likes the ability to go over a painting a few times, and if that still doesn’t result in a winner, “that’s when I get out my orbital sander,” she says. Since she only paints directly on wooden panels, she will simply grind the piece down and start again from scratch.

But Shire’s charm and energy are endemic of this group. Regardless of age or activity one would be hard pressed to find a livelier and more focused and dedicated group of individuals. To a painter, the members of the Eastham Painters Guild are enthusiastic about life and color, about air and wind and sea.

For more information about the Eastham Painters Guild, visit easthampaintersguild.com, or call 508-255-8411.

The post Into the Great Wide Open appeared first on Cape Cod LIFE.

Every summer, millions of migratory fish make their way through the Cape Cod Canal, chasing their next meal.

In hot pursuit, thousands of fishermen from around the region descend upon the 100-year-old waterway and cast their lines from April to November, when the striped bass run. Anglers may hook anything in the canal, from a bluefish to a tautog, but a striped bass is the big enchilada.

A.J. Coots of Red Top Sporting Goods on Main Street in Buzzards Bay, says he enjoys the abundance of fishing locations along the canal. “It’s all public access,” says Coots. “There’s no real spot that’s better than every other.” As fishermen say: fish have tails. They are always on the move. And with a bike ride along canal paths, so are you.

Today, a century after its construction, millions visit the Cape Cod Canal each year to enjoy recreational opportunities provided by the waterway—from camping to cycling, cruising, dining, and fishing.

If you want to try fishing for the coveted stripers, keep in mind that they are opportunistic predators. To ambush their prey, bass like to hang in slow moving water, behind rocks, structures, or bridge abutments, waiting for baitfish to be swept through, caught in the powerful currents. Fishermen who cast in these areas increase their chances at reeling in a good-size fish. Recreational fishermen may keep up to two stripers per day and the minimum size for a “keeper” is 28 inches. Massachusetts requires that anglers obtain a saltwater permit available at tackle shops and at www.mass.gov/saltwaterpermit. (An alternative site is www.mass.gov/eea/agencies/dfg/dmf/recreational-fishing/recreational-saltwater-permits.htm.)

Another popular, if less visible, kind of fishing along the canal is recreational lobstering. This requires a separate permit, but permit-holders can fish ten recreational traps. Some lobstermen even have custom trailers mounted to their cruiser bikes so they can haul a few traps at a time. They plunk the pots in the water and wait. Bluefish is a popular bait, as are mackerel and pogies. The older and stinkier the bait, the better—lobsters are bottom feeders and not fussy eaters. Coots has eaten lobster pulled from the canal and says, “they’re delicious.”

Another way to enjoy the canal is to take a cruise. Hy-Line cruises has been running iconic harbor tours in Hyannis since the years of JFK’s presidency, and also offers scenic and music trips along the canal today.

The cruises get underway in June and depart from the company’s dock in Onset. Every Friday and Saturday from 8 to 10:30 p.m., guests 21 and over enjoy live music cruises. Jazz trips are held on Sundays, from 1:30 to 4 p.m. Guitarist Dan Lyons of Marstons Mills has performed on the canal cruises since the late 1990s, first with his band, The High Kings, and in recent years, with another Cape band favorite, 57 Heavy. “The atmosphere is great,” Lyons says of the boat shows. “You have the natural beauty of the Cape, the sunset, sailing under the bridges; it’s beautiful.” Lyons is a veteran entertainer who has played in venues from Vermont, to Florida, to California, and has opened for the Jerry Garcia Band and the J. Geils Band along the way. Lyons says the boat crowd is generally less inhibited than those in a typical nightclub scene. “They’re out on a boat,” he says. “The evening feels more like an event—they’re ready to dance! People loosen up quicker.”

Tickets for the music cruises cost $19. For 2014, scheduled acts include blues with the George Gritzbach Band, The Goat Roper Band playing country, and Harry French, a one-man act who blends hits from the ’50s to today. Groovy Afternoon plays dance songs from the ‘60s and ‘70s and Hy-Line has at least one show booked with a DJ who’ll be playing Jimmy Buffett music for the cruise ship’s Parrot Head Night.

Hy-Line’s marketing manager Betsy Rich books the bands for the cruises. “It’s so much fun,” she says. “Everyone makes friends with each other.” Rich says sometimes folks along the canal get in on the act. Walkers and skaters have been seen dancing along to the music as the cruise boat sails past. On one occasion, Rich says a cyclist followed the boat from the path alongside the canal, flashing a light in time to the music. The band followed suit, improvising a “Flashlight Man” song on the spot, with the crowd singing along. “It’s a special occasion,” Lyons says of the festive atmosphere aboard the ship. “People get into it.”

