It was over 21,000 years ago that the global climate had
plunged to icy nadirs and the Northeast was covered deeply by the Laurentide
ice sheet, to depths of over a mile. And then the climate warmed, abruptly; the
glaciers receded, and a treasury of riches for New England sailors emerged.
Cape Cod. The Islands. Cuttyhunk. Block Island. And the jewel of Long Island.
No one knows precisely what happened. Perhaps volcanoes, or prehistoric SUVs. But in any case, we are grateful.
Departing upper Narragansett Bay in early August, one Saturday morning, a fleet of serious boaters heads south. The winds, as they typically are this time of year, are on our nose, causing the sailboats to tack and powerboats to buck the waves. But an easy half-day later we are happily moored at Dutch Island, on the west side of Jamestown. This is only day one, and we celebrate our happy beginning with a walk into town, dinner, and as sailors wont, a drink or two.
Next day, Sunday, an early departure, we parallel the Rhode Island coast south: Bonnet Shores, Narragansett, Scarborough, Point Judith. And then west, heading for Long Island Sound. Fifteen nautical miles later, a major landmark heaves into view – Taylor Swift’s seaside mansion in Watch Hill. But respectful as we are, no one storms the beach, only snapping a few photos as we glide by, headed for the safe harbor of Stonington, Connecticut.
Stonington was founded early, in 1649, as a trading outpost. After some confusion as to whether she might belong to Massachusetts, Stonington officially became part of Connecticut in 1662. But we were more interested in the Dog Watch Cafe, one of the world’s top-ten sailor bars, and the Water Street Cafe, where two dozen of us were served dinner promptly and sumptuously.
And on Tuesday morning, early, the thunderstorms and microbursts steamed through, rocking our boats at their docks and killing the power in the marina. And wreaking havoc to the north, which we would not learn of till much later.
But little mind. It passed quickly, the sky brightened, and we set off to the south, to Sag Harbor on the eastern end of Long Island. But this crossing wasn’t to be without event.
The glaciers, in their retreat, had left some oddities in the topology of Long Island Sound, resulting in the Race.
The Race is a challenging area, where the tidal currents can run five knots (6 mph), and the wind raises sharp choppy waves much like the inside of your washing machine. No comfort for relatively slow sailboats, whose top speed may allow them little more than break-even.
We meet the challenge, but our forward progress is slowed to just a few knots relative to the bottom. Huge currents in the Race flow through submerged glacial moraines, attracting fish and fisherman, but tossing our boats in choppy seas, sliding side to side and eventually emerging, surfing, into calm water. It was a transit we will never forget.
The remainder of the journey to Sag Harbor is uneventful, but calls for careful attention to charts, for the channel into the harbor is winding, with treacherous shallows to lure the inattentive. We call out to each other, warning of dangers, and all make it safely to port.
Sag Harbor is in the Hamptons. A hundred years ago, this end of Long Island had 20,000 acres of potatoes under cultivation. Before that, the whale trade predominated. Today, all of that land has been “developed,” if that can be given a positive spin. It seems that New York City has moved to the Hamptons for summer. Luxurious beach houses and “mansion yachts” prevail. Roads are clogged. Restaurants are crowded. We appreciate the history of the place, the differentness, the unaffordable luxury. But most of all we enjoy the swirling schools of Menhaden minnows in tidal pools, an artistic touch of nature.
On Thursday, we are happy to depart, destination Block Island, a long 35 nautical mile leg. A lengthy day, a few swells, long vistas and faint horizons, but finally we are back in Rhode Island. Familiar waters.
The next few days are comfortable. A crossing of Block Island Sound back to Jamestown, and then to upper Narragansett Bay. It has been a long week, but with rewarding adventures. A major storm, unknown waters, racing tidal currents, shallows and reefs. But we navigated all successfully, and shared comradeship upon each landing.
Here’s to next year’s cruise. Perhaps east this time. Always something to dream of, to plan, while the snows of December lay deep.
No one knows precisely what happened. Perhaps volcanoes, or prehistoric SUVs. But in any case, we are grateful.
Departing upper Narragansett Bay in early August, one Saturday morning, a fleet of serious boaters heads south. The winds, as they typically are this time of year, are on our nose, causing the sailboats to tack and powerboats to buck the waves. But an easy half-day later we are happily moored at Dutch Island, on the west side of Jamestown. This is only day one, and we celebrate our happy beginning with a walk into town, dinner, and as sailors wont, a drink or two.
Next day, Sunday, an early departure, we parallel the Rhode Island coast south: Bonnet Shores, Narragansett, Scarborough, Point Judith. And then west, heading for Long Island Sound. Fifteen nautical miles later, a major landmark heaves into view – Taylor Swift’s seaside mansion in Watch Hill. But respectful as we are, no one storms the beach, only snapping a few photos as we glide by, headed for the safe harbor of Stonington, Connecticut.
Stonington was founded early, in 1649, as a trading outpost. After some confusion as to whether she might belong to Massachusetts, Stonington officially became part of Connecticut in 1662. But we were more interested in the Dog Watch Cafe, one of the world’s top-ten sailor bars, and the Water Street Cafe, where two dozen of us were served dinner promptly and sumptuously.
And on Tuesday morning, early, the thunderstorms and microbursts steamed through, rocking our boats at their docks and killing the power in the marina. And wreaking havoc to the north, which we would not learn of till much later.
But little mind. It passed quickly, the sky brightened, and we set off to the south, to Sag Harbor on the eastern end of Long Island. But this crossing wasn’t to be without event.
The glaciers, in their retreat, had left some oddities in the topology of Long Island Sound, resulting in the Race.
The Race is a challenging area, where the tidal currents can run five knots (6 mph), and the wind raises sharp choppy waves much like the inside of your washing machine. No comfort for relatively slow sailboats, whose top speed may allow them little more than break-even.
We meet the challenge, but our forward progress is slowed to just a few knots relative to the bottom. Huge currents in the Race flow through submerged glacial moraines, attracting fish and fisherman, but tossing our boats in choppy seas, sliding side to side and eventually emerging, surfing, into calm water. It was a transit we will never forget.
The remainder of the journey to Sag Harbor is uneventful, but calls for careful attention to charts, for the channel into the harbor is winding, with treacherous shallows to lure the inattentive. We call out to each other, warning of dangers, and all make it safely to port.
Sag Harbor is in the Hamptons. A hundred years ago, this end of Long Island had 20,000 acres of potatoes under cultivation. Before that, the whale trade predominated. Today, all of that land has been “developed,” if that can be given a positive spin. It seems that New York City has moved to the Hamptons for summer. Luxurious beach houses and “mansion yachts” prevail. Roads are clogged. Restaurants are crowded. We appreciate the history of the place, the differentness, the unaffordable luxury. But most of all we enjoy the swirling schools of Menhaden minnows in tidal pools, an artistic touch of nature.
On Thursday, we are happy to depart, destination Block Island, a long 35 nautical mile leg. A lengthy day, a few swells, long vistas and faint horizons, but finally we are back in Rhode Island. Familiar waters.
The next few days are comfortable. A crossing of Block Island Sound back to Jamestown, and then to upper Narragansett Bay. It has been a long week, but with rewarding adventures. A major storm, unknown waters, racing tidal currents, shallows and reefs. But we navigated all successfully, and shared comradeship upon each landing.
Here’s to next year’s cruise. Perhaps east this time. Always something to dream of, to plan, while the snows of December lay deep.
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