....Down Long Island Sound...

It was November 24^th and the water is cold.  Even though our boat is insulated she is steel.  Her steel hull submerged in the water keeps the boat cool and refreshing during those long hot summer days. But there are significantly different impacts now. With the shorter days there is less time to be on the water in daylight; the weather is pinching toward winter conditions; and we were still pretty far north.  Bridlewilde has ample heating aboard but the cold water keeps the boat even cooler on cooler days.  It was time to put some distance between us and Massachusetts.

Our route upon departing from New Bedford included heading back out into Buzzards Bay, catching the wind for a southwest draw, slip down the centre of the bay right into Block Island Sound between Watch Hill Point to the west and Montauk Point on our east, catch the current boost on the run through The Race, a narrow geographical gorge located between Plum and Fishers Islands, using the speed increase to whisk swiftly into Long Island Sound.  Once into Long Island Sound we would continue to sail the length of the Sound to reach City Island, New York by late afternoon the following day, a 200 mile run.  It would be an overnight passage; we would bypass Rhode Island and Connecticut and this advance would put us in line in time to meet up with family members who would soon be in New York City.  We slid away from the slip in New Bedford at 7 am.  The morning mist rose silently over the harbour.  The rising sun rays shimmered through the tendrils of foggy haze over the seaport.  Bridlewilde skimmed through the glistening flickers of diamonds, crafted by the same rays, as they danced along the rippling crests of water.  It seemed enchanting; magical; I really did pinch myself.  This was no dream; I was awake. I was in this moment. I was truly here.   

The passage progressed smoothly.  It was on my watch at the helm that I pointed out to the captain that we had arrived at The Race.  Our speed increased to 9.4 knots and as expected, it carried us right through, into the mouth of Long Island Sound past Plum Island and Orient Point.  The sails snapped and the rigging whistled; it was cold; we knew it would be.  We were prepared.  When I was packing all our winter gear onto the boat prior to our departure from Nova Scotia, the captain was thoroughly annoyed with my insolence.  He explained that we would not need any of those items for years, thereby saving the space they would impose for much better served necessities.  I am the first mate.  I packed the gear aboard. Dressed in long johns, winter ski pants and jackets, sporting winter gloves, hats and scarves, steering our boat through the cold, windy, damp overnight crossing down the Eastern Seaboard in late November, we were both so thankful to be warm and cozy, in such garb.

I have expressed before that I require a point of reference to gaze upon to ward off seasickness.  However, the waters of Long Island Sound this night were not rough.  The Sound is protected from the Atlantic Ocean by Long Island stretching the full length in front of it.  Although the same Sound can produce heavy vicious seas in difficult weather, this was not the case on this night.  I have also expressed before that we are all about safety first, which includes not travelling in difficult conditions.  We were aware that both winds and waves were in our favour, with a wave height of 1.5 feet on intervals of 9 seconds. As a result, I was able to use my four hours off watch to sleep on a comfortable sea in the settee below.  The captain has difficulty catching as much sleep as I do. He is the captain.  He is totally responsible, the person who must react if something fouls, the person who will and has always come to the rescue if need be. He is always just that much more conscious than I am.  Therefore, he sleeps very little on an overnight passage.   This night was no different.  I knew he was tired as I descended the cabin to take over for my next turn at the helm.  It was very early, that place in time when the steel grey dark of night hovers in the background all the while the buttery golden hue of daylight tries to push its way through the shadows.  I heard the boat’s engine chiming along, I felt no wind on my face, the sea was calm and I saw the sails had been taken in.  Keith reported that we were motoring along at 5.5knots, were about 3 miles offshore between Fairfiled and Southport and everything was smooth.  He chatted with me about the few hours that had just passed and we continued along watching the sun rise reflecting on the shores of the Connecticut coast.   Just as I was remarking on how glasslike the water of the sound appeared, the engine sputtered and coughed and quieted.  The captain briskly awakened from the quietude of the moment and came to action.  He attempted to restart the engine with no success.  He had refuelled the tank during the night so the boat was not out of fuel.  He asked me to take over the helm while he went below to examine the engine and to tie off the wheel so that we would heave to.  With our initial panic squelched, we assessed the situation. The water was dead calm; we were 3 miles from shore; we could see where we might head to with some wind and sails up if necessary; and we had purchased a boat tow insurance program called Sea Tow, similar to a CAA land program for vehicles.  We had options. 

