41:28.81N 71:19.99W

It’s 10pm local time and the USA coastline is closing fast. 

A little too fast, actually, because we don’t really want to arrive too soon.  With no moon at the moment, the nights are pretty black and we would prefer an early morning arrival with good light for anchoring.  So we’re flying less canvas to slow the boat down, and things are pretty peaceful.  There’s a fishing boat in the distance, its working afterdeck lit brightly for safety.  And a coaster overhauls us as it chugs slowly eastwards towards Fall River.  We had called him up earlier as our courses were converging.  ‘What are your intentions, Sir?’  The captain sounded surprised – had he actually seen us? - but altered course to pass safely behind our stern.

After nearly 5 days at sea, it feels strange to be so close to land.  Looking at the charts, the names of the surrounding places read like an American social history.  To our left is Long Island, with New York just beyond.  To our right there’s Martha’s Vineyard and Chappaquiddick, then Nantucket with Cape Cod just to its north.  And ahead lies our destination, Newport, Rhode Island. 

It’s hard to believe we’re only a few hours from any of them.  Hopefully we’ll visit them all in time, though our cruising itinerary for the next few months is still in its infancy, sort of nascent, err… well, not actually conceived yet.  But that’s cruising for you – kind of flexible, you see.  As fickle as the wind, our plans can (and do) change, moulded by weather, the books that we read so avidly on passage, the music we listen to and the friends that we make along the way.  For the cruising fraternity is a sort of floating village, a mobile community of largely like-minded adventurers that is always generous with help and advice.

We’re excited to be arriving in America, though not quite sure what to expect.  The navigational charts themselves, furnished as they are with a wealth of detail, offer a hint of what’s to come.  Marked on the chart , and all within 10 miles of us, are ‘unexploded bomb 1968’, ‘unexploded depth charge Nov 1960’, ‘unexploded torpedo 1985’,  ‘unexploded ordinance 1987 and 1992’ , ‘unexploded bombs Dec 1958’ and ‘Danger, sulphuric acid’.  Why do we never hear of this sort of thing in the UK?  Do our bombs and torpedoes never fail to explode?  Or is it just that we never get to hear about it?  So it looks like the country we’re about to visit is an open society.  Or perhaps just a society prone to litigation?  Anyway, the water is fairly shallow here, about 30 metres, so I hope none of it goes off!

The passage from Bermuda has been pleasant with light conditions.  We left at short notice on hearing that a ‘weather window’ had just opened, with the promise of fair winds.  This was important for us, as part of the voyage included crossing the Gulf Stream, a tidal stream that runs along the American coastline at over 4 knots.  When the wind blows against the flow, the seas quickly build up to mountainous proportions.  We were lucky, and all was calm.

But as I write, a mist has descended.  Fog!  There’s an eerie loom reflected around our navigation lights by the moist air.  Everything is becoming damp to the touch, and I put on a pullover. The fishing boat ‘disappears’ at a distance of about 2 miles, but soon visibility is only 100 yards, and we watch the radar and AIS closely as we approach this busy port.  We count off the buoys one by one - Narangassett B, Brenton Reef, Butter Ball, each passing close enough to appear out of the mist, sounding a mournful bell or whistle… for whom the bell tolls…

The day brightens, and with the rumble of the anchor chain in the safety of Brenton Bay next to an invisible Fort Adams, we reflect on our journey to the ‘New World’.  The visit by a school of Spinner dolphin a few days ago had been spectacular.  After playing in our bow wave for a while some had performed amazing acrobatic leaps and somersaults high into the air, so typical of this breed. 

We slowly prepare to go ashore to clear customs.  Once the fog has lifted enough to be able to find our way back to the boat, that is…