See where we’re at! Also, be aware that I’m starting to get into the habit of embedding links that are either relevant or make me laugh in the text, so look for your Easter Eggs.
We were off the dock at Utsch’s by 0900 and out into the Atlantic bound for New York City, a transit that would entail another overnight on watches if we wanted to make it into the East River at the proper time to get through Hell Gate. Once we were out beyond the breakwater and the sails were set, we put on the most appropriate song we could think of.
And by the afternoon of the 2nd, after running through some fog on the way in, the skyline of Manhattan and Lady Liberty loomed up before us.
New York City, understandably, had the most traffic of anywhere we had been. And the radio chatter, with the confluence of accents from around the country and world, was pretty entertaining. Especially the jaded, ready-to-be-done-with-the-day-8 hours before it started New Yorkers.
The Staten Island ferries, especially, just came ripping and knew they did not have to give a shit about us. Or tugs. Or anyone.
Also, to loudly vent a grievance against architecture here: who designs these ugly, asymmetric, toddler-drawing, jenga-bullshitter skyscraper that clash with everything else in skyline? The old masonry and brick buildings, with the intricate stonework, are the best, as well as the good old Art Deco spires like the Empire State building. I don’t even have a problem with glass rectangles or brutalist high rises, since there’s at least a utilitarian beauty to their simplicity. All right, I’m going.
Anyhoo, we hit Hell Gate in the afternoon at the exact right time and made it through the East River up into Long Island Sound without incident.
We dropped the hook, exhausted, in the Devil’s Toe (an anchorage in Long Island Sound, the location of which I will vet better with Tripp when the novelization and film adaptation of this blog inevitably come along). The sun was going down and I pulled out whatever we had to be used to make dinner, and then sleep for 14 hours. Tripp was already in bed.
I don’t know that Tripp’s choice to dump two bags of ice on top of the eggs was the best way to go about it, but hey. What do I know.
But, as hungry as we were, we ended up deciding what we really were gluttons for was punishment. Tripp’s folks called to let him know they’d be in Mystic, CT on Sunday with his whole family. Well, we also had friends in Mystic. And a nostalgia for being hauled out there on the Victory Chimes the previous May.
So Tripp looked at our weather, wind, and tides for the next day. He figured out that it would take us 16 hours, primarily motoring, to get there the following day and that we’d want to be in the river by 6 PM. His cogs were turning slow so I informed him, “That would be 2 AM.” We had a moment of laughter where the ludicrousness of that plan tickled us.
Then we decided to do it!
Up at 2 AM on Friday the 3rd, I remembered how nice it was at Utsch’s Marina when the anchor had come up totally clean. Well, that certainly wasn’t the damn case here in Mudsville, I will tell you.
I made Tripp coffee, went back to bed after we got underway. And slept for about half an hour before the engine started blasting exhaust in its compartment, just like it had back on the way to Beaufort, NC. Tripp, less than enthused, killed it, put the autopilot on and set to work figuring out what the ever-loving GOD was going on.
Oh, by the way: the autopilot had been named Apollo at some point in the prior weeks. Apollo and the jib don’t like each other much and the phrase “eat your weather helm, Apollo” was common parlance among all the members of our crew (meaning Tripp and myself, as most of our jokes go).
But there was basically no wind during this time period of slapdash repairs. Turned out the exhaust riser had cracked again! And, bonus, it wasn’t even at the weld, it was on the other end!
There were a few minutes of hesitation. Of vacillation. Friends, for a moment, we almost gave up. But we’d get to Mystic and destroy the engine trying. And I really wanted to go to karaoke at the Harp and Hound on Sunday, damn it!
Tripp had me find the aluminum foil in the v-berth storage, then he put the entire roll around the crack, fastened it down the hose clamps, and then put fiberglass exhaust wrap and locking wire around that.
Well, we got going again and spirits eventually improved over the course of the day, which was basically non-stop motoring. So we got to hear that engine at an incredibly safe decibel level for human hearing for the entire time. The sunrise was one of the best of the trip, though.
The final stretch of Long Island Sound, an area known as the Race, had Tripp mildly on edge as our one true problem area, where the sea state and the extra vibration of the busted exhaust riser might combine to… Hmm… Eff us completely. But, if something happened, we had plenty of places to sail to on the Connecticut shore. But, to sail to them defeated, like weak babies. Getting into the lea of Fisher Island started to feel like the finish line of the trip, since from Mystic to Portsmouth would be the matter of a single day.
Fortunately, the waves weren’t piling up too badly and we made it through the Race rather easily. Got into the Mystic River and radioed the Mystic Railroad and Mystic Highway bridges to let us in, went and tied up at the CCA dock at the Seaport (with no idea in the dark and the noise of the engine our friends on the Alvie were yelling to us on the way past).
Now ashore, we headed into town to the good old Engine Room, where the crew of the Alvie were to meet us: celebrity appearances by Shel and Eva, and getting to meet David, Danny, and Troy. There, there’s your names in print. Now you can be cast for the film adaptation. I’ll make a fake IMDB.
Tripp, sleep deprived and starving, misheard that the waitress had told me that our table for 7 would be wiped down and ready as soon as we walked in. To be fair, it was a busy night, and I was surprised myself. But Tripp assumed we were in for a 45 minute wait.
“We could be sitting at the bar now and getting something to eat!”
“Dude, they said they’re cleaning the table off for us now.”
“… that can’t be right.”
But it was. And we ate. And it was great.
That wraps up the 3rd. See y’all next time (tomorrow, hopefully!)
Hermit Thrush 