Hy-Lines runs two- and three-hour scenic cruises in the summer, too, with guided commentary on the various historical and scenic sights along the waterway with interesting anecdotes thrown in. Food choices on board include chips and simple snacks, but Rich recommends nearby Onset spots like Marc Anthony’s for pizza, or the Quaohog Republic for pub food and raw bar choices after the trips return to the dock.

For a more traditional restaurant, the Pilot House in Sandwich features live piano music in the lounge Friday and Saturday nights in summer. This is a great spot to savor a view of the canal while fishing boats glide by. On the last Wednesday of each month, the head chef leads a cooking class, guiding students through preparation of an entree and a dessert paired with a drink.

To work off calories either before or after dinner, many walkers, joggers, cyclists, and rollerbalders use the twin trails that flank the canal. Maintained by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, the trails, each about seven miles, are smooth, well-graded, and well-lit. Numbered poles along the way help bikers and joggers keep track of their progress, or choose a reasonable turnaround point. Canal Cruisers Bicycles in Buzzards Bay offers bike repair, and bike rentals are available by the hour, or by the day.

“It’s peaceful and well lit,” Harwich’s Talia Arone says of the canal paths—one of her favorite spots to recreate and relax. “I often go at night, after work, for a stress buster. It’s nice seeing the boats coming in.”

Arone has traded in her rollerblades for quads—traditional four-wheeled rollerskates, not inline skates—and in 2013 she co-founded the Cape Cod Roller Derby, based in Dennis. Years of rollerblading helped her build endurance—she was known for long, all-day trips—and now her team competes in flat-track roller derby meets, the latest in a sport that has roots dating back to late 19th-century endurance competitions.

For longer visits to the canal, the Scusset Beach State Reservation offers canal-side parking as well as 98 camping sites for both RVs and tents from April into October. Sandy Scusset Beach is right there and has a trail that links directly to the canal paths.

All the while, the celebrated 100-year-old waterway that flows between the paths is just brimming with sea life. A.J. Coots says he loves to fish on a cool morning, as the mist rises off the water. A favorite activity is tossing a topwater plug—a floating lure that splashes and is designed to create a ruckus that imitates a flailing baitfish—in the early morning stillness. “There’s stripers popping everywhere,” says Coots, “jumping two-and-a-half feet out of the water, exploding at the plugs. If that doesn’t get your adrenaline going, something is wrong with you.”

The post Along the Water appeared first on Cape Cod LIFE.

Sea Tow Cape and Islands provides crucial support to mariners in distress.

The sea has no memory. Mariners from time immemorial have taken their chances when venturing upon her broad apron. As the old saying goes, the sea floor is lined with the bones of optimists. What could go wrong?

What hasn’t? Engine failure, a broken rudder, a parted steering cable, sailboats de-masted, hitting rocks, leaky sea cocks, drunk crew members, collisions, fires—you name it, it will and has happened here in Cape and Island waters.

Into this breach steps Sea Tow Cape and Islands. From a waterfront location in Cataumet, the company—a franchise of the national Sea Tow service that is owned by Captain Curt Jessup—can launch speedy, well-equipped craft to assist mariners in need; it’s kind of like a sea-going AAA club. Sea Tow has three locations based out of yacht yards, five boats, and five licensed captains at the ready around the clock to assist mariners on the Cape and Islands. Between their boats—the Red Brook, Nobska, Dartmouth, and Falmouth—and their licensed captains, who in addition to Jessup include Chris Godino, Caleb Hess, Tom Saunders, and Greg Manchester, Sea Tow is the best-equipped and best-manned operation of its kind in the Cape Cod and Islands area.

Like all first responders, Sea Tow is always on call and readiness is paramount. “Every day is different,” says Jessup, fresh back from a call. “There’s no textbook on how to do this.”

Sea Tow’s Gold Card membership costs only $169 per annum, and members get free towing, fuel drops, battery jump-starts, prop disentanglements, and dock-to-dock tows. In addition to providing coverage on boats owned by a member, Sea Tow provides services for members who are captains of other boats, no matter if the boat is a charter, a rental boat, a for-hire boat, or a vessel borrowed from a friend. Whether a casual pastime, a serious hobby, or a full-time career, those who are regularly at sea know that trouble can come at any time.

And trouble does come. Jessup says typically Sea Tow responds to 250 to 300 calls per year, most during the busy boating season and in the shoulder seasons that bracket it. The most common issue is fuel, either lack thereof—a boat out of fuel can’t simply pull over to the side of the road and wait, like a car—or mechanical problems resulting from the controversial new ethanol additives, mandatory in marine engines for the past several years.

While considered a renewable energy, ethanol also contains alcohol, which is naturally hydrophilic (meaning it attracts water) and is itself a corrosive.

Jessup says that for his captains, knowledge of tides, winds, and waves are compulsory—the kind of hard-won knowledge gleaned only from years of experience on a particular body of water and knowing how that area responds to different wind and weather conditions. “The weather is the biggest challenge we face,” he says. “It’s an ongoing challenge and you can’t change it. No two sets of conditions are the same.”

