The Log of Quiet Passage
Lat: 41 16.86N
Long: 72 55.72W
Tuesday, September 19, 2000
We woke at 0630 to glassy calm waters in the little cove we�d chosen to moor for the night at Saybrook.
We studied the current tables, knowing they could help or hinder us on this final push of our trip along the Connecticut coast to New Haven. By postponing our departure to 0910 we would benefit from a flooding current that would carry us west for the final 33 miles.
We slid down the smooth waters of the Connecticut River - a truly wondrous body of water, with grand wetlands, woods and wildlife. Signet swans swam alongside us or napped in the shallows waiting the turn of the tide.
We rounded the striking lighthouse on the Saybrook breakwater and off we went at a merry clip. We had no wind but the iron genny (the diesel engine) made light work of the passage.
After 90 minutes, the wind picked up from the southeast � always a precursor of nasty weather in these parts. We set two of our sails and we were lifted along at a smashing 7.4 knots. How glad we were that we had pushed so far west on
Monday. This made for easy traveling.
I punched into the cell phone the number for our mail-forwarding service in Florida and asked that they
ship all current mail to daughter Lynn�s address in Kent. And we marveled at the change in the comfort zone of sailing between now and even a few years back.
Then, to keep us firmly grounded, I read aloud to Jo the passage from �Two Years Before the Mast,� by Richard Henry Dana, written in 1840. He tells of
sailing t California from Boston, around Cape Horn, and back home again. The narrative is outstanding.
But the little glimpses of life back then brings you up short. The first mail he received in California was six
months in making the passage.
But it was the run home, up along Nantucket Shoals, past Block Island, that was truly fascinating. It
brought home to me how we modern sailors have lost. He writes about throwing the leadline to take a
sounding as they approach the coast in thick fog. No soundings with an 80-fathom line (480 feet long).
Later, they found the bottom at 60 fathoms. And they knew where they were, based on the material they
picked up off the bottom. Mud off Block Island; sand off Nantucket, sand and shells in the channel into Boston Light.
We, of course, merely look at our Global Positioning System and note the latitude and longitude. And then we look at our laptop computer navigation system and note our little boat pinpointed on the screen within 10 feet of its actual position on the face of the globe. Miraculous.
We were in familiar waters now, passing Faulkner Island, the home of roseate terns, then past the Thimbles
Islands where there are a clutch of 365 islands, some of them no more than rocks, some able to house small
groups of fancy homes, some able to support only a single home.
The lighthouse and breakwater at New Haven hove into site around 1330 and we turned into the side channel, taking a shortcut to the marina.
The remains of Tropical Storm Gordon were on their way toward us and the sky was a blanket of gray layers. Within 20 minutes of tying up in our slip, the rains arrived. We were snugged down and ready for a shower.
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Bob & Jo Mellis
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