Balls!

I love Portsmouth. Located in sort of a crossroads between New Hampshire and Maine, the mouth of the Piscataquis is actually the confluence of a number of rivers , making for a very picturesque shoreline. One of the points of land jutting out into the river is occupied by a giant, castle-like structure that overlooks the rest of the harbor. We learn later from some of the locals at the yacht club that it is an old navy prison, built on an island and modeled after Alcatraz. It has not been used as a prison since the seventies and remains empty.

 I find quite a contrast between this beautifully crafted piece of early twentieth century architecture and the modern, ugly, garage-type storage bin right next door. The time and attention, not to mention money, that was obviously lavished on this older building is astounding compared to the lack of care and pride that is evidenced in many more modern efforts. The degree of aesthetic detail is particularly impressive considering that this building was meant to house military criminals.

The current is notoriously strong in this river and we decide that it will be safer and easier to take a mooring at the Portsmouth Yacht Club. Most moorings are denoted by an air-filled floating ball that keeps the mooring line near the surface, easy to pull up and then attach to your boat. This yacht club is particularly well endowed with enormous mooring balls – the small motor boat moored next to us is almost outgunned by its own ball. This provides a wonderful opportunity to come up with all kinds of size related jokes and we take full advantage.

We plan to go in to the club and take showers, but I think it would be fun to go for a quick swim first. Rick warns me that the water is cold – he got a small sample of it when he grabbed the mooring line – but I convince him to join me anyway. I mean, we’ve been swimming in ocean water all the way up the coast. How cold could it be? As soon as we touch the water I realize my mistake – big balls no more, this water is COOOOLD!!! Rick is taking his time getting up the ladder and I’m screaming for him to move so I can get out. The water must always be this cold because when we finally make it in for our mercifully hot showers, it is clear that we’ve made some points with the staff of the yacht club who saw us diving in.

Now cleaned up and ready for a night on the town, we hop in the dinghy and start up the river. It’s going to be a long trek and the tide is going out so we will be working against the current. We make it up about halfway, but the current is so strong that our little motor is no match for it; we are pretty much treading water at full speed. We might just be stuck with hot dogs for dinner after all. Thankfully, we are somewhat near another yacht club and the driver of their launch takes pity on us and offers us a ride. We pull the dinghy behind us, but getting off turns out to be almost a bigger problem. Michelle, the driver, pulls up ahead of where we want to go so that we can drift back, but it still takes all of Rick’s skill to get us in to the dinghy dock. Thanks Michelle, we owe you a dinner!

Portsmouth is an old port town but, unlike New Bedford, they seem to have survived the decline of the whaling and fishing industries very well. We only have one night to spend here, but I like it so much that I make Rick promise that we can stop in here again on our way back south in August. He says we’ll have to time our shore visit a bit better next time though. After a short walk around town and a fabulous seafood dinner, we head back in the dinghy, this time with the current.