by Mel Cote

The small sailboat slid down one wave and crashed into the next one, spraying salty water over the bow and into the cockpit, soaking the crew. We had left Manhasset Bay early that Wednesday morning, hoping to explore the northern shore of Long Island before anchoring off the Norwalk Islands. As we motored into the open Sound, it soon became apparent that we would have to deviate from our itinerary. The 15-20 knot winds blew with a vengeance from the northeast kicking up 4-6 foot swells that pounded our hull. The skies were dark and threatened rain. We hoisted the mainsail, opened the throttle on the 10-horsepower outboard motor, and set a heading for the Norwalk Islands. It would be a day of discovery, but not the kind we had anticipated. That day we discovered how quickly the forces of nature can transform this often tranquil, inland sea into a watery roller coaster. We also discovered that the Bristol 24 we were sailing deserved its reputation as one tough little boat.

We finally arrived in the lee of our destination islands at around noon, having decided to seek refuge from the storm in Norwalk Harbor. Along the way, we had contemplated several alternatives, among them continuing on to safe haven in Southport or the Housatonic River estuary. By the time we reached the islands, however, our spirits (and bodies, despite foul-weather gear) had been dampened, and we were worn out. Weather reports called for more of the same -- high seas, strong winds, and rain -- through the next day. The Bonine we had all ingested when the seas picked up had prevented any serious seasickness, but my stomach was tensed and my hands were stiff from holding on so tightly during the crossing. As we entered the harbor a couple hours later, we consulted the 1997 Embassy Cruising Guide for Long Island Sound and turned on the VHF radio to find a marina with showers, and if possible, laundry facilities. We would play our departure by ear, but my experienced crew mates expected that we would probably be there until Friday morning. We had been planning the trip for more than two years, since my Aunt Gail, my mother’s older sister, and Uncle Bob Shields decided to retire and move to their second home in Narragansett, Rhode Island. Finally, last spring my aunt and uncle announced that the summer of 1997 would be their last in New Jersey, and that the Windrush would sail this year. Uncle Bob researched the tides, currents, and prevailing winds using the Eldridge Tide and Pilot Book and other references, and established a tentative schedule that had us departing Mantoloking at 7:00 a.m. on Monday, September 8 and arriving in Watch Hill, R.I. at 11:50 a.m. on Sunday, September 14. Joining us would be my uncle’s boyhood friend, Bob Becher, a surgeon and sailing enthusiast who had become reacquainted with my uncle several years ago at their fortieth high school reunion. I marked the dates in my calendars, mail-ordered some boat shoes, and eagerly informed my friends and family of the upcoming trip.

Friday morning dawned bright, with only a few clouds scudding their way up the Connecticut coast on a slight wind from the southwest. Our layover had allowed us to explore the revitalized South Norwalk (SoNo, for those "in the know") waterfront area, including an educational visit to the Maritime Aquarium. Now we were back on our way up the Sound to our final destination. Unfortunately, while the wind direction was now in our favor, its weakness forced us to rely primarily on the motor for the remainder of our trip. That evening we anchored among the Thimbles, a group of small, granite islands off the coast of Branford that reminded us of Downeast Maine. Unlike Maine, however, the water was 68 degrees, as it had been for most of the trip, and very inviting. My uncle and I went for a swim, and found the water very pleasant and refreshing after a hot, sunny day on the boat. That night I slept under the stars in the open cockpit of the boat. It was cramped, but the experience was well worth the slight discomfort.

Despite the delay caused by the poor weather, we reached Avondale Boat Yard on the Pawcatuck River at precisely 11:40 a.m. on Sunday, ten minutes ahead of schedule. So the trip was over -- we had traveled approximately 197 miles in accomplishing our "mission." Along the way we saw important historical landmarks, including the many old forts that guarded harbor entrances, the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island in New York Harbor, and the lighthouses that guided us for the entire trip. We passed under nine bridges, all of them different, the day we passed through New York Harbor and the East River. We saw natural beauty, from the rocky Thimbles to the salt marshes that fringe the Housatonic River estuary and lower Hammonasset River. We saw a lot of densely developed urban areas with industrial plants and the wastewater treatment plants that serve them, but the water appeared remarkably clean. Even New York Harbor seemed amazingly devoid of floating debris, due in part I suppose to the lack of recent rainfall and the banning of open-ocean garbage disposal. The worst water quality, particularly in regard to aesthetics, was in the harbors and marinas we visited along the way. Oily slicks and floating debris were common sights in most marinas, although it was good to see boat sewage pump-out stations at many of them. I would guess that the rough weather during the middle of the week might have helped break up whatever hypoxic conditions might have persisted in the western Sound (and CT DEP’s water quality data seems to back that up). We saw a lot of boats, mostly fishing and lobstering during the week, with the fishermen centering on the numerous ledges and reefs that dot the offshore waters. We all had time to peruse the numerous Long Island Sound reference materials I had brought along, including The Urban Sea, by Lee Koppelman et al, A Moveable Shore, by Peter Patton of Wesleyan University, The Face of Connecticut, by Michael Bell, and the series of articles Steve Grant of the Hartford Courant wrote about his kayak trip around the Sound earlier this summer. Although we weren’t able to do a lot of pure sailing, I learned a lot about navigation, the different types of boats, and various nautical terms. In the evenings, we would sit and talk in the candlelit cockpit, reminiscing about our family ties, discussing the day’s events and planning for the next.

My uncle had dubbed the trip the "Long Island Sound Ecology Cruise," in part so I could try to make the case to my boss that at least part of my trip should be counted as work, rather than vacation. He didn’t buy it, but I’d have to say that the trip has helped me with my job. We had seen the many faces of the Sound, and in so doing, had gained a new perspective on the Sound and its surroundings. And I had gained a new appreciation for the magnitude and importance of the ongoing effort to restore and protect this inland sea, and a new sense of purpose in my role in this effort. It’s something I’ll always remember.

Mel works in the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, New England Regional Office as the Regional Program Manager for the Long Island Sound Study and Connecticut Nonpoint Source Program.