The breach through the barrier beach at the south side of Katama Bay seems to be well established. Occasionally, when the Atlantic is calm and because of exceptionally low recent tides, the flow through the opening appears to be diminishing. But then the tide rises, the surf kicks up and it starts looking like a river rapid again. Still, it’s behavior and closing schedule will remain a mystery.
The Chappy Community Center 2026 calendars are still at the printer. But don’t give up hope! Watch for an announcement on social media and in this column. I also will put up a sign at the ferry to let you know that they have arrived.
One warm spring evening way back in the late 70s, there was a fishing boat tied up to the face of Memorial Wharf. It was rigged for long-lining. A dozen buoys with those tall radar reflectors were sticking out over the transom. They were sticking out into the ferry slip a few feet but since the current was running out, the ferry was swept away from them as it headed out into the channel. The tide would be changing shortly and the boat needed to be shifted along the wharf enough so that the ferry would clear those buoys when departing on an incoming current.
At first, I could swing the stern of the ferry over towards the Daggett House pier to avoid getting tangled up in the radar reflectors. But then the current increased and I needed to remedy the situation. A bunch of wharf rats were sitting on the benches chuckling amongst themselves. No one knew the whereabouts of the owners of the fishing boat and being of the age when I was unlikely to ask for help, I hatched a plan to let the current move the boat.
I slacked off the bow and spring lines several feet and then started to let out on the stern line. The line was jammed between the piling and the cap log. Since it was the only thing holding the boat against the current, the line was quite taut. I tried pulling up on it to no avail. I then tried what I had seen others do to free a line. Holding tight to the loose end of the line, I put my foot on the taut part and pushed down. I had to put more and more of my weight on it until the line finally popped out. It happened so abruptly that I didn’t have time to grab the piling and I fell overboard. Fortunately, I held on tight to the dock line.
My high school gym teacher would have been amazed to see me pull myself back up hand over hand, but I had a greater than usual incentive for rope climbing as the water was still very cold. I reached blindly over towards the wharf to grab hold of something, anything to keep from falling back in. And just at that moment, Roy Scheffer’s big hand reached and grabbed hold of mine and pulled me up onto the wharf. The wharf rats were laughing and making wise cracks about how I forgot my bathing suit and who did I think I was trying to walk on water.
Roy glared at them and they hushed. Then he said quietly, “The only guys laughing are the ones who this hasn’t happened too.”
We secured the stern line and I headed into the ferry house to look for some dry clothes with a renewed sense of empathy towards those that this had also happened to. Good ‘ole Roy.
This article appears in January 23, 2026.