Monthly Archives: September 2012

What a day! We had spent an uneasy night because of the proximity of too many small sailboats and some wind-against-current swinging. As soon as it was light we weighed anchor and moved Escape Velocity to a better spot closer to shore and far away from any moorings.

We were congratulating ourselves on a perfect choice of anchorage with no nearby boats when we heard a voice calling out from very close. We looked around. No boats. And then we saw the man in the water out for a morning swim in a red swim cap and hand paddles. He said “Good morning!” and Jack went out on deck to chat. This was a first for us, and we were struck with how hardy New Yorkers are.

He told us there was a front moving in and that we’d have a rough hour and a half but then we’d have fine weather. He also told us that next Saturday there is a charity swim across the river to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and we’d have a front row seat. The whole time we talked he was treading water in high winds and current. I was tired just watching him. Finally he swam off and we lost track of him in the waves.

Winds stayed 15-20 knots all day with occasional gusts in the mid-20s. I was bordering on seasick but we both just lay about and read and watched the horizon. Serious weather was moving in.

By early afternoon we felt like we were riding a bucking bronco. Two squall lines moved up river, one on each bank. We got just a few sprinkles but lots of wind.

Things calmed down a little for the rest of the afternoon, but the winds stayed up and consequently the river was choppy. We bounced. By 4:30 the weather radio was warning of tornados and a line of violent thunderstorms. We rechecked all the ports and hatches, checked the anchor and waited. We saw lightning over the ridge to the west, and suddenly it was on us. The wind slammed over Nyack and into the river like a freight train and we couldn’t see the bow from the cockpit. The storm moved at 40 miles and hour, said the radio, and we could believe it.

The wind blew in the mid-30s for about half an hour and the rain came down in sheets. Oh good, I thought, our decks will be nice and clean. The storm left as quickly as it came and the wind dropped to almost nothing as we watched the clouds move north.

My stomach was so grateful but I was still queasy enough to ask Jack to make dinner. We watched the sky clear south of us.

And by evening we were treated to an amazing sunset. Some days the view from the back porch is like a movie.

Rocking peacefully in Port Washington harbor, there were a few discussions, around the dinner table about shooting Hell Gate down the East River past Manhattan. In a slow moving boat you don’t have that many options and we were about to lose our last opportunity for weeks to ride the current past Manhattan to the Hudson River in the daylight, but then the Hudson would have a contrary current, which means finding an anchorage in some of the busiest waters in the world.

We timed the entrance perfectly and
another catamaran followed us in. I guess I’m used to turbulent rivers but this was something new as Escape Velocity would slew one way then dart another. I had to hand steer her but she handled it well.

What a great way to see Manhattan! As we approached the financial district I realized that we are not only in some of the busiest water in the world but it’s rush hour!

Ferries were everywhere, churning up the river with huge wakes and of course the wind began to blow 15-20 kts. Marce seemed to be especially concerned about the Staten Island ferries.

Beautiful schooners were sailing about, water taxis, classic commuter yachts, sea planes, nut jobs on jet skis. Let’s just say we felt Insignificant. Marce had found a small yacht basin to anchor in behind the statue of liberty.

This place allowed us to break up the passage into two days and reach 10kts
through Hell Gate and 7.5 kts. for the whole trip up the Hudson, while running
at a moderate cruising RPM.

Leaving our anchorage.

I felt right at home on the Hudson River. I grew up on Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers. While the scale is larger the point is the same except that the Hudson spends a lot of time flowing backwards.

Tappan Zee bridge, Nyack at night.

We checked and rechecked the tide and current tables. We watched the clock. Today we planned to make the passage from Long Island Sound to the Hudson River via the East River and the famous Hell Gate.

We decided we should leave our mooring at 2pm in order to arrive at the East River at Throgs Neck just before high tide. This, the books assure us, will give us a fair current for the entire 15 mile passage.

Alan joined us for coffee and a last visit for the next couple of weeks until we meet up again somewhere in the Chesapeake Bay. And our mooring neighbors from another Manta catamaran, What If, dinghied over for a quick introduction. All of this took our minds off the impending challenge.

Finally, just before two o’clock we fired up the engines and dropped the mooring, then circled Snow White and waved goodbye for now and headed out of Manhasset Bay and into the Sound.

We reached our official starting point, Throgs Neck Bridge, right on time.

For the next two hours we experienced one of the greatest cities in the world from a new vantage point. I remembered the first time Jack took me out on his little powerboat in Pittsburgh, how different the city looked from the water.

Most of New York City is on islands but you tend to forget that when you’re on land and navigating it by car or subway. By boat, negotiating the twists and turns of the East River, you’re reminded that the city is here because of the water and especially that the water was the primary mode of transportation for much of its history.

Shortly after entering the East River we started to see some of the underpinnings of the city, LaGuardia airport, a waste water treatment plant, Rikers Island.

