We Maine men tend to think of Long Island Sound as kind of a play sailing area with light winds, little fog, soft, and forgiving shores. You have to come Downeast for the real thing. Well, let me tell you, having just come 30 miles from Millford to Stamford, arriving just as solid 20 gusting to 25 was bumping up 5 knots; my growing awareness that this can be as challenging and unforgiving body of water as the Pine Tree State became as solid as the ledges and islands that shelter us Mainers from much of the ocean’s fury.
I was trying to sneak in ahead of the weather to accept the offer of a yacht club berth where I could wait out a few days of bad weather visiting my good friend, mentor, and fellow “Points East” contributor Bernie Weiss. Another hour further and I might be ordering a new dinghy instead of writing this.
20 gusting 25 downwind isn’t a big deal where I come from but the way the seas run up in the funnel of the sound with the tide running hard under them made it as rugged as anything I’ve seen up in Nova Scotia or the Bay of Fundy. There were some minutes towards the end that reminded me of running breaking inlets.
I’ve been getting beat up all week. I really needed to get out of Mystic, pleasant as it was. They say the temptations of the shore are more of a hazard to the sailor than the sea and it’s true. My week of meals there probably represent more risk to me in the next couple years than any wind and wave I will encounter and the damage to my pocketbook about equal. Sure, I could exercise restraint but when that restaurant is right there whispering, “Hey, sailor.”…
So, I went down the river to try and get around the corner to where I could accept a dinner invitation but found the conditions rather reasonable for making much needed progress westward. I phoned my regrets and kept on. Rounding Black Point just past Niantic Bay, I was suddenly confronted with the reality of the weather report, about the reverse of today. I ran back into the bay and spent and uncomfortable afternoon and night with a stern anchor out to reduced the rolling just enough that I could sleep, a little bit.
Conditions moderated the next day and it was merely a long, grinding, slog to windward under power that brought me to Milford. Nice, but slightly strange town. I docked at what looked like a town dock after which I could read the sign that said basically, “If you are not a Milford taxpayer and you so much as put a foot or line on this dock before calling the harbormaster, you may be fined.” That made me feel nice and welcome.
I then called the number and got a nice lady at the harbor commission who said they were closed, there was no one to collect any fees, and I was welcome to dock anywhere and use the water and power. I figured it was thus my duty to leave some money in town so I again answered the siren call of the restaurants and afterwards spent a very quiet and comfortable night.
Events following my pre-dawn departure bring me to pass onto all my fellow Mainers this bit of wisdom, just because someone you meet has spent their whole life sailing only in Long Island Sound it doesn’t mean they are not a sailor you should respect.
I was trying to sneak in ahead of the weather to accept the offer of a yacht club berth where I could wait out a few days of bad weather visiting my good friend, mentor, and fellow “Points East” contributor Bernie Weiss. Another hour further and I might be ordering a new dinghy instead of writing this.
20 gusting 25 downwind isn’t a big deal where I come from but the way the seas run up in the funnel of the sound with the tide running hard under them made it as rugged as anything I’ve seen up in Nova Scotia or the Bay of Fundy. There were some minutes towards the end that reminded me of running breaking inlets.
I’ve been getting beat up all week. I really needed to get out of Mystic, pleasant as it was. They say the temptations of the shore are more of a hazard to the sailor than the sea and it’s true. My week of meals there probably represent more risk to me in the next couple years than any wind and wave I will encounter and the damage to my pocketbook about equal. Sure, I could exercise restraint but when that restaurant is right there whispering, “Hey, sailor.”…
So, I went down the river to try and get around the corner to where I could accept a dinner invitation but found the conditions rather reasonable for making much needed progress westward. I phoned my regrets and kept on. Rounding Black Point just past Niantic Bay, I was suddenly confronted with the reality of the weather report, about the reverse of today. I ran back into the bay and spent and uncomfortable afternoon and night with a stern anchor out to reduced the rolling just enough that I could sleep, a little bit.
Conditions moderated the next day and it was merely a long, grinding, slog to windward under power that brought me to Milford. Nice, but slightly strange town. I docked at what looked like a town dock after which I could read the sign that said basically, “If you are not a Milford taxpayer and you so much as put a foot or line on this dock before calling the harbormaster, you may be fined.” That made me feel nice and welcome.
I then called the number and got a nice lady at the harbor commission who said they were closed, there was no one to collect any fees, and I was welcome to dock anywhere and use the water and power. I figured it was thus my duty to leave some money in town so I again answered the siren call of the restaurants and afterwards spent a very quiet and comfortable night.
Events following my pre-dawn departure bring me to pass onto all my fellow Mainers this bit of wisdom, just because someone you meet has spent their whole life sailing only in Long Island Sound it doesn’t mean they are not a sailor you should respect.