That said, the job can be a blast. “You get to work on the water, run boats fast, and help people,” says Jessup.

Sea Tow members are covered everywhere, from the local harbor out to the outer islands. “Maine to the Virgin Islands,” as Jessup puts it. Weather and wave conditions affect everything, but even if Sea Tow can’t make the run, the member is covered for the first $5,000 of the tow, whether Sea Tow or another operator comes to their aid.

Jessup’s Sea Tow location in Falmouth was carefully chosen: It is situated close to Woods Hole Pass, a notorious navigation hazard. An entire ocean basically gets squeezed through this narrow channel formed between southwest Falmouth the Elizabeth Island archipelago. Tides surge and currents swirl in an area full of big jagged rocks.

In August 2011, a 108-foot luxury charter yacht collided with Great Ledge off Woods Hole. A four-foot hole was ripped in the hull, through which cold seawater began to surge, flooding her. Not only was the ship going down: It was also obstructing a major navigational channel and the boat had 3,000 gallons of diesel on board. Sea Tow got the call, and every resource was brought to bear. Jessup describes the scene when they arrived. “You go down below, you’ve got water in the bilge to your knees, and it’s still rising,” he says. “But you’ve got to get in there.”

Soon the company had seven gas pumps running full bore, pumping water out, and they were able to get the bow of the boat beached at Nobska so it didn’t sink to the bottom. It took all day, but they were able to patch the hole and the boat limped into dry dock for repairs.

Jessup has seen any number of things go wrong, from engine fires to simply running out of fuel, but if he had just one piece of advice for mariners, it would be to always travel with anchors the right size for your for your vessel. A boat adrift is in danger, but a good anchor can at least keep you off the rocks until help arrives, he says. The accepted ratio is to have seven-to-nine feet of rode (anchor line) per foot of depth to allow the anchor to properly dig in. Jessup frequently sees boaters with insufficient line to do the job properly.

No rescue operation, however extensively prepared, can substitute for good seamanship, proper training, and the use of safety and navigational equipment. But knowing you have Sea Tow on call if things go wrong provides a little peace of mind for mariners around the Cape and the Islands.

For more information, visit seatow.com or call 508-564-9555.

Rob Conery is a frequent contributor to Cape Cod Life.

The post Out to Sea appeared first on Cape Cod LIFE.

Our writer recalls his favorite moments from 18 Figawi races across Nantucket Sound

Photo by Blake Jackson

“We are gonna hit that boat!” The man yelling those words over the wind, out in the middle of Nantucket Sound, was my first Figawi captain.

Boats at sea are not democracies. The captain’s rule is law. But we had a little parliamentary problem on board. This captain was brilliant. He was—quite literally—a rocket scientist. In fact, let’s call him Rocket Man. Genius? Yes. Decisive? Not so much.

The first mate and most of the crew were screaming at the helmsman to, “Round up, round up!” But the captain was yelling, “Fall off, fall off!” Either maneuver would have saved us. Rounding up would point the bow into the wind, slowing her. Falling off would further fill the sails with wind and speed us up.

But we did neither. We started to tack, but then didn’t. Now, flapping sails added thrashing, taut-snapping sounds to the noise of confusion on deck. I was caught mid-tack, in no man’s land halfway across the cabin top, when the captain started screaming about the imminent collision. I grabbed a deck rail and braced for impact.

Photo by Blake Jackson

There sits on the wall at Baxter’s Boathouse a modest little jug. Few notice it in the corner of the venerable Hyannis Harbor restaurant. The jug was the first Figawi trophy in 1972, now under the same roof where the famous race had its beginnings as a simple bar bet. The particulars are lost to the rum-scented mists of history and the accretion of legend, but the crux of the conversation reportedly went like this:

“I can sail to Nantucket faster than you.”
“Oh yeah? Care to make it interesting?”

Three boats sailed that Memorial Day weekend. Bob “Red” Luby raced first to the island, with brothers Bob and Joe Horan nipping at his heels. The next year they drew 15 boats. Now, hundreds of boats, thousands of racers and many thousands more spectators follow the festivities. The little jug at Baxter’s is immemorial, and now winners in the various classes are presented with gleaming silver platters and torso-sized trophies.

Most sailboat races, from the Olympics to the America’s Cup, are buoy races—sailors follow a fixed course around floats. But the Figawi joins the ranks of the Newport-Bermuda and the Sydney-Hobart as races that actually go someplace.

It’s a timelessly enchanting notion, to pack a bag and sail for unseen shores.