Some of the bridges were beautiful.

As we approached Hell Gate we got a little nervous because a couple of sailor friends had dire warnings of swirling eddies and swift currents. On the other hand Alan told us it was no big deal, but he’s got that understated Brit thing so we went on high alert anyway.

The turn into Hell Gate went well. We could see some disturbed water, but Escape Velocity is so maneuverable that Jack steered right through it with no problems. It was only as we approached Roosevelt Island that we saw how fast the current was. Our boat speed topped out at 10 knots, but I didn’t get a shot of that.

We were now motoring between Roosevelt Island and Manhattan, and what a thrill it was to see New York from here!

The farther downtown we got the more the water traffic picked up. A float plane landed in front of us. There were helicopters overhead. We could hear the auto traffic thundering along the FDR highway. And suddenly we were surrounded by ferries.

As we passed under the last two beautiful bridges over the East River we were both twisting our heads around tracking the many ferries that seemed to want to converge on where we were. None of the ferry routes were marked on our charts so we kept close to Governor’s Island hoping to stay out of their way. Meanwhile there were a couple of small recreational sailboats blithely tacking back and forth. They obviously had stronger constitutions that we do!

We chose our moment to cross the Hudson and head for Liberty Island and passed a beautiful schooner in full sail, and the ubiquitous Staten Island ferry.

Finally we made it across the Hudson and picked our way behind Miss Liberty to a hidden anchorage that would be our home for the night.

The whole trip from Port Washington to Liberty Island was only 20 miles and took a little over three hours, but we think it was one of the coolest passages we’ve done yet!

We continued our slog down Long Island Sound towards New York in dead calm, motoring again. We wanted to get to Manhasset Bay where our friend Alan on Snow White was anchored. We saw more weather moving in and hoped we could get the anchor down before the rain.

Three hours before our turn into the bay Jack said, “We have no wind.”

I know that, I thought, that’s why we’re motoring.

“Really,” he said. “The instrument says 0.0. It should show our apparent wind while we’re moving.”

Sure enough, the instrument and the repeater both registered 0.0. We stepped out on deck and looked up. The little cups that spin with the wind were just sitting there. Huh? We weren’t hit with a gust or anything. How could it just stop working? A couple of hours later the wind actually kicked up and still the thing wouldn’t budge. Jack was grumbling non-stop about things breaking.

We turned into the bay in what felt like 15 knots and as we went further in we came under the protection of the shore. I stood on deck with the binoculars trying to get the lay of the land and spot Snow White.

“I think it see it,” I yelled, “but it looks like nothing but moorings.” I strained to see where boats were anchored.

Just then an old flat bottom skiff motored towards us. The driver slowed down as he approached and called out.

“Pick up any yellow mooring. It’s free for two nights. If you need launch service call on channel 9!”

We like free, and we easily found an empty mooring right next to Snow White, who was anchored just on the edge of the mooring field. In five minutes we were secure, just as the rain started.

Alan finally noticed us and dinghied over in the rain. We had a nice reunion dinner and we regaled each other with our adventures since we last saw each other in Norfolk, VA. We told him about our wind instrument and he matter-of-factly suggested it was just in need of a cleaning, which involves a trip up the mast, something I’m not willing to do, nor do I trust myself hoisting Jack up, even with an electric winch.

“I’ll do it,” Alan said. Are you kidding?! I love cruising people, and they must think we’re so lame because we don’t know what we’re doing and we’re old. But yes, Alan, we’d love for you to go up our mast!

The next morning he arrived with a set of ascenders and proceeded to march his way up our 60-foot mast as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I hid down below, cell phone ready to dial 911 in case I heard a loud thud.

There was no thud. Alan brought the offending piece of gear down and he and Jack probed it and squirted it and blessed it and Alan scampered back up and reinstalled it. Success! We have wind! Or at least we know the speed of it.

That was above and beyond for Alan to do. After Jack saw how easy the ascenders are he’s considering getting a set for himself because this is not the last time someone’s going to have to chase down a problem at the top of the mast and we can’t always count on Alan to be anchored nearby.

I’ll still be below with my hand on the cell phone.

What was supposed to be southeast winds 10-15 knots turned out to be 5 knots on the nose, so once again we had a long slog motoring toward New York. We could have waited for a fair wind, but the forecast told us it would be a long wait.

We saw that weather was moving in and we just buckled down and put 60 miles on the log as we watched the clouds forming ahead of us. Luckily we made the inlet at Port Jefferson and dropped the hook in a protected spot behind the beach before the rains came. It was Monday so we had our traditional Monday Beans, this time red beans and rice.

It was a very wet night, but a peaceful anchorage.

As promised the Great Salt Pond at Block Island started to swell at the seams. We saw as many as five boats rafted-up on one mooring, but still they came. Amazing!

After a restless night, I awoke for an early crew call to an iffy sky and little wind.