The captain re-evaluated the situation once he checked the engine. He would have to change the fuel filter and it was expected this would repair the problem.  We contacted Sea Tow to advise of our condition but we were informed that it would be a four hour wait before assistance would arrive to us. We related our co – ordinates via our Spot locator system to the US Coast Guard who contacted us by phone to discuss our status. The US Coast Guard determined that we were not in any immediate risk and advised that they would not be assisting.  As daunting as that sounds, three miles offshore with no motor, the captain had the circumstance well in hand.  Although he was exhausted from the long night before, Keith explained that the procedure to replace the fuel filter should take about half an hour; allowing us to be on our way again shortly after that.  The fuel filter came off with no problem. However, try as he might, the captain could not unscrew the housing component from the fuel filter so as to screw on the new filter for replacement on the engine. He tried every tool possible but it would not move. Ringed grooves surround the cylindrical fuel filter into which the new filter is connected. One of the rings of the old filter had jumped the track of the housing component that holds it on making it impossible to unscrew.   A half hour repair turned into a three hour event with our boat circling the ocean in heave to position.  But as usual the captain resolved the problem. He used screwdrivers, clamps, plyers, hammer, and oil change paraphernalia; taking such care not to damage the rings of the housing component.  But the tool that was most effective was our galley can opener tearing away at the metal to release it.  Once the release took place Keith could carefully pry the unit away and attach the new filter, and replace it on the engine, a process that took about fifteen minutes. Once installed the boat engine turned over with the first flick of the key and we were on our way again.  Have I mentioned how amazing this captain is?

Fuel filter removal with can opener

The filter setback cost us sailing hours. The captain needed rest.  We altered our course to head to Greenwich, Connecticut.  We arrived there at 1:30 pm knowing that the following day would be a short 25 mile run to City Island.  It was an unexpected unplanned stop.  We decided to take a slip at the first marina we came to as it was to tiring a day to start looking for an anchorage or a mooring ball.   The entry into Cos Cob harbour was tricky so we were glad we had made that decision. As we pulled around a huge red tug anchored off the mouth of the harbour two fellows in a small fishing craft pulled up beside us to ask what part of Canada we were from, again our flag presenting her colors.  Both were also from Nova Scotia, there working on a larger fishing trawler and told us to follow them, as our guide, in the shallow harbour to the marina.  We knew there was only 6 feet of water under us; the entry twisted around leaving Newfoundland Reef’s flashing red buoy #4  to starboard and Red Rock with its red over green nun to port; the pilotage in was very welcomed.  We tied to an outer dock at the local yacht club. It would just be one overnight.  We arrived at a very inconvenient time for the proprietors. A funeral wake was taking place for a very prominent wealthy local businessman who had been a member of this yacht club.  Remember, we are now in Greenwich, where people like the Rockefellers, the Gimbels and the like accrued large estates on the waterfront.  And our little Canadian vessel was perched among the superyachts in their yacht club with one of their dead being honoured inside their clubhouse.  I did not dare to ask who it was. I shudder to think what the concierge, who greeted me and opened the 20 foot double mahogany front doors for me, clad in a beautiful uniform wearing white gloves with no hair out of place, had in his mind as I strolled up the stairs of this exclusive establishment, clad in red rubber boots, windblown from a 30 hour overnighter, smelling of the remnants of the repaired fuel filter splattered across my disheveled winter attire, thought as I asked for room at his inn.  The man explained about the wake, sent me quickly back to the boat making sure to let me know that someone would best deal with me there, only, as their guests were soon to arrive for the memorial and they would be very busy.  I respectfully snickered to myself about the whole scenario as I headed back to the captain and Bridlewilde.  I got out of sight just in the nick of time for him! We spent the night at the dock, slept soundly and were gone by early morning to City Island.

Surely you see nothing odd about my attire! Can you imagine what the poor concierge thought? LOL

We had the wind. We flew down the remainder of Long Island Sound, the 25 miles to City Island, New York, in 4.5 hours.  We tied to a mooring ball in a small cove but when we found the holding was not safe, we moved.  We put out a call on the VHF radio requesting local knowledge for depth entry.  The captain of the red tug that we had passed on the way into Cos Cob harbour responded immediately.  He reported that he had seen our entry, expected that we were the vessel he saw, talked to Keith extensively about boats and gladly provided us with the information we needed.  We traveled on to a small municipal marina that was closed.  We tied to an outer dock.   A security guard arrived at the boat, suggested we pay him a few bucks cash personally to remain and he would give us the code for the front gate lock but would have no other services.  We agreed to the terms, secured the boat and went off in search of some early supper and authentic New York cheesecake.  We would return early with the cheesecake in hand, to prepare for the next day, our next milestone, our arrival in New York City.