Connecticut River and Then Some

September 1

Mmmm, the smokey smell of sawdust is radiating from the port-side lazarette.  My nose is thrilled with the savory blend of campfire, old cedar closet, and marshland.  Never mind the blaring sound of the jigsaw that is profoundly disturbing the peace of this place.

We are in the Connecticut River, anchored just east of a grassy knoll in a ridiculously tranquil tributary that separates us from Essex Harbor.  Michael’s boat project is a wood seat for just aft of the bowsprit. It will be our contemplation chair, and probably our cocktail chair, our sunset chair, our smooching chair, our good book chair, our stargazing chair, our lookout chair, and our nap chair.  It’s gonna be a very useful chair, no doubt!

I look to my left and there are reeds bowing to the wind in the most respectfully fluid display of submission that I have ever seen. I look to the right and the landscape is such that I almost expect to see an elephant crossing the savannah-like expanse to come and stick his trunk into the river only yards from where Gerty quietly floats.  Needless to say, it’s beautiful. (Ironically, I wrote an unintentional nod to the elephant, before I had learned of the terribly sad legacy of the ivory trade on the Connecticut River. Tons of ivory from Zanzibar were imported using slave labor to make ivory piano keys and other goods. Sigh, humans.)

September 3

We have been puttering around the Connecticut River for three days now. As long-time Hudson River townies, we can’t help but compare the two and question why one has a reputation of industry and contamination and the other has been clearly deemed a place to play.  Arguably they are both natural gems, one with the Palisades and the other with its wetlands. Yet, the absence of lurking PCBs and nuclear reactors leaves nothing but swallows and cranes to ponder when anchored in the Connecticut River.

When I go for a swim, the surprisingly strong current makes me giggle and the freshwater top layer feels genuinely clean.  The boats carry a variety of characters, from unmuffled cigarette boat drivers to sailors, to tourists on riverboat cruises. Although mansions dot the banks in places, the towns with restored homes dating back to 1776, seem to have escaped complete gentrification and development. For sure, the gathering at the Gris last night for the regular Monday night Sea Shanties set has not changed dramatically in the recent past as evidenced by the fact that everybody, but we knew all the words.

September 5

If you get the chance, ride a granny bike down the huge hill that descends upon the marshes towards the isthmus between Ram Island and Little Ram Island.  It feels good. The Peconic River is calm again after last night’s lightning commotion. It feels like Hurricane Dorian is a million miles away, but it’s not. It’s pounding the coast of Georgia right now.  From what I read in the news, it’s been catastrophic in the Bahamas, a fact that makes my stomach turn. As is often the case with hurricanes somebody benefits from the high-pressure weather outside the storm area.  I feel a twinge of guilt as I gently bob in the cockpit after spending the day on Shelter Island. It’s a crisp seventy-two degrees and partly cloudy. We biked and hiked until we could pedal and plod no more.

Tomorrow morning we are planning to catch the North East wind from Dorian’s western edge to sail towards home tomorrow.  

Yesterday we spent the day in Greenport, NY. It’s a low key Northfork town.  We liked it because the ice-cream was excellent (I recommend the creamsicle at Flavor’s Dessert Cafe).  This town has a lot to offer with convenient dinghy docking, a newly renovated waterfront and shopping at what I would call ‘normal’ prices (not Hamptons prices).  The harbor was great for swimming too.

Yet again, it’s not the beautiful places or the way each day seems to have more time than days spent off the boat.  It’s not even the sunsets. It’s sailing with Michael that makes all the difference.

September 7

Thank you to my colleague, Dr. Plachta, for exchanging Saturdays with me so that I could enjoy one more summer sunset.  Sitting here on Gerty’s deck, just off the coast of Connecticut, it feels like today was two days instead of one. This is because this morning we woke to remnants of Hurricane Dorian- stubborn wind and rain that just wouldn’t quit.  The day before was good for a fast sail due west in that the wind was 25-30 knots from the East, but let’s just say ‘good’ is a kind word. Michael used, “invigorating,” when describing the experience to my inlaws earlier today over the phone. This was an excellent word choice for the grandparents.  The truth? Well, the truth is that the wind was no problem at all. It was a fast downwind sail. However, the seven-foot waves, the incessant rain and the twenty-degree drop in temperature were shall we say, “invigor-omitting?” I’m kidding, nobody vomited.  

When Michael crawled into the salon sete for dinner his fingers were pickled similar to those of a young child that has been in the bathtub too long.  His face had a red flush and a silly grin to go with his drunken state. (A state that was produced by sailing alone, completely void of alcohol). Wet clothes hung from every hook, grab bar and ledge inside the cabin, and the deck chairs wound up in the shower.  We were down to rice and beans for dinner as the provisions are running low. It was a cartoon-like scene for sure, but we had made it to Port Jeff Harbor! It was a fairly miserable anchorage, roly from the ferry and the fetch, but we just didn’t mind that much.  I think we dozed through a movie rental and the next thing I know, it was today.

The second day that was today happened when the sun came out.  Everything, including us, dried out in the unusually bright rays that descended upon the cockpit on our way to Rowayton.  The wild water laid down quickly and quietly giving us a very civilized sail.

After lunch (we’re down to canned tuna fish and I just finished the mayonaise) we went out in search of ice-cream in this ‘new to us’ town.  Michael found his coffee mud pie in nearby Darien. I opted for creamsicle again, my new favorite. We spoke to Zachary and he sounds happy and we look forward to speaking to Joshua tomorrow. Ice cream, happy kids, and sunsets. Need I say more?

September 8

The phrase “bittersweet,” must have been coined by somebody on the last leg of a sailing voyage in about ten knots of NW wind on a close haul.  (I just looked it up, according to google it was first used to describe liquor that was both bitter and sweet and shortly thereafter it became another name for nightshade, a pretty, sweet looking plant with death delivering poisonous berries.) Geez, that’s dramatic. For me, I was just thinking that I had to go back to land life tomorrow.  It’s Sunday and the Long Island Sound is crowded with seafarers squeezing summer out of September.

Indeed, one feels like they are getting an extra special gift when given an extra day of, well, and extra day of this.