After a quick breakfast we slipped the mooring and were gone by 8:00am.
Dave “Frogman” Strife repeatedly dove down to de-barnacle the saildrive propellers the day before so we expected a nice turn of speed.

Thanks to EV’s ace photographer Nancy, we’ve documented loading the bicycles.

We treated our guests to a lumpy crossing of the Long Island Sound into New London Marina, two blocks from where their car was parked. We were the only boat in the mooring field.

We were serenaded by Fort Adams canons.

The magnificent Coast Guard tall ship Eagle was tied up across the channel.

Tomorrow we pull out past the race for a long slog down the sound, hoping to raise Port Jefferson.

We had a great time riding bikes around Block Island with Nancy and Dave. I love our t-shirt story. I’m wearing “Ridley Park” where Nancy and I grew up; Dave is wearing “Dartmouth” where he went to college; Jack is wearing “Vancouver Olympics,” a bucket list trip we took in 2010; and Nancy is wearing “Enjoy Life,” the mantra of retired people everywhere.

We made a long run halfway across Long Island Sound ahead of some wet weather and found a terrific anchorage at Port Jefferson. Izzy spent the evening pondering a way to get to the grasses on the beach.

Yesterday we biked the northern end of Block Island and our destination was marked on the map as “labyrinth.” I was not familiar with the tradition of labyrinths and learned that not only was my sister well-informed, but she has walked them in various places in her travels. It was all new to me and I’m hooked.

A labyrinth is a non-branching path on a complex pattern that leads to the center then back out again. In modern times they’re generally meant for walking meditation and are still being created all over the world. A sign near the entrance to this one described the history and purpose:

Labyrinth-like patterns have been uncovered by archaeologists in a great variety of ancient and contemporary cultures. In Christian history and practice, the labyrinth is most famously associated with Chartres Cathedral in France where an eleven-circuit labyrinth was inlaid into the floor of the sanctuary in the thirteenth century. It was used by believers as a way of symbolically participating in the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. In Christian practice, the labyrinth is not designed to produce a peak spiritual experience but to provide inner space for listening to God.

The labyrinth is an ancient tool for prayer and meditation, consisting of a winding path that begins at the periphery and leads to a central space and then out again by the same path. Although the words “labyrinth” and “maze” are sometimes used interchangeably, there are critical differences. Unlike a maze, a labyrinth has no blind alleys or dead ends. A labyrinth will not frustrate because it is not a puzzle to be solved. You cannot get “lost” or make a mistake because there are no choices to be made once you have made the decision to start walking.

Another plaque suggested emptying the mind and focusing on a particular thought or question before beginning the walk. I did neither, but rather opened my eyes and ears to the space around me as my feet began the journey along the narrow winding path.

A curious thing started to happen. The world both expanded and contracted as I walked. I became aware of the layers of sounds, the cicadas and crickets in the nearby grasses, the birds twittering in the shrubs, the tractor clearing brush out of sight just over the hill, and my own footsteps on the dirt pathway.

I picked up a milkweed seed and felt its silky softness in my fingers as I followed the path, turning round and round, then switching back again on the continuous loop towards the center. Although each loop was only a foot or two from the last one, the view changed each time. I could see a chimney through the treetops that wasn’t there before and next time around it was gone. A little wooden bridge over a stream came and went. From the highest elevation I could see in the distance the north lighthouse on a long spit of land surrounded by paint-by-numbers patches of yellow sand, dark green beach shrubs and gray rocks.

Someone had placed a small Buddha statue beside the path and I stooped down to touch its head as I passed by. When I reached the center I dug a scrap of paper and a pen out of my backpack and wrote some words of peace and hope, then tucked the folded note and the milkweed seed under one of the many stones piled on a bench.

As I walked back through the labyrinth I tried to imprint my memory with the sights and sounds, the roses in full fruit, the arrivals and departures of other visitors, and most of all the wind, as I turned this way and that it was now at my back, now in my face, just like life.

Every day is a journey.

It was a last minute decision. Do we avoid another $50 bike rental fee for our guests or do we try to find a dinghy dock close to the Northern end of Block Island? We chose the Boat Basin Dock and a nice bike ride. Once again Block Island has more hills than you’d think, but when you’re from Pittsburgh it’s all relative. It was a circuitous route through the Island which was fine by me.

We rode past one old Victorian mansion after another as we began to climb up to the bluffs.

There is nothing Marce enjoys more than an old graveyard, especially before meditating while walking a labyrinth. We had to brake really hard, while bombing down a hill, to avoid missing the entrance.

The Corn Neck Farm (it’s for sale) was cute but we were in the mood for some end of the road cycling.

Yeah, that’s the stuff. Settlers Rock was right beside the end of the road parking lot.

Marce, Dave, and Nancy stop for a spot of culture.

A cairn of my own.

On the way back in New Shoreham we came upon The Surf Hotel. I like old buildings that are starting to turn to seed.