I chanced into the 1994 Figawi on a negligible invitation. A friend kindly lied about my sailing credentials, and suddenly I was crewman on a boat that would take a fourth-place trophy. My rampant under-qualifications were mostly hidden by my assigned job, that of “rail meat,” which is what they call the guys they stick up on the windward rail whose main job is counterbalancing the boat on upwind legs. You basically get soaked with cold sea water for five hours.

Between the thrills of racing and the social scene we found once we hit the docks, one Figawi was all it took. Excepting my own college commencement, I haven’t missed one since. I’ve crewed on five different craft. I’ve gone on boats that won silver platters, and I’ve been on boats that nearly sank. It’s never dull.

After that memorable first race, my buddy Slick—he now makes a living on boats and does not wish to be identified here—thought we could make our own run at glory on a Helms 24-footer that sat for years on stands in his backyard. It was full of water, which turned to ice and sagged the belly. It looked about as sleek as a jelly doughnut.

We mustered a crew. Slick would be captain. With one Figawi under my belt, I was de facto first mate. Two others had only been on motorboats, and my college roommate had never been on a boat of any kind—including ferries. The boat we spent the spring refurbishing was named Bulletproof. But it wasn’t even waterproof. It leaked. I’ve been in drier Jacuzzis.

Race day arrived with a misty morning. We sailed in circles toward the starting line, doubling back every time we fumbled another piece of equipment overboard. There went the winch handle, then the jib bag. Then some battens flew out of the sail. The 30-packs of Budweiser remained safely stowed below, like ballast.

On the way to Nantucket, there wasn’t enough wind—one guy got out briefly and swam—but on the way back, it blew like stink. Slick struggled with the helm in big seas. All these years later, I can still hear the groaning, creaking noises from the old wooden tiller, which steers the boat and for which we carried no replacement.

After that, Slick and I went back with Rocket Man, who won several trophies over the years. After Rocket Man moved to Hawaii, I hitched a ride on a stinkpot, as sailors derisively term motorboats. It was a friend’s Hatteras—big and broad and comfortable with beds instead of berths, a refrigerator instead of coolers, even a shower.

It was a new level of unearned luxury for me, but I soon learned that even swell motorboats present opportunity for public humiliation.

Eager to demonstrate my veteran seamanship, as we eased into the Boat Basin in Nantucket Harbor, I grabbed a stern line and hopped up, balancing on the narrow transom, ready to assist the docking procedure. But then the captain bumped the throttles at the worst moment and I fell in. Splash! Hat over teakettle.

As I climbed the slimy ladder to the pier, what seemed like thousands of people laughed and cheered from Nantucket’s dockside bars and restaurants.

Photo by Blake Jackson

The boat safely docked, I joined the celebration erupting all around us. This might be my favorite time of the whole weekend. The people-watching is nonpareil.

The rest of Saturday and all of Sunday is an open-air festival that is equal parts boat show, Mardi Gras and rock concert. Crews party on the decks of the boats, beer flows—from cans, because only an amateur brings glass bottles or bananas on boats, or whistles once aboard—and the afternoon becomes a pastel-clad, glad-handing procession of genial wanderings. Invitations on board become as casual as the wave of an arm.

By sundown, things are getting loud, funky and fun, and then they open the big party tent. Soon the drink lines are 10 deep, the band is rocking, and it’s a life-in-your-hands adventure out on the drink-slick dance floor.

There’s no racing on Sunday, when they present first a joke-telling session, the awards ceremony, and then a big clambake in the tent.

Like the Figawi itself, the joke session started informally when one race legend, the late Jeffrey Foster, ran aground in Nantucket Harbor. It became part of the weekend, moved into the tent and has been hosted for years now by a goodtime prankster troupe who call themselves the Band of Angels. They bill the event as a “champagne brunch, you bring the brunch.” It is a raucous and decidedly off-color event—50 shades of inappropriate.

After they sweep out the lobster and clam shells, the tent reopens for another bacchanal, traditionally topped at the end of the night as the band breaks into “God Bless America” and everyone sings along in full throat.

Then it’s back to the boats and berths, where sleep is fitful and the sea awaits the morrow.

Photo by Blake Jackson

Rocket Man narrowly avoided that collision, but there were other close scrapes. One time he got cut off and began to shout abuse at the other boat, unperturbed that it was, the Mya, helmed by the late senator Edward M. Kennedy. Bulletproof got sold and would later sink—while tied to a dock!

Slick got a dream job, ultimately living on the same beautiful boat in Nantucket Harbor aboard which he met his future wife (also beautiful).

As for me, I haven’t been on a boat that won anything in years.

But I’ll always go. To see friends you only see on that weekend, for the pastel promenade on Straight Wharf, for watching people in pink whale hats attempt to dance with two drinks in each hand, for the rolling motion of the sea, for the salt and the wind and boozy bonhomie on the docks, for the music and the dancing. I’ll go as long as there’s an open berth.

The post Allure of the Figawi appeared first on Cape Cod LIFE.