The day started out easily enough. We took in the matinee of Disney's Finding Dory at a multiplex about seven blocks from the Miramar YC. (Save your money; some animations are great for adults; not this one.) We prepared and pulled in our mooring lines at 3:15 p.m. The reefing points from the prior day's sail had been left in the main. Attached to its halyard, with the stack lack unzipped, it was ready to be hoisted. But the winds were strong from the WNW, and once clear of the Bay's channel and in the channel off Coney Island we found that the small jib, close hauled on starboard tack, was all we needed, with the engine, to make great speed and heeled the boat considerably. Rounding the western end of Coney Island, the wind intensified and came too close to our nose, so we furled the jib and motored into the wind, which slowed our speed considerably. I got to thinking that we had been using up the diesel fuel in the same tank ever since the season began and maybe it was time to switch to the fuel in the other tank, which was full. This was done, without mishap, but about two minutes later, the engine died, and did not start again for the rest of the day. At this point we were just west of the Verranzano Bridge and closer to the Brooklyn shore than center channel. I made a mistake, fortunately not a fatal one. I went back down into the cabin, took off the ladder that covers the engine and switched back to the first tank, thinking I could restart the engine. What I should have done first was to unfurl the small jib. That came next, and was done in record time. But meanwhile we were dangerously close to the rip rap or large rocks that protects the Belt Parkway, which was our lee shore and the wind and waves were pushing us onto that shore as we drifted powerlessly. If the rocks grabbed us there would be no escape; the waves and wind would grind us into the rocks. After the jib was unfurled, it took time for me to trim it in, with a few seconds lost during a trip forward to unwrap the new side sheets that wrapped the central sheet preventing my hauling it close. We were so close that Ilene panicked with fear: I screamed at her, something I have never said to her before and hope never to say again: "SHUT UP"! It calmed her and later she told me I had done the right thing. Panic attacks never help. I was panicked too, but time spent immobilized by panic and thinking about consequences rob the mind of the need to think clearly about what to do next. It almost cost us out boat, and possibly worse. Luckily, Sheila was too ignorant of our peril to be fearful; this is not an insult, ignorance can be bliss. The boat was being pushed sideways, it's starboard side parallel to the shore, and we were not making way yet. Way, forward progress, was the necessity for the rudder to bite the water and push our bow away from the shore. Lene had pulled the wheel fully to the left, but this causes the rudder to act as a brake against the vital necessity of forward progress. When the sail was finally set and drawing, I grabbed the wheel and eased the amount of right rudder and we started slowly forward and then away from the jagged rocks. Lene later estimated we had twenty five feet of water, at the surface, between the boat and the rocks which were waiting to tear into our hull. That would mean less distance to the rip rap sea wall at the depth of our keel. My estimate, at the time, was that her 25 feet were only 20. Either way, we were way too close for comfort. Once we started moving gradually away and had built up a bit of speed we tacked over to put our stern to the wall and more serious distance between it and ILENE. Like they say, "hours of boredom interspersed with moments of sheer terror". (Actually, though, I never get bored while sailing because there is always so much to occupy the mind.)
Meanwhile I hauled up the reefed main -- no electric winch -- which gave us more speed. We dodged some moored barges, and beat across Buttermilk Shoals. Sailors instinctively fear shoals, the dreaded shallow spots in the water. These particular shoals were very well marked by buoys to keep the big merchant and military vessels safe and I had always stayed off of them before as well. But we had to make time because the favorable tide would eventually reverse, making it impossible to get through Hellgate. And the chart showed that the minimum depth of the Buttermilk Shoals was twelve feet -- no problem for our 5'8" draft. Lene steered through the channel between Brooklyn and Governors Island which was not close hauled but a nice reach, though with the wind obstructed by the island. We arrived at the Battery, heading north to the Brooklyn Bridge, with tide pushing us north, but winds from the north too, but very light. Indeed we had no steerage but we're drifting. I shook the reef out of the mainsail to give us more power. We were off the new Marina on the Brooklyn waterfront and called them, but they had no boat to tow us the 200 yards in and the current was pushing us past them. They suggested the Liberty Landing Marina in Jersey City, but again we were already north of the Battery. Ilene prevailed upon me to call BoatUS. We pay insurance to them for towing service. They wanted detailed lat and lon, rather than accepting much clearer location information: "We are currently under the Brooklyn Bridge, and moving north." We asked for a tow to the Harlem and I told them it was fifteen miles. They said they would have a tower meet us "IN TWO HOURS!" So we continued north. Ilene called the Coast Guard on VHF to ask if they knew of any place on either side of the East River where it was shallow enough to anchor and where we would be out of the way of big traffic. We established cell phone communications. They did not know of anchorage areas, and told us that we would NOT be able to pass Hellgate. I said that if the tide turned adverse, we would try to anchor in the southern part of the Harlem River (which is where our club was first established in 1883). They asked about our safety and I told them we were not currently in danger except for fear that during our tacking up the East River, we had little maneuverability, making me fearful when we got close to one side or the other. That's right, the WNW wind had become northerly, requiring tacking, and weak, in the canyon between tall buildings on both sides of the river, except for occasional gusts. I kept trimming the sails to get as much speed as we could in hopes of getting past Hellgate before the tide turned. The Coast Guard promised to call us every half hour and kept its promise. A hour after telling us that the tow boat would be with us in two hours, we called BoatUS, who said it would be two hours from "now"! But the favorable tide kept with us all the way through Hellgate, after which we were met by chance by fire boat 43 of the NY Fire Department. They asked if we wanted a tow, but at that time we were making six knots so they just stood by for about an hour and followed us, to be available if needed. Thanks guys! We decided to take the longer but wider passage north of North Brother Island rather than the narrower one between it and South Brother Island, especially as we were close hauled and I did not relish the possibility of needing to tack in such a narrow channel. Once past The Brothers, the water got wide, land obstructions dropped away and I figured that even if the tide turned adverse, we would be able to sail our way home unless the wind died. Sheila was now getting anxious about how long the trip was taking so I gave her a tranquilizer -- some Savignon Blanc -- with the chicken Lene had cooked. When we got past the Throggs Neck Bridge, the local City Island franchise of BoatUS towing appeared on the scene, wanting to tow us. I was speaking on the phone with the Coast Guard. I told both the Coast Guard and BoatUSthat now, only two miles from home, I wanted to try to do it alone, and would take a tow from the Club Launch when we were 100 yards from the mooring. It was ego speaking, rather than my rational brain. Lene said: "TAKE THE TOW", it is free, because of our insurance. In the other ear the Coast Guard guy said the same thing. The wind was very light and it was getting dark. The tower was saying the same thing, into my third ear. The wind was as light as possible, mere zephyrs, and the tide would surely turn adverse during the hour or two that it would take us to traverse Eastchester Bay to our mooring at one or two knots. So we dropped our sails, took the tow rope, and we're on our mooring, in the dark, at 9:30, six and a quarter hours after our departure. While the tow boat was tied to our starboard side, Lene and Sheila, mounted the launch from our port side and they drove in to NY and Lene slept in Sheila's apartment. My next post will feature engine repair. This was a long scary passage.
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