We sailed out of Port Jeff early in the morning, while it was still dark. I remember this as being a kind of eerie sail, again with complicated channels and gusty winds. Things calmed throughout the morning and it was a cool but pretty sail through the Plum Gut to Block Island. By the time we were approaching, we were starting the engine. The channel into the harbor was narrow and a boat ahead of us had run aground on its way through.
Several boats were at anchor in this very pretty harbor. I remember wondering if we were sailing in the same conditions, when a lady on the Jeanneu next to us came out on deck in the perfect J. Crew boating outfit - oxford, navy blue sweater and khaki shorts, to watch the sunset. I looked down at myself, in full foulie gear - bibs, boots and jacket with a chill that had set into my bones. Maybe everything on her boat was automatic and she could just stay down below until their boat arrived at its next destination.
The harbor we anchored in was so clear you could almost see straight through to the bottom. The phosphorescence from plankton sparkled like diamonds in the water at night, like millions of little glow worms beneath the surface. The light was responsive to the slightest ripple or object entering the water. Stephen was peeing off the back of the boat and said that he could practically write his name in the water, like waving sparklers through the air on the Fourth of July.
On a bike ride across the island, we found this entrance to a "private" drive spanning acres of farmland. Anyone with the last name "Bull" should know that any signage would be too tempting to tamper with, hence the addition of the "S." We were very satisfied to know this universal sense of humor exists in even the most proper of towns. 
Block Island was one of my favorite places, as I never knew this kind of beauty existed on the East Coast. We were there shortly after tourist season, so it was pretty empty with approximately 1,000 residents and a handful of boaters and leftover tourists. We rented bikes and went all over the island, past farms, cape cods, lighthouses and huge bluffs jutting out over the ocean. 
We climbed to lookout points, and followed paths down to the pristine beaches that had millions of smooth round stones all the colors of the rainbow with the most unique patterns. The water was frigid but clear everywhere so you could see starfish, seaweed, tiny crabs and other fish everywhere you walked along the beach. The waves were so loud and powerful as they crashed against huge boulders that were slick to walk on.
In town, we stopped at these snack shacks with outdoor seating along the waterfront. They were all over the place, each boasting that they had the best clam chowder or shrimp rolls in town. They weren’t kidding about the chowder; it was yummy and full of potatoes, cheese and bacon. You know the t-shirts with the abbreviations: OBX for Outer Banks, KW for Key West, etc. that could make you feel cool and maybe even part of an exclusive club if you can name it right away, or you almost crash into the guard rail trying to figure out where the hell they’ve been? Well, a group of people dressed in navy blue t-shirts with huge white letters, “BI” walked by us. “Were they proud to be on Block Island like us, or just proud of their sexuality?” we wondered. 
Exploring the landscape of this town was the best part of the trip. The cafes were overpriced – one morning Stephen protested having to pay $6 for the tiniest sliver of quiche, to which the owner replied, “but it’s homemade.” When we arrived one morning at the farmer’s market everyone raved about to discover it didn’t sell a single fruit or vegetable, we both looked at each and said, “Loved it, time to go.” 
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