Ahoy, mateys! Bootstrap Ginny here with some more plunderin’ for ye. If’n yer goin to be travelin this summer, yer probably lookin for pirate friendly spots, savvy?

Bootstrap Ginny can help ya out! Block Island is one of the stars of my books, Haunted Pirate Tales and Weather Witch, and besides being a great place to hear one of my tales, it was absolutely once a pirate friendly island where many a scurvy knave came ashore.

Aye… Block Island. A fog‑wrapped jewel off the Rhode Island coast, where the sea keeps her secrets tight and the gulls scream like warnin’s from the old world. Many a captain found safe harbor there — and many a ghost still walks its shores.

Some say Captain William Kidd himself dropped anchor in those waters, his ship creakin’ like a guilty conscience. Some say he buried treasure nearby. And some — the ones who whisper when the lanterns burn low — claim he left behind somethin’ far more dangerous than gold.

But that’s a tale for the bold‑hearted. And if ye’ve followed me this far, I reckon that’s you.

So lash down yer gear, mates. The fog’s rollin’ in, the lantern’s swingin’, and Bootstrap Ginny’s about to take ye to Block Island — the pirate’s halfway house between worlds.

Now, ye might think Block Island is just a pretty summer stopover — all beaches, bikes, and breezes. But listen close, mates… the island’s bones run older and darker than any tourist brochure dares whisper. The fog there don’t just roll in — it arrives, like a guest with business unfinished.

Back in the Golden Age o’ Piracy, Block Island weren’t just a dot on the map. It were a pirate’s halfway house between worlds — a place where a captain could slip ashore, mend his sails, wet his throat, and decide whether he were bound for fortune… or for the gallows.

And aye, Captain William Kidd himself knew the place. Some say he came lookin’ for safe harbor. Others say he came to hide somethin’. And a few — the ones who speak soft when the lantern burns low — claim he left behind a curse that still clings to the island like sea‑mist on the skin.

Ole Boostrap Ginny walked those cliffs in the dead o’ night, mates. I heard the wind whistle through the scrub like a bosun’s pipe callin’ the lost to muster. I’ve seen the lantern lights bobbin’ where no lantern ought to be. And I’ve felt the cold brush of a man who died swearin’ he’d return for what he buried.

Block Island remembers its pirates. And some of us remember it right back.

More Block Island…coming your way

To the ghosts that guide us, the storms that test us, and the gold that waits for those who dare — may our ink never run dry and our courage never fade. Raise your tankards, mates… for the sea still remembers